Shattered Trident

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By rights, he needed only four or five missile hits on each target to cripple it, but he didn’t want to just cripple them. Crippled ships could be repaired, their cargo salvaged. He wanted to destroy the invaders. Killing the entire formation would not be enough to satisfy him, but killing the two largest ships would be a good start.

“Captain,” Mai pointed to the radar screen, “the helicopter has disappeared.” His voice was full of concern. “How long has it been gone?”

“It didn’t land,” Trung remarked. It hadn’t approached a ship. That meant it must have climbed to a higher altitude. The Vietnamese patrol aircraft’s radar was designed to detect ships and aircraft close to the sea surface. The Chinese Helix was above the radar beam now.

“Find the helicopter’s radar! Plot its position!” Trung ordered. People scrambled around the plotting table, setting up the tracking team again.

The missiles reached the center of the formation, and Trung cheered inside every time a small radar blip reached one of the ships. “That old frigate is absorbing some of the missiles meant for the container ship,” Mai observed.

“Just find the helicopter!” Trung ordered, although the climax of the battle was hard to ignore. Clusters of blips raced toward the ship symbols and disappeared. The amphibious ship had its own point defenses. Had those missiles been shot down? Or had they reached their target? The container ship was defenseless, but the old frigate guarding her was serving much the same purpose by absorbing some of the missiles.

The radar receiver operator reported, “I can’t find the helicopter’s radar signal. It’s gone.” There was no emotion in the report. He didn’t understand what it meant. The Chinese knew that their opponents could detect the radar signal. Now Trung had no way of finding its position. Their enemy’s move was obvious: fly down the launch bearing, then snap on the radar to search for their now-fleeing attackers.

But how far would it fly? In which direction? The Chinese knew the maximum range of the Uran, but could they know that Trung’s ships had fired from much shorter range? Trung turned on the intercom. “Bridge! Double the lookouts. Keep your eyes peeled for a helicopter.”

Trung’s ships were running west at flank speed. His top speed was twenty-seven knots, but the Molniya boats could make almost forty-three, and were already several kilometers ahead. That was fine. There was no security for them in a formation.

Run, or slow and mimic fishing boats again? If they could get far enough away from the Chinese warships, then they’d be out of missile range and they could thumb their noses at the helicopter.

But it had only been a few minutes since they’d launched, then turned. The Chinese YJ-83 missiles had almost double the range of his Urans. It would take hours at flank speed to be completely clear.

“Captain, we’ve picked up the Octopus radar again.”

“What bearing?”

“Northeast, on our starboard quarter,” the rating reported.

Trung waited while Mai quickly plotted the bearings from several of the ships in the squadron. It was a neat fix. “The helicopter is about fifty kilometers aft.” Mai’s voice made it clear he understood what it meant. It had them.

Trung cursed his indecision. His heart was made of lead, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. He should have ordered his ships to slow, then searched for the helicopter. Now it was too late.

He noted the time. It would take a minute for the helicopter to report, then another minute, maybe two, for the Chinese missiles to be programmed and launched. “Tell the formation, ‘Man air-defense stations,’” he ordered.

He tried to do the math while he watched the time. Even with a destroyer and that old frigate knocked out, there were at least five ships fitted with eight cruise missiles each. Their warheads were about the same size as the Uran’s, but while it had taken more than a few missiles to knock out each of his targets, one missile hit would be enough to cripple his small frigate. And a single hit would severely damage, if not sink, the even smaller Molniya craft.

He counted the seconds, then it was time. “All ships, turn left ninety degrees now. Energize all radars.” If he’d timed it right, the Chinese missiles were in the air, and it was time for a vigorous zig away from their flight path. They were subsonic, so he expected to see them in about a minute and a half at the radar horizon.

“All radars active, Captain, all air-defense stations manned and ready.”

One minute.

Trung said, “Prepare to engage air targets to port.”

The gunnery officer repeated his order. Ly Thai To didn’t have any SAM systems, and the guns could not open fire until the last moment.

Thirty seconds. Trung left combat central and went onto the bridge. All eyes were on the portside horizon. Normally he’d reprimand the deck officer, but there was open water ahead of them for miles.

He started to step out onto the port bridge wing, but remembered the Palma weapons mount just forward of the bridge. It had two rotary 30mm cannons, and when it fired, the noise would be brutal.

Any moment now.

“Radar reports high-speed contacts bearing zero seven three!” A moment later the intercom added, “Eight missiles.” The radar operator’s report was immediately followed by Mai’s command. “Chaff.”

Dull thuds amidships would have been alarming if Trung was not familiar with the sound. Explosive charges were firing cartridges filled with reflective material into the air. Hopefully, the missiles’ seekers would find the cloud a more attractive target than his frigate.

The missiles were across the horizon now, but how far away could you see a missile, head-on, with a diameter of what? Less than half a meter? He couldn’t remember exactly. With a turbojet engine, there would be no smoke trail…

“There, on the port beam!” The lookout’s warning triggered a fusillade of fire. The Palma system roared, like a giant’s chain saw cutting metal. Bright flames a meter long leaped from the muzzles. The 76mm gun on the bow thudded once, twice. Trung knew there was another rotary 30mm aft adding its own fire to the others.

Streams of tracers reached out, and that gave him a cue to his own search. They were also much closer now, and easier to spot. A puff of smoke several kilometers out marked the destruction of at least one missile. Was the chaff having any effect?

The first missile reached Ly Thai To a few seconds later. The warhead waited a few milliseconds after hitting, so that it penetrated inside the ship, rather than exploding on the outer hull plating. The explosion tore a hole ten meters in diameter amidships a few meters above the waterline. The damage was severe, but if that had been the only attacker, Ly Thai To might have survived.

Then the other three missiles arrived, at three-second intervals.

15. DELIBERATION

6 September 2016

0700 Local Time

August 1st Building, Ministry of National Defense Compound

Beijing, People’s Republic of China

Their well-appointed meeting room had become a command center. Considering that China had not fought any kind of conflict in almost forty years, Chen thought he and his staff were adapting well. Of course, knowing that they were rusty, they could have thought ahead, at least a little, Chen admitted to himself.

The room’s flat-screen display, usually used by briefers for carefully polished presentations, had been augmented by two other large displays and a standing bulletin board. Extra tables had been brought in to line the sides of the room. There was plenty of room, and they gave the new support staff places to work. Tea and coffee urns at one end of the room were always kept full. At least it was good tea.

The buzz of conversation washed over Chen, sitting at his customary place at the big table. It rose and fell as messengers arrived, or different working groups debated and discussed.

It was the pace and scope of the war. He understood that now. Chen and the other members of the Central Military Commission were used to making major decisions, of course, ones that would affect China for decades to come. But the decisions didn’t usually arrive piled one on top of another, or require split-second verdicts that could invite catastrophe. And they were all too well aware that the time they took to consider an issue was measured in lives.

Important decisions had to be made at any hour of the day or night, usually after subject matter experts and advisors were consulted. And what advisor wanted to be asleep when opinions were sought?

They resorted to catnaps and hurried meals. A doctor had been assigned to the staff to monitor everyone’s health and administer prescription medications as needed. After all, Chen was nearly seventy, and he was not the oldest man in the Central Military Commission.

With the exposure of the Littoral Alliance, problems could no longer wait for thorough analysis and the 0800 briefing. Finally identifying their enemy should have solved their greatest problem —who and where to strike. The announcement had answered that question, but the hundreds that replaced it now shouted for attention.

Chen sat at the head of the meeting table. He’d been there since five in the morning, and that was after only three hours’ sleep. His mind would not stop racing, like a rat on a wheel.

Vice Chairman Li Ju came into the room and approached Chen. The president greeted Li by pushing the tea set on the table toward an empty chair. “Join me, please,” Chen invited.