Chapter 76
Langley
Where’s our close air support?” Flynn snapped at the videoconference screen at the front of the ops center.
It was a secure video link, and framed in the picture was the general running the show at JSOC. He said, “They’ve been flying at max speed, but they’re still twenty minutes out.”
“Once they’re on station, sure,” the JSOC general replied. “We could use them to help repel the next attack, if that’s what comes. But if our estimate about the size of the next wave of Chinese forces is right, I don’t see these four jets being a difference-maker.”
“What other assets are available out of Alaska?”
“There’s a whole wing of F-35s, minus the four already en route. Also some F-22s down in Anchorage. But we’re up against the same problem we’ve had all along. By the time they reach the target area, it’ll be too late. These three Chinese transports are closing in fast.”
Flynn had a terrible feeling he’d been outfoxed.
Whoever was running the show on the Chinese side—he guessed it was the Seventh Bureau of the MSS, headed by Zhang Tao, which would have been responsible for keeping tabs on Chen—had committed a large military force.
And they had traveled much farther than his own units to reach the Arctic.
Indeed, the inbound Y-20 transports, according to their signals intelligence, had taken off eight hours ago to reach this remote ice floe.
How did Zhang see this coming? And why didn’t I?
The live feed began streaming again after a temporary loss of signal. In the high-definition images, Flynn saw tiny shapes scurrying across the ice, the infrared flicker of muzzle flashes.
“What about the Cheyenne?” the general asked. Flynn had been coordinating the submarine’s involvement through Pacific Fleet Headquarters.
“She’s right where we left her, twenty-eight miles east. The ice is too thick for her to surface any closer, and there’s no way our team can outrun the Chinese over such a long distance.”
The general was silent for a moment. The he said speculatively, “There is one thing that might change the equation.”
Flynn sensed the JSOC commander’s tentativeness but invited him to continue.
“We could have our F-35s engage the Chinese transports. We make radio contact on the guard emergency frequency and order them to turn around.”
“And if they don’t comply?”
“We shoot them down.”
A long hush ensued as Flynn considered it. “Are they armed to do that?”
“They’re each carrying two AIM-9X missiles, and of course they have their guns.
But they’d have to get close to use either.
We’d have to make this decision almost immediately to give them time to pull it off.
If we wait even five minutes, I doubt they’d be able to track down the transports prior to the drop point. Our window for action is closing fast.”
Flynn felt a massive weight, like the world was imploding. Shoot down three Chinese transports full of troops? That would be an act of war.
“We need to make a phone call,” the general said, as if reading his mind.
“Agreed,” Flynn replied quickly.
The president and his national security staff were in the White House Situation Room.
They were following the mission remotely, but not linked in on the command line Flynn and the JSOC general were sharing.
In essence, they were out of the decision loop.
That was about to change; the extraction mission in the Arctic had gone critical.
It struck Flynn that ever since Chen and Sky Fire had left Hong Kong, the ante had been getting upped continuously.
The downing of a civilian airliner, it turned out, had only been the beginning.
The United States and China had both committed combat forces, and for reasons that were likely coincidental, the Russians had also become involved.
Now all three nations had suffered casualties, and an intense firefight on the top of the world was playing out before his eyes.
The decisions were becoming so fraught with risk, they now exceeded his authority. The question of what escalations could be contemplated, and what gambles were acceptable, could only be answered at the highest levels in Washington, D.C. Not to mention Beijing and Moscow.
The call to the White House was initiated, but before Flynn had even reached for the handset, a brilliant flash of light filled one side of the main screen—the feed from the Arctic. It was central in the area where their team had taken cover.
“What was that?” the DDO asked.
The ISR analyst said, “I could be mistaken, sir… but I think it was a mortar.”