820th Brigade, Second Artillery Corps Near Fuzhou, China
“Raise missiles to launch position,” Lieutenant Han Bingwen ordered.
The checklist trembled in his hand. Outside, he heard the hoists on the trailers strain to lift the massive Dong-Feng 21D missiles into their vertical launch attitude. He peeked out the window of the command trailer. Slowly, the pointed shapes, like statues across the landscape, came to attention, sharp against the dawn sky.
“Missiles in launch position, sir.”
“Verify targeting data.”
In training, their instructors called the Dong-Feng 21D the “carrier killer,” the People’s Liberation Army’s answer to the overwhelming might of the US Navy’s aircraft carriers. They would be on the front lines, the trainees were told. The Second Artillery Corps was the tip of the spear in the defense of the People’s Republic of China.
These orders were crazy, but one did not question launch orders from Beijing. Not a single trainee in Lieutenant Han’s missile battery ever expected to fire a shot. He loved America. Every single member of his extended family worked in a Guangdong factory that made mobile phones for an American company. And now he was about to fire on American ships.
“Targeting data verified and locked in, sir.”
Lieutenant Han’s throat constricted, his mouth went dry. His eyes swung to the plot on the wall. Two US Navy carriers operating east of Taiwan were the target.
He took the key from around his neck and inserted it into the fire-control system. He turned it to the right. The screen indicator went from a yellow STANDBY to a green FIRE.
“Missile is ready to fire,” the technician announced.
Lieutenant Han took a step back and drew a deep breath. “Fire,” he said.
The technician flipped open the plastic cover on his panel, revealing a square red button. The button pulsed like a heartbeat. As the lieutenant watched, the technician depressed the button.
Outside, the world exploded into roaring fire as six missiles launched into the night sky. The command trailer shook, and the technician strained to shout over the noise.
The missiles lifted away, leaving ringing ears and the smell of singed grass and burned rocket fuel. A small tree had caught on fire. A team of enlisted men attacked the blaze with fire extinguishers.
“All missiles away, sir.” The fire-control tech was shouting.
“Very well.” Lieutenant Han’s eyes slid to the plot showing the missile’s track relative to the target. He could imagine the American ships going to general quarters, their destroyers deploying their antiballistic missile defenses.
He’d seen that simulation a hundred times. How many other batteries had fired on the Americans? There might be dozens of Chinese missiles on their way to the American carriers right now.
The US ships would chip away at the number of incoming Dong-Feng ballistic missiles, but they wouldn’t get them all.