<
LOCATION: SECTION 17, MINISTRY OF STATE SECURITY
CITY: BEIJING, CHINA
DATE: APRIL 15, 2026 | TIME: 8:30 AM
"They what?!" Li Wei shouted.
He yelled so loudly, everyone on the fifth floor of the building stopped what they were doing and looked up from their desks.
Li ran from his office holding a printed report, his hands shaking with anger.
"Get everyone together in the conference room," he shouted to nobody in particular. "Desk heads and two levels down. You have five minutes."
He stormed off and went straight to the only conference room large enough for a meeting with twenty people.
Li paced back and forth in front of the room until everyone had filed in and taken seats. The heads of the desks covering various parts of the world filled the table while their subordinates sat in chairs against the walls.
Li's back was turned to them at first. He turned, and one of the aides swore he could see fire burning in the Minister's eyes.
"Who knew about this?" Li asked.
Nobody spoke.
"Nobody?" Li asked. "One of the most advanced intel agencies in the world, and you would have me believe that little tyrant brat could make a move like this without anyone—"
"Sir," one of his personal deputies said, "it was Chengdu."
Li's gaze snapped up, the fire in his eyes flaring hotter.
"Zhou Ren thinks running that provincial outpost gives him the authority to approve this shitstorm? I want him here by 1400 today. Tell him to bring knee pads because he'll be begging for his job."
One of the aides from the Domestic Affairs Desk said, "Sir, that's only—"
"I don't care," Li said, cutting her off. "The flight takes four hours. I'm being fucking generous."
Li stormed out of the room, entered his office and closed the door. His assistant had already brought a hot cup of oolong tea, and it sat steaming on his desk.
He took a sip, closed his eyes and breathed for a minute. Then, he opened his interface and sent a secure System message to Grim.
---
Grim,
I'm sorry about the USS Ford. That fat little guy will pay for what he did. But first, I'm tracking down who approved this catastrophe.
I'll keep you in the loop, but let me know if there's anything I can do.
My condolences on your tremendous loss.
---
A short while later, Li received a response.
---
My friend,
Thanks for your support.
Can you get us into the country if we land in Dalian?
---
Li smiled.
Maybe this shitshow can be salvaged after all.
He sighed. Nothing can be done about those on the ship, but sometimes there's nothing like revenge to help put dead spirits to rest.
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LOCATION: SECTION 17, MINISTRY OF STATE SECURITY
CITY: BEIJING, CHINA
DATE: APRIL 15, 2026 | TIME: 2:05 PM
Zhou Ren, the Regional Director of the Ministry of State Security in Chengdu, arrived in Beijing with plenty of time to spare, but the traffic from the airport to the Ministry offices delayed him.
It was 2:05 PM when he entered the small, secure conference room Li had reserved for the meeting.
His hair was disheveled, and large sweat stains under his arms gave away the mad dash he'd just completed from the front door of the building, through security and into this room.
Li, who had his back turned to the door, spun around.
An aide brought two cups of tea.
"Can I get you anything else, Minister?"
Li waved his hand in dismissal.
"Leave us."
She bowed and closed the door behind her.
Zhou didn't dare speak first. He didn't even sit down, just staring at Li and waiting.
Smart move.
"You're late. Sit," Li said.
He waited until Zhou sat down and took a sip of the hot tea. Li could see the man's pulse, evident in his bulging jugular, slow. He waited just a little longer.
"Now," Li said, "you will tell me who exactly approved this shitstorm. You will provide every name of every person you were in contact with. And if you leave anything out, I'll make sure you feel the full extent of my frustration. Am I clear?"
Zhou gulped loudly and nodded.
"It started with an encrypted communication from Pyongyang…"
Zhou explained everything, and Li made a mental list of who he'd be calling in next. He was determined to get to the bottom of this.
Because China didn't just hold a veto on decisions the little baby dictator in Pyongyang made. China dictated those decisions to him.
Someone in Beijing had decided to attack America. And they were using the expendable North Korea as the scapegoat.
What's worse, they were willing to sacrifice every citizen in that country to the whims of the potentially hot-headed new President in Washington. If that man blew his top, he'd order a nuke on the capital that would take out millions of innocent civilians.
It just wasn't acceptable.
Not now.
Not when Vitalyx was only months from being revealed.
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LOCATION: USS COLORADO
AREA: SEA OF JAPAN
DATE: APRIL 15, 2026 | TIME: 2000 HOURS
Commander Darius 'Spike' Coleman entered the control room of the Virginia-class fast attack submarine, USS Colorado.
The XO glanced up from the chart table, acknowledged him with a nod, and passed over a freshly decrypted message from Indo-Pacific Command in Hawaii.
The Colorado had been patrolling in the Sea of Japan during the Trident Sentinel war games, but the missile strike on the Ford pushed their readiness to the highest level.
They'd been operating south of the Korean Peninsula when the launch occurred, and everyone aboard knew they'd likely be part of the response.
Spike read over the ops plan.
"This is tight," he said with a slow grin forming. "Looks like fun. Two SEAL teams, one from the US and one from ROKN, huh?"
"Yes sir," the XO replied, "they'll be engaging in some old fashioned sabotage inland, so they'll have three members from the Republic of Korea Navy and three from the US on each team."
"Alright," Spike said, "XO, prepare to surface. The RHIBs are incoming in thirty."
Rigid Hull Inflatable Boats (RHIBs), or some version of them have been around since World War II, but they really proved their worth during the Vietnam War. Fast, maneuverable, and able to operate even in heavy seas, they were the special operator's water taxi of choice.
Once the Colorado acknowledged, one RHIB carrying the U.S. team departed from a destroyer in the Ford's carrier strike group, while the other launched from a ROK Navy ship farther west.
Each was driven by a seasoned coxswain, guiding the craft toward Spike's rendezvous coordinates under the cover of darkness.
Minutes before they arrived, the Colorado's sail, the only part of the sub that would be visible above the black water, broke the surface.
The two RHIBs closed in within moments of each other. Normally, topside crew would throw a safety line to help boarders steady themselves against the swell. The twelve men waved it off without a word.
Carrying heavy waterproof sacks of gear, they leapt from the bouncing RHIBs onto the sub's slick forward deck, sure-footed even in the chop. Each gave a curt nod to the two sailors topside before disappearing one by one into the sail's open hatch.
The two men waved to the RHIBs and entered the Colorado, looking at each other and shrugging.
They'd seen SEALs do some incredible shit, after all. Boarding a sub in choppy waters at night without safety harnesses doesn't even crack the top ten.
Below, the twelve operators descended the ladder into the control room, where Spike and his crew waited. The air was warmer, the lighting dim and red.
They set their gear down and began a detailed coordination brief before heading to their cabins for a little bit of rack time before they'd be constantly on the go.
All twelve of these men had been inducted as part of the Peacekeeper Force. And all twelve took what just happened earlier today personally.
Wreaking havoc on the military infrastructure of the country that would rather spend its limited resources on shows of military force than feeding its own people would be cathartic, to say the least.