Tiger's Claw: A Novel

An aide hustled into the commander’s office, carrying a message. “Sir, urgent report from one of our patrol planes near Spratly Island.”

“What is it?” Admiral Zhen Peng, commander of the People’s Liberation Army Navy South Fleet, asked distractedly without looking up from his work.

“A Vietnamese frigate is firing guns south of Nansha Dao,” the aide said, using the Chinese name for the Spratly Islands. “It appears to be firing at a target vessel being towed by a tug.”

He was about to say he didn’t care what the Vietnamese were doing, but then he stopped what he was doing. General Zu Kai had made it quite clear to the general staff and the major headquarters staffs as well: China was going to take control of the Nansha and Xisha Dao. Certainly he would not permit a foreign warship to be firing guns near Nansha Dao.

He looked at a large wall chart across his office, which showed the position of each and every vessel in his command, from the aircraft carrier Zhenyuan to the smallest barge, updated hourly. The Zhenyuan battle group was back in port and available for action, but even if it sortied immediately—more likely, it would take a day or two at best—it would not reach the Vietnamese frigate for almost two days. He resolved to make sure the group spent more time on patrol and less time in port. The second Chinese carrier group, led by the aircraft carrier Zheng He, a former Brazilian aircraft carrier, was even farther away; and a third aircraft carrier group, led by the Tongyi, a former Spanish amphibious assault craft and helicopter carrier, was still about a year from deploying, and its main area of responsibility was the East Sea, opposite Taiwan. South Fleet appeared to not be in position to do anything about the Vietnamese ship cruising around in Chinese waters. He thought about his fleet of Xian H-6 bombers with their antiship cruise missiles, but even they would take several hours to generate a sortie—he resolved to start placing more H-6 bombers on alert from now on, loaded and ready for action—but for today they were not available.

There was one small Chinese boat, a Type-062 patrol boat, not far from Spratly Island. Zhen called his senior controller in the command post. “See if the patrol plane near Nansha Dao has contact with P-71.”

A moment later: “Radio contact established, sir,” the controller reported.

The Type-062 was fast and agile, but it carried just one twin-barreled heavy cannon and one twin-barreled heavy machine gun—no match for a Vietnamese frigate . . .

. . . but maybe it didn’t have to be. There was one weapons system he knew about that would do the job. It was not under his command, but it was available and would certainly be effective. “Is that patrol plane near Nansha Dao capable of target datalink?” he asked the senior controller on duty.

“Yes, sir,” the controller responded a few moments later. “All our long-range patrol planes can send secure digital target information to our headquarters or to any other authorized user.”

That would be perfect, Zhen thought. Maybe his ships couldn’t prosecute this target, but perhaps he could assist someone else who could.

“Call in the entire battle staff,” Zhen ordered. “I want the Zhenyuan and Zheng He battle groups to make all preparations to get under way. Then get me General Zu, secure, immediately! Our patrol boat is under attack by the Vietnamese Navy south of Nansha Dao, and I want something done about it!”

ELEVENTH TACTICAL ROCKET DIVISION HEADQUARTERS, BEIJING, CHINA

A FEW MINUTES LATER

Major General Hua Zhilun hurried into his command center almost at a run. “Report!” he shouted as soon as he was in the door.

“Datalink confirmed, sir,” the senior controller reported. “A navy patrol plane, about fifteen kilometers north of the target. Solid lock.”

“No, damn you, Hu Zhao,” Hua said. “ ‘Tiger’s Claw.’ Status report!”

It took several moments to check all the available batteries, but soon: “No Tiger’s Claw batteries available within range, sir,” the controller reported.

“Meiyou?” Hua exclaimed. “None?” But he shouldn’t be that surprised: although tensions were high in the western Pacific and Indian Oceans that the DF-21s covered, they did not keep them on alert, but safely stowed in garrisons until ordered to deploy to presurveyed launch points. They were quite mobile, but they still took the crews some time to get them ready to launch. The missiles they had now were armed only with nonnuclear high-explosive payloads, which severely restricted their range. “What else do we have available within the next ten minutes?”

“Stand by, sir,” the controller said. A few moments later: “Sir, Battery Two, CJ-20 Changjian, Wuzshan, Hainan Dao, reports up and ready,” the senior controller said with a smile. “It was participating in a simulated launch drill. The commander reports the missile is armed with a high- explosive warhead only. Awaiting orders.”

“That is most excellent,” Hua said. The CJ-20 Changjian, or “Long Sword,” was a new class of long-range antiship cruise missiles being fielded by the People’s Liberation Army. Developed from the CJ-10 supersonic land-attack cruise missile, the CJ-20 was fired from a road-mobile transporter-erector-launcher. Like the Dong Feng–21, the nonnuclear version of the CJ-20 did not have the long range or high speed as the nuclear-tipped version, but in this case it was well within range and would do the job. It used the same high-speed radar terminal guidance system as Tiger’s Claw and was extremely accurate, even at long range, high speeds, bad weather, and against moving targets.

Hua’s expression was deadly serious as he contemplated what they had been ordered to do, but when he looked at the smile of anticipation on his senior controller’s face, he couldn’t help but smile himself. “Battery released,” Hua said in a quiet voice. “Launch when ready.”

HAINAN ISLAND, PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA

THAT SAME TIME

“Zhan wei! Battle stations!” the squadron commander shouted as he slammed the telephone receiver down on its cradle. An electronic horn sounded outside his command vehicle. “Firing stations! Report when missile ready. Call up the feed from that patrol plane.”

The targeting officer typed furiously on his computer keyboard, and soon a map of the South China Sea south of Spratly Island came into view. Four targets were highlighted on the screen, showing their tracks and speeds. He zoomed the display in so just the three surface targets showed. “What do we have, Lieutenant?”

“The northernmost vessel is the Vietnamese frigate, sir,” the targeting officer said. He pointed to the screen. “The target to the southeast is a tug. The third is a target fishing boat that is being fired on by the frigate. The westernmost return is our Type-062 patrol boat.”

“Designate the frigate as target one,” the commander ordered. “Begin data transfer immediately.”

It did not take long. The position, heading, and speed of the Vietnamese frigate was electronically transferred to the flight computers aboard a Changjian-20 cruise missile. The information was checked and rechecked several times in moments. Meanwhile, the thirty-two-thousand-pound CJ-20 missile was being elevated from its transporter-erector-launcher into firing position. The solid-fueled CJ-20 did not need to be fueled—as soon as it was elevated, its gyros aligned, its present position updated by satellite, and its target information received and verified, it was ready to fly.

“Do we have a position from Yaogan-9?” the commander shouted. “I want verification and another line of position of the target’s position.” Yaogan-9 was a constellation of three ocean-scanning radar satellites that provided an around-the-clock scan of the South China Sea and western Pacific Ocean with radar imagery and targeting information, fed to the entire fleet of DF-21D ballistic antiship missiles and CJ-20 antiship cruise missiles.

“No, sir,” the targeting officer reported. “Yaogan-9 appears to be off-line.”