by Robert Lance
Peter said, “Everyone is on their way over. In the meantime, I’ll construct a “No Comment” statement to feed to the media.”
The four men who knew about “Operation Alamo,” waited for the president to speak. The expression on his face leaned more toward intrigue than inquisitiveness. “I’m bothered by something, gentlemen. The Alamo scenario predicted something like this. Is there a link here? I don’t believe in coincidence.”
The SECDEF spoke with plausible authority. “Mr. President, in accordance with our agreement with China, we have no assets or intelligence in the arena. In fact, you moved the fleet down range.”
“We do have this Alamo character gathering intelligence from that area. Is there a possibility…?”
“No sir, our latest from Palawan is that the operation is temporarily stalled due to a lack of fuel supplies. We’re in the process of smuggling an adequate supply there. Commander Jones has received no orders to provoke the Chinese and if he did so, he would have exceeded his orders.”
“Yet the man suggested something like this would happen. Who does he think he is, Nostradamus? He seems to think the United States should let pressure from the global community force the Chinese to evacuate their Nine Dash Line claim.”
Secretary Holcomb spoke. “China can be their own worst enemy. They’ve enforced the Air Defense Identification Zone and have restricted military vessels in the South China Sea. It’s incidental and inevitable that this sort of collision would happen. We can only hope it doesn’t turn into a shooting war.”
“And if it does?”
Dale Holcomb answered. “Vietnam doesn’t have that many allies, and China can conventionally kick the shit out of Vietnam. They won’t need to scramble their nuclear arsenal—”
Peter Bolin butted in. “What it will do is resolve the claim of ownership of the Spratly Islands, the Paracel Islands, and the Scarborough Shoal. There will be a flurry of resolutions passed at the UN, and China will be declared an unlawful criminal occupier.”
The president smirked. “Finally, the UN is good for something. But what will China do? I’ll tell you what they’ll do. They’ll pretend they’re the injured party and occupy the islands just like they did in Tibet. Why the hell did they do that? What’s Tibet to China? It’s like Schell said, ‘They don’t make Buicks in Tibet, they make karma.’”
Bolin again interjected, “Sir, we need to see where the international diplomatic intervention takes us.”
“I’ve read Alamo Jones’ assessment to the end. China won’t blink because they’ve got the nukes. It will come down to military intervention at some point. The man is brilliant. I want to meet that hero someday.”
Holcomb said, “If it comes to that, we need legitimacy. We need the international community to come begging for us to do something.”
The president changed the subject. “What’s the battle damage?”
“Right now, we have to rely on Vietnam’s assessment. What we do know is that Vietnam’s oil rigs are heavily populated with Russian technicians and a smattering of international personnel from other developing nations, including Americans. The ferry manifest shows more than four hundred workers in transit to oil rigs. The loss of life is heavy. Very heavy. The Vietnamese reports survivors were massacred by Chinese gun crews.”
The president rubbed his chin, and said, “That puts a new dynamic between Russian and Chinese relations. What do we know about our citizens?”
Again, the manifest lists eleven American nationals. We don’t know their fate.”
“Find out. What else do you have?”
Our source in Vietnam claims it started with Chinese gunboats doing what they always do. Without provocation, a Chinese class 056 corvette fired a missile into the bridge deck of the oil rig.”
“Stop right there,” said the president. “Aren’t those platforms armed?”
They are, and presumably that’s why the corvette fired the first shot. The Vietnamese claim to have sunk a Chinese attack boat and damaged the Corvette. They report they lost two patrol boats, a ferry ship, and damage to a container ship and a tug. The loss of the platform goes without saying, and as I said, the loss of life is horrific.”
“What are the Chinese saying about all of this?”
“Not a damned word.”
“In that case, I should do the same. What’s the name of that fat faced Chinaman we sent packing. Wrong Li Wu? Something like that. Get him a ticket…make it coach. I got a lot of flack for sending him home first class.”
“He’ll see it as an insult.” Holcomb said.
“Chinese are little people, and a seat behind the toilet bulkhead should make the insult clear. Tell the pilot to fly real slow.”
The room echoed with chuckles, and Fremd said, “Make sure you wash your hands before you talk to him.” More Chuckles.
“I’m not going to talk to him. He’s going to talk to me. I’m beginning to see the method of madness in Alamo Jones. Before I make a statement, I’ll wait for everyone to chime in first. Tell our ambassador to the UN to get her hair done, go shopping, or whatever. If Wendy Watkins isn’t at the UN bitching session, they can’t pass any resolutions.”
Bolin said, “Mr. President, you’re in the position to say, ‘I told you so.’”
“I’m always saying that, and nobody listens. They never listen do they? Why is that?”
Bolin and Fremd left the president’s office together. Bolan hid his seething rage under a grumble. “What directive did you send Alamo?”
Fremd grumbled back. “We both agreed the president was to have no knowledge of the Alamo option.”
Bolin said. “Yes, but we both know Alamo is guilty of starting the incident.”
“Yes. Yes. My instructions were purposefully vague. My orders were to entice the Chinese, not to provoke them. That message has been wiped, giving us insulation from the blow back. Commander Jones exceeded his orders, just like we knew he would. Calm down.”
“We got more than we bargained for. The lunatic murdered hundreds of civilians.”
Fremd said, “We can’t tit-for-tat with China. Sinking one of their ships isn’t going to make much of splash in the international community. Commander Jones knows what he’s doing. He just canceled any neutrality between China and the rest of the world. Like it or not, he’s brilliantly moved the pendulum in the South China Sea.”
Bolin and Fremd exchanged meaningful glances packed with sinister insinuations.
Bolin said, “Commander Jones worries me.”
“He serves his purpose, Pete. He’s crazy enough to see his obsession to the end. We’ll deal with Alamo when the time comes. I have the situation contained.”
Bolin sighed heavily, and said, “You better.” He grunted and stomped off.
Eddie Matlock went berserk when the Vietnamese reported war crimes in the South China Sea. He had spent all his energies dissecting the frog in the White House. He was beside himself as he had advocated for the Chinese ancient claims. He had theorized the natural evolution of globalism made China the country to manage the resources and ecosystems of the South China Sea. This latest development was his house burning down around him. He needed every dog to descend on the Vietnamese government press corps, and some Waldo Pepper maniac pilot over the disaster to take pictures. News was perception, not truth. He was desperate to spin an inquisition to save his career.
His helplessness fired his imagination. Somehow, some way, America was behind the disaster. Had to be. He had picked sides, and slammed the president daily, and the president slammed right back. It was personal to Eddie. The president’s hard line against China had little to do with the spitting contest between them. Eddie saw it as an opportunity to get the man impeached. He had a couple ways to paint the incident. He could simply ignore it and bury it as two ships colliding in the night. Make it the president’s fault by inciting the two countries involved. That could back fire on him. He could go all in and pump up the Chinese side of the issue. That too, was ris
ky. Eddie had walked himself backwards to the edge of a cliff. It was like the sound of a gun going off in the neighborhood, and no one was turning on lights, opening doors, or calling 911. Eddie never allowed himself to be at the mercy of events. He shaped events, not the other way around. He had momentum, political muscle, and public opinion on his side. By all reason and logic, he should reverse direction, maybe get patriotic, maybe just back off. The smart thing to do was wait on developments and test the waters, but that wasn’t how Eddie Matlock rolled. He saw another Pulitzer with his name on it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The Ghost returned from its mystery mission. The crew looked subdued and kept to themselves. Willer and crew shuffled off to their quarters to get rest. Heather avoided the Snake Pit and went to the Pentagon to check inquiries that were bound to turn up. Alamo appeared to be pleased with himself and headed directly to the Snake Pit bar. He found a glass, a bottle of Johnny Walker, and scrounged for ice. “Where’s Roberto?” He shouted to anyone within earshot. He hopped off his bar stool and turned on the television sitting over the bar.
The SEALs were returning from a workout on the beach. They saw Alamo sitting alone at the bar watching CNN. They meandered onto the pool patio and went to the bar. Fitzgerald blurted out, “Daddy’s home. Everybody out of the pool.”
“How did everything go?” Perry asked.
Alamo shrugged off the question, and asked, “Where’s Roberto?” he looked at his watch. “He usually has the bar open by this time.”
Ted said, “Ramon is upset. They had a lovers’ spat, and Roberto hasn’t been seen since last night.”
Alamo’s head snapped back. “Lovers’ spat? They’re brothers.”
There were snickers, and eyes rolled inside the bar. Gates said, “Over here there is a stigma attached to two men living together, so they avoid the social ramifications of being gay by calling themselves brothers.”
Alamo’s eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t know that.”
The team enjoyed educating Alamo, when the dwarf showed up. He was agitated. “Anyone seen Roberto?” he asked.
“Ramon is out looking for him,” Gates said.
“I was expecting a fuel shipment from Puerto Princesa, and I sent him to find out what happened. We can’t operate without fuel.”
Alamo showed alarm. Not by the disappearance of Roberto, or the missing fuel truck, but by what was streaming on the TV. A news dolly was standing in front of a familiar scene of the White House.
“CNN has independently confirmed that China and Vietnam are on the verge of war over an attack on a Vietnamese oil platform in the early morning hours. The attack, according to Vietnamese sources, occurred near the island of Fiery Cross Reef in the contested territory in the Spratly Islands. According to the same source, the attack came as a complete surprise against defenseless workers. The loss of life is heavy and includes many civilians. American citizens are thought to be victims of this reprehensible act.
The White House has no comment, but sources close to the president tell us the president has called for restraint from both countries. We’re awaiting further developments here at the White House, but the president, who has been harshly critical of China in recent days, is conspicuously silent at this time.”
Eyes glazed over, and all of them were on Alamo. He raised both hands as if he were surrendering. “What did I say? I said something like this was bound to happen. Looks like China has ramped up their game.”
No sooner had Alamo denied what others were thinking, when Carole hurried out of the Pentagon. “Commander Jones, you’re needed in the comm center. Urgent message coming through.”
Alamo hopped off his bar stool and left the team to murmur their suspicions. All of them had the same question. Had Alamo gone off the reservation, and if so, what was next? The shocking story from CNN was beginning to unfold to a stunned SEAL team.
The real story on CNN had a back story. A line-up of pundits laid blame on the president for ramping up the tension in the South China Sea.
Ted saw Heather dash from the Pentagon, almost running. She was visibly upset, and he saw an opportunity to get to the bottom of Alamo’s suspicious foray. He slipped away and trekked to the Blue Moon. He climbed the rickety stairs to Heather’s hut and announced himself. A small voice invited him in.
Heather was half dressed. Bra and panties. She immediately embraced Ted, holding him close, burying her head in his shoulder. “Your timing is impeccable. I really need you,” she said. She began kissing him passionately. How could he not respond? She wanted to take it further and tried to walk him toward her bed.
Ted had an ulterior reason for being there, and he pushed apart from Heather. “What happened out there? China attacked Vietnam while you were on mission.”
“You know better. Please don’t ask.”
“I have to. The entire team believes Alamo had something to do with the attack.”
Her body language communicated the answer.
“What did he do?” Ted asked. He shook her shoulders to coax the truth from her. She stepped back, shaking her head.
“Did Alamo go off reservation?”
“He acted within the boundaries of the operational directive laid out by the president. That’s all I know and all that I can reveal. Ted, accept the fact that China and Vietnam were bound to clash at some point. Stay out of it. It could have been much worse than it is, so stop asking.”
“Hundreds are dead, Heather. Hundreds of civilians.”
“How many will die if we don’t find those Chinese nukes? You’re exceeding your operational security protocols. Ask again, and I’ll have you up on charges.”
Ted stepped back from her and eyed her warily. “I get it, Heather, I really do. You’re covering for him. Says a lot about us doesn’t it? I’m just a dumb grunt you had a fling with.”
“Ted, I love you. I’ve told you too much. Please understand how much danger we’re in. Alamo Jones is the only authority out here, and nobody can stop him...not even the president.”
Ted welled up with anger. “Are you screwing him? Sure you are.”
“No…he raped me…he’s sick. I can’t stop him, and neither can you.”
“Liar. I come here and find you hot to trot, but you weren’t expecting me. You were expecting Alamo.” Ted stormed out of the hut with Heather’s protestations following him.
Heather wished she could be anywhere in the world but Palawan. She was sleep deprived and mentally unraveling. She sat on the edge of her bed, and if she fell backwards, she’d go into a coma. Her spat with Ted prevented any possibility of her brain shutting down. What she wanted from life fit into a thimble, a small one. She was tempted to tell Ted that Alamo fired the first shot. She could trust him to keep silent, but decided exposing Alamo would put Ted at risk. Instead, she used her rank to intimidate him, pushing him further away. Ted was right about one thing, he was a grunt, denied access to the layers of Operation Alamo. So much was at stake. So much was high risk.
She knew her place in the hierarchy to defuse the nuclear threat of China’s presence in the Spratly Islands. The weight of the world was on her shoulders. She knew every nuance of Operation Alamo. Provoking the Chinese had been her idea. She never expected Alamo to veer so far off course. Sinking a Chinese gun boat harassing the Vietnamese would have had the same effect as the opposite direction that Alamo took. So many lives had been taken because she couldn’t stand up to the tyrant. She could never admit her sins in the light of day. Never. The guilt of Alamo’s actions was hers to bear for all time.
History would write the incident at Fiery Cross the way Alamo intended it. She had no alternative other than to keep Alamo’s secrets and suffer his abuse. Heather could only hope the Chinese would be scandalized to the point of acquiescing its claims, negotiate a fair deal with its neighbors, and silently remove the nukes. Maybe they could all go home, but her heart told her Alamo would persist in his ambitions to expose the insidious and devious intentions of China to own
the South China Sea.
Heather was struggling to find compartments to park her misery. When there was a tap at her door, her mood changed instantly. Obviously, Ted had time to rethink his tempest departure and had returned to apologize. She had to remain persuasive. Should she put clothes on? First, she had to compose herself, wipe the tear trails from her face, and run a brush through her hair. “Just a minute Ted,” She yelped.
The thin bamboo door bowed to the heavy boot kicking it off its hinges. The explosive sound of it caused Heather to freeze in place, standing before the sink, wearing only her bra and panties. She dared to turn, listening to the sounds of door splinters falling to the floor. Ted had not cooled down. He was back for a confrontation. She saw his partial shadow cast upon the floor in front of the gaping doorway. She spoke to the shadow. “Ted, I’m sorry. We need to talk.”
“Yes, we do, honey.” It wasn’t Ted’s voice. Alamo slowly strolled over the threshold. Heather’s surprise and fear was a shriek of terror and anger. “Get out! Get out! I’m warning you Alamo.”
He laughed and continued his stroll into the hut. He stopped, and pointed at the remains of the smashed door. “No need for a door is there? At least I knock first. Does Ted knock? No, he comes and goes as he pleases. What did I tell you about that?”
“Get out Alamo. I’m warning you.”
“Or what? I watched lover boy leave. Is that how you dress when entertaining gentlemen visitors? Very seductive…Classy.”
“Shut up. It’s not what you think, and it’s none of your business.”
“You look fresh fucked, and I’m in the mood. What do you say, darling, one last fuck before you leave?”
“Don’t come near me.” She shuffled to a rattan chair, lifted it, threatening.
“You’ve been a very bad girl. I came here to forgive you, but what do I find? Ted Perrotte zipping up his pants.”
“I’ve kept my bargain. He came here to find out what happened at Fiery Cross. I told him nothing. Not one damned thing. I told him I’d have him up on charges if he didn’t stop inquiring. That’s the truth. Ask him.”
