Drone Command (30 page)

THE SITUATION ROOM

THE WHITE HOUSE

WASHINGTON, D.C.

18 MAY 2017

21:10 P.M. (EDT)

T
hey've launched the Wu-14!” General Onstot shouted, pointing at the screen. A cacophony of panicked Japanese blasted over the audio system. Lane's advisors sat in stunned silence.

“Cut the sound, please,” Lane said to a VTC technician manning the video teleconference controls. The
MIC OFF
sign flashed a moment later. Lane glanced at Ito's cabinet room video monitor. Everyone there stood on their feet and pointed excitedly at the Ningbo missile launch. Lane swore Tanaka was smiling. Myers was clearly shocked.

“How long do we have, Admiral?” Lane asked.

The chief of naval operations stared at the screen. “Best guess, six minutes at most. Probably half that. Once that bird reaches terminal velocity, it will be traveling at nearly eight thousand miles an hour. Whatever you have in mind, sir, do it now.”

The
George Washington
lurched into flank speed. Giant white wakes foamed behind her fantail. With two nuclear reactors cranking two hundred and sixty thousand horsepower, the hundred-thousand-ton vessel could make more than thirty knots, half again as fast as World War II–era battleships like the USS
Arizona
.

“Can the
George Washington
outmaneuver the Wu-14?” Wheeler asked. She was a foreign-policy expert, not a military one.

“We don't think so,” the CNO said. “But it's damn well worth trying.”

The giant American aircraft carrier began launching its aircraft, too.

“Options?” Lane asked.

“Call President Sun. There must be a self-destruct on that thing,” Shafer said.

“Too late. Not sure he'd do it anyway,” Lane said.

“Pearce, you said you've got a software bug planted on board?” General Onstot asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you crash the damn thing into the drink?” the admiral asked. “Or can we blow it up ourselves?”

“Yes. To both,” Pearce said.

“Can we capture it?” Garza asked. “Guide it out into the Pacific; let the Navy pick it up off the ocean floor?” He turned to the admiral. “Would that even be remotely possible?”

“Depending on where and how you dropped it. Yeah, it's possible.”

The service chiefs launched into a fevered discussion about pulling a salvage operation together on short notice.

Pearce's voice rumbled on the audio speaker. “Mr. President, I need to speak with you privately.”

“The clock's ticking, sir,” Garza said.

“You've got thirty seconds,” Lane said. He dashed to a private secure conference room designed for just such a meeting. Lane slammed the door shut. The room's only window fogged electronically, shielding him from view.

“What's on your mind, Troy?”

“I've put an option in play.”

“What option?”

Pearce explained.

Lane couldn't believe his ears.

“You're sure?”

“Ian guarantees it. That's good enough for me.”

“You could've told me this before.”

“Wasn't an option until the missile was launched.”

“Does Margaret know?”

“No, sir.”

A knock on the door. Garza's voice. “David, you're out of time.”

Pearce had just handed Lane a live hand grenade. Most presidents would have panicked. But Lane wasn't like most presidents. His pilot training kicked in. John Boyd's famous OODA loop popped into his mind: “Observe, orient, decide, act.” It had saved his life many times before.

Maybe it would save his country now.

ON BOARD THE
LIAONING

19 MAY 2017

10:21 A.M. (JST)

J
i hovered over the shoulder of the mission-control officer. The computer screen was tracking the Wu-14's downward trajectory.

“Speed, Mach 9 and accelerating,” the officer said. “Fifteen seconds to impact.”

A second targeting screen kept the
George Washington
in the center of a red target reticle. So long as the laser targeting reticle remained fixed on the center of the deck, the HGV couldn't miss. A massive white wake trailed behind the nearly eleven-hundred-foot American carrier, which was now turning sharply.

“He won't escape,” the officer said, grinning. “Mach 10!”

Admiral Ji stood, erect. Every eye in the room was focused on the main overhead screen, intently watching the hapless American carrier attempt to execute its futile escape maneuver.

Ji flushed with pride. Any second now and he would deal the Americans their worst naval defeat since Pearl—

—

T
he
Liaoning
erupted in a cloud of fiery steel as the Wu-14's explosive warhead plowed into the main deck at 7,680 miles per hour. The thirty-year-old carrier hull shattered beneath the thundering strike, breaking in two amidships when several thousand tons of munitions exploded, sending both halves of the broken carrier to the bottom. A
thousand Chinese sailors perished in the first three seconds, another nine hundred in the next minute.

The fate of the pilots and crew of the dozens of Chinese jets and helicopters still in the air remained uncertain; they suddenly had nowhere to land.

—

I
n the Kantei's situation room, the Japanese were on their feet cheering, clapping, laughing at the flaming wreckage of the breaking hulk until Tanaka threw two fists in the air and shouted,
“Banzai!”
Several others echoed him back. Tanaka threw his arms into the air and shouted again and again,
“Banzai! Banzai! Banzai!”

Everyone else in the room joined him in chorus, throwing up their arms, joyously crazed.

Everyone except Myers.

She still sat in her chair staring at the video screen, incredulous.

U.S. EMBASSY

TOKYO, JAPAN

20 MAY 2017

T
he following morning, Pearce and Myers sat alone in the embassy's secured conference room. The ambassador was making preparations for Secretary Wheeler's arrival in a few hours. President Lane appeared on the large VTC screen on the far wall.

“Glad you're back safe and sound, Troy. Congratulations on a job well done. It couldn't have been easy for you.”

Pearce nodded his thanks. “Nor you.” He hid a yawn behind a closed fist. He hadn't slept or bathed in nearly three days.

Lane rubbed his face. Dark circles under his eyes, too. “It was the hardest damn decision of my life.”

“Regrets?”

“None.”

“Was this the plan all along?” There was an edge in Myers's voice. “I feel like I've been played.”

“No,” Lane insisted. “Our plan never changed. The goal was always to steal the Wu-14's software to determine whether or not it was operational.”

“But you don't ‘accidentally' gain control of a sophisticated system like that,” Myers said.

Pearce reached for the coffee carafe on the table in front of him. “I had Ian write up the software. I figured once we were in there, we might as well get everything out of it we could, including operational control.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Myers asked.

“Wasn't sure you'd approve,” Pearce said. Poured two cups.

“Maybe you don't know me as well as you think.”

Pearce handed her a cup. “Maybe not.”

“You took a helluva risk, David,” Myers said. “Why didn't you just have Troy dump it in the ocean?” She took a sip of coffee.

Lane stiffened. Didn't expect to be getting the third degree from the former president. “Admiral Ji and Vice Chairman Feng were hell-bent on grabbing the Senkakus. Even if we'd dropped the Wu-14 into the ocean, they still would've invaded Japanese territorial waters. Then I would have had to commit the
George Washington
into battle. Despite the Sixth Fleet's superiority on paper, the truth is that in war you can never be certain of outcomes. I had to choose between risking American lives or taking Chinese ones. The choice was clear.”

“Doesn't that put blood on your hands?” Myers asked.

“Already had that problem long before I got elected. Besides, keeping my hands clean isn't part of the job description, best as I can recall.” He didn't mention it was actually Pearce who had used the Japanese submarine as a remote mission-control station, personally steering the hypersonic warhead into the deck of the doomed carrier.

“It's a bloody business, all the way around,” Pearce said into his cup. “Better them than our guys.”

“Agreed,” Myers finally admitted. She studied Pearce's face. The lines around his eyes had deepened.

“By appearing to have knocked out their own aircraft carrier, the Chinese military is now discredited with the Politburo, and so is their adventurism. Feng's, too, for that matter. And the North Koreans can't be feeling very confident about their old ally. They've already withdrawn their MIRV from the launching pad and put it back in storage.”

“The Chinese don't know we did it?” Myers frowned with disbelief.

“I reminded President Sun that the
Liaoning
was an old Ukrainian design and that the same government that built the Chernobyl nuclear power plant built his carrier. Maybe the turbines were defective. Maybe
they caused a fire that led to a catastrophic munitions explosion. It's happened before.”

“And he believed you?” Myers asked.

Lane smiled. “President Sun was quick to accept that explanation—a way to save face. But he asked us not to report it. I agreed. So has Prime Minister Ito. Officially, the sinking never happened. Informally, we all agreed the loss of the
Liaoning
was an unfortunate tragedy and a national embarrassment that President Sun would rather not discuss.”

“But he doesn't really believe your story, does he?”

Lane shrugged. “Sun suspects we did it, I'm sure, or the Japanese. Possibly even the Taiwanese. But what incentive does he have to point a finger at anybody? We've done him a huge favor by taking out his two biggest political opponents. And the last thing he needs is a full-scale shooting war with us. Officially, we've denied any involvement. He also knows we immediately launched rescue operations, along with the Japanese, and made emergency arrangements for Chinese aircraft to land at Japanese and Taiwanese bases. A gesture of goodwill and, I believe, the beginning of a new strategic partnership. I'm flying out to Beijing in five days for an official state visit, just as soon as Gaby and her team can make all the arrangements.”

“Politics,” Pearce grunted.

“Yes, politics,” Lane said. “Feng and Ji were Sun's two biggest political threats, but not anymore. Now they're at the bottom of the East China Sea or in chains on their way to a secret prison somewhere, along with a half dozen other senior conspirators. And the other CMC vice chairman, General Chen, put a bullet in his brain last night. We've just handed President Sun a clear path to the military and anticorruption reforms he so desperately wanted.”

“At the cost of thousands of Chinese sailors' lives,” Myers said.

“The Chinese shot the bullet; we just moved the target,” Pearce said.

“If Ji hadn't launched the Wu-14, those Chinese sailors would still be alive—unless he would've pressed his luck and forced us to attack. Then a lot more people on both sides would've died,” Lane said. “Sun could've
stopped Ji and Feng before they set out to sea. If anybody else is to blame for this, it's him, not us, and he knows it. That's why he won't make too big of a stink about all of this, no matter his personal suspicions. Otherwise, he hands his political enemies the club they need to beat him to death with.”

Myers sighed, still on the fence. She wasn't certain she would've made the same call Lane did had she been in his shoes. But then again, she'd never been in combat. Men like Lane and Pearce survived by making life-and-death decisions in the blink of an eye. Even if she couldn't fully understand his decision, she knew he made it because he thought it was in the best interests of his country and the uniformed men and women who served it. Lane would always put his country before his own political career or even his reputation. That's why she had backed him in his bid for the presidency to begin with. It was a tough call in a split second and he made it for the right reasons. In the end, that was good enough for her.

“What's the purpose of the state visit, if I may ask?” Myers said.

“In exchange for deep cuts in his military spending, we're prepared to make new security arrangements in the region. Joint naval cooperation to keep the sea-lanes open, that sort of thing. Of course, pushing through Sun's anticorruption reforms is even more important. China's long-term viability as a stable growing democracy is in our vital strategic interest.”

“What about Mao Island?”

“Ito says they can keep it, so long as all revenues from the drilling operations are evenly divided. He'll be joining us in Beijing, too. We have a few surprises.” Lane leaned forward. “It would be great if the two of you could join us. None of this would've been possible without both of you.”

Myers glanced at Pearce. He seemed lost somewhere. Maybe a memory. Or a regret.

“Yes, of course,” Myers said. “Whatever you need.”

“Troy, how about you? I'd like you to see the fruits of your labor. We're going to make history.”

Pearce set his empty coffee cup down. “I have some business to take
care of first, and I'm not sure how long it will take. But if it's at all possible, I'll be there.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Lane asked.

Pearce shook his head. “I've got it under control, but thanks.”

“Again, congratulations to you both on a job well done. Your country owes you a debt it can't repay.”

“Duty doesn't incur any debts, Mr. President. We're glad we could be of service,” Myers said.

Pearce nodded, but his mind was already on the next task at hand, sharpening an old knife deep inside of him, a ruthless blade with an endless, ragged edge.