Empire Rising (28 page)

Japan was a more formidable opponent than Taiwan, but with the United States Pacific Fleet unable to assist, success was inevitable. The price China would pay, however, was unclear; how many of the men standing before him would die on Japan's shores was unknown. He told himself again his actions were justified, that the prosperity of the many required the sacrifice of the few. America had given him no choice.

With the destruction of the Pacific Fleet, the only threat to China's flank was the Japanese Navy. By themselves, Japan could be dealt with. Unfortunately, although the Pacific Fleet had been destroyed, America had two fleets, and its Atlantic Fleet would soon be on its way. Once China's true intent was revealed, Japan and America would undoubtedly join forces. That was something Xiang and Admiral Tsou would not allow. In the process, a long-standing wrong would be rectified.

Xiang lifted his gaze to the mass of men assembled across the countryside, then issued the traditional greeting his troops were expecting.

“Welcome, comrades.” His voice boomed from the loudspeakers.

“Greetings, Leader!” The 130,000 men responded in unison, their voices reverberating across the field.

“Comrades, you are working hard!”

“To Serve the People!”

As the echo of the Nanjing Army Group's response faded, Xiang was filled with pride. The men standing before him were no less dedicated to their country than he, willing to sacrifice their lives. But as they prepared to land upon the shores of Japan, Xiang must ensure his men understood the reason for their assault. This was not about revenge. He would not let his men commit the same atrocities their parents and grandparents had endured.

As he began his speech, he told himself again that this was an honorable task. He—as well as the men standing before him—truly Served the People.

 

43

NINGBO, CHINA

Dawn was beginning to break across the east coast of China as a black sedan headed toward a four-story windowless building in the distance. Admiral Tsou sat in the back of the car along with his aide, neither man speaking. Even though it was morning, Tsou felt weary, having slept only four hours each night since the Chinese offensive began. It was here, eight days ago, that he had briefed his admirals on the plan, sending them to sea with the confidence they would defeat America's Pacific Fleet. They had accomplished the seemingly impossible task, paving the way for the next phase of the campaign.

Tsou's sedan pulled to a stop at the front of the East Sea Fleet headquarters. The two men stepped from the car and entered the building, proceeding to the underground Command Center. Tsou paused after entering the room, examining the dual ten-by-fifteen-foot displays at the front of the Command Center. The map on the left screen had shifted north, displaying China and the Japanese islands. Along China's coast, green icons crowded the eight major ports of the North Sea and East Sea Fleets, the icons annotating the location of China's three army groups that would lead the assault. Further inland, another mass of icons was blinking green, indicating the second wave of three additional army groups had begun their transit to the coast.

Along China's shore across from Japan, more green icons depicted the location of mobile missile launchers that had been moved into position to support the assault. At sea, Chinese surface ships loitered near the northern end of the Taiwan Strait, only five hundred miles from the southernmost Japanese main island, giving no indication they would soon be heading north at ahead flank speed. China's submarines, however, had already begun the transit, and were just now approaching Japanese surface ships at sea, preparing to attack.

The screen on the right displayed the order of battle of the first three army groups, their icons lined up neatly in columns. Over one hundred infantry, armor, artillery, and support units had loaded aboard their amphibious assault ships during the night, their icons toggling from red to green as they completed boarding their transports. Tsou's timing was perfect; the last of the icons turned green.

Admiral Tsou headed to the communications suite at the back of the Command Center, settling into a chair at the head of the conference table in the small, rectangular room. Seated around the table were several admirals, including Admiral Guo Jian, commander of the East Sea Fleet, on Tsou's left, and Admiral Shi Chen, in command of the North Sea Fleet, on Tsou's right. But the most important man was not present—General Zhang Angou's image appeared on the video screen at the front of the conference room, broadcast from the Nanjing Military District headquarters, where he would oversee the amphibious assault on Japan. The General stood stiffly at the other end of the transmission.

Tsou smiled inwardly. Even when Zhang was relaxed, he looked like he was standing at attention. It was always difficult to interpret the general's formal facade. Tsou knew that Zhang, like him, had never been enamored of his assignment. But both men had prepared diligently. Tsou would use China's Navy and Air Force to clear a safe path to Japan and transport Zhang's men and equipment ashore. Zhang would take over from there. It appeared that all army units were ready, but Tsou needed confirmation.

“Good morning, General,” Tsou began. “I have indication that all army units are loaded aboard their transports. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Admiral. All three army groups have boarded their assault ships and we are ready to commence operations.”

Tsou replied, “I will inform you once all Japanese surface ships have been eliminated and a safe corridor for the transit has been established by our submarines. Good luck, General.”

General Zhang nodded, then his image disappeared from the screen.

It was quiet in the conference room as the admirals waited for Tsou to speak. The Fleet Admiral examined the solemn faces of the men seated at the table, then gave the order.

“Begin the assault on Japan.”

 

44

TOKYO, JAPAN

Seated at his desk on the third floor of the Ministry of Defense headquarters, Major Suzuki Koki riffled through the papers in his in-box, searching for the monthly report on enlisted recruiting results. Finally locating it, he placed the manila folder in front of him, pausing to gaze out his window at the grove of camphor trees abutting the south side of the Ministry complex. Through a break in the trees, he could see his favorite coffee shop along the busy Yasukuni Dori Boulevard. He glanced at the empty coffee mug on his desk. Time for a refill.

Only three months ago, he was the Commanding Officer of an infantry company in 34th Regiment, and coffee would have been served upon his arrival at work and refilled at the nod of his head. But now that his tour had ended and he had been reassigned to the Ministry of Defense headquarters, Suzuki was
small fry
—a term he learned working at the American Embassy in Tokyo earlier in his career—barely senior enough to garner an office cube with a view. As he reached for his coffee cup—he'd have to refill it himself this morning—the wail of the city's emergency warning sirens carried through the building.

Suzuki searched his memory, but as far as he knew, no emergency drills were scheduled for today. As people around the office stood in their cubes, staring at each other with puzzled expressions, Suzuki swung toward his computer and pulled up the calendar containing Japan's emergency drill schedule. His memory was correct; there was nothing scheduled. He switched his monitor over to the classified computer system in case it was a real emergency. Messages from the Japanese Self-Defense Force communication center began filling his in-box.

Suzuki skimmed the contents of each message, disbelief spreading across his face. What was occurring was inconceivable—a direct assault on the Japanese mainland. During World War II, America had been forced to abandon its plans to conquer the Japanese islands; the casualty estimates were unacceptably high. President Truman decided instead to drop two atomic bombs on Japan, forcing a swift and relatively painless—at least from the American perspective—end to the war.

But the Japanese military was a shell of its former self. Politicians unwilling to believe war was a real possibility had gutted the Japanese Self-Defense Force over the years. Japan's leadership had abdicated its responsibility to defend their people, depending instead on the improbability of conflict and the might of the United States. As long as the American Pacific Fleet prowled the ocean, China could not threaten Japan. But America's Pacific Fleet had been destroyed.

Japan would have to defend itself without America's assistance, pitting its paltry military against the might of the People's Liberation Army. The Japanese Self-Defense Force Navy consisted of only eight guided missile destroyers, twenty-nine small destroyers, and sixteen submarines of various ages—and the Army could muster only eight combat divisions and six brigades, barely eighty thousand combat troops, spread across the four main islands.

With a few mouse clicks, Suzuki shifted from the classified messages to the tactical display fed from the Command Center in the reinforced bunkers below ground. The Chinese assault was massive and well coordinated: Japanese radar installations and missile batteries had dropped off-line, satellites were down. JSDF warships, both pierside and underway, were being bombarded with missiles skimming across the East China Sea from the Chinese mainland.

China and Japan were at war again.

Suzuki decided there was no further need to review the paperwork in his in-box. He, along with thousands of other augmentees, would leave their desk jobs in the city, reporting to infantry units to reinforce the front lines. There was no hesitation. Suzuki left his computer on as he headed for the stairway, grabbing his uniform hat hanging from the coatrack along the way.

 

MIDDLE GAME

 

45

ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

Night was settling over the nation's capital as a trio of black Suburbans passed over the Arlington Memorial Bridge, crossing the Potomac River into Virginia. In the backseat of the middle SUV, Captain Steve Brackman sat next to the president as their vehicle took the first exit after the bridge, turning south on Jefferson Davis Highway before peeling off toward the Pentagon. In the distance, bright lights lit the Pentagon's River Entrance portico and the stepped terrace extending two hundred feet toward the Potomac River. While the river's waters flowed calmly east toward the Chesapeake Bay, Brackman knew the mood inside the Pentagon was nothing less than frantic.

Two days ago, bad news began streaming into the military's headquarters, growing progressively worse until leadership had been forced to accept the unthinkable. The United States Pacific Fleet had been defeated. But it hadn't simply lost the battle, returning home to fight another day; almost the entire Fleet had been sunk. The military high command was scrambling to understand how that had occurred and to identify their options. They'd been unable to tear themselves away from the Pentagon to brief the president, so the president decided to visit them instead.

The three Suburbans pulled to a stop in front of the Pentagon, and moments later the president and Brackman, accompanied by the usual entourage of Secret Service agents, were striding down Corridor 9 toward the National Military Command Center, relocated to the Pentagon's basement during the last phase of the building's fifteen-year renovation. Upon reaching the entrance, Brackman entered the cipher code, holding the door open for the president of the United States.

The scene inside Command Center was chaotic. The secretary of defense and the Joint Chiefs of Staff were standing around the main conference table, its surface strewn with papers, arguing among themselves, while three other flag officers gathered at end of the table, engaged in an animated discussion. The twenty-by-forty-foot monitor hanging from the far wall was a veritable cemetery map, marking the locations where the Pacific Fleet ships had been sunk, their blue icons blinking against the black background. The conversation in the Command Center ceased when the president entered the room, the admirals and generals turning in his direction.

The president headed toward the conference table, taking his seat without a word. SecDef Nelson Jennings and the nine flag officers followed the president's example, quietly settling into their chairs while Brackman took the twelfth and final spot at the other end of the table, directly across from the president. The president turned to Jennings, seated to his right, and spoke calmly.

“Bring me up to date.”

Jennings looked uncomfortably across the table before beginning, his eyes scanning the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The chairman, General Mark Hodson, sat across from Jennings on the president's left, flanked by the four service chiefs—Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marine Corps. On the other side of the table, beside SecDef Jennings, sat the vice chairman and three additional flag officers Brackman recognized as Rear Admiral Michael Walker, head of Naval Special Warfare Command; Major General Carl Krae, head of Cyber Warfare Command; and Rear Admiral Tim Moss, Program Executive Officer (Submarines). Jennings turned toward the president, answering his question.

“As you're aware, Mr. President, the Pacific Fleet has been virtually destroyed and China now controls the entire island of Taiwan. Unfortunately, China has their sights set not only on Taiwan, but on Japan as well. They've landed three army groups—over one hundred thousand men—on Japan's four main islands, with another three army groups moving toward China's coast. To prevent us from assisting Japan, China has also attacked every American military facility in the region with DF-21 missiles, including all of our air bases. The largest combat wing in the Air Force, located at Kadena Air Base, is completely out of action. Every runway has been destroyed, as well as seventy-five percent of the wing's tactical aircraft. The situation is the same on every air base—the runways are too damaged to use.