reported. Good ,
Captain Kun thought, and licked his warrior chops, as secrecy and surprise were
the order of the day.
“Coming back on original course,” the chief officer reported. The submarine leveled off again. “Steady as she goes.” He leaned in close to
Kun and whispered, “Captain, we are ready.” Kun signaled affirmation and then ordered that the boat be taken up to
launch depth. The hull popped as it
expanded. The attack center floor pitched
up. Captain Kun stepped to the periscope
pedestal. He drew a deep breath.
“Forward compartment: Immediately load tubes one through six
with East Seas. Chief Officer: hover the
boat at 20 meters,” the captain said with a firm, emotionless affect. The order was acknowledged. In the submarine’s weapons room, six
waterproof canisters holding East Sea land-attack cruise missiles were winched
from their storage racks and loaded into torpedo tubes. The chief officer confirmed the submarine holding
steady at a standstill just beneath the glassy surface, and Kun ordered that the
periscope be raising the periscope, which climbed from its hull well, poked from the
submarine’s sail, and pierced the surface. Kun unfolded the periscope’s handholds and leaned into its viewfinder.
“Dawn has broken,” the captain noted as he scanned the
horizon, adding, “Surface clear of contacts.” Kun snapped the handholds closed, and ordered, “Down periscope.”
“Sir,” the chief officer said, “forward compartment reports all
tubes are loaded.” Captain Kun surveyed Changzheng 6 ’s young submariners. They fidgeted with excitement, blissfully
ignorant of all that could still go terribly wrong.
“Shoot,” Kun ordered. The technician complied, and pushed an illuminated button on his weapons
console. One after the other, missile
canisters blew from the submarine’s bow. The canisters raced toward the sea’s surface; each swaddled in bubbles.
The Pacific Ocean lived up to its name there: peaceful and
calm. A bubble rose to the surface and
disturbed the still waters. Where it
popped, a boil erupted. The boil spit a missile
canister from its foamy center, a canister that leapt into the air, peeled
apart and opened like a flower, a flower whose pistil was an East Sea cruise
missile. The missile’s upward momentum
stalled, and its booster ignited, pushing the missile into the sky. Six more such blooms occurred and the
canister petals fell onto the gently undulating surface of the Pacific.
◊◊◊◊
A Soaring Dragon flew high above the Pacific. A stealthy Chinese unmanned aerial vehicle,
it sailed on a pair of long wings joined at their tips. Sneaking from the mainland and out to sea, the
Soaring Dragon’s radar detected a large group of surface ships that had entered
the theater. This aircraft transmitted the
group’s coordinates up to a satellite that bounced them to a People’s
Liberation Army ground station. Chinese
command then relayed them to an HY-1 Hummingbird reconnaissance satellite
parked over the ocean.
The Hummingbird focused its sensors on the area, and narrowed
its field of view. Digital cameras
captured several ships that surrounded a goliath ark. These ships snaked east, trailing white wakes
eminently visible to Hummingbird’s high-resolution cameras. The Chinese satellite then sent the data back
home, and the intelligence became target coordinates for the People’s
Liberation Army’s Second Artillery.
Southwest of Shaoguan—in Guangdong, China—a gravel-covered
clearing, one of many ensconced, hid within thick forests. Two enormous ten-wheeled ballistic missile
transporter-erector-launcher trucks sat at its center. The TELs had long cylinders across their
backs containing anti-ship variants of the Dong Feng ‘East Wind’ intermediate
range ballistic missile. A Chinese
soldier paid out control cable from a spool.
He strung the cable from
Captain Kun thought, and licked his warrior chops, as secrecy and surprise were
the order of the day.
“Coming back on original course,” the chief officer reported. The submarine leveled off again. “Steady as she goes.” He leaned in close to
Kun and whispered, “Captain, we are ready.” Kun signaled affirmation and then ordered that the boat be taken up to
launch depth. The hull popped as it
expanded. The attack center floor pitched
up. Captain Kun stepped to the periscope
pedestal. He drew a deep breath.
“Forward compartment: Immediately load tubes one through six
with East Seas. Chief Officer: hover the
boat at 20 meters,” the captain said with a firm, emotionless affect. The order was acknowledged. In the submarine’s weapons room, six
waterproof canisters holding East Sea land-attack cruise missiles were winched
from their storage racks and loaded into torpedo tubes. The chief officer confirmed the submarine holding
steady at a standstill just beneath the glassy surface, and Kun ordered that the
periscope be raising the periscope, which climbed from its hull well, poked from the
submarine’s sail, and pierced the surface. Kun unfolded the periscope’s handholds and leaned into its viewfinder.
“Dawn has broken,” the captain noted as he scanned the
horizon, adding, “Surface clear of contacts.” Kun snapped the handholds closed, and ordered, “Down periscope.”
“Sir,” the chief officer said, “forward compartment reports all
tubes are loaded.” Captain Kun surveyed Changzheng 6 ’s young submariners. They fidgeted with excitement, blissfully
ignorant of all that could still go terribly wrong.
“Shoot,” Kun ordered. The technician complied, and pushed an illuminated button on his weapons
console. One after the other, missile
canisters blew from the submarine’s bow. The canisters raced toward the sea’s surface; each swaddled in bubbles.
The Pacific Ocean lived up to its name there: peaceful and
calm. A bubble rose to the surface and
disturbed the still waters. Where it
popped, a boil erupted. The boil spit a missile
canister from its foamy center, a canister that leapt into the air, peeled
apart and opened like a flower, a flower whose pistil was an East Sea cruise
missile. The missile’s upward momentum
stalled, and its booster ignited, pushing the missile into the sky. Six more such blooms occurred and the
canister petals fell onto the gently undulating surface of the Pacific.
◊◊◊◊
A Soaring Dragon flew high above the Pacific. A stealthy Chinese unmanned aerial vehicle,
it sailed on a pair of long wings joined at their tips. Sneaking from the mainland and out to sea, the
Soaring Dragon’s radar detected a large group of surface ships that had entered
the theater. This aircraft transmitted the
group’s coordinates up to a satellite that bounced them to a People’s
Liberation Army ground station. Chinese
command then relayed them to an HY-1 Hummingbird reconnaissance satellite
parked over the ocean.
The Hummingbird focused its sensors on the area, and narrowed
its field of view. Digital cameras
captured several ships that surrounded a goliath ark. These ships snaked east, trailing white wakes
eminently visible to Hummingbird’s high-resolution cameras. The Chinese satellite then sent the data back
home, and the intelligence became target coordinates for the People’s
Liberation Army’s Second Artillery.
Southwest of Shaoguan—in Guangdong, China—a gravel-covered
clearing, one of many ensconced, hid within thick forests. Two enormous ten-wheeled ballistic missile
transporter-erector-launcher trucks sat at its center. The TELs had long cylinders across their
backs containing anti-ship variants of the Dong Feng ‘East Wind’ intermediate
range ballistic missile. A Chinese
soldier paid out control cable from a spool.
He strung the cable from
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