Yelling could be heard, some in Chinese, and some in Japanese. The first thing Jing saw was a headless marine lying sprawled out in a pool of light from a street lamp. A severed head, a samurai sword, and an old man lay nearby. A corporal rushed over to speak with him. “He came out of nowhere, sir! Private Guo never had a chance.”
Jing heard a burst of automatic fire. Flashes could be seen through the thin curtains of a neighboring house. “What’s going on?”
“Lieutenant Ma is executing the old man’s family, sir.”
That was understandable in a way. But stupid, since the gunfire was sure to wake the entire village, and could trigger more resistance.
Jing hurried over to the house where the gunfire had taken place and hurried inside. That’s where he became part of a horrible tableau. A woman lay dead on the floor. A child was clinging to her body and sobbing. And there, standing erect in her night clothes, was an old lady. The dead man’s wife perhaps?
Ma was aiming an assault weapon at the woman and screaming insults. Two marines stood motionless. The woman knew she was going to die. But her head was up, and her eyes focused on Ma’s face.
Perhaps it was that, as much as the need to prevent more noise, that caused Jing to raise his pistol and fire. Not at the woman, but at Ma. Two shots missed. One didn’t. It struck the officer’s temple and pulped his brain. Ma went down like a fifty-pound sack of rice.
Jing was as surprised as the marines and the old woman were. Surprised and scared. How would Captain Ko react to his decision? Not well, Jing assumed. But one thing was for sure: it was necessary to take control before the marines turned against him.
“Take the woman and child outside,” Jing ordered. “Do not harm them. Your mission is to search houses for communications devices and herd the population into the high school gymnasium. Do it.”
Perhaps other soldiers, in another army, might have questioned Jing’s authority. Especially after they had watched him shoot their platoon leader. But the marines were quite familiar with the “Three Rules of Discipline and Eight Points for Attention” issued in 1928 by Mao Zedong and his comrades, when they were battling the Chinese nationalists. And the first rule was, “Prompt obedience to orders.”
They said, “Shì de xiānshēng” (Yes sir), in unison. One went over to take the old lady by the arm, while the other took the child and led the way out of the house.
Jing paused to collect one of Ma’s dog tags which he slipped into a pocket. Then he went out onto the street. Fortunately, fireteams led by noncoms had been hard at work. Jing was a witness to what might have been seventy prisoners being marched down the street. A third-class master sergeant hurried over to greet Jing. “We’re making good progress, sir. Where is Lieutenant Ma?”
“He was killed,” Jing said, without offering any details. “As was private Guo. But everything is under control now. You will take the lieutenant’s place.”
The noncom saluted. “Sir!” And turned away.
Jing allowed himself to exhale. And was surprised to learn that he’d been holding his breath. He saw a flash on the horizon, followed by a moment of silence, and what might have been thunder. Except it wasn’t thunder. Missiles were falling on Okinawa. And people were dying.
***
Aboard the semi-submersible Sea Dragon, in Tonaki bay, 36 miles from Okinawa, Japan
Captain Ko was standing in the Sea Dragon’s CIC peering over a tech’s shoulder. The atmosphere was tense as targeting data arrived from a variety of sources, including Yaogan-30 satellites. The one hundred Dongfeng 26 missiles promised by Admiral Chao had begun to fall. On command-and-control targets? Yes. But on selected houses and apartment buildings too. All identified by Chinese spies who lived on Okinawa.
Would the hits entail collateral damage? Or course they would. But that was necessary. Command and Control was more than radars, operations centers, and computers. They were tools. The real threat was resident in the minds of the men and women who commanded them.
Dead officers could and would be replaced. But it would take time for their replacements to arrive, learn, and start to function. Valuable time which China would use to good effect.
Of course, most of the incoming D-26 missiles were being intercepted—just as Chao predicted they would be—thereby sparing some of the targets.
But computers were tracking “misses,” and sending that data to the Sea Dragon, where one hundred of the ship’s two hundred missiles were waiting to receive it. The rest were reserved for surface targets the ship might encounter on the way home. Ko’s eyes were on the countdown clock. “Missiles one through one hundred. Report.”
“Ninety-eight are programmed, or have been reprogrammed, and are ready for launch,” the CICWO (Combat Information Center Watch Officer) reported. “Missiles 52 and 79 reported technical issues and were taken offline.”
“Understood,” Ko replied. “Stand by to fire missiles, fire!”
The Sea Dragon lurched as the surface-to-surface missiles left their launchers and sped downrange.
“The railgun,” Ko ordered. “Report.”
“Targets loaded. All lights are green. The railgun is ready to fire,” the CICWO replied.
Ko was ready. “Fire!”
There was no need to give orders after that. The railgun would fire until it overheated. Progress had been made since the attack on the Concord. Now, the railgun could fire nine shots before it was necessary to replace the barrel.
That meant the Sea Dragon could put to sea. There was no way to know if the Japanese would let the Americans attack Tonaki island, but they might. And Ko planned to be elsewhere if that occurred. “Shore party. Report.”
“Two dead,” the officer of the deck reported. “No wounded. The last of them are boarding now.”
Two dead? That was a surprise.
