Larry Bond - Shattered Trident

He reached for the folder with the Chinese economic data, but still hadn’t put away the hard copy with the ballistic missile targeting requirements. Both Hisagi and Orihara had made it clear that this was a “sensitive” program, meaning that knowledge of its existence should be limited, even within the alliance leadership. It was, literally, a “secret weapon.”

Ballistic missiles were offensive weapons, forbidden by Japan’s postwar constitution, but he’d argued in his book that at some point, Japan would face a circumstance that required their use, and now they found themselves in exactly that situation. Still, for it to come about so quickly, and as a consequence of his writings, was unnerving—a self-fulfilling prophecy?

He reviewed the information again. It was a powerful weapon. Even a handful would do tremendous damage, especially after the new warhead became available in a month’s time. Where before they needed dozens of cruise missiles, or three of the early Ryusei missiles to destroy an area target, the improved version could flatten a refinery with one hit, and destroy a fair amount of the surrounding landscape.

How could they do it? In his new work with the alliance, he’d become familiar with different types of weapons and their general capabilities. He understood how the Ryusei’s warhead worked, with many small charges, even as he shuddered at the damage it would inflict. But the details of the new warhead were not included, which was reasonable. It was still being developed, after all, but it was hard to imagine how anything short of…

Admiral Orihara had taken over Kubo’s old office, of course, although it held two desks now, for the admiral and his aide. The Hirano estate had never been intended to serve as the headquarters for a multinational military alliance.

Komamura stood silently at the open door for a moment. Orihara had been an aviator, and the model of Tachikaze, Kubo’s first ship, was gone. One wall was covered with photos of different Japanese aircraft. A photo of Kubo, bordered in black, had been added as well.

His aide, a lieutenant, noticed Komamura first, and stood, almost coming to attention. “Yes, Doctor?”

Struggling with several emotions, the professor did not respond right away. Reading Komamura’s troubled expression, Orihara glanced toward his aide. The lieutenant said, “I’ll bring tea,” but Komamura shook his head, still silent. At a nod from the admiral, the aide grabbed a sheaf of papers and quickly left.

“Please, come in,” Orihara urged. Once inside, Komamura closed the door carefully and sat down, feeling the admiral’s eyes on him. He felt painfully aware of what Orihara’s impression of him must be—at best, a melancholy drunk. But that could not be helped. He would not hold back.

Komamura leaned forward and laid the hard copy he’d gotten from Miyazaki in front of Orihara. “By my estimates, the improved warhead for the Ryusei has a yield of about fifteen kilotons. It’s a plutonium implosion design, correct?”

He was watching for Orihara’s reaction, and the admiral seemed genuinely surprised by the question. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The improved warhead—”

“Cannot achieve the described level of destruction using any known conventional explosive,” Komamura interrupted. Now that he’d said it out loud, he felt unexpected anger, and fought to control it. “Damage over such a large area can only be achieved by a nuclear weapon.”

Orihara did not answer immediately, but instead picked up the phone and punched a number. After a short pause, he said, “Please ask Minister Hisagi to come to my office immediately.”

As he hung up, Komamura asked, “How did you get permission from the Diet? I was surprised that they approved the ballistic missile, even with a conventional warhead, but this? Wait. Do they even know?”

“The prime minister, the defense minister, and the head of the Japanese Atomic Energy Agency know,” the admiral answered. “As you can imagine, security is extremely tight.”

“Is ‘extremely tight’ good enough?” Komamura asked, his voice rising. He paused for a moment, then spoke more softly. “If China learns of a nuclear weapons program in Japan, it almost guarantees instant devastation.”

There was a knock on the door, and Orihara answered, “Come in.” Hisagi stepped inside quickly, closing the door again.

The admiral announced, “Dr. Komamura has deduced the nature of the Ryusei’s ‘improved’ warhead.”

Hisagi’s face registered surprise, then it went blank for a moment before he carefully responded. “That is unfortunate, Doctor. You were not supposed to be briefed into the project.”

“I’m not surprised. You certainly knew what my reaction would be. I’m repelled by the very idea.” Looking at the two, he asked harshly, “Are either of you truly Japanese?”

Both reacted to the insult as if they’d been slapped. The use of nuclear weapons in World War II had scarred Japan’s national psyche. You didn’t have to have family near Hiroshima or Nagasaki, or have met someone suffering from radiation-induced illness. It was enough to have been born and raised in Japan.

Orihara answered carefully, “Your opinion is respected, Doctor, even now, but this was a matter of national and alliance policy. You were never part of the decision process.”

Suddenly he felt helpless. He’d caught Orihara’s slight—“even now”—and the admiral had referred to him as an academic, instead of the “ sensei ” everyone else used. His message was clear. I don’t care who you are .

“I cannot imagine a Japan that possesses nuclear weapons. What about the other alliance members? Do they know?”

Hisagi answered, “They all know. Like the ballistic missiles, the weapons will be jointly owned, and based in all of the alliance countries.”

“Why not just procure some Indian ballistic missiles, then?”

“India has reservations and refused. The other nations agreed that it would be better if we developed our own nuclear technology. These will be alliance weapons, not just Japanese. We’ve had the technical capability; we’ve just chosen not to develop them.

“It will proceed very quickly. The MOX fuel used in our nuclear reactors is seven percent weapons-grade plutonium. We already have several labs at work chemically separating the element, and we only need a few kilograms for a small implosion warhead. The Indians have agreed to provide assistance, as well.”

Komamura remembered the officer working with Kasugi. “And you’re already picking out targets. It’s unbelievable.”

“We have no intention of using them,” Hisagi protested, “but think, sensei . Not a single ballistic missile has fallen on Indian soil. The reason is obvious, as is the solution. Deterrence works, and these will be our shield against future attacks.”

“Unless the Chinese decide that seven more nations with nuclear weapons is too many,” Komamura argued. “We are frighteningly vulnerable now, with a secret worse than the existence of the alliance initially was. Remember our fears then of being discovered? If China learns of the program, she’ll immediately strike every location she can think of that might be involved in their development.”

Komamura’s own words frightened him. “And how will the alliance make them public?” he continued. “A secret deterrent is useless. How many weapons do we need to have a credible deterrent against an established nuclear superpower?”

He paused, then shook his head. “No, China will never let us get that far. Even if they don’t discover the program before it becomes operational, the moment the alliance announces it has nuclear weapons, the Chinese will have to strike!”