Counter Strike (Command and Control Book 2), page 3
The man handed him a sealed packet. All classified radio traffic was encrypted, but emergency traffic required an additional level of physical security. Each PLA Navy submarine carried a series of sealed packets containing six unique characters. The emergency traffic designated a packet and listed the six-character authentication code.
Chu broke the seal and read off the characters inside the packet. After each character, the political officer repeated the element and said, “Check.” He passed the tablet back to the captain. “Message is authenticated, sir.”
Captain Chu was aware that the eyes of his watch team were on him. “Conning Officer, make your depth five-zero meters.”
The bow of the submarine angled downward. When the ship was steady on depth, Chu said, “Pass the word for all officers to assemble in the wardroom.”
Ten minutes later, Captain Chu sat at the head of the wardroom table with his executive officer to his right and the political officer on his left. The rest of the officers sat by order of seniority all the way to the ensign at the far end of the table.
Chu fought to keep the elation from his voice as he addressed his team.
“The Changzheng has been ordered to attack and sink a Taiwanese destroyer.”
The news electrified the room. The junior officers at the end of the table whispered with excitement while the more senior members of the wardroom stayed stoic. Chu saw the chief engineer shoot a glance at the XO.
“Captain,” the political officer said, “I think I speak for the entire crew when I say what an honor it is to be chosen by the Party for this glorious task.”
Chu stilled him with a look. He had heard the rumors that some of the newer subs had been outfitted with surveillance equipment to monitor the crew. Was it possible that Sun was performing for a hidden camera?
Ignoring the political officer, he projected a data packet on the wall screen. “Our target is the Tso Ying. We know her well because we have been tracking her for the last week.” Chu rested his elbows on the table and leaned in as if he were sharing a secret. The officer cadre unconsciously mimicked his actions.
“We have run simulated attacks against this ship at least a dozen times,” Chu said in a low voice. “This is no different. You know what to do. Your men know what to do. Trust your training.”
“Do your duty,” added Commander Sun.
Chu stifled the urge to snap at the political officer. Instead, he nodded. “Do your duty.”
Chu sat up. His officers did the same. He indicated the wall screen with the latest coordinates for the Taiwanese ship.
“XO, set the tracking party. Load all four tubes with Yu-6 heavy torpedoes.” He paused, silently hoping the political officer did not say anything.
“We attack at midnight.”
“Stand by for final bearing on target one.” Chu’s voice cut through the tension in the quiet control room.
He raised the optical mast, switched immediately to high-magnification, infrared mode. The outline of the Taiwanese ship was crystal clear on the monitor.
“Lowering mast,” Chu said.
“Five seconds, sir,” the XO said, reporting the time the periscope was exposed.
The target ship was plowing along at a steady twelve knots, making for home, her crew probably eager to spend Lunar New Year with their families.
“Target angle: seven-five degrees. Angle on the bow: four-five degrees. Range six-five hundred meters.”
“Fire control solution locked, Captain,” the weapons officer reported. “Greater than ninety percent confidence.”
“Weapon ready, Captain,” the XO reported.
Chu’s heart was racing, and his throat was dry. When he spoke, his voice came out as a rasp.
“Mark time,” Chu said.
“One minute to midnight, Captain,” came the reply.
Chu heard the rush of his pulse thundering in his ears.
“Fire.”
4
Xinyi District, Taipei, Taiwan
Mission Clock: 240:00:00
Mission Status: Green
When Major Gao Yichen volunteered to lead the advance team for the invasion of the rogue province of Taiwan, he accounted for every detail, no matter how small.
Except one detail had apparently escaped his notice. The interior of the black SUV emitted a noxious odor of glue, off-gassing plastic, and singed carpet.
And it was making him nauseous.
From his seat directly behind the driver, Gao watched the nighttime scenery of the Xinyi Expressway flash by—and tried not to throw up. This road into Taipei was flanked by green space. He tried to imagine he was breathing crisp, fresh air and not this poison that coated the inside of his nostrils.
He took a surreptitious look around the silent cabin at the other five men, all seasoned operatives, hand-selected for this mission. None of their faces showed any emotion, much less car sickness.
It’s just nerves, he told himself. Focus on the mission.
When he had been approached by the Minister of State Security to develop a secret plan to cripple Taiwan’s infrastructure, he had wondered if the offer was a ruse. After all, his mentor was General Zhang, a well-respected senior leader in the PLA—and a relentless gadfly to the Party over the status of Taiwan. Zhang’s detractors would love nothing more than to expose a high-ranking PLA officer as a rogue element in the Party.
Operational security meant he couldn’t ask his mentor for advice. He couldn’t ask anybody. It was his decision alone. A devil’s choice: perform an action that was right for his country but was not blessed by the Party leaders or walk away.
After a sleepless night, he realized it wasn’t a choice at all. Just the possibility of being involved in a pivotal moment in the history of the People’s Republic was worth the risk. He could go from being a major to being—
The tablet contained in the inner pocket of his suit jacket buzzed with an incoming notification.
The device was a slim model, sized perfectly to fit in his hand. Ruggedized and waterproof, the unit was packed with cutting-edge technology that provided the invading PLA forces with a secure, fast battlefield communications network. Indeed, the network itself was named Shandian, or lightning, and it lived up to its name.
Gao’s stomach twisted. He held the device parallel to his face, ducked his chin to look directly into the camera, and accepted the call.
“General Zhang,” he said.
The leader of the Taiwan invasion had a long face and angular features. His mentor could be a kind man who loved practical jokes, but at this moment his quick gaze lanced through the screen at Gao.
“Status, Major,” he said.
While the exchange was going on, Gao pulled up the pre-invasion assignments. Twenty-six teams spread across the island targeting every major communications, power, and public service function. A masterpiece of planning and all his work.
Beside every team entry was a green check mark, meaning every team leader was in position and ready to strike.
Gao tried to hold back the grin that threatened to break out. Once he executed this operation, his promotional track in the PLA would be a straight shot to the top. Someday, he might even outrank General Zhang himself.
“We are ready, General,” Gao said.
“Good,” Zhang said. “The mission clock begins on schedule at midnight local time.”
Gao’s gaze automatically ticked up to the top of the screen.
240:00:00.
Two hundred forty hours—ten days—to restore Taiwan as a province of the Chinese ancestral lands.
By the time the United States and the rest of the world reacted to the news, it would be a fait accompli.
“Remember the rules of engagement, Major,” Zhang added. The subtle twist of his lip reminded Gao what his boss really thought of their invasion parameters.
Zhang was a soldier, not a politician, but there was a political element to the invasion plan. The People’s Liberation Army were not invaders, they were saviors. Their mission was to pacify the island with as little bloodshed as possible. It was critical that the people of the rogue province saw the PLA not as enemies, but as brothers in arms bringing them back into the fold.
Gao and his mentor had discussed his reservations about the gentle approach to war, and the general was wholeheartedly against it. In his view, their mission should be to win the battle at all costs. Let politics sort out the blame along with the bodies.
“I understand, sir,” Gao replied.
On the Shandian tablet screen, Zhang’s features softened into the man that Gao knew so well. “Good luck, Major.”
“And you, sir.”
Gao ended the call just as the roadway entered a tunnel. He glanced around the dim cabin. No one had seemed to notice the final personal exchange. The last thing Gao wanted was to appear entitled or weak in front of his men.
The SUV emerged from the tunnel into a dazzling sea of lights that made up downtown Taipei. The driver made a left turn onto Xinyi Road, the main avenue of the district, with their second car following close behind. The Taipei 101 tower rose above the crush of commercial buildings. Massive TV screens advertised Chanel and wished the people of Taiwan good fortune in the new year.
Traffic ground to a crawl. Gao consulted his screen again. Their target was three hundred meters away on the eighth floor of the Nan Shan Plaza, an excellent vantage point from which to view the Taipei 101 fireworks show at midnight.
Minutes ticked by. The driver made the turn onto Songren Road and came to a complete stop. The road was choked with spectators waiting for the fireworks show in—Gao checked the tablet—fifteen minutes.
He cursed under his breath. These stupid people were going to wreck his timetable. He had reserved the plum assignment in this phase of the invasion for himself. How would it look if the mastermind behind the preemptive strike failed to accomplish his own mission?
The SUV moved ten meters, mostly by dint of the driver nosing the front of the vehicle into the mass of people. The driver laid on the horn. A teenager in the crowd gave him the finger in return.
“Don’t draw attention to us,” Gao snarled. He checked the tablet again. Twelve minutes remaining. His decision tree snapped into focus. If they waited, they were going to miss their window.
“We’re going mobile,” he said into his throat mic. “Both drivers stay with the vehicles, plus one man for security. Proceed to the rendezvous point. Everyone else is with me.”
That left him with eight men. Not ideal, but he could make it work. The most important factor now was to acquire his target on time and get her safely back to the collection point.
Without waiting for an answer, Gao popped open the door and stepped into a raucous Chinese New Year celebration. Thumping music blasted, and the crowd danced in the street. After the oppressive smell in the car, the air was fresh and clean. A light mist of rain coated his face as he elbowed his way into the crowd.
His men followed in a loose V-formation. They looked out of place in their dark business suits that bulged in all the wrong places, but everyone around them was either too drunk or too focused on getting into position to view the upcoming fireworks to care.
They plowed their way through a small park that was absolutely packed with people. At the far end of the space, the glass tower of Nan Shan Plaza beckoned like a lighted beacon. Two uniformed policemen were stationed at the entrance.
As they drew closer, Gao gestured for all but two of his men to hang back. He hurried forward.
“Am I too late? She’s expecting me,” he called. “I have my invitation here somewhere.” He patted his jacket, then reached inside and drew out a QSW-06, the trademark handgun of PLA commandos. “Don’t do it,” Gao said as the second policeman reached for his weapon. The man froze.
Two of Gao’s men assumed guard duty at the door. Using the hostages as shields, Gao’s team entered the sliding glass doors. The lobby was empty except for two more policemen at the elevator doors.
His men dispatched the pair at the elevator, a necessary part of the plan. Leaving two more men to guard their exit, Gao stepped inside the elevator with his four remaining men.
The time was three minutes to midnight.
The Pearl Restaurant took up the entire forty-eighth floor of the Nan Shan Plaza. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered an unobstructed view of both the brightly lit Xinyi District and the Taipei 101 tower.
When the elevator opened, everyone was gathered at the windows, their backs to Gao’s entrance. The light had been dimmed to better see the upcoming fireworks display. Light dinner music played in the background. The space was arrayed with dozens of round tables littered with stemware, plates, and crumpled linen napkins.
Two of his men moved to contain the waitstaff, and a third went to turn on the lights.
Gao studied the people, looking for his target.
There. He smiled with satisfaction.
Qin Su-Wei, the President of Taiwan, was a short woman and a little stout for her age, if Gao was being honest. Her jet-black bobbed hair showed no gray. As she spoke to the man next to her, the glaring lights of Xinyi reflected in the lenses of her glasses. A young girl dressed in a pink frock held the President’s hand, her face pressed to the window.
The overhead lights in the room came on. The music stopped.
There was a hiccup in the murmur of conversation as the guests looked around to see what had happened, blinking in the bright light.
Gao stepped forward and raised his hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let me—”
One of the President’s personal security detail moved, but Gao’s men had him covered. He looked at President Qin, who nodded. The security man surrendered his weapon. The silence in the room was absolute, every eye riveted on Gao.
He smiled. “As I was saying, ladies and gentlemen. Let me be the first to wish you a happy and prosperous new year. My name is Major Gao Yichen of the People’s Liberation Army, and I am here to ensure your safety in this time of crisis.”
The President stepped forward. “What crisis? This is an outrage—”
“Madam President, I regret to inform you that one of your naval vessels launched an unprovoked attack on a PLA Navy submarine. We were forced to respond and sink the attacking vessel, but this act of aggression requires the People’s Republic of China to take necessary steps to ensure the safety of our citizens in Taiwan.”
The color drained from President Qin’s face.
“When did this alleged incident take place?” she hissed.
Gao made a show of drawing the tablet from his inner pocket. The retina scan automatically logged him in. The time was 23:59:49.
“In approximately eleven seconds, Madam.”
In the windows behind the President, a flash of light burst across the dark sky. The fireworks had begun.
All around the Taipei 101 tower, the glittering city started to go dark, block by block. The lights in the room went out, and a gasp ran through the party attendees.
Gao and his men pulled headlamps from their pockets and put them on. The cold light of the lamps turned the lenses of President Qin’s glasses white.
Gao held out his left hand. “Madam President, it is time to leave.”
A man stepped in her path. He was in his thirties, dressed in an expensive suit with a flawlessly knotted tie.
“You cannot—” he began in a loud voice.
Gao shot him in the center of the forehead. The gunshot made the room freeze into silence.
Gao felt any remaining resistance crumble. Now there was only fear.
He beckoned to President Qin. “For your own safety.”
5
5 kilometers northwest of Taimali, Taiwan
Mike Lester made his way slowly down the dark wooded path, the smell of fresh pine needles filling his nostrils. Just a few more meters and he’d be in the clearing…
The sole of his steel-toed boot caught on a tree root, and he pitched forward. Rough tree bark scraped against his face as he arrested his fall by wrapping a free arm around the tree trunk.
He hung there for a moment, breathing in the forest smells. Maybe that fourth beer had been a mistake.
Pulling himself upright, he fumbled for his mobile phone and put it on flashlight mode. The uneven trail was illuminated in the harsh white light, and he picked his way forward.
His face warmed with embarrassment at his clumsiness. Getting old sucked.
Back in the day, a younger version of himself could have found his way down this path in the dark without making a sound while carrying sixty pounds of gear. That guy could drink all night, fight all the next day, then do it all over again. Rinse and repeat.
Now, Grandpappy Mike was tripping over his own feet after a few beers. That’s assuming he managed to stay awake past nine.
His boot caught another tree root that he’d mistaken as a shadow. He chuckled out loud.
The stories we tell ourselves. True, he’d been a damn fine Marine—still was—but he’d always been a lightweight in the drinking department.
Still, time was a cruel mistress. At fifty-eight, he was still in decent shape. At home, he maintained a rigorous workout schedule, but on volunteer field missions like this one, he rarely made time for himself. He could feel the difference in his body.
Lester reached the edge of the clearing and switched off the light to reestablish his night vision. It was a new moon tonight, the first of the lunar calendar, and the start of the Chinese New Year celebrations.
By starlight, Lester waded through knee-high grass to a flat-topped boulder in the center of the clearing. He carefully put down his phone and boosted himself up on top of the rock. On creaking knees, he lowered himself to a sitting position. He exhaled deeply, tasting the alcohol on his breath. Then slowly he lay back until he was staring at the sky.
Lester led a small humanitarian team from Phalanx, a US military veterans group that performed disaster relief all over the world. To people who asked about his calling, he joked that he’d spent twenty years as a Marine blowing shit up, so it was only fitting that he spent another twenty trying to put the pieces back together.
