Marine_ A Guided Tour Of A Marine Expeditionary Unit Part 16

USS Constellation (CV-64) Battle Group, Arabian Sea, 0430 Hours, December 28th, 2006 As things calmed down in the Persian Gulf, there was one final act to Chilly Dog. At 0430 hours, two Aegis cruisers and a pair of Spruance-cla.s.s destroyers began to launch a strike by 124 BGM-109 Tomahawk missiles against the automobile factory at Bandar al Abbas and missile batteries in the Straits of Hormuz. After an overland flight from the Arabian Sea side of Iran, they leveled their targets, fully 88% of the missiles striking their designated aim-points. With this, Chilly Dog came to an end. The political fallout around the world, though, would last for months.

Joint Session of the U.S. Congress, Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., January 18th, 2007 The final words of the President's 2005 State of the Union Address were simple, as all good speeches should be. "Ladies and gentlemen, I summarize the results of the Bushehr Raid in this way. We have decisively ended a clear violation of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty, as well as a threat to the stability of Southwest Asia. Even more important, the individuals who perpetrated this violation are to be tried shortly for crimes against humanity. Already, we have seen the fall of the Islamic Revolutionary government in Iran and the beginning of a thaw between ourselves and the people of that troubled land. We offer the hand of friends.h.i.+p and commerce to the people of Iran, and the hope that the terrible fire that we have contained will never again raise its head in the Persian Gulf.

"I also wish to thank the men and women who conducted this action. We live in a new millennium, and unless we choose different paths for ourselves and our world, the human race will not see another. Luckily, we have good people out there who stand on the walls, and guard them for us as we sleep. I never want to be without a military to watch over our interests, and protect them. G.o.d bless them, and G.o.d bless the United States of America!"

Officers' Mess, USS Bataan Bataan (LHD-5), Western Mediterranean, January 18th, 2007 (LHD-5), Western Mediterranean, January 18th, 2007 Lev Davidovich Telfian watched the State of the Union address with a smile on his face, knowing that he had helped in bringing a happy end to this situation. He was still aboard the Bataan, Bataan, where he would be safer until the memories of the Iranians were less fresh. Telfian had been thinking about what he wanted to do next, and he had several offers. One came from the IAEA to work on an inspection team in South America and Africa. Another one had been extended from the U.S., to work as a consultant for the Defense Nuclear Agency on counter-proliferation issues. Even the SVR was making him an offer, as an intelligence a.n.a.lyst at Moscow headquarters. That last one held few attractions for him. Perhaps the Americans. At least they were working to take the d.a.m.ned bombs apart. After being so close to the nuclear genie for so long, perhaps it was time to try and force it back into the bottle. where he would be safer until the memories of the Iranians were less fresh. Telfian had been thinking about what he wanted to do next, and he had several offers. One came from the IAEA to work on an inspection team in South America and Africa. Another one had been extended from the U.S., to work as a consultant for the Defense Nuclear Agency on counter-proliferation issues. Even the SVR was making him an offer, as an intelligence a.n.a.lyst at Moscow headquarters. That last one held few attractions for him. Perhaps the Americans. At least they were working to take the d.a.m.ned bombs apart. After being so close to the nuclear genie for so long, perhaps it was time to try and force it back into the bottle.

Operation Tropic Fury: The Liberation of Brunei, September 2008

Limbang Valley, Brunei, September 2nd, 2008 This morning, the Sultan of Brunei would dedicate a new clinic for the hill tribes of the upper Limbang Valley. The Royal helicopter, a luxurious Sikorsky S-76, snaked up the valley from the South China Sea toward the rain-forested mountains of northern Borneo. It was only a twenty-minute flight from the Palace, and the airs.p.a.ce over the entire district had been cleared of other traffic. Sometimes the Sultan, an enthusiastic and reasonably skilled pilot, liked to take the controls himself, but today he was content to sit back and browse through the electronic edition of the Wall Street Wall Street Journal on his new Tos.h.i.+ba data pad. The lead story was, in fact, about his plan for part.i.tion and management of newly surveyed oil fields in the South China Sea. Journal on his new Tos.h.i.+ba data pad. The lead story was, in fact, about his plan for part.i.tion and management of newly surveyed oil fields in the South China Sea.

They centered around the Spratlys, a few barren reefs that had ambitions to be islands at low tide. The new oil pools were probably the biggest at-sea petroleum find since the North Sea fields back in the 1970s. Unfortunately, the nations surrounding this oil discovery were nowhere as reasonable as Great Britain and Norway when they part.i.tioned the North Sea fields. Half a dozen nations had claims over the new oil find, and few of these nations could be described as "reasonable." To the east lay the Philippines, where a share of the oil revenue might relieve an exploding population's chronic poverty. To the west, the Communist governments of China and Vietnam coveted oil to fuel their economies and earn hard currency from petroleum exports. To the north, Taiwan, still claiming to be the "true" Government of China, felt ent.i.tled to a piece of China's share. But the real trouble lay to the south, where Malaysia, Indonesia, Singapore, and Brunei all had claims on the new fields, and some of them were willing to fight for a larger share.

Tiny Brunei, with the wells that produced fabled North Borneo crude, the world's purest oil, was the richest nation per capita in the world. This provoked envy among neighbors, particularly Malaysia, with its growing population, simmering ethnic tensions, and lack of oil resources. The Malays had been full of threats this past summer. The reason was the upcoming United Nations conference at the end of October which would settle, once and for all, the development plans for the South China Sea oil fields. Malaysia had joined Indonesia in a coalition for the coming conference, and was trying to entice Singapore. The same offer had been extended to the Sultan, but he had politely declined the invitation.

He would place a proposal on the table to create a multi-national non-profit corporation which would invest the oil income into a regional development fund to build schools, roads, and other infrastructure so badly needed by the peoples of the region. The Sultan knew that the leaders of the other countries did not share his vision, and this was why he wanted to put his ideas on the table at the UN. The article in the Wall Street Journal Wall Street Journal spelled out the details of the plan-as well as the first reactions to it, which had come quickly. Malaysia and Indonesia had denounced it. Vietnam and China had remained ominously silent. But Singapore, Taiwan, and the Philippines had all endorsed the idea, and this gave him hope. He smiled and sat back, composing his thoughts for the clinic dedication. spelled out the details of the plan-as well as the first reactions to it, which had come quickly. Malaysia and Indonesia had denounced it. Vietnam and China had remained ominously silent. But Singapore, Taiwan, and the Philippines had all endorsed the idea, and this gave him hope. He smiled and sat back, composing his thoughts for the clinic dedication.

The bright, newly painted yellow circled "H" of the clinic's medevac landing pad was just coming into view around a bend in the river. Today's duty pilot for the Royal Flight was a retired British Fleet Air Arm commander with thousands of hours logged in just about anything with rotors. He had also been trained in escape and evasion. It didn't do him much good. He caught the flash on the ground and instinctively pulled into a hard break to starboard. The data pad flew out of the Sultan's grip and bounced off the Plexiglas windscreen.

The pilot's move was too late. The seeker head of the first shoulder-fired missile had locked onto the hot metal of the turbine exhaust even as other missiles lanced upward from the opposite side of the valley. The high-explosive warhead detonated on impact with the port engine, shredding fuel lines, hydraulic tubing, and control cables. A single missile hit might have resulted in a survivable crash, but the second hit turned the tough and graceful chopper into a flying cloud of flaming wreckage. By the time the stunned VIPs and the medical team from the clinic arrived at the crash site, His Royal Highness, the Sultan of Brunei, by some estimates the world's richest human, was identifiable only from dental records.

The Palace, Bandar Seri Begawan, Brunei, September 2nd, 2008 Crown Prince Omar Bolkiah, twenty-six years old, was on the tennis court with an instructor when the elderly, respectful, and impeccably discreet palace chamberlain arrived with the news of his father's death. Omar was unsure which of his innumerable half-brothers had engineered the a.s.sa.s.sination, though he had a reasonable suspicion which foreign power had provided the hit team, and he knew that his own life would not be worth a ringgit if he were found anywhere within the fifty-acre Palace compound. Twenty minutes later, veiled and shrouded in women's garb and surrounded by a gaggle of his favorite sister's servants, he slipped out of a little-used riverfront exit and boarded a small boat. Within an hour, dressed in the plain white uniform of a junior naval ensign, he was embarked on the rusty but trusty missile patrol boat Pejuang, Pejuang, listening to the throb of the twin diesels as she slipped out of Muara harbor, bound for the treacherous shoals of Louisa Reef. listening to the throb of the twin diesels as she slipped out of Muara harbor, bound for the treacherous shoals of Louisa Reef.

The young Prince ("No, now I have to start thinking of myself as the Sultan," he thought) had many worries, but pursuit was not one of them. There were men he could trust in the Navy. As the sun went down over the South China Sea in another magnificent tropical blaze of glory, every other patrol boat in the Royal Brunei Navy swung gently at her moorings, polished and scrubbed to the best Portsmouth standards, and thoroughly sabotaged. Within days, some very junior mechanic's mates would pay with their lives for their loyalty to their Prince.

British Emba.s.sy, Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., September 5th, 2008 The package had arrived on a trans-Pacific red-eye flight into Dulles from Singapore under the diplomatic seal of Her Majesty's Foreign Service. It was picked up by a car from the British Emba.s.sy and escorted by two Secret Service Chevrolet Blazers. That was unusual, but at that hour, there was no one around to take any particular notice. The men gathered to examine the package came from a variety of military, diplomatic, and intelligence services. The Americans had better teeth. The British wore better-fitting suits. They had all been through this drill before. A fine linen tablecloth was flung over the exquisitely inlaid conference table; then the work began. Some of the tropical hardwood trees from which the table was made had been logged over a hundred years before, not far from the crash site. The package was opened without ceremony, and the charred and blackened shards of metal were pa.s.sed from hand to hand for examination and judgment.

"Our Special Air Service lads picked these bits up the night after the crash. Rather a lot of confusion on the scene, as you can imagine. They had the devil of a job getting in and out without being spotted."

"No question," one of the Americans finally said. "This is a Chinese copy of the Stinger."

The missiles that had downed the Sultan's helicopter were, therefore, untraceable. You could pick one up in any Third World arms bazaar for a few thousand deutschmarks. The next question, asked by the President's National Security Advisor, was aimed at the British amba.s.sador.

"Mister Amba.s.sador, what is the position of the British Government on this matter?"

"My Prime Minister is, as you know, in a very difficult position. British Sh.e.l.l and Lloyds are the primary guarantors of more than a trillion British pounds of investment in both Malaysia and Brunei. Potential revenues from those two countries represent many times that amount. As might be imagined, British industry is putting huge pressure on our government to do absolutely nothing and accept this new arrangement as a fait acompli. The reality is that what we have here is nothing more than the rape of a small country by a larger and more powerful neighbor, just like Kuwait in 1990. Thus, while we will not be seen taking active measures, rest a.s.sured that we will support any initiative by your Government to restore the status quo." The amba.s.sador then extended his hand to seal the latest of many such back-channel deals between the United Kingdom and her former American colony. Once again, the "special relations.h.i.+p" had been reaffirmed.

Off Louisa Reef, South China Sea, 0400 Hours, September 6th, 2008 Commander Chu Hsiang-kuo raised Hai Lung's Hai Lung's periscope and slewed it around the horizon with a practiced flick of the wrist. There was the Bruneian patrol boat, a few hundred yards/meters to the south, just where he had been told to expect it. "Helm, come to course one hundred eighty degrees, slow to five knots and prepare to surface." Chu clicked the stopwatch b.u.t.ton on his Rolex watch, a gift from an uncle who owned a major Taiwanese electronics firm. He planned to spend no more than three minutes on the surface, and had drilled his crew for days to shave every possible second off the tricky rendezvous and pickup. There were too many Mainland Chinese patrol planes about to allow him the luxury of loitering on the surface. Two minutes and forty nine seconds later the hatch clanged shut and His Royal Highness, the Sultan of Brunei, was a guest aboard the Republic of China's best submarine. The traditional formalities of piping a head of state on board were dispensed with; Omar simply gave Commander Chu a bear hug. The Prince was finally safe, though the patrol boat crew would have to hot-bunk in the Taiwanese sub's cramped accommodations for a while. periscope and slewed it around the horizon with a practiced flick of the wrist. There was the Bruneian patrol boat, a few hundred yards/meters to the south, just where he had been told to expect it. "Helm, come to course one hundred eighty degrees, slow to five knots and prepare to surface." Chu clicked the stopwatch b.u.t.ton on his Rolex watch, a gift from an uncle who owned a major Taiwanese electronics firm. He planned to spend no more than three minutes on the surface, and had drilled his crew for days to shave every possible second off the tricky rendezvous and pickup. There were too many Mainland Chinese patrol planes about to allow him the luxury of loitering on the surface. Two minutes and forty nine seconds later the hatch clanged shut and His Royal Highness, the Sultan of Brunei, was a guest aboard the Republic of China's best submarine. The traditional formalities of piping a head of state on board were dispensed with; Omar simply gave Commander Chu a bear hug. The Prince was finally safe, though the patrol boat crew would have to hot-bunk in the Taiwanese sub's cramped accommodations for a while. As Hai Lung (Sea Dragon) As Hai Lung (Sea Dragon) dove, the patrol boat dove, the patrol boat Pejuang Pejuang wallowed deeper on the gla.s.sy sea and slowly capsized. Scuttling charges might have attracted unwanted attention. The Mainland Chinese had wired these waters for sound, and this last act of Brunei's Navy was played out quietly. wallowed deeper on the gla.s.sy sea and slowly capsized. Scuttling charges might have attracted unwanted attention. The Mainland Chinese had wired these waters for sound, and this last act of Brunei's Navy was played out quietly.

The Palace, Bandar Seri Begawan, Brunei, September 6th, 2008 Surrounded by thuggish bodyguards, twenty-one-year-old Prince Abdelrahman, brother of the missing Crown Prince, looked distinctly uncomfortable in the uniform of a field marshal. It would be his first press conference. Although his handlers had thoroughly drilled and briefed him in the four days since the a.s.sa.s.sination, the "live" satellite feed, in English with simultaneous translation into Malay, Mandarin Chinese, and several regional dialects, had a seven-second delay; and a senior Malaysian intelligence officer, covered as an audio technician, was standing by the "kill" switch, just in case Abdelrahman said anything particularly stupid.

He coughed and stuttered out, "In the name of Allah, the merciful, the compa.s.sionate, I, Prince Abdelrahman Bolkiah, Sultan of Brunei, have the sad duty to inform my people and the world of the events that have shattered the peace and tranquillity of our country during the past week. We have uncovered proof that our late father, the Sultan, was treacherously murdered in a plot by our half-brother, the former Crown Prince Omar, who has fled the country. We will pursue this criminal by every possible means and bring him to justice. Our government will regard it as a most serious breach of international law if any foreign power gives sanctuary to this criminal.

"Even as We exert every effort to avenge our father's murder, we must take thought for the future of our people. For over a hundred years, this Sultanate has been a vestige of colonialism and a geopolitical anomaly." He paused for a sip of water. The English phrases would be a mouthful for the poor translators. "We have consulted with representatives of our people and our faith." He nodded toward the hard-line Islamic fundamentalist imams who had taken control of the local ulema, the collective interpreters of Muslim religious law.

"We have therefore determined that Brunei will formally request admission to the Federation of Malaysia. We have received a.s.surances from His Excellency, the Prime Minister of Malaysia, that the traditional prerogatives of the Sultanate and the customs, culture, and traditions of our people will be fully respected. Also, in the forthcoming international conference on territorial waters in the South China Sea, Brunei's historic claims will be represented with the full power of the Malaysian Federation. Our military forces will be merged into the Malaysian armed forces, and the Brunei dollar will be withdrawn from circulation and exchanged for the Malaysian ringgit at a very favorable rate. Foreign emba.s.sies will be given every a.s.sistance in relocating their facilities and staff to Kuala Lumpur, and we invite all the nations with which we have enjoyed friendly diplomatic relations to maintain an appropriate consulate here in Bandar Seri Begawan." He finished with the words "Peace be upon you." There were no questions. Everyone agreed that, for his first press conference, the kid had followed the script pretty well.

Headquarters, Fleet Marine Force, Pacific, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, September 7th, 2008 Lieutenant General Sidney Bear, USMC, was not a subtle man. Built like his name, he carried an old Naval Academy nickname of "Teddy," reflecting his kind and gentle nature. But at times he had a temper. Now was one of those times. As commander of Marine Forces, Pacific (FMFPAC), he was responsible for all Marine Corps activities in the Pacific Theater, and he had problems, both big and small. The American decision not to recognize the new Sultan and ignore the order to relocate the U.S. Emba.s.sy in BSB had caught U.S. Pacific Command by surprise. The general's first concern was for his own, of course, the squad of Marine guards at the U.S. Emba.s.sy in BSB. He quickly set up a video teleconference over a secure satellite link. The military attache at the emba.s.sy was an Air Force lieutenant colonel, but the general was relieved to see that the security detachment was led by an experienced gunnery sergeant. This was probably the first time the gunny had ever talked to a three-star general via the jerky image and fuzzy audio of an encrypted video phone, but his confidence and professionalism came across loud and clear.

"We've had a crowd of people at the gate this morning lined up to apply for visas, sir, but otherwise it's been business as usual."

"Gunny, I'm counting on you to be my eyes and ears until we can get you some reinforcements. Have your men keep a low profile. If they storm the emba.s.sy, let 'em have it. It's not worth dying for. We're gonna get you out of there real soon, but until then you're my eyes and ears on the spot. Anything unusual happens, you get on the horn to my Ops officer, ASAP. Understood?"

"Semper Fi, sir!"

No further explanation was required.

The White House, Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., 1000 Hours, September 8th, 2008 The Secretary of Defense brought over a vanload of wall charts, slides, high-resolution satellite imagery, and doc.u.ments to brief the President of the United States about the situation in Brunei. Then, the Secretary of State discussed the regional and global ramifications of the crisis. Finally, the National Security Advisor and the Chief of Staff explained it to him in simple language. These preliminaries over, the President made phone calls to London, Paris, and Moscow, and it was decided. The change of government in Brunei was an illegal coup d'etat. The policy of the United States was not to recognize any change in the international status of the Sultanate, and to seek to restore the reign of his rightful successor, the Crown Prince Omar Bolkiah.

Somebody recalled a phrase from the early 90s. "This will not stand."

A political solution through the United Nations Security Council would be pressed, but NSA a.n.a.lysis of the message traffic out of Beijing made it clear that a Chinese veto could be expected. That left only one alternative. The Secretary of Defense called the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. The Chairman called CINPAC. CINCPAC called the FMFPAC. A planning cell was activated in a dingy bas.e.m.e.nt office under security so tight that only a half-dozen officers were fully "read-in" on the time, the place, and the objective. Wheels began to turn.

Headquarters, The 7th Gurkha Rifles, Seria, Brunei, September 9th, 2008 For decades Brunei Sh.e.l.l Petroleum had entrusted the security of its oil fields to the small, brown, and very capable hands of the Gurkhas. A Nepalese hill tribe, the Gurkhas enjoyed a unique relations.h.i.+p with the British Crown, combining elements of honor, tradition, mutual admiration, and direct cash payment. Maintaining a regiment of nine hundred Gurkhas cost the Sultan fully five million British pounds a year, and it was worth every penny. n.o.body messed with the Sultan's oil fields. No professional soldier in the world ever wanted to go up against Gurkhas.

It was a delicate situation. Recruited and trained for generations by the British Army, the Gurkhas had been hired by Brunei to defend its oil fields, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that as long as one of them remained alive, they would do exactly that. Colonel Rai stood 5 ft 4 in./1.6 m tall and weighed about 105 lb/47.6 kg, soaking wet. He was fifty-two years old, and could still decapitate a water buffalo with one stroke of his razor-sharp kukri, kukri, the curved fighting knife that represented the mystical center of the Gurkha warrior tradition. He rarely wore his full-dress uniform; his days were mostly spent on patrol with his men, or with the handful of foreign special forces officers who were favored with the privilege of jungle training with the Gurkhas. But today, every crease was as sharp as a the curved fighting knife that represented the mystical center of the Gurkha warrior tradition. He rarely wore his full-dress uniform; his days were mostly spent on patrol with his men, or with the handful of foreign special forces officers who were favored with the privilege of jungle training with the Gurkhas. But today, every crease was as sharp as a kukri, kukri, and every bit of bra.s.s gleamed like gold, because he was receiving a special guest, a personal envoy from his own Hindu monarch, the King of Nepal. Tea was poured, gifts were exchanged, and there was polite small talk while an orderly cleared the table. and every bit of bra.s.s gleamed like gold, because he was receiving a special guest, a personal envoy from his own Hindu monarch, the King of Nepal. Tea was poured, gifts were exchanged, and there was polite small talk while an orderly cleared the table.

"His Majesty desires the presence of your regiment in Katmandu for an important ceremony," the envoy said.

"We are not worthy of such an honor, and duty requires our presence here in Brunei. Surely His Majesty understands," Rai said.

"The 14th Gurkha Rifles will rotate in temporarily to perform your duties. The British Prime Minister has graciously offered the use of Royal Air Force transports to fly you and your men directly to Nepal at no cost."

The warrior and the diplomat made eye contact. Faint smiles flickered across their impa.s.sive faces. Little was said and much was understood.

"Please convey to His Majesty my deepest grat.i.tude for this honor."

By the end of the week, the 7th Rifles were out of the country, and for some unaccountable reason, they wound up in Manila, billeted in the same hotel as the Crown Prince Omar Bolkiah. At the same time, the 14th Gurkhas were held up in transit. Problems with paperwork, it was said. Diplomatic channels hummed with profuse apologies, while Malaysian authorities scrambled to recruit temporary security guards. For now, though, the new Sultan had only a Malaysian s.h.i.+eld.

Prime Minister's Residence, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, 1430 hours, September 10th, 2008 It was intolerable. The Prime Minster was not a patient man. He had devoted a long career to building up his fragile nation into a respected regional economic and military power. And now the insolent American task force, steaming provocatively though his territorial seas, was requesting that Malaysian patrol planes keep a distance of at least 50 nm/91.4 km to avoid "unfortunate incidents." In response, he had summoned the American amba.s.sador and browbeaten the man for half an hour. The bland diplomatic replies about "freedom of navigation" and "precautionary measures" had only infuriated him more. Malays could be a hot-tempered people. Amok Amok is a Malay word, and the Prime Minister was just about ready to run amok. As soon as the American had been dismissed, the Prime Minister grabbed the red phone that connected him directly to the Armed Forces Chief of Staff. He would give them an incident to remember. is a Malay word, and the Prime Minister was just about ready to run amok. As soon as the American had been dismissed, the Prime Minister grabbed the red phone that connected him directly to the Armed Forces Chief of Staff. He would give them an incident to remember.

Above the South China Sea, 1500 Hours, September 10th, 2008 There was a time when a flight of four vintage MiG-29 Fulcrum-Cs flying top cover for a gaggle of four s.h.i.+ny new F/A-18C Hornets might have seemed bizarre. In the New World Order, though, any mix of aircraft was possible. The Malaysian Air Force had stretched its limited budget by driving hard bargains, East and West, and the result was this formation. Squadron Leader Edward Tawau, call sign Red Dragon, nervously thumbed the stick's radar-mode select switch between air-search and surface-search modes. He didn't like this mission one bit. His orders were to fly directly over the s.h.i.+ps of the American task force at low alt.i.tude, cracking sonic booms just above their mastheads. At the pre-dawn briefing, the Wing Commander had a.s.sured the pilots that the Americans would back off as soon as they understood that Malaysia was serious about enforcing its sovereignty.

The Wing Commander (call sign Blue Python) had been born into a princely family of one of the little sultanates that made up the Malay Federation and trained by the RAF. He was contemptuous of Americans, a strange people, wholly without courtesy and lacking in any sense of family honor or obligation. On the other hand, the Squadron Leader's parents had met in a factory that a.s.sembled circuit boards for an American computer company, and he had learned to fly his F/A-18C Hornet in Florida. He might not understand Americans, but he was not likely to underestimate them.

"Red Dragon, this is Blue Python," the radio crackled. "Surface s.h.i.+ps bearing one hundred degrees at seventy-five miles." Tawau briefly flicked the switch to surface-search mode to confirm the contact, then went radar-silent. No point in giving the Americans any extra advance warning. They would be over the target in ten minutes. Five minutes later, his radar-warning receiver alarm sounded. One of the American escorts had just locked him up with a fire-control radar. This game of chicken was getting serious!

Combat Information Center (CIC), USS Bon Homme Richard Bon Homme Richard (LHD-6), 1505 Hours, September 10th, 2008 (LHD-6), 1505 Hours, September 10th, 2008 Captain Mike Anderson had seen the incoming flock of fighters at almost 120 nm/220 km, and had already taken measures to deal with the threat. Two AV-8B Plus Harrier IIs loaded with Sidewinders and AMRAAMs on "Plus Five" alert had been launched when the force had hit 100 nm/183 km, and two more were being readied for launch. Then, over the communications net, he heard the PHIBRON commander, a rear admiral, order, "Warning Yellow, Weapons Hold," to the force and its escorts. This meant that an attack was expected, and that weapons could be fired in the event of a hostile act. What was headed their way looked like big trouble, and Anderson ordered General Quarters. It was going to be an exciting few minutes.

Red Python Flight, 1508 Hours, September 10th, 2008 At 65 nm/ 119 km, Squadron Leader Tawau heard an American-accented voice over the Guard channel of his radio warning them to veer off and maintain at least 50 nm/91.4 km distance from the force. Through his headphones, he heard the Wing Commander snort his contempt in response and order the aircraft to continue. It was getting ugly. Tawau decided to check the air situation, and was not surprised to see a pair of unidentified contacts closing in from the side. It got even worse a minute later. After crossing of the 50-nm/91.4-km line, his radar-warning receiver blared, showing a pair of air intercept radars to port. He wanted to order his flight to turn around, but as he moved his finger to press the microphone b.u.t.ton, two of his F/A-18s exploded into blazing fireb.a.l.l.s, victims of what had to be the fabled AIM- 120 AMRAAM missiles of the American fighters. Then, through the top of his canopy, he saw two MiGs explode in the same way. Over the radio, he heard the Wing Commander call for him to close on the s.h.i.+ps and shout, "Weapons free!" on the squadron net. Feeling growing anger at this stupidity, but unable to defy an order, he ordered the surviving Hornet in his flight to follow him, selected afterburner, turned on his jammer, and put the nose over into a dive heading for the amphibious s.h.i.+ps. He never saw the Wing Commander's aircraft disintegrate into a ball of fire from a Sidewinder hit and the surviving MiG-29 running for home. He was following the last legal order he had been given, bad as it was.

Minutes later, as the indistinct shapes of the task force appeared as dots on the horizon, he saw the flash and smoke trail that indicated a SAM launch from one of the escorts. Both F/A-18Cs commenced evasive maneuvers heading for the deck. As he did, the SAM arched down towards him, detonating above and behind. Shredded by the fragments from the warhead, his Hornet began to break up, and he activated his ejection seat. Seeing his flight leader shot down roused the other young Malaysian pilot to fury, and he continued down to just above the wave tops. Heading along the last bearing to the enemy task force, he flew until one of the big amphibious s.h.i.+ps suddenly loomed right in front of him. Arming his Gatling gun, he lined up on the s.h.i.+p and set up a shallow dive for a strafing run....

Aboard the USS Germantown Germantown (LSD-42), 1513 Hours, September 10th, 2008 (LSD-42), 1513 Hours, September 10th, 2008 When the F/A-18s had continued on a course that looked like a cla.s.sic attack profile, the ARG commander had given orders that enabled the fire-control computers to engage as soon as hostile aircraft came within weapons range. But no one could have predicted that one F/A-18 pilot was crazy enough to close to strafing range at wave-top level, and no one could have predicted how badly a long burst of 20mm sh.e.l.ls could shred the bridge of an amphibious transport. It did the young Hornet pilot little good in any case. One of the Germantown's Germantown's 20mm Mk 16 Phalanx CIWS mounts shattered the F/A-18, sending it careening into the sea, killing the pilot. 20mm Mk 16 Phalanx CIWS mounts shattered the F/A-18, sending it careening into the sea, killing the pilot.

Pentagon Press Room, 0800 Hours, September 10th, 2008 "At approximately 2:00 AM Eastern Time this morning, eight Malaysian aircraft were detected approaching a U.S. Navy task force in international waters, transiting the South China Sea. After ignoring repeated requests on recognized international frequencies to maintain a safe distance, these aircraft were engaged by defensive systems. We believe that seven were shot down and one turned back. One aircraft closed on USS Germantown Germantown and opened fire with its cannon before being shot down. Twenty-six sailors and Marines on board and opened fire with its cannon before being shot down. Twenty-six sailors and Marines on board Germantown Germantown were killed, and eighteen were seriously injured. were killed, and eighteen were seriously injured.

"Air-sea rescue helicopters from the task force are still searching for survivors from the Malaysian aircraft. The Secretary has asked me to emphasize that the United States does not regard this incident as an act of war. Let me repeat, we are not at war with Malaysia. We are attempting to defuse a volatile situation in a troubled part of the world. At an appropriate time we will seek, through diplomatic means, a formal apology for the loss of American lives and compensation from Malaysia for the damage to our s.h.i.+p. Meanwhile, the United States intends to closely watch the situation in occupied Brunei and will continue to uphold the principle of freedom of navigation in international waters, as we have done for over two hundred years."

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A map of the South China Sea theater during the opening moves of the invasion of Brunei.

JACK RYAN ENTERPRISES, LTD., BY LAURA ALPHER.

When the Department of Defense press officer sat down, the State Department press officer took the microphone, cleared her throat, and read the paper that had been handed to her a few minutes earlier.

"Until the situation is clarified, the State Department has advised Americans in Malaysia or occupied Brunei to leave the country by the first available means. Also, American pa.s.sports will not be valid for travel to Malaysia or occupied Brunei. The President has issued an Executive Order freezing all a.s.sets of Malaysia and Brunei in American financial inst.i.tutions. Our Amba.s.sador to the United Nations has asked for an emergency meeting of the Security Council tomorrow morning. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. No questions, please."

United Nations, New York City, September 11th, 2008 RESOLUTION 1446.

The Security Council, Security Council, Grieved by the death of His Royal Highness the Sultan of Brunei, under unexplained circ.u.mstances, by the death of His Royal Highness the Sultan of Brunei, under unexplained circ.u.mstances, Deeply concerned that the annexation of Brunei by the Federation of Malaysia is being implemented without regard to the freely expressed desires of the Bruneian people, that the annexation of Brunei by the Federation of Malaysia is being implemented without regard to the freely expressed desires of the Bruneian people, Alarmed by recent naval incidents in the South China Sea involving armed clashes between forces of the Federation of Malaysia and the United States of America, by recent naval incidents in the South China Sea involving armed clashes between forces of the Federation of Malaysia and the United States of America, Acting under Articles 39 and 40 of the Charter of the United Nations, under Articles 39 and 40 of the Charter of the United Nations, Demands the immediate and unconditional withdrawal of Malaysian military forces from the territory of Brunei, the immediate and unconditional withdrawal of Malaysian military forces from the territory of Brunei, Calls upon the Federation of Malaysia, the United States of America, the Sultanate of Brunei, member States of the a.s.sociation of Southeast Asian Nations, and all other concerned States to begin intensive negotiations for the peaceful resolution of their differences, the Federation of Malaysia, the United States of America, the Sultanate of Brunei, member States of the a.s.sociation of Southeast Asian Nations, and all other concerned States to begin intensive negotiations for the peaceful resolution of their differences, Decides to meet again as necessary to consider further steps to ensure compliance with this resolution. to meet again as necessary to consider further steps to ensure compliance with this resolution.

The resolution carried, with fourteen for, one against (Indonesia), and two abstentions (China, j.a.pan). If China had vetoed the resolution, Malaysia's annexation of Brunei would have been a done deal, and the fragile "New World Order" could like it or lump it. Diplomatic pressure cut no mustard with the Chinese Communists. But in the days before the vote, chief executives of the major Western and j.a.panese banks and oil companies had called their Chinese contacts with a simple, back-channel message. If the takeover of Brunei went unchallenged, there would be no credits for any offsh.o.r.e oil development in the South China Sea, regardless of territorial claims by any power in the region. The Communist Chinese may have been true believers in Marxism-Leninism, but they weren't stupid.

Aboard USS Bon Homme Richard Bon Homme Richard (LHD-6), PHIBRON 11, September 12th, 2008 (LHD-6), PHIBRON 11, September 12th, 2008 Channel 6 of the Fleet Broadcast Satellite Net was carrying CNN, and the staff of the ARG had gathered in the wardroom at this absurd hour to watch the live feed from UN Headquarters halfway around the globe. The betting was about even. Half the officers figured Malaysia would back down, given the lesson that had been taught to Iraq some fifteen years earlier. Half expected immediate orders from CINCPAC to begin planning for the liberation of Brunei.

Colleen Taskins had not made Colonel in the Marine Corps by hoping for the best. She was the first female MEU (SOC) commander in the history of the Corps. She fully expected the worst, and she was about to get it on her first command cruise. The 31st MEU (SOC) and PHIBRON 11 had no orders yet to retake Brunei, but good commanders antic.i.p.ate events, and she was trying to do that now. She gathered her staff for a late-night planning session. When the orders came down the chop chain from CINCPAC, her Marines and sailors would be ready.

American Emba.s.sy, Manila, the Philippines, September 14th, 2008 Crown Prince Omar Bolkiah and the colonel of the 7th Gurkhas were seated in the emba.s.sy conference room, being briefed on the plan for the liberation of Brunei from Malaysia. The young man thought it odd that others would talk so clinically in front of him about fighting for his country and his people. But Colonel Rai had counseled the young Prince that this was the way of soldiers. Although the Americans were talking about his country as if it were a chessboard, they had every intention of giving it back. This, the colonel said, was exactly what they had done back in 1991 for the A1 Sabah family in Kuwait, and they would do it now for him.

On the large-screen projector appeared a series of viewgraphs, with smaller insert screens in the corners for each of the major partic.i.p.ants in the briefing. One of them was dedicated to the impa.s.sive face of the Crown Prince, while the others showed the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the CinC Pacific Forces, and the commander of the 31st MEU (SOC), Colonel Taskins. The Prince wondered about entrusting his country to this pixie-faced woman, but she seemed to know her business, and the others on the screen were showing her respect.

The Americans called the forthcoming operation Tropic Fury. He wondered how this one would be remembered-as a triumphant liberation, like Desert Storm, or an abysmal failure like Eagle Claw, the raid to rescue American hostages in Iran. But Tropic Fury looked like it had a chance. Colonel Rai called it a "rock soup" approach, which meant that they would start with very little and try to feed more into the effort if the initial a.s.sault worked. He was amazed that the Americans seemed to have thought about this kind of problem so thoroughly, and then remembered how they had been humiliated in the 1970s. The Americans' ability to enforce their will was based upon long experience in such affairs, and he promised himself that he would learn more than a new tennis swing from his time here in Manila.

White House Briefing Room, Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., September 15th, 2008 "Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States!"

The press room was jammed to capacity for a major policy announcement on what was becoming known as the South China Sea Crisis. Along with the usual Presidential media personnel were the Secretaries of State and Defense with an easel full of briefing charts. The TV lights were running hot when the President arrived, and he moved quickly into his presentation. After a short introduction reviewing events of the last few days, he got to the point.

"...therefore, the United States, in conjunction with the United Nations, is declaring a complete military and economic embargo of Malaysia. The Government of Malaysia has until midnight tonight, Eastern Daylight Time, to clear all air and maritime traffic to and from Brunei, or the U.S. will use force to enforce the embargo. In addition, Malaysia has just five days to withdrawal from the territory of Brunei and allow the return of the Sultan, or measures will be taken to evict them. This is the only warning that will be given, and there will be no negotiations. We have not created this situation. Malaysia has. Now let them solve it, or we will do it for them. That completes my statement. The Secretaries of State and Defense will now field any questions you might have. Good day, ladies and gentlemen."

He turned and headed offstage to cries of, "Mr. President???" from a hundred reporters.

USS Bon Homme Richard Bon Homme Richard (LHD-6), Somewhere in the South China Sea, 1100 hours, September 16th, 2008 (LHD-6), Somewhere in the South China Sea, 1100 hours, September 16th, 2008 "Jeez, it's like a whole city of oil tanks. How are we supposed to fight in that?" the Lieutenant said. From the piers of Kuala Belait to the wellheads and pumping stations of Seria, 20 mi/32 km east, the coastal strip was a continuous landscape of immensely valuable and extremely flammable petroleum facilities, punctuated by the flames of a few flare stacks, in fields where it was too much trouble to collect the natural gas for liquefaction.

"With these, Lieutenant," Major Bill Hansen said, tossing a small but surprisingly heavy, round flat bag on the table.

"Excuse me, sir. My Marines are going into combat against guys who have live ammo, and we're supposed to shoot back with beanbags?"

"Non-lethal projectiles, Lieutenant. They're called Flexible Batons, and don't underestimate these things--they'll knock down a horse at twenty paces. And we're going to use these in the shotguns and grenade launchers until we're at least five hundred yards inland from the oil facilities."

The kid was too young to remember the fires of Kuwait. The Major had been there, and he never wanted to see anything like that h.e.l.lish landscape of smoke and flame again. He patiently explained the rules of engagement for fighting in an oil field. The lieutenant would lead his company through the basics of combat-shotgun refresher training in the morning.

"Anyhow, we don't think you'll be going up against real soldiers in your LZ," the major said. "The oil company security guards are basically rent-a-cops, and we're trying to convince Sh.e.l.l to pull them out in any case."

"Well, sir, I've met some pretty bad-a.s.s rent-a-cops."

"I'm sure you have, Lieutenant. I'm sure you have...." The kid had grown up on the mean streets in South LA. He had probably been shoplifting from liquor stores at an age when the major was learning to tie knots in the Cub Scouts. Now he was a Marine, one of his Marines. He was pleased to have such a man under his command.