The Ghost War (43 page)
THE
XIAN
WAS THE THIRD
of China’s new Shanghai-class subs, by far the most advanced submarines that China had ever built. Until a few years before, China’s armed forces had relied on leaky ships, rusting submarines, and fighter jets whose design dated from the Korean War. China had refused to show its weapons to visiting American generals, for fear that they would sneer at the country’s weakness.
XIAN
WAS THE THIRD
of China’s new Shanghai-class subs, by far the most advanced submarines that China had ever built. Until a few years before, China’s armed forces had relied on leaky ships, rusting submarines, and fighter jets whose design dated from the Korean War. China had refused to show its weapons to visiting American generals, for fear that they would sneer at the country’s weakness.
These days, China still kept its ships and jets secret. But now the country wanted to hide its strength. Chinese students studied engineering and software and fluid dynamics at the top universities in the United States. Some stayed in America and made fortunes in Silicon Valley. But most came home, and more than a few were working for China’s navy—whose top priority was building a submarine that could challenge the American fleet.
China’s focus on undersea warfare was pragmatic. Building surface ships capable of challenging the United States would cost hundreds of billions of dollars, more than China could afford, at least for now. Even a single nuclear-powered aircraft carrier was a massively expensive proposition. No country, not even the Soviet Union at the height of the Cold War, had tried to compete with the United States in aircraft carriers.
But submarines were much cheaper, billions of dollars instead of hundreds of billions. And a lone sub could wreak havoc on an opposing fleet. In World War II, a single German submarine had sunk forty-seven boats in less than two years. Of course, the
Xian
wouldn’t sink forty-seven American ships, but if it scuttled even one it would change the balance of power in the western Pacific, forcing the Americans to back off China’s coast.
Xian
wouldn’t sink forty-seven American ships, but if it scuttled even one it would change the balance of power in the western Pacific, forcing the Americans to back off China’s coast.
Taking out an American boat wouldn’t be easy. The American navy had not been seriously challenged since the Battle of Midway in World War II, when it decimated the Japanese fleet and started the United States on the path to victory in the Pacific. The collapse of the Soviet Union had only lengthened its lead. Its aircraft carriers, destroyers, and nuclear attack submarines were the best in the world.
But if any submarine could successfully break through the American defenses, it was the
Xian.
Put into the water just last fall, the
Xian
was the most advanced diesel-electric submarine ever built—in China or anywhere else. Noise-reducing anechoic tiles coated its hull. A seven-blade skewed propeller enabled it to slice through the water almost silently. Advanced electric batteries powered it, allowing it to stay underwater for weeks.
Xian.
Put into the water just last fall, the
Xian
was the most advanced diesel-electric submarine ever built—in China or anywhere else. Noise-reducing anechoic tiles coated its hull. A seven-blade skewed propeller enabled it to slice through the water almost silently. Advanced electric batteries powered it, allowing it to stay underwater for weeks.
Further, the PLA’s engineers had greatly improved the
Xian’s
secondary power source. Besides its batteries, the sub had an “air-independent propulsion” system of hydrogen fuel cells. When the batteries and fuel cells ran together, they could push the
Xian
to thirty knots in short bursts, almost as fast as American nuclear subs.
Xian’s
secondary power source. Besides its batteries, the sub had an “air-independent propulsion” system of hydrogen fuel cells. When the batteries and fuel cells ran together, they could push the
Xian
to thirty knots in short bursts, almost as fast as American nuclear subs.
The Chinese had also nearly closed the gap with the electronics and sonar systems that the U.S. Navy used. The
Xian’s
computers ran noise-filtering and noise-recognition software that made the
Xian’s
sonar operators, for the first time, competitive with those on American submarines. And the
Xian’s
satellite link meant that it could get regular updates on ships far outside its sonar range. The combination meant that the
Xian
could avoid the submarines and frigates that formed the outer cordon of American battle groups and get within torpedo range of the big prizes, the destroyers and cruisers and carriers that were the heart of the United States fleet.
Xian’s
computers ran noise-filtering and noise-recognition software that made the
Xian’s
sonar operators, for the first time, competitive with those on American submarines. And the
Xian’s
satellite link meant that it could get regular updates on ships far outside its sonar range. The combination meant that the
Xian
could avoid the submarines and frigates that formed the outer cordon of American battle groups and get within torpedo range of the big prizes, the destroyers and cruisers and carriers that were the heart of the United States fleet.
And at that point the
Xian
had an even more unpleasant surprise for the American navy.
Xian
had an even more unpleasant surprise for the American navy.
INSIDE THE
XIAN,
Tong read over the order one final time and tucked it into his pocket. “Retract the buoy,” he murmured to his communications officer. Then, to his operations officer, “Any change in the target’s direction?”
XIAN,
Tong read over the order one final time and tucked it into his pocket. “Retract the buoy,” he murmured to his communications officer. Then, to his operations officer, “Any change in the target’s direction?”
“No, sir. Still one-eighty at twenty knots”—directly south, toward the
Xian,
which was cruising north—“at fifteen knots. Range now seventy kilometers”—about forty miles.
Xian,
which was cruising north—“at fifteen knots. Range now seventy kilometers”—about forty miles.
“Take us to sixty meters”—two hundred feet, in the middle of the thermocline.
“Yes, sir.” The ops officer tapped the touch screen in front of him a few times and the
Xian
began to ascend, so gracefully that Tong could hardly feel it rise.
Xian
began to ascend, so gracefully that Tong could hardly feel it rise.
“Set us on combat status.”
“Yes, sir.” The officer tapped his screen three more times. All over the submarine, LCD panels turned from a steady green to a flashing yellow, warning the
Xian’s
crew that an attack might be imminent and that silence—always important on a submarine—was more crucial than ever.
Xian’s
crew that an attack might be imminent and that silence—always important on a submarine—was more crucial than ever.
“And ready the Typhoons for launch.”
Tong felt the surprise in the room as he spoke. The ops officer paused, only for a second, before he answered.
“The Typhoons. Yes, sir.”
The control room was nearly silent now. On his control monitor Tong saw the
Xian
slowly rise toward the surface: 150 meters . . . 140 . . . 130 . . . The officers and crew moved precisely, no wasted motion, not even wasted breath, yet the anticipation in the cramped room was palpable. These men all knew now what they were about to do. And they were ready.
Xian
slowly rise toward the surface: 150 meters . . . 140 . . . 130 . . . The officers and crew moved precisely, no wasted motion, not even wasted breath, yet the anticipation in the cramped room was palpable. These men all knew now what they were about to do. And they were ready.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER TONG’S MONITOR
briefly flashed red, alerting him that they were now twenty kilometers—about twelve miles—from the target, within range of the Typhoons. The
Xian
carried two of them, Chinese versions of the Russian VA-111 Shkval.
briefly flashed red, alerting him that they were now twenty kilometers—about twelve miles—from the target, within range of the Typhoons. The
Xian
carried two of them, Chinese versions of the Russian VA-111 Shkval.
Though they were called torpedoes, Shkvals were basically short-range cruise missiles that targeted ships, and the Russians had never been able to make them work properly. They often outran their guidance systems and badly missed their targets. They also had an unnerving habit of swinging back on the subs that launched them. When the
Kursk,
a Russian nuclear sub, sank in the Barents Sea in 2000, there were rumors, never proven, that a malfunctioning Shkval had caused the accident. For whatever reason, after the
Kursk
went down, the Russians stopped trying to build Shkvals.
Kursk,
a Russian nuclear sub, sank in the Barents Sea in 2000, there were rumors, never proven, that a malfunctioning Shkval had caused the accident. For whatever reason, after the
Kursk
went down, the Russians stopped trying to build Shkvals.
Despite those problems, China’s admirals had seen the Shkval’s potential as they searched for a weapon that might overcome the American fleet. At a secret lab outside Shanghai, their naval scientists had spent five years redesigning the missile’s guidance systems and engine. And they’d succeeded. In tests off Hong Kong in the last two years, the Typhoon had proven capable of successful launches from as far as twenty-five kilometers out—about fifteen miles.
But those targets were obsolete oil tankers, not American destroyers with the most advanced counter-torpedo systems in the world. No one in the Chinese navy really knew how the Typhoon would perform in combat.
They were about to find out, Tong thought.
“Reduce speed to ten knots,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do we have final visual confirmation?”
The operations officer tapped his screen again, and there it was, a recon photo straight from the satellite overhead, time-stamped 12:55, the big gray boat cutting sturdily through the waves, the photograph’s resolution good enough to reveal the big “73” painted in white on its side.
The DDG-73. The USS
Decatur.
Decatur.
Tong admired the precision with which his commanders had calculated this mission. Despite all China’s progress, America still thought that China was a poor backward nation unworthy of respect. The
Decatur
had killed twenty-two Chinese, and the United States had not even apologized.
Decatur
had killed twenty-two Chinese, and the United States had not even apologized.
Today China would have its revenge. The
Xian
would fire one Typhoon, enough to cripple the destroyer but not sink it. An eye for an eye, as the Americans said. And the Americans would learn what they should have already known, that they needed to treat the People’s Republic as an equal.
Xian
would fire one Typhoon, enough to cripple the destroyer but not sink it. An eye for an eye, as the Americans said. And the Americans would learn what they should have already known, that they needed to treat the People’s Republic as an equal.
“Reduce speed to three knots.” The Typhoons had one great weakness. They could be launched only when the
Xian
was nearly stopped. But since the
Decatur
had no idea that the
Xian
was in the vicinity, the submarine’s speed hardly mattered.
Xian
was nearly stopped. But since the
Decatur
had no idea that the
Xian
was in the vicinity, the submarine’s speed hardly mattered.
“Yes, sir.” The
Xian
slowed perceptibly.
Xian
slowed perceptibly.
“Prepare to dive to two hundred meters on my command.” Hit or miss, Tong didn’t plan to hang around once he launched. The Americans would expect him to flee west, to the Chinese coast. Instead he planned to take the
Xian
southeast, into the open ocean, and depend on the sub’s ability to stay silent.
Xian
southeast, into the open ocean, and depend on the sub’s ability to stay silent.
The combat center was hushed now, every man looking at Lieutenant Han, the sub’s weapons control officer. Tong nodded to Han. “Fire.”
“Away,” Han said quietly.
The
Xian
shifted slightly as the Typhoon left its hull. Tong heard—or maybe just felt—the hum as the underwater missile accelerated away. A couple of his men gave each other tentative thumbs-up signals, but Tong didn’t even smile. “Now dive,” he said. They would have time later to savor what they’d done. If they survived.
Xian
shifted slightly as the Typhoon left its hull. Tong heard—or maybe just felt—the hum as the underwater missile accelerated away. A couple of his men gave each other tentative thumbs-up signals, but Tong didn’t even smile. “Now dive,” he said. They would have time later to savor what they’d done. If they survived.
TWO HUNDRED FEET ABOVE THE
XIAN,
and ten miles north, Captain Henry Williams sat in the
Decatur’
s combat information center. He was glad to be well off the coast, out of range of Chinese captains who might want to avenge the previous week’s accident by trying to ram his ship.
XIAN,
and ten miles north, Captain Henry Williams sat in the
Decatur’
s combat information center. He was glad to be well off the coast, out of range of Chinese captains who might want to avenge the previous week’s accident by trying to ram his ship.
The Navy had finished its preliminary inquiry into the crash. As Williams had expected, it had found he’d done nothing wrong. Still, the days since the accident had been difficult. Willams couldn’t understand why a bunch of college students had thought that playing games with an American destroyer would be a good idea.
So now the
Decatur
was cruising loops in the East China Sea, and Williams was splitting his time between his ship and the
Reagan,
where he’d met three times with the Navy’s internal investigators. He’d even lost the pretty L.A.
Times
reporter, Jackie, who’d gotten bored after a couple days sailing laps and headed back to the
Reagan.
Probably for the best, Williams thought glumly. Neither he nor his men believed they had caused the accident, but killing twenty-two civilians didn’t do wonders for morale. Even in the combat center, his officers seemed to be moving at three-quarters speed. Maybe he ought to call a meeting, make sure his men knew they’d done nothing wrong.
Decatur
was cruising loops in the East China Sea, and Williams was splitting his time between his ship and the
Reagan,
where he’d met three times with the Navy’s internal investigators. He’d even lost the pretty L.A.
Times
reporter, Jackie, who’d gotten bored after a couple days sailing laps and headed back to the
Reagan.
Probably for the best, Williams thought glumly. Neither he nor his men believed they had caused the accident, but killing twenty-two civilians didn’t do wonders for morale. Even in the combat center, his officers seemed to be moving at three-quarters speed. Maybe he ought to call a meeting, make sure his men knew they’d done nothing wrong.
The torpedo alarm blared, jolting Williams to full attention. Had to be false, he thought. No way could a Chinese sub get close enough to launch on them without being picked up by his sonar operators.
Next to Williams, Lieutenant Umsle, the
Decatur’s
tactical action officer, was already on his phone. “Sonar’s confirming a launch, sir.”
Decatur’s
tactical action officer, was already on his phone. “Sonar’s confirming a launch, sir.”
In an instant, the ship’s morale became the least of Williams’s problems. “General quarters!” he said. “Immediately !”
A siren rang across the ship. “General quarters! All hands to battle stations! This is not a drill!”
Umsle listened for a few seconds more before hanging up. “The good news is we should have plenty of time. It’s way out. Twenty thousand meters.”
Even a fast torpedo covered only forty-five knots an hour, about 1,300 meters a minute. The
Decatur
would have at least fifteen minutes for evasive action, and the fish would probably run out of fuel before it reached the
Decatur.
Obviously, the Chinese captain had been so worried that he would be spotted that he had been afraid to launch from close in.
Decatur
would have at least fifteen minutes for evasive action, and the fish would probably run out of fuel before it reached the
Decatur.
Obviously, the Chinese captain had been so worried that he would be spotted that he had been afraid to launch from close in.
“Full power to the turbines and hard left,” Williams said. Preserving his ship was the first priority. Then the Navy could bring its attack subs into the area and take out the Chinese sub that had been foolish enough to make this hopeless swipe.
“Yes, sir.” A jolt of power ran through the ship as the engines began to produce peak power.
Umsle’s phone rang again. He listened, then handed Williams the black handset. “You need to hear this, sir.”
“Sir.” It was Terry Cyrus, the
Decatur’s
sonar chief. “We’re getting an unusual read. The bogey looks like it’s running at two hundred fifty knots.”
Decatur’s
sonar chief. “We’re getting an unusual read. The bogey looks like it’s running at two hundred fifty knots.”
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