Jilantai Missile Testing Site, Inner Mongolia, China
THE RAIN HAD stopped the day before. Now, under a clear blue desert sky, the launch preparations were in full swing. Mounted on long, twelve-wheeled camouflaged transporters, the four sleek DF-26 missiles glinted in the sun, the rays bouncing off their sand-coloured nose cones. Observed from up above in space, which was exactly what the electro-optical cameras of America’s KH-11 spy satellites were doing, the base resembled a teeming ant colony. Technicians moved around in constant motion between the missile transporters, their refuelling trucks and the numerous support vehicles. On the ground, a thin film of red dust seemed to coat everything, despite the fresh breeze that blew in from the surrounding plateau of Inner Mongolia.
Inside the command bunker, Colonel General Li Wei Chen stood with his hands clasped behind his back, inspecting the digital map displayed on the wall as a subordinate ran through the sequence of the launch, stopping frequently to await his approval before continuing. The launch would be real but the target was simulated: a mock-up of a certain naval base transplanted hundreds of kilometres away in an empty stretch of the Gobi Desert. The DF-26 missile had a range of four thousand kilometres, enough to reach the Pacific island of Guam. It was also known in Western military jargon as a ‘carrier-killer’, a weapon powerful and accurate enough to sink a $13 billion US Navy aircraft carrier.
Colonel General Chen was more than familiar with the launch sequence. It had been nearly two years now since he had assumed command of the People’s Liberation Army’s Intermediate Ballistic Force and he had survived the purges at the top that had seen many others of his rank forcibly retired or, worse, placed under investigation for corruption, alleged failures or both. Everything, they had told him in Beijing, needed to be at maximum readiness for the day when the order was given. There could be no mistakes.
The four missiles were now elevated into the vertical position and the launch-pad area was cleared. Soldiers, technicians, drivers and medics were all escorted into the reinforced bunkers as a siren wailed its mournful song across the base. When Colonel General Chen issued the command it was followed by a strange hiatus. For several seconds nothing happened. Then, with a roar of fire and flame, the first missile lifted clear, accelerating upwards into the clear sky and leaving behind billowing white clouds of vapour as millions of litres of water turned to steam in the intense heat of the launch. One by one, the missiles arced into the atmosphere like flying needles, white contrails streaking across the sky behind them, their course mapped and tracked from the command bunker.
Far away, in the barren and almost uninhabited dunes of the Gobi Desert, a shepherd felt the first of four shockwaves as if an invisible hand was reaching across the sand to push him over. Seconds later came the low rumble of a distant explosion, then another. His leathery, weather-beaten face screwed itself up as he stared at the horizon, shielding his eyes from the blazing sun. He saw the distant plumes of smoke, grunted and turned his attention back to his sheep. He had more important things to worry about.
In the command bunker at Jilantai the relief was palpable. Even Colonel General Chen permitted himself a smile of satisfaction as his minions rushed up to congratulate him. The missile test had gone completely to plan, every warhead bang on target. His chest swelled with pride as he took the call from Party Headquarters in Beijing. Yes, he assured them, as his eyes rested on the live feed from the distant impact zone, the mocked-up target – the sprawling Tsoying naval base in southern Taiwan – had been completely destroyed.