WEAPONS OF CHOICE
* * * * *
JOHN BIRMINGHAM
BALLANTINE BOOKS • NEW YORK
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Dramatis Personae
Part One
Transit
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Part Two
Détente
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Part Three
Alliances
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Part Four
Impact
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
Footnotes
Preview
Copyright
For Jane, the believer
Thanks are due to Garth Nix, who first led me down this long and winding path. To Russ Galen, who filled my beggar’s bowl. To Steve Saffel, who suffered as no mortal editor should ever have to suffer. To Keith Clayton, who kicked butt as Trapper John to Steve’s Hawkeye, and Crystal Velasquez, who could easily get a job project managing a time machine. To Cate Paterson, my sword and shield. And Brianne Tunnicliffe, for riding shotgun on this madness. The rock-steady babes at the Queensland Writers Centre are owed my thanks and gratitude. And Pete McAllister, as always, was a dude. There is no way I can repay the loving support of my family, Jane, Anna, and Thomas, except maybe by getting away from the keyboard more often.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
MULTINATIONAL FORCE COMMANDERS
Anderson, Captain Daytona, USN. Commander, USS Leyte Gulf.
Francois, Captain Margie, USMC. Combat surgeon and chief medical officer, Multinational Force. (USS Kandahar.)
Halabi, Captain Karen, RN. Commander, British contingent; deputy commander, Multinational Force; commander, HMS Trident.
Jones, Colonel J. L., USMC. Commander, Eighty-second Marine Expeditionary Unit. (USS Kandahar.)
Judge, Commander Mike, USN. Executive officer, USS Hillary Clinton.
Kolhammer, Admiral Phillip, USN. Task force commander, USS Hillary Clinton.
Miyazaki, Sub-Lieutenant Maseo, JMSDF. Acting commander, JDS Siranui.
Moertopo, Lieutenant Ali, TNI-AL. Acting commander, KRI Sutanto.
Willet, Captain Jane, RAN. Commander, HMAS Havoc.
Windsor, His Royal Highness Captain Harry. Commander, British SAS contingent.
MULTINATIONAL FORCE PERSONNEL
Bukowski, Specialist Waylon, USMC. First Platoon, B Company. (USS Kandahar.)
Chen, Second Lieutenant Henry, USMC. Third Platoon, C Company. (USS Kandahar.)
Damiri, Sub-Lieutenant Usama, TNI-AL. Information systems officer, KRI Sutanto.
Hannon, Second Lieutenant Biff, USMC. First Platoon, B Company. (USS Kandahar.)
Harford, Flight Lieutenant Chris, USN. Helicopter pilot, USS Hillary Clinton.
Hayes, Flight Lieutenant Amanda, USN. Helicopter pilot, USS Hillary Clinton.
Ivanov, Major Pavel, Russian Federation Spetsnaz. On secondment to U.S. Navy SEALs. (USS Kandahar.)
Nguyen, Lieutenant Rachel, RAN. Close-In Weapons System operator. (HMAS Moreton Bay.) Seconded to History Working Group. (USS Hillary Clinton.)
Rogas, Chief Petty Officer Vincente, U.S. Navy SEALs. (USS Kandahar.)
Thieu, Lieutenant Edgar, USN. Media relations officer, USS Hillary Clinton.
MISCELLANEOUS
Duffy, Julia. New York Times feature writer. Embedded Eighty-second MEU.
Natoli, Rosanna. CNN researcher/producer. Embedded Eighty-second MEU.
Pope, Professor Manning. Project director, Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency.
1942 ALLIED COMMANDERS
Churchill, Winston. Prime minister, Great Britain.
Curtin, John. Prime minister, Commonwealth of Australia.
Eisenhower, Brigadier General Dwight D. U.S. Army. Head of War Plans Division. Appointed commander of U.S. forces, European theater of operations, June 1942.
King, Admiral Ernest J., USN. Commander in chief of the U.S. Fleet and chief of naval operations.
MacArthur, General Douglas, U.S. Army. Commander, Allied Forces, South West Pacific Area. Headquartered Brisbane, Australia.
Marshall, General George C., U.S. Army. Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff.
Nimitz, Admiral Chester, USN. Commander in chief, U.S. Pacific Fleet.
Roosevelt, President, Franklin D. Thirty-second president of the United States of America.
Spruance, Rear Admiral Raymond A., USN. Commander, Task Force Sixteen.
1942 ALLIED PERSONNEL
Black, Lieutenant Commander Daniel, USN. Assistant operations and planning chief to Admiral Spruance. (USS Enterprise.)
Curtis, Ensign Wally, USN. Assistant payroll clerk, USS Enterprise.
Davidson, Able Seaman James “Slim Jim,” USS Astoria.
Evans, Lieutenant Commander Peter. Acting commander, USS Astoria.
Mohr, Chief Petty Officer Eddie, USS Astoria.
Molloy, Able Seaman Michael “Moose,” USS Astoria.
Ryan, Warrant Officer Peter, New Guinea Volunteer Rifles. Patrol officer.
MISCELLANEOUS
Cherry, Detective Sergeant Lou, Honolulu PD, Homicide.
Einstein, Professor Albert, Nobel laureate.
AXIS HIGH COMMAND
JAPAN
Kakuta, Rear Admiral Kakuji, IJN. Commander, Second Carrier Striking Force. (HIJMS Ryujo.)
Yamamoto, Admiral Isoroku, IJN. Commander in chief, Combined Fleet. (HIJMS Yamamoto.)
GERMANY
Göbbels, Reichsminister Josef. German propaganda minister.
Himmler, Reichsführer Heinrich. SS chief.
Hitler, Reichschancellor Adolf.
AXIS PERSONNEL
Brasch, Major Paul. Engineer.
Hidaka, Lieutenant Commander Jisaku, IJN. Chief of staff to Rear Admiral Kakuta. (HIJMS Ryujo.)
Skorzeny, Colonel Otto. Personal bodyguard to Adolf Hitler.
Steckel, Franz. SS-Obersturmführer of the SD-Ausland, a lieutenant in the Nazi Party’s foreign intelligence service.
SHIPS OF THE MULTINATIONAL FORCE
USS Hillary Clinton. George Bush–class supercarrier.
USS Kandahar. Bagdhad-class littoral assault ship.
USS Leyte Gulf. Nemesis-class stealth cruiser. *1
USS Garret. Cobb-class air warfare destroyer. *2
USS Providence. Harper’s Ferry–class amphibious landing dockship.
USS Kennebunkport. LPD 12 landing assault ship.
HMS Trident. Trident-class stealth destroyer (trimaran).
HMS Vanguard. Trident-class stealth destroyer (trimaran). *3
HMS Fearless. Aden-class helicopter assault ship. *4
HMAS Havoc. Savage-class
attack submarine (conventional).
HMAS Moreton Bay. Jervis Bay–class troop-carrying catamaran.
HMAS Ipswich. Newcastle-class light littoral assault ship.
KRI Sutanto. Reconditioned Parchim-class frigate of the Indonesian navy (TNI-AL). *5
KRI Nuku. Reconditioned Parchim-class frigate of the Indonesian navy (TNI-AL). *6
Dessaix. Sartre-class stealth destroyer of the French navy. *7
PART ONE
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TRANSIT
1
EAST TIMOR, ZONE TIME: 0942 HOURS, 15 JANUARY 2021
The Caliphate spy, a Javanese carpenter known simply as Adil, resettled himself against a comfortable groove in the sandalwood tree. The small, shaded clearing in the hills overlooking Dili had been his home for three days. He shared it with an aged feral cat, which remained hidden throughout the day, and an irritable monkey, which occasionally tried to shit on his head. He had considered shooting the filthy animal, but his orders were explicit. He was to remain unnoticed as long as the crusaders were anchored off East Timor, observing their fleet and sending reports via microburst laser link, but only in the event of a “significant development.”
He had seen nothing “significant” in seventy-two hours. The infidel ships were lying so far offshore they were often lost in haze and distance. Only when night fell did he have any real chance of seeing them, and even then they remained little more than a blurred constellation of twinkling, faraway lights. Such was their arrogance they didn’t bother to cloak themselves in darkness.
Jets roared to and from the flight deck of their carrier twenty-four hours a day. In deepest night the fire of the launches appeared to Adil as though God Himself had lit a torch on the rim of the world.
Occasionally a helicopter would appear from the direction of the flotilla, beginning as a small, indistinct dot in the hot gray sky, taking on recognizable form only as the muffled drone of its engines clarified into a thudding, growling roar. From his hiding spot Adil could almost make out the faces of the infidels in the cabins of the fat metal birds. American, British, French, they all looked alike, cruel and overfed, a thought that reminded him of his own hunger.
He unwrapped the banana leaves from around a small rice cake, thanking Allah for the generosity of his masters. They had included a little dried fish in his rations for today, a rare treat.
Sometimes, when the sun climbed directly overhead and beat down with a slow fury, Adil’s thoughts wandered. He cursed his weakness and begged God for the strength to carry out his duty, but it was hard. He had fallen asleep more than once. Nothing ever seemed to happen. There was plenty of movement down in Dili, which was infested with crusader forces from all over the Christian world, but Dili wasn’t his concern. His sole responsibility was to watch those ships that were hiding in the shimmering haze on the far horizon.
Still, Adil mused, it would be nice to know he had some real purpose here; that he had not been staked out like a goat on the side of a hill. Perhaps he was to be part of some elaborate strike on the Christians in town. Perhaps tonight the darkness would be torn asunder by holy fire as some martyr blew up one of their filthy taverns. But then, why leave him here on the side of this stupid hill, covered in monkey shit and tormented by ants?
This wasn’t how he had imagined jihad would be when he had graduated from the Madrasa in Bandung.
USS KANDAHAR, 1014 HOURS, 15 JANUARY 2021
The marines wouldn’t have been surprised at all to discover that someone like Adil was watching over them. In fact, they assumed there were more than two hundred million pairs of eyes turned their way as they prepared to deploy into the Indonesian Archipelago.
Nobody called it the Caliphate. Officially the United States still recognized it as the sovereign territory of Indonesia, seventeen thousand islands stretching from Banda Aceh, three hundred kilometers off the coast of Thailand, down to Timor, just north of Australia. The sea-lanes passing through those islands carried a third of the world’s maritime trade, and officially they remained open to all traffic. The Indonesian government-in-exile said so—from the safety of the Grand Hyatt in Geneva where they had fled, three weeks earlier, after losing control of Jakarta.
Unofficially though, these were the badlands, controlled—just barely—by a revolutionary Islamic government calling itself the Caliphate and laying claim to all seventeen thousand islands, as well as the territory of Malaysia, the Philippines, Brunei, East Timor, Papua New Guinea, Bougainville, and, for good measure, northern Australia. Nonbelievers were not welcome. The spiritual leader of the Caliphate, Mullah Ibn Abbas, had proclaimed this as the will of Allah.
The Eighty-second Marine Expeditionary Unit begged to differ. And on the hangar deck of the USS Kandahar, a Baghdad-class littoral assault ship, they were preparing a full and frank rebuttal.
The hangar was a vast, echoing space. Two full decks high and running nearly a third of the length of the slab-sided vessel, it still seemed crowded, packed tight with most of the Eighty-second’s air wing—a small air force in its own right consisting of a dozen Ospreys, four aging Super Stallions, two reconditioned command Hueys, eight Sea Comanche gunships, and half a dozen Super Harriers.
The Harriers and Super Stallions had been moved onto the “roof”—the flight deck, thus allowing the ground combat element of the Eighty-second MEU to colonize the space that had been opened up. The GCE was formally known as the Third Battalion of the Ninth Regiment, Fifth Marine Division. It was also known as the Lonesome Dead, after their passably famous CO, Colonel J. Lonesome Jones.
Not all of 3 Batt were embarked upon the Kandahar. The battalion topped out at more than twelve hundred men and women, and some of their number had to be berthed elsewhere in the three ships that were carrying the Eighty-second into harm’s way. The USS Providence, a Harper’s Ferry–class amphibious landing dockship (LSD), took the battalion’s four Abrams tanks, a rifle company, and the amphibious assault vehicle platoon. The Kennebunkport, a venerable LPD 12, carried the recon platoon, the regiment’s Humvees, two more Hueys, the drone platoon, and the Navy SEAL team that would be providing security to the Eighty-second during their cruise through the archipelago.
Even as Adil unwrapped his rice cake and squinted into the blue expanse of the Wetar Strait a six-man detachment from the SEAL team was unpacking their gear on the hangar deck of the Kandahar, where they were getting set to train the men of C Company, 3 Batt.
Charlie Company doubled as Colonel Jones’s cliff assault and small boat raiding squadron, and the SEALs had come to acquaint them with a new toy: the G4, a lightweight assault rifle that fired strips of caseless ceramic ammunition and programmable 30mm grenades. It was to become standard equipment throughout the U.S. armed forces within twelve months. The marines, however, were always at the bottom of the food chain, and would probably have waited two years before they laid hands on these toys. But the battalion logistics officer, Lieutenant Colonel Nancy Viviani, was an inventive and talented S4. As always, Viviani was determined that the battalion should have the very best equipment other people’s money could buy.
Not that long ago she would have been known as a scavenger, a scrounger, and would have done her job under the cover of darkness with a pair of wire cutters and a fast getaway jeep. She would have been a man, too, of course. But Lieutenant Colonel Viviani carried two master’s degrees into combat, one of them an MBA from the London School of Economics, and the graduates of that august institution didn’t stoop to anything so crude as petty theft. Not when they could play the Pentagon’s fantastically complex supply programs like an antique violin.
Six and a half hours of extracurricular keyboard time had been enough to release a shipment of G4s from pre-positioned supply vessels in Darwin. Viviani’s genius was in making the process appear entirely legitimate. Had the Senate Armed Forces Committee itself spent a year inspecting her electronic audit trail, it would have found everything in order with absolutely nothing linking the G4 shipment to t
he loss of a similar supply package scheduled for delivery to an army public relations unit.
“This is the Remington G-four,” CPO Vincente Rogas barked at the members of C Company. “By the end of today’s lecture you will be familiar with the procedure for maintaining this weapon in the field.” It sounded more like a threat than a promise.
“The G-four is the first solid-state infantry weapon,” he bellowed. “It has very few moving parts.”
A slight murmur passed through the tight knot of marines. They were familiar with the weapons specs, having intensively trained with them back in the United States. But still, it was a hell of a thing to wrap your head around.
“And this is the standard battle load.” His audience stared at the long thin strip of ceramic munitions like children at their first magic show. “The ammo strip is placed in the barrel like this. An electrical charge ignites the propellant casing, driving the slug out with such velocity that, even with a three-round burst, you will feel no kickback—at least not before the volley leaves the muzzle.
“Tomorrow, when we move ashore to the range, each of you will be allotted three hundred rounds. I suggest very strongly that before then you take advantage of the full VR tutorial we’ve loaded into your training sets. The base software package is a standard Asian urban conflict scenario, but we’ve added modules specifically tailored for operations in Jakarta and Surabaya.”
With deployment less than a fortnight away, similar scenes were being replayed throughout the U.S.-led Multinational Force accompanying the Kandahar. Twelve thousand very serious men and women drilled to the point of exhaustion. They were authorized by the UN Security Council to use whatever force was necessary to reestablish control of the capital, Jakarta, and to put an end to the mass murder of Indonesia’s Chinese and Christian minorities. Everybody was preparing for a slaughter.
In the hundred-bed hospital of the Kandahar the Eighty-second’s chief combat surgeon, Captain Margie Francois, supervised her team’s reaction to a simulated missile strike on an armored hovercraft carrying a marine rifle company into a contested estuary.
Two thousand meters away, the French missile frigate Dessaix dueled with a pair of Raptors off the supercarrier USS Hillary Clinton.