Drone Command

The approaching Sharp Sword lined up toward the angled retrieval deck, dropping its gear. Today the fighter carried no weapons, but if the next few days of testing proved successful, that would change. Moments later, the wheels kissed the runway. The drone’s tailhook snagged the third arresting wire and the Sharp Sword screeched to a halt. Again, the crew burst out in applause. The most dangerous moment in a naval aviator’s life outside of combat was the carrier landing. Even in good conditions, it was a hazardous undertaking. At night, in poor weather, or extreme sea conditions, it was nearly impossible for all but the most skilled aviators. The Liaoning had lost several manned aircraft in the last few years during such landings. Hardly unusual given that China was still learning how to run carrier operations. The advent of the Sharp Sword would accelerate their progress exponentially in the decade to come. Even America’s manned F-35C, the carrier-based version of the Joint Strike Fighter, was designed around a JPALS system, utilizing GPS and navigational software for “hands off” approaches and landings in inclement weather and adverse conditions.

But UCAVs had other advantages over manned aircraft. Like other manned systems, a significant amount of weight and technology was devoted to pilot safety and survival. Humans were incredibly fragile, particularly in combat environments. Humans required sleep, food, waste elimination, and even oxygen at high altitudes. Human pilots could also panic, become distracted or fatigued, or suffer wounds in flight operations, causing them to hesitate or falter while making crucial combat decisions. Decision delays of just fractions of a second could cost the pilot his life — or worse, the air battle or even the war — as fragile, imperfect humans in heavier aircraft competed with emotionless, faultless UCAVs flying far beyond human endurance at faster speeds, traveling longer distances, making sharper turns, executing coordinated swarming maneuvers, and firing larger numbers of missiles at their human counterparts.

A light flashed on the weatherproof phone-console panel attached to the rail. Deng picked it up. Listened. Handed the phone to Ji. “For you, Admiral.”

Ji thanked him and took the call. Ji nodded, smiled. “Excellent.” He listened further. His face darkened. “Yes, just as we discussed. You have it on my authority.” He hung up the phone.

Deng narrowed his eyes, a question. Problem?

Ji shook his head imperceptibly and offered a small reassuring smile. No. Everything was proceeding exactly according to plan.

TWENTY-TWO

MAO ISLAND

SIX MILES DUE WEST OF THE SENKAKU/DIAOYU ISLANDS

EAST CHINA SEA

10 MAY 2017

The Tiger II’s deck was a beehive of noisy energy, the clamor of ringing hammers, growling diesel engines, straining cables. Arc welders hissed, throwing sparks, as supervisors shouted orders, urging speed as pipes, fittings, and a thousand other crucial pieces came together to begin the process of drilling on the ocean floor several hundred feet below — a cakewalk for the experienced deep-water crew.

The commander of the Kunming hung up the bridge phone. His orders from Admiral Ji in the preparation of the mission were clear, and now he confirmed them again verbally. He’d known the admiral for more than twenty years and knew him to be an honorable man. The kind of man an officer would willingly follow into combat, into the very mouth of hell itself. But the commander also knew that the decision he was about to make would change the course of his life and, perhaps, the life of his nation if the enemy didn’t react the way they were supposed to. And if military history had taught him anything, it was that the enemy seldom obeys one’s wishes.

No matter. If the operation went sideways, the commander knew his life would be forfeit, but he comforted himself in the knowledge that Ji would take the blame first. That was why the commander believed Ji was the man best suited to lead China, not the moneygrubbing pigs in Beijing.

The commander pushed open the steel hatch and stepped out onto the flying bridge. Held the binoculars to his eyes. Saw the delta-winged Multimodal Volant surveillance drone high above, no doubt recording everything.

The commander stepped back into the bridge, took his command chair. Picked up his phone.

“Lieutenant Liu, do you still have the target on your scope?”

“Aye, sir!” The lieutenant was one deck below in the CIC, a darkened room of two dozen video monitors and computerized combat stations. The commander hated it. Thought it looked like a video-game parlor.

“Then… engage.”

Before the commander hung up the phone, a single TY-90 missile roared out of a rotating deck launcher, arcing into the sky like a bolt of lightning in reverse.

The first shot in the battle of Mao Island, he thought.

He doubted it would be the last.