South China Sea
August 21
The hulking steel machine had an ungainly appearance with its high bow and centrally-positioned trio of towers. The calm seas lapped at the water line, and three bilge pumps discharged a steady stream of water from the side. Orange streaks of rust stained the gray-painted hull, conveying an appearance of neglect. Aft of the towers, many dozen lengths of pipe lay neatly stacked, ready to be lifted into place by the deck-mounted crane, a necessity to extend the drill bit deeper into the seabed.
Opposite of oil tankers, the superstructure of the drilling ship was located close to the bow. From his forward-looking perch seven decks above the water line, the captain controlled the propulsion and navigation of the vessel. In stark contrast to the exterior hull, the bridge was state-of-the-art: packed with modern electronics and comfortably air-conditioned. Bridge windows facing aft afforded a panoramic view of activities on the deck below.
Presently, the ship was making headway at a steady ten knots. Almost illegible due to flaking and peeling paint, the name Royal Seeker was displayed in block letters on the stern.
“Maintain course and speed,” the Captain ordered. In his early fifties, Captain Rei Jianming was an experienced seaman, having worked first on cargo ships under the employ of Hua Ho Holdings. His neatly trimmed hair was still jet-black, despite the pressures of his duties. He sported a short mustache, brown eyes, and deep wrinkles across his forehead. By faithfully using the well-appointed exercise facilities, one of the many perks afforded the crew, Captain Rei maintained a trim physique even though he worked a relatively sedentary job.
Although the Royal Seeker looked like an aging drilling ship, oil exploration and production was not her mission.
Captain Rei examined the folded paper from his pocket again. The message was clear and economical in its use of words. He addressed his First Officer. “Instruct the crew to begin preparations for a second launch. The missile is to be on the pad and ready to fire in thirty-six hours.”
“Yes, Captain. It will be done.”
The Captain nodded. “I will provide launch instructions later. Let me know when the missile is ready, but do not move it to the pad until I give the order.”
s
More than 9,000 miles to the east, President Taylor was meeting with Secretary of State Paul Bryan, Secretary of Defense Howard Hale, and Director of the National Security Agency, Colleen Walker. The President was pacing in front of the Resolute Desk, his arms folded across his chest, as he listened intently to the report.
Paul Bryan had just finished sharing the cryptic message forwarded from the U.S. Embassy in Tokyo. “That’s all there is to it.”
“Brief and to the point,” Hale commented.
“So, whoever is behind the attack wants a complete withdrawal of U.S. forces from Japan,” Taylor said.
“And,” Bryan added, “they are also demanding the Pacific Fleet be withdrawn to American ports along the West Coast and Hawaii.”
The President stopped at a side table, staring at a bronze replica of the Vietnam Women’s Memorial Statue resting on the polished wood surface. He ran his hand over the cool metal, reverently touching the figure of the wounded soldier receiving critical aid from a nurse while a second nurse looked upward to an imaginary approaching helicopter. Finally, he said, “It would take months to execute a redeployment of that magnitude.”
“Sir!” Hale objected, sliding forward in his seat. “We can’t remove our military from the region. In the ensuing power vacuum, the entire Asia-Pacific region would be thrust into turmoil.”
“Relax, Howard. I’m not agreeing to anything.” He turned to face his team. “No idea who left the message?”
“No, sir,” Bryan said. “It was found by the night cleaning crew taped to the mirror in the men’s room.”
“Okay. So what are we dealing with?” The President addressed this question to his intelligence and defense advisors.
“Our information is still very preliminary,” Colleen said. “And we don’t have any physical evidence yet. It could take months before we are able to have heavy salvage ships on site to raise sections of the Izumo. Maybe weeks just to explore the wreck with robotic submersibles. Even then, there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to retrieve any useful evidence given the depth and the effects of prolonged exposure to seawater.”
“How deep is the wreck?” Taylor asked.
“Based on the location of the Izumo at the time she was sunk, we estimate the debris to be under 3,000 feet of water, plus or minus.”
“Why the uncertainty?”
“Because debris can be scattered widely as a result of the forward momentum of the ship and the irregular hydrodynamics of the major sections. Eyewitnesses report she broke in two as she sank. Sonar data from the Tucson is consistent with major hull failure.”
“So the two halves of the ship could have settled far from each other.”
“Yes, sir. That’s assuming there are only two major sections. It’s possible, maybe even likely, that further structural failure occurred in the weakened sections, resulting in other large sections of the ship breaking off.”
President Taylor frowned and shifted his gaze to Secretary Hale, sitting at the opposite end of a Chippendale sofa from Colleen Walker. “Howard, how soon can you have an exploration vessel onsite?”
Howard Hale had served the President throughout his first term and was widely expected to remain Secretary of Defense until the end of Taylor’s second term. A slim man, his sandy-brown hair and blue eyes contributed to his appearance of youth, even though he was in his early sixties.
“Fortunately, the Pioneer, an Avenger-class Navy minesweeper, was in port at the White Beach Naval Facility in Okinawa. She’s equipped with a CURV-21 ROV—it’s the largest and most capable ROV the Navy has and well suited to underwater exploration and limited salvage operations. With the Pioneer’s towed side-scan sonar we’ll get a detailed map of the sea floor in order to locate and map the wreckage, then the ROV will investigate. We’ll get high-res video, and the pincher arm can even grab samples for further analysis. Admiral Baxter has ordered the ship to put to sea and she’s en route now—should be on station within a day. Still, as Colleen has already explained, it could take some time just to locate the debris field.”
“I understand. Any concern of interference from other navies?”
“You mean the Chinese? No, sir. The wreck is in international waters. Plus we have the other Japanese and U.S. task force ships from the exercise remaining on station. Captain Wallace of the Shiloh has overall command authority. The area is secure.”
“What about air power?” Taylor asked.
“Kadena Air Base is nearby, also on Okinawa. The Eighteenth Wing is based there and can launch F-15s at any time, backed up with tankers. Plus we have an E-3 Sentry over the site 24/7 for long range surveillance. If necessary, the Sentry would also coordinate defensive and offensive air combat.”
The President nodded his approval. “You’ll let me know if we should move a carrier group into the vicinity.”
“Of course, sir. But at this time the Joint Chiefs do not feel that is a necessary redeployment. And I concur.”
“Okay, so the next question, then, is who did this. Paul?”
The Secretary of State was Taylor’s most trusted advisor. Short and rotund, Paul Bryan was a brilliant statesman who had guided the administration through many trying times.
Bryan cleared his throat. “No party has claimed responsibility. It is very odd. Logic dictates that it must be a government that carried out the attack, since no terrorist groups have access to ballistic missiles.”
“Is that true, Colleen?” Taylor asked.
“Yes, sir. The best that any known terrorist group can field are shoulder-fired heat seekers. But those are short range weapons—maybe five miles or so—usually used against aircraft.”
The President had resumed pacing and swirled his index finger in the air, a habit when he was trying to recall an important fact. “What about those Russian long-range anti-aircraft missile batteries that were used in Ukraine. I recall the militia used one to down a Malaysian airliner. Could some terrorist group—maybe one we’ve haven’t heard of yet—have gotten hold of a ballistic missile? Maybe from Russia?”
Colleen and Paul Bryan exchanged a glance before she replied. “We’ve considered that possibility, sir. But it just doesn’t hold water. First, the radar tracking from the Shiloh indicates the missile was fired, most likely, from the South China Sea. The trajectory indicates this was a medium range weapon system. That’s a big candle, sir, and it takes a well-trained crew and sophisticated facilities to carry out a launch.”
Bryan said, “Taken as a whole, the possibility that a terrorist group could have executed this attack is so remote as to border on the impossible.”
“That leaves governments, then,” Taylor said. “I can think of several regional states that don’t care for Japan, for one reason or another.”
“That’s assuming Japan was the intended target.” Bryan raised an eyebrow, causing Taylor to pause in contemplation.
“Okay. And you’re suggesting that maybe we were the intended target, and they—whoever ‘they’ is—simply missed?”
“Why not? It’s a valid possibility. I think it is important to be precise in our choice of wording and avoid interjecting assumptions into this discussion unless it is clearly understood what the assumptions are.”
“Very well. Please, continue.”
“Japan and the U.S. were engaged in joint naval exercises. And since we are close allies, I suggest we look at all regional governments who have a dislike for the U.S. and Japan, as suspect.”
“That puts China at the top of the list,” Hale said. “Or North Korea.”
Colleen and Paul Bryan nodded agreement.
“The trouble is that we have nothing linking China, North Korea, or any other country to the attack. I have personally called ambassadors from the countries ringing the South China Sea, and none have betrayed even a hint of prior knowledge—not that I expected them to.”
“Very well, keep at it. Colleen, be sure to pass along any relevant intelligence—and I mean any.”
“Understood, sir. We’re working on it, top priority. I’ve also reached out to the intelligence agencies of our allies. So far, nothing.”
Taylor took his leather chair and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the historic wooden desk and rubbed his temples. “Okay then. On to the final question. What type of weapon did this?”
Howard Hale leaned forward as he answered, “Based on the eyewitness reports and radar tracking data, we know it was a ballistic missile. But the terminal velocity exceeded anything we know of. It actually accelerated just prior to impact, perhaps to avoid our SM3s—”
“Our ships tried to shoot it down?”
“Yes, sir. High-velocity guided missiles designed to take down ballistic missiles and anti-ship missiles.”
The President nodded, and Hale continued, “Like any object falling from the sky, a warhead will enter the Earth’s atmosphere at high velocity and then either maintain that speed or slow somewhat due to friction with the air. But this warhead accelerated to phenomenal velocity—probably by a rocket motor of some kind—reaching Mach 15 just before it struck the Izumo.”
Colleen said, “And it was still accelerating, sir, when it struck the Japanese destroyer. Best guess is that the warhead was a kinetic penetrator, not an explosive payload. It would have passed through the ship in less than six milliseconds.”
“I’m not following,” Taylor said.
“Think of it this way, sir,” Colleen explained. “A kinetic penetrator is like a giant, hyper-velocity bullet.”
“The warhead that sunk the Izumo struck her at more than 18,000 feet per second. To put that in perspective, a rifle bullet leaves the muzzle at less than 3,000 feet per second.”
“But still, that was a modern steel warship. How could this, this… penetrator… cause such extensive destruction?”
Colleen held the President’s gaze. “Our analysts suggest it is made of an extremely hard alloy, much harder than steel, and very dense. They calculate that if the warhead is only ten inches in diameter and three feet long, at this speed it would have the equivalent energy of nearly three tons of TNT. And all that energy would be focused upon a ten-inch circle as the warhead passed through the ship. Anything in the direct path would be vaporized. Extending out from the direct path of the warhead, metal would melt—steel decks and bulkheads would offer no more resistance than plywood. The shock wave would shatter structural plates and rip electrical conduit and fuel lines just as if it were a high explosive detonating within the ship.”
Hale said, “The extremely small size of the warhead combined with its super-dense construction means this thing is virtually immune to our anti-missile weapons. A proximity explosion and shrapnel can’t destroy it. And getting a direct hit with an SM3 on the kinetic warhead is very low probability, especially given the hyper-velocity of the attacking kinetic penetrator.”
“And if our assets are targeted next time?”
Hale drew in a breath and exhaled before offering his answer. “We have no defense.”
“My God…” Taylor replied.