Drone Command Read online

  Pearce reached over to the blank sonar screen and tapped it. It came alive. A sonar signature appeared a thousand yards behind them. “Looks like we’re being tracked by a submarine right now.”

  Hara and Tanaka blanched.

  “Please follow me to the rear deck.” Pearce led the way. Ikeda came, too, with Myers right behind him. They all reached the broad lower deck on the fantail just as a trihulled trimaran AUV broke the surface. The Carolina Blonde slowed to a crawl.

  “That, gentlemen, is the Leidos ACTUV, the antisubmarine warfare continuous trail umanned vessel. It can track a submarine for thousands of miles continuously up to ninety days—longer in the future—by deploying electro-optical sensors, hydro-acoustics, pattern-recognition software for navigation, and both short- and long-range radar. Imagine a fleet of those deployed at the mouth of every Chinese submarine base, and another ACTUV fleet in reserve to relieve each of them, handing off the tracks. You’d never lose sight of another Chinese submarine, including the Jin-class boomers.”

  Pearce turned to Ikeda. “You and my good friend Dr. Kenji Yamada will be glad to know these vessels limit the use of their sonar to avoid harm to marine animals like whales. In fact, our company has already been deploying AUVs similar to this one to track whale pods as they migrate around the globe.”

  Tanaka pointed at the ACTUV. It remained a thousand yards back. “Does that thing have torpedoes?”

  “Not that particular unit. But, of course, the same AUV technologies can be applied to fully armed attack subs and ballistic-missile submarines.” Pearce glanced at Ikeda. “Research submarines, too.”

  “It’s all very impressive, Mr. Pearce,” Ikeda said. “But please tell us, if drones are the future of warfare, why is your own Pentagon cutting back on drone programs?”

  Ikeda’s ingratiating smile was starting to annoy Pearce. He was right, though. Too many fighter jocks and sub drivers felt threatened by unmanned systems. He glanced at Myers again. Bail me out.

  “Some of our generals believe that drone warfare is not as suitable for some of the missions they are currently planning for, and so they are shifting resources to other kinds of programs. But the U.S. Navy is still fully committed to systems like the X-47B.” Myers was referring to the bat-winged, carrier-based unmanned aircraft, part of the UCLASS drone development program. Privately, she worried the navy was loading the X-47B up with so many noncombat mission responsibilities that it would lose its effectiveness as a UCAV—an unmanned combat aerial vehicle, it’s original mission design.

  Hara sucked air through his teeth, pulled his cap off, and rubbed the back of his head, thinking. “I’m still not convinced, but it was a good try. You Americans always know how to put on a good show.”

  “Well, thanks, Admiral. I always try to entertain the troops. If you don’t mind my asking, what is it that still bothers you?”

  “To tell you the truth, I just don’t believe you.” The fully stopped catamaran rocked in the gentle swells. The Katanas had stopped moving, too, naturally. They bobbed a hundred yards away on the four points of the compass.

  “What don’t you believe?”

  “All of these devices you demonstrated today. They are very impressive in peacetime. Nothing is at stake. But if we were truly at war right now? Where would you rather be standing? On a ten-thousand-ton guided-missile cruiser or on some plastic drone tub like this one?” Hara stomped on the deck with the sole of his combat boot for effect.

  “That’s a fair question, sir.” Pearce motioned for Hara and the others to join him at the rail as he pressed a remote-control unit in his hand, activating a sonar pulse from an antenna on the bottom of the catamaran’s port hull.

  “I value my hide and prefer to let machines do the dangerous stuff.” Pearce motioned toward the water. Everyone glanced in the direction he pointed.

  “For the sake of argument, Admiral, let’s pretend for a moment that my ‘drone tub’ is a ten-thousand-ton steel cruiser.”

  The catamaran jolted as the surface of the water broke violently. A five-foot-diameter sphere burst into view just ten feet away from the catamaran like a breaching whale. The bright red sphere bobbed in the waves but remained in place, obviously tethered.

  “That’s our latest prototype of an upwardly falling payload. If that sphere was loaded with high explosives, it would function like a mine and explode, sinking our cruiser. Of course, a UFP can carry a wide variety of conventional, nuclear, biological, or chemical payloads. Each equally destructive.”

  “These UFPs can be stationed almost anywhere on the ocean floor, hidden and easily activated autonomously or on command, transforming the ocean floor into a kind of missile range, taking out any submarine or surface vessel that passes within range,” Myers said. “And their cost is extremely low compared to the larger manned systems they’re designed to take out.”

  “And so you would weaponize the entire ocean floor with these bombs?” Ikeda asked.

  “Not necessarily. A UFP can have nonlethal applications as well. High-powered microwave payloads or even chemical EMPs could fry electronic components. In the case of our ‘missile cruiser,’ HPMs and EMPs would disable the missiles before they launched rather than sinking the cruiser itself. That way, you’re killing warheads, not sailors.”

  Hara and Ikeda turned back toward the giant red sphere, still hotly debating.

  Tanaka approached Pearce. “A most impressive demonstration today. Quite enlightening. But, I’m afraid, unconvincing to my colleagues or myself.”

  “It’s not just a show. The fact is, the nation that leads in drone technologies will be the safest and most prosperous in the coming decades.”

  “You were full of surprises today,” Tanaka added. “Perhaps you will indulge me in a surprise of my own?”

  Pearce hated surprises. In his experience, surprises had a way of getting people killed. But he’d put off the powerful politician for a few days to carry out his ad hoc Vietnam assignment. Myers explained that Tanaka was offended by the delay in the demonstration, so Pearce knew he couldn’t offend him again.

  “Yes, of course. I love surprises.”

  Pearce wanted to kick himself. He hated lying. But the mission called for it.

  Maybe he was becoming a politician after all.

  TEN

  PEARCE CABIN

  NEAR THE SNAKE RIVER, WYOMING

  DECEMBER 1988

  The last bell rang and Troy dashed for the bus. Hadn’t heard a word the teacher said the whole last period. Was only counting the minutes on the clock until he could make his way back home.

  Longest bus ride ever.

  He leaped out of the bus as soon as the doors opened, hardly touching the steps. Jogged through the snow until his lungs hurt from the frigid air, then kept jogging some more. When he finally got winded, he pushed on, hands dug deep in his coat pockets, handfuls of snow crashing into him falling from the branches above.

  Dad had fixed up the cabin extra nice for Christmas. The tree was lit; the air smelled like fir. The place was spotless, too.

  Troy pushed through the door. He could smell a red velvet cake in the oven for Marichelle and the meatloaf for dinner, his mom’s favorite. His dad was cooking a lot these days. Clean and sober for seven months.

  “You need any help?” Troy asked.

  “Just don’t track any snow in here,” his dad said, salting a boiling pot on the stove.

  “You got it.”

  Troy had already pulled off his boots and coat in the mud room. He tossed his backpack on his bed, then headed back out to the living room to warm up in front of the crackling fire.

  “How was school today?” his dad hollered from the kitchen.

  “Great,” Troy said. And he meant it. He made his way into the kitchen and opened up the fridge.

  “Can I get something to eat?”

  “Sur
e,” his dad said. “But don’t get too full. Your mom and sister will be here soon.”

  Troy smiled. Couldn’t help but notice the grin spread all over his dad’s face, too. He was all cleaned up and decked out in his best work shirt and jeans. Even wore an apron. Unbelievable.

  He was really proud of his dad, the way he got his act together. Mom was right after all. Leaving his dad was the best thing for him. Made his dad wake up, make some choices. Even get some help. It had been a year and a half since they’d seen them, except for a few Polaroids Marichelle had sent. He wondered how tall she was now.

  Troy grabbed a milk jug and filled a glass to the brim, then made himself a peanut butter sandwich while his dad tossed potatoes into the boiling pot.

  “I said don’t get full, son.”

  “No worries,” Troy said, his mouth full of sandwich. He was three inches taller than his dad already and still not yet fifteen. A bottomless pit for a stomach.

  “Soon as you’re done, will you set the table?”

  “Sure.”

  “Settings for four.”

  Troy grinned, his mouth full of mushy peanut butter sandwich. “Yeah, I kinda figured that out.”

  “Don’t be a wisenheimer.”

  They both knocked around in the kitchen for the next half an hour.

  Tires crunched in the snow outside the cabin. Troy and his dad exchanged a nervous glance.

  “They’re early,” his dad finally said. A tinge of anxiety in his voice. “Dinner’s not ready.”

  “But it’s good that they’re here,” Troy said.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” his dad said, smiling. “That’s really good!”

  His dad pulled off his apron and dashed out of the kitchen through the mud room, Troy hot on his heels. His dad flung the front door open.

  A state trooper’s car was parked next to his dad’s old truck. A grim-faced trooper trudged toward them through the crunching snow. His shoulder mic crackled with radio traffic.

  “Excuse me, sir. Is this the Pearce residence?”

  Troy’s dad shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, sir. Can I help you?”

  “Is your wife named Helen?”

  His dad’s face paled.

  Troy’s head swam. Barely heard the trooper’s words.

  Two hours ago.

  Eighteen-wheeler.

  No survivors.

  ELEVEN

  THE PEACE PARK

  NAGASAKI, JAPAN

  5 MAY 2017

  You wonder why Dr. Ikeda and Admiral Hara were so resistant to your presentation?” Tanaka asked. “This is why.”

  Pearce, Myers, and Tanaka stood at the foot of the stone obelisk marking the hypocenter, the ground location of the atomic blast fifteen hundred feet above that devastated the city on August 9, 1945. A series of concentric circles emanated from the spot that also contained a cenotaph memorializing Nagasaki’s dead.

  Pearce stared into the grim afternoon sky. Imagined the blinding blast and the mushrooming cloud directly above his head, the pressure waves crushing the city, and walls of fire incinerating the bowl-shaped valley. Felt his skin tingle as if he could feel the deadly radiation still lingering in the air.

  Tanaka had already shown them several of the other statues and monuments in the Peace Park, but the severe austerity of the hypocenter memorial was the image that most impacted Pearce. He found himself speaking more quietly than usual, if at all, while he walked the grounds. He’d felt the same way at Pearl Harbor and Arlington National Cemetery, too. Only then, he felt both reverence for the dead and their sacrifices, and a profound sense of patriotism. Here, he felt only sadness for the civilian victims of an apocalyptic war.

  Myers, too, resisted the temptation to succumb to the solemnity of the place, though she was clearly moved by it. That so many people died in a blinding, momentary flash was almost too much to comprehend.

  Tanaka sensed the Americans’ resistance.

  “My seat in the Diet represents this city. My family traces its history back more than three hundred years here.” Tanaka pointed at a fragment of brick wall on the radius of the far circle. “That’s a remnant of the Urakami Cathedral, the largest Catholic church in Asia before it was destroyed by the Fat Man. Nagasaki was the center of the Christian faith in this country when it was obliterated.”

  Pearce wanted to ask, And whose fault is that? But he bit his tongue. He was a soldier on a diplomatic mission, not the captain of a debate squad.

  “My maternal grandmother was praying in that crowded cathedral on the morning that Fat Man exploded, killing everyone inside. I’m sure you know the statistics for the rest of the city, the tens of thousands who died instantly, and the tens of thousands more who died of radiation, burns and disease over the next months and years. What happened here so many years ago isn’t a theory for me or my colleagues, or even a historical fact. It’s a deeply personal event that changed all of our lives.”

  “War is terrible,” Myers offered, not wanting to offend Tanaka. But she felt much the same way as Pearce did. You started it, we ended it.

  “Yes, it is terrible. That’s exactly the point of this monument. Unlike some of my colleagues on the right, I don’t blame America for this tragedy. Of course, many historians now agree that the atomic strikes weren’t necessary to end the war, but at the time, perhaps, it was not so obvious.”

  “There are other ways to kill,” Pearce said, instantly regretting the comment. He was referring to the Rape of Nanking when Japanese soldiers killed perhaps as many as three hundred thousand Chinese—many of them innocent civilians—with just bayonets, rifle butts, and bullets. Unlike the Germans, too many Japanese not only glossed over their many war crimes, they also sometimes even denied them.

  “Yes. Humans are terribly creative when it comes to destruction. You Americans have always been brilliant in your application of technology to war. I didn’t bring you here to evoke any kind of sympathy for my people. But I don’t think you Americans appreciate the true destructiveness of that war on my nation.”

  “I’ve seen war up close and personal,” Pearce said. “You don’t need to tell me how shitty it is.”

  “Yes, of course. President Myers told me about your battlefield bravery. I admire that more than you know. But what do your people know about total war? Your cities have never been burned, your civilian populations decimated. That is something altogether different.”

  “We don’t fight wars to expand our territory. We fight wars to protect our freedoms and the freedoms of our allies,” Myers said.

  “Yes, you do. And you fight those wars with the latest technologies, whether drones or nuclear weapons.”

  “Once a war begins, you sure as hell fight to win it with everything you have,” Pearce said.

  Or should, he thought.

  Tanaka nodded. “Of course. And so you are the first nation in history to launch a nuclear attack. But we were the first to suffer it. Like the Israelis, we say, ‘Never again.’ Dr. Ikeda wants to wish war away through complete disarmament. Men like him would even abolish the JSDF. Admiral Hara, on the other hand, wants to push it away through the prime minister’s policy of proactive pacifism. Either way, both are reacting to the destruction of this place.”

  “Admiral Hara is risking another nuclear attack if he succeeds in pushing forward a massive arms race with China,” Myers said. She wanted to say, And so are you.

  “Admiral Hara believes in deterrence, just like the United States does. Why else does your country maintain the world’s largest military?”

  “Our military is as large as it is because we take our treaty obligations seriously, including the one we have with Japan,” Myers said.

  A group of uniformed Japanese schoolchildren approached the park. Tanaka’s security people ushered them away.

  Tanaka turned to Myers. “May I ask you a pers
onal question regarding your time as president?”

  “Of course.”

  Tanaka glanced back up at the obelisk that pointed at the darkening sky above them. A storm was on the way. “Is there anything you wouldn’t have done to protect your people?”

  “I’m a patriot. I love my country. Yes, I would’ve done anything to protect her. Still would.”

  “Which includes avoiding nuclear war, doesn’t it?”

  “Of course. Nobody wins in a nuclear exchange.”

  “And yet, American nuclear doctrine only prevents war by promising war. That seems irrational.”

  “Mutual assured destruction has served us well since the ’60s. For rational actors, MAD works because the prospect of it is so terribly irrational.”

  “And, in your opinion, the American nuclear umbrella truly covers Japan?”

  “We’re totally committed to your nation’s defense.”

  “Even to the point of war with China?”

  “Of course. We’re only as secure as our alliances. If we fail our allies, we fail ourselves.”

  “And, as president, you would have willingly traded Los Angeles for Osaka in a nuclear confrontation with China simply to honor a treaty commitment with my country?”

  “If the Chinese thought otherwise, war would be more likely.”

  “But how does sacrificing the people of Los Angeles protect them?”

  Myers thought about the war photos she’d seen earlier that day. Nagasaki a desolate ruin. Burned corpses, crushed homes. She thought about Los Angeles after a nuclear strike, or even Denver. Her precious Colorado forests ablaze with fire. It sickened her.

  “The president is the president of the whole country, not just a single city, as well as its commander in chief. As much as I would hate it, I would sacrifice one American city to save all the others in our alliance.”