USS Blue Ridge (LCC-19) South China Sea
Vice Admiral Martin Cook, Commander, US Seventh Fleet, put two fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle in the confined space of the Joint Operations Center, or JOC, the admiral’s command and control center buried deep in the superstructure of the massive USS Blue Ridge. The hubbub of multiple conversations ceased.
“Let’s work the problem, ladies and gentlemen. Chief of Staff, status report.”
Captain Bernard “Sauce” Benson spoke up in a crisp voice. “Admiral, we appear to have two separate incidents of Chinese aggression within the fleet operating area.” He nodded at the operator to project the information onto the 3-D BattleSpace table display and whipped out his laser pointer.
“The Chinese have two destroyers harassing a Japanese patrol craft in the waters off the Senkakus, south of the Japanese mainland.”
“Define ‘harassing,’” the admiral replied.
“The two destroyers are riding herd on either side of the smaller Japanese boat, broadcasting their usual line about the Japanese invading their territorial waters.”
“Any contact? Is our Japanese friend just crying wolf?”
“No, sir, no contact. Threatening actions—but they seem to be operating a lot closer than normal—and the usual BS about territorial waters.”
Cook nodded, relaxing the tiniest bit. The Chinese were contesting every rock in the waters around their mainland as theirs by historical decree. The Japanese Senkaku Islands—or the Diaoyus, as the Chinese called them—were a string of rocks stretching from the Japanese archipelago south to Taiwan. Same argument, different day. He sorely wished someone had shown the balls to stand up to the Chi-Comms thirty years ago when all this bullshit started. Now the United States was just pissing in the wind. Hell, the Chinese probably claimed the wind as theirs, too.
“All right, let’s get some eyes on the situation. What’s next?”
Benson directed the operator to change the BattleSpace display, zooming out, then back down to a map of the Paracel Islands, off the coast of Vietnam. Cook gritted his teeth as he studied the familiar terrain. Following their stunning success in building working naval bases out of the Spratly Islands, south of the Philippines, the Chinese promptly set to work trying to further advance their claim on the Paracels.
Any idiot with half a brain could see what they were doing. If the Chinese controlled both groups of islands, they effectively created a choke point for shipping in the South China Sea. If the main mission of the United States Navy was to keep the shipping lanes open across the globe, then in his book, this constituted a big problem.
“What’ve we got, Sauce?” he said to the chief of staff.
“Same thing, sir. Two Chinese ships ganging up on a small contingent from the Philippine Navy. The language is the same, but they’re a lot more aggressive than usual. The Filipinos are asking for assistance, sir, as are the Japanese.”
“Assistance, huh? What are our options under current rules?” The Rules of Engagement was the guiding document for everything they did in-theater, and it stated in plain language that they were not to escalate a situation with the Chinese. Cook knew the answer to his question, but having his chief of staff ponder it gave him a chance to think. Besides, maybe Benson would come up with a creative option he hadn’t thought of.
Cook certainly hoped so, because in this particular scenario, the rules didn’t sit right with him.
He raised his eyebrows at Benson. “Well, Sauce, what are our options?”
“Not a lot of good ones, sir. The Ford is on station near the Paracels. I recommend we reposition her closer to the scene of the incident. Show the flag.”
Cook stroked his chin. First the P-8 Poseidon getting nearly sideswiped by a pair of Chinese fighters on a routine flight from Okinawa to Singapore, now two Chinese maritime challenges in two different parts of the South China Sea at the same time.
Something was rotten here. Very rotten.
Cook straightened up. It was time for some definitive action. “All right, here’s what we’re going to do. See if we can get some fighters from Okinawa to overfly the Japanese ship in the Senkakus. I want those fighters to buzz the Chinese destroyers as close as allowable under the ROE, but no closer. Supersonic flyby is authorized. Let’s make some noise over these assholes. Second, direct the Ford to initiate immediate flight operations. Let’s fill the sky over our Chinese aggressors with some good old US of A flying metal. Any questions?”
Benson nodded. “Aye, aye, sir.” He whirled around and began issuing orders to the watch standers. When the JOC had resumed its typical high-energy hum of operations, Cook motioned for Benson to join him. They passed through a series of hatches, emerging on the Flag Bridge. A stiff wind greeted them.
Cook turned his back on the long blue line of horizon and crossed his arms. “That was a clusterfuck in there, Sauce,” he said.
Benson flushed. “I’m sorry, sir, I—”
“Not your fault, Sauce. I should’ve seen this coming. When was the last time the Chi-Commies ran two naval interference ops at the same time? Answer: Never. What if one of those Chinese ships had run into a Japanese boat? Is that an act of war? Do we engage?”
Cook leveled his gaze at his chief of staff. “The Chinese are stepping up their game, and our pants are down around our ankles. I want some goddamn clear guidance from Pac Fleet or higher. If this happens again, I want a plan in place to make sure these bastards go home with a bloody nose or at least some wounded pride. Get on the horn and get me some answers.”
Benson set his chin. “Right away, boss.”