Date Published: October 13, 2023
Publisher: Acorn Publishing
When the People’s Republic of China unleashes a devastating attack on the United States, newly appointed Naval Commander Bill Watkins and his crew are suddenly alone, deep in the enemy’s backyard, and unable to communicate with naval or national leadership.
At home in Washington, the president is detached from reality. Survivors of his cabinet contend with military leadership for control, some to save the nation they serve, others in pursuit of personal power. As America becomes alienated from her allies, Russia begins a campaign that creates heightened fears of nuclear annihilation.
Bill must navigate a political minefield to find friends among China’s neighbors, while undertaking a role that demands he take unimaginable risks and wrestles with the question: What losses are acceptable in order to win?
Read an excerpt below
About the Author
A Naval Academy and Naval War College graduate, Thomas M. Wing retired after thirty-two years as a Navy Surface Warfare officer. He served in guided missile destroyers and frigates, as well as with destroyer squadron, cruiser destroyer group, numbered fleet, and Joint Task Force staffs, where he planned and executed real-world joint operations at the operational and strategic levels of war. He also participated in naval combat during Operation Praying Mantis in the Middle East in April, 1988. He has taught Coast Guard licensing courses and has held a variety of sailing licenses, including Master and Master of Sailing Vessels, Upon Oceans. As well, he founded and served as Executive Director for the Continental Navy Foundation, which conducted experiential education at sea for young people 13-17 years of age. He also commanded the Foundation's tall ship, the brigantine Megan D.
His novel, Against All Enemies, resulted from a random thought during a period of political tension between China and the U.S. What if that political tension included cruise missiles flying in from the sea to strike the San Diego waterfront? Thomas M. Wing resides in San Diego with his wife and daughter, two cats, and a dog. He still spends whatever free time he has on the water.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Excerpt from "Against All Enemies"
2300 Zulu (Greenwich Mean Time), 26 October
1500 Pacific Time
Naval Information Warfare Center Pacific, San Diego
A familiar yet out-of-place sound intruded. John Wilkins looked up from his Mongolian barbecue.
He and Russ met for lunch twice a week. The cafeteria on the fourth floor of the main building at the Lab atop Point Loma provided a commanding view of the San Diego harbor below the hill and the city skyline beyond.
It was one of those beautiful fall days, the kind most San Diegans took for granted, just a hint of cool in the air. A slight haze obscured the distant mountains, the sky above crystalline blue. He’d been appreciating the one hundred eighty-degree view from Old Town to Tijuana and the Coronado Islands of Mexico. The blue awning stretched over the veranda ruffled slightly in the breeze.
The low-pitched buzzing rapidly increased in volume and pitch, then dropped as a low-flying object shot past overhead.
A cruise missile? His unbelieving brain rejected the idea. He blinked several times as he looked over at Russ. “What the hell was that?”
Russ shook his head. “Somebody really messed up big time. Looked like a Tomahawk.”
Both were former naval officers, surface warfare qualified in destroyers. John’s brother, still active duty, commanded a destroyer deployed to the Western Pacific.
“Man, I’d hate to be the CO of a ship that accidentally flew a T-bird over the city,” John said.
They stood to look down the hill to where the missile had disappeared. More noise sources cropped up. Trails barely visible, dozens of small dots stormed in from the sea across the harbor channel that separated Point Loma from North Island.
Half a mile away on the other side of the channel, explosions rippled across North Island Naval Air Station. The day turned dark and ugly. Pillars of black smoke climbed across the panorama.
John’s heart raced.
As waves of missiles swept in, they blasted hangars, squadron buildings, the Fleet Air Control Facility, then the aircraft themselves. His stomach heaved as a taxiing helicopter vanished. Its rotor emerged from the flames, shedding pieces as it spun madly across the runway.
John’s hands curled into fists and his jaw locked. An enormous ball of angry dark orange flame and black smoke rose just a hundred yards in front of him, blocking his sight. The thunderous boom that accompanied it dwarfed every other sound. His skin prickled from the heat. The acrid smell of burning marine fuel assaulted his nostrils. He gagged.
The fuel farm.