TWELVE
Marshall P’eng
Friday, September 20
0800 local (GMT +8)
For two weeks, Marshall P’eng and Lake Champlain patrolled the western coast of Taiwan, intent on just holding out until the USS United States arrived on station. But the entire area was oddly silent, and none of their intelligence sources were exactly sure why. Yes, China was finishing up a major upgrade to most of her fighters. Yes, she had several major combatants just completing periodic maintenance.
But if that were the reason, why the missile test in the first place? Why stir things up, looking like you were going to take advantage of the lack of air power, and then stand down? Had they simply been impressed with Lake Champlain’s capabilities? Captain Chang tried to believe that was the case, but he simply couldn’t convince himself that it was so. He’d even tried to ferret out some explanations during a brief return to port for refueling, but no one knew anything more about it than he did. At least he’d had the opportunity to see for himself the tactical data link that showed the American carrier — two of them, actually — almost off the coast. Soon, very soon, it would be absolute suicide for China to attempt an invasion.
Since the carrier was now within unrefueled flying range, an exchange of liaison officers was proposed. Taiwan Central Command provided an army officer, Major Ho, to serve as a representative onboard the USS United States, a move that bothered Captain Chang somewhat. Major Ho was an extremely competent army officer with extensive training and joint forces experience under his belt, but when all was said and done, he was still an army officer who knew a bit about naval operations, not a navy officer. Captain Chang wanted to send someone from his own crew, but simply didn’t have the bodies.
In return, the American carrier detached a lieutenant commander by the name of Charlie Goforth as their liaison. Goforth was a nisei, a second-generation American with a Taiwanese mother, and spoke their language fluently. Major Ho was equally fluent in English. In discussing the matter with his own XO, Captain Chang had decided that for the time being, he would keep his own excellent command of English secret.
The exchange of pleasantries ashore had been abruptly cut short by a call from Lake Champlain, who politely requested Marshall P’eng’s assistance at her captain’s very earliest convenience. Chang, who knew of no reason that an Aegis cruiser might require the assistance of a former Knox-class frigate, nonetheless immediately put to sea with Lieutenant Commander Goforth onboard.
As soon as Captain Chang saw the radar contacts appear on the surface plot, he knew there was trouble. Whether Lake Champlain had given him the heads-up based on her own radar coverage or outside intelligence assets, Chang had no idea. The latter, he suspected, since Captain Norfolk’s information on course, speed and intentions on their common adversary was quite detailed.
The task force itself was worrisome enough. Every major combatant from the Gungzho military base was underway, formed up in a tight pattern, and headed their way. Four cruisers, two destroyers, and three amphibious landing ships crammed with troops — no, this was not an exercise or standard workups.
Two hours after he was underway, Chang flew over to the cruiser for additional briefings. As his old Sea Sprite helicopter hovered over the deck, then settled gently, guided by the American flight deck crew, he mentally assessed the condition of the ship. It was well cared for, that was true, but no more so than his own small frigate. Remarkably, the Americans seem oblivious to the marvels around them. The Marshall P’eng required constant chipping and painting, and it was an endless task to maintain her in pristine condition. This ship, with its newer, tougher exterior, seem to require virtually no maintenance. And under the haze gray paint was a layer of solid Kevlar, the tough, fire-resistant fabric that absorbed the impact of projectiles and protected her superstructure from fire.
He was quietly pleased with the competence that his Sea Sprite pilot showed settling onto the deck, and nodded politely to the pilot, who understood immediately what was being conveyed. They had put on a good show in front of the Americans, and Captain was pleased.
The executive officer, a bluff, hearty man Chang had met before, was standing at the edge of the flight deck, waiting to welcome him. Chang would not have expected the captain himself, no, not under the circumstances. That he’d chosen to send his XO was intended to convey his respect for his Taiwanese allies.
Captain Chang let his translator lead the way across the flight deck and out from under the helo’s rotors. For now, they would maintain the pretense that Chang spoke little English. The XO immediately popped into a sharp salute, then led him away from the rotor blast of the helo.
“Welcome aboard, sir. We’re pleased to have you.” The XO gestured to a younger officer standing next him. “Lieutenant Jones would be pleased to have your pilot and copilot accompany him to the wardroom for a cup of coffee and perhaps a meal while we talk to the captain. If that meets with your approval?”
Chang listened as the translator conveyed the XO’s words, matching the translation to the tone of voice and expression of the man standing in front him. “Tell him my flight crew would be pleased to accept the honor,” Chang replied. “I believe they have developed quite a fondness for ice cream during their visits here.”
The XO chuckled. “Ice cream it is.”
The XO led the way off the flight deck and through the central passageway of the ship. The bulkheads were spotless, the fittings polished and shining. Fire hoses, communications gear, and emergency equipment were all apparently brand-new.
The XO took him directly to the captain’s cabin, knocked on the door, and opened it without waiting for a reply. “Captain? I’ve brought Captain Chang.” The XO stepped aside to allow Captain Chang to go first, and then followed and closed the door behind him.
The captain stood as they entered, crossed the room and extended his hand. Chang stood at attention as they shook hands warmly, because that was what was expected in this culture. After the handshake, he bowed slightly, as he would to an equal.
“Well, then, we don’t have much time, I know,” Captain Norfolk said. He motioned to the table in the middle of his room. “You’ll forgive my abruptness, I hope, but perhaps we should get to work.”
Their directness was one of the things Chang liked about the Americans, although he had to admit he still found it jarring. “That would be agreeable,” he said to his translator, and waited for Norfolk to seat himself at the table before taking the chair across from him.
Norfolk shoved a chart across the table at him, and then a short message. “I’m hoping you can shed some light on this,” he said. “We’ve seen a number of deployments by the Chinese forces in the past, but never quite this composition. The long-range missile shooters, the destroyers, the amphibs — but I have to say, it’s the mine-laying capabilities that worry me as much as anything else. We’ve had some recent experience with those, as you know.”
Chang nodded politely, but did not comment. The American’s experience in the Gulf and the serious damage to USS Jefferson were well-known to the world’s navies.
“And here’s the worst of it. We’ve got information that they’re planning another spate of missile tests. And not normal missile tests,” Norfolk said. He locked eyes with Chang, his expression deeply concerned. “Even with the carrier in the area, this could be the start of a major offensive. While I don’t want to alarm you unnecessarily, that’s what I’m hearing from my sources.”
Sources. Intelligence. Spies. How much of the same information does my own government have, and why is it not provided to me?
Chang studied the chart for a moment, then the composition of the ships headed his way. They would be here in about ten hours. Not much time — not much at all. And that was just for weapons-release range — to come closer within visual range would take another six hours, even moving at top speed. Still not much time to prepare.
“But of course, we are already prepared,” Chang said finally. “I
agree with you, and I am afraid I can shed no additional light on the matter. Your sources are perhaps more… forthcoming… that mine are.” He saw his translator struggle to get exactly the right nuances in his choice of words to accurately convey Chang’s tone of voice.
Norfolk sighed. “I was afraid of that. If the weather holds, we may see the carrier tomorrow. Her escorts will be another week behind her, so it’s up to you and me to provide cover for her.” He saw Chang grimace, and nodded in agreement. “Right, it’s not the way we like to work. But under the circumstances…”
Under the circumstances, you want your air power here. You’ll pick up the antiair coverage for the cruiser she’s leaving behind, and you want me to handle any submarine problems in the area, because between here and there, she will be going too fast for submarines to be a problem.
Norfolk then confirmed Chang’s reasoning by saying, “If it meets with your approval, I’ll concentrate on the air problem while you handle the subsurface and surface issues. I’ll chop my two helos over to your operational control to use as you see fit. Once the carrier gets within range, it will be a different ballgame, but for now, that looks like the best use of our capabilities. Any comments or suggestions?”
Chang shook his head. “No. And I think it is an excellent plan.”
“Well, then. Perhaps you could join us for lunch before returning to your ship?”
Chang shook his head, suddenly anxious to be back on board Marshall P’eng. “I hope I will not offend if I decline. But given the matters that we have discussed… well, there are some measures I must take immediately.”
An odd expression crossed Norfolk’s face for a moment, and he looked at the translator. But then he said, “I understand. Perhaps another time?” He gestured to his mess cook. “I was afraid this might indeed be the case, but I have been eager to show off my mess cook’s talent. Perhaps you would accept this package for you and your senior officers on our behalf. And, I am afraid I must admit, that I have taken the liberty of providing several gallons of ice cream to your helicopter crew. I hope that your officers and men will enjoy them as a token of our friendship.”
“Thank you. And I hope we’ll see you onboard Marshall P’eng for dinner sometime when circumstances permit.” With mutual assurances of their undying respect and confidence in each other’s capabilities — and in this instance, each man actually meant it — the two men parted. Chang followed the XO back to the flight deck, preceded by his air crew scrambling to get to the helo before he did, and the captain returned to Combat.
THIRTEEN
United Nations
Friday, September 20
1000 local (GMT –5)
Despite the occasional cry of wolf from the intelligence community, life remained relatively normal during the carrier’s transit to Taiwan. Wexler and T’ing repaired a few frays in their friendship and soon resumed their easy conversations over dinner. Although Wexler found the presence of Little Insect in her office troublesome, she spent the time putting the final touches on her plan for uncovering the source.
China’s opening diplomatic salvo came as a surprise to both Wexler and her allies. None of the Asian nations even saw it coming, and it came from a most unexpected quarter.
Brad came into her office after the morning session, his face serious. He handed her a petition addressed to the United Nations, signed by the ambassador from China. It protested in the strongest possible terms the presence or intended presence, or potential presence, of radioactive materials in her territorial waters. China lodged her objection in general, and then specifically noted the aircraft carrier USS United States as a potential source of the objectionable materials.
Wexler scanned the petition hastily, picking out the pertinent points. China was making much of the fact that the aircraft carrier had not even completed sea trials before being deployed. The petition claimed that under the circumstances, her safety precautions could hardly be considered adequate. China requested — no, demanded — that the United Nations take measures to ensure that the aircraft carrier not enter Chinese territorial waters — which, according to the Chinese, extended one thousand miles out past the coastline.
“Complete and utter nonsense,” Wexler said, tossing the petition on her desk. “There’s no way they’ll get any support for that.”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” Brad said quietly. “From what I hear, they might not be alone in this.”
“Who?” she demanded.
“Russia.”
At that, she let out a hearty laugh. “They’re the biggest offenders in the world in the area of nuclear safety,” she said. “They’d get laughed out of session.”
“Maybe.” Brad’s voice was dubious. “Maybe not.”
“Do you have information I don’t?” she demanded.
He shook his head. “I just have a bad feeling about this one.”
An idea occurred to Wexler. She turned to Brad and carefully touched her right ear. It was their prearranged signal. A look of surprise flashed across his face, and then he nodded his understanding.
“It’s a good thing,” Wexler said in a normal tone of voice, “that the President agreed to send those Patriot batteries to Taiwan. I think they’ll come in handy.”
“Sure will,” Brad said.
“Although,” she continued, “I have to tell you, I’m not sure that we’ll really be able to keep the Chinese from finding out about it. And labeling the boxes as farm equipment — well, who is that going to fool? No, I think we’ve got to plan for the possibility that China will find out, although I dread the possibility.”
“Let’s hope everyone just does his job right,” Brad answered.
“Let’s hope,” she said.
And let’s see who does find out!
Later that afternoon, Wexler would learn that Brad’s premonition had been true. Russia, as well as a host of smaller nations, and of course Australia and New Zealand, joined in the protest. The United Nations Secretary-General sent the matter to committee for further study, which would stall the matter further, but there was every chance that with China and Russia acting in concert, the matter would be back on the floor for a vote in record time.
The Beltway
Washington, D.C.
1114 local (GMT –5)
From the outside, Tombstone’s uncle’s new quarters looked like any one of the Beltway Bandits that thronged around the center of the country’s government. They sprang up overnight like mushrooms, bid against each other, merged a week later, and competition for economic survival was fierce.
The entrance sign gave no hint of what was inside. ADVANCE SOLUTIONS, it said, the letters picked out in gold paint over plastic, swirling in a cursive script, impressive and prosperous unless you looked too close. Beltway firms were experts at looking well-capitalized while expending as little money as possible.
Even the double doors leading to the suite were in keeping with Advance Solutions’ public image. The darkly stained wood doors opened onto the portion that was unclassified, complete with a receptionist and a couple of computer technicians. Indeed, Advance Solutions had already bid on three government contracts, although never successfully.
But what was important was what lay behind the metal doors at the far end of the suite. The door frame itself housed a number of security measures, including metal detectors and a fluoroscope. It opened onto a secure vestibule. Entrance beyond that was controlled by a retinal scanner as well as a security number pad. Both were required to gain access. And beyond that armed guards sat behind one-way mirrors, Marines for the most part.
Tombstone passed quickly through the outer area, garnering a cheery greeting from the receptionist. Had anyone asked her, she would have informed them that Tombstone was a technical adviser working on the company’s bid to design the analysis factors that would go into the final bid requirements for advanced fighter ECM system. And she would have been able to discuss quite convincingly — and often did in response to phone queries fr
om job seekers — the firm’s requirements, staffing, and past and future plans. Indeed, she was probably the most well-prepared part of the entire cover story.
Once past the steel doors, all pretense of corporate luxury ceased. The walls, overhead, and deck were reinforced, and sensitive electronic monitors in every corner kept watch to prevent eavesdropping. The windows were insulated, covered with metal, covered with another layer of sound-deadening material, and sealed off. All in all, it was the most secure classified area that existed outside the Pentagon.
“Good morning, Uncle,” Tombstone said. His uncle had a desk in one corner, a small, functional metal one. Tombstone had his desk in the opposite corner. “What’s up?”
“Our first mission,” his uncle said, his voice a model of controlled excitement. “Dammit, Tombstone, they’re actually going to let us do it this time.”
Tombstone slouched down in the comfortable executive chair he’d insisted on. “About time,” he said. “Four months of desk work are starting to get to me.”
His uncle shot him an amused look. “It hasn’t been all desk work, as I recall. There is a little matter of two hundred hours in a Tomcat.”
“There is that. But I took it as simply a signing bonus.”
His uncle laughed out loud. Tombstone stared at him with some degree of amazement, delighted in the changes in his uncle’s demeanor over the last months.
How had it been that he had missed his uncle’s slide into the grim formality that had characterized his tour of the CNO? How could he have missed the absence of the warm friendliness that always characterized their relationship, the occasional bad joke his uncle used to make? No, it was only now that his uncle was freed of those burdens that he saw the man he remembered from his childhood days emerge again. His uncle was like a child with a new toy, only this toy had a budget that was truly mind-boggling and bigger, better, faster toys than anything either of them had experienced as a child.
Island Warriors c-18 Page 9
