by Larry Bond
The Hirano estate included a garden, more correctly a forest glade, but beautifully tended. Komamura had been encouraged, no, commanded by Admiral Kubo and several others to take time there at least once a day. He was spending too much time indoors.
Now he sat on a roughly carved stone bench, sharing tea with the new Malaysian minister. Someone different seemed to show up every evening at about the same time, offering to walk with him and chat about anything other than the war or economics. Minister Azhar was a rabid soccer fan, but Komamura barely followed the sport …
“Sensei!” Komamura heard her voice before he saw her. She was still calling excitedly when she turned a corner and found them. It was Miyazaki, flushed and excited, and wearing another shapeless tracksuit. “Sensei…” She stopped to bow deeply. “Please excuse me, sensei, Minister. Please come to the dining room right away. It’s very big news!” Barely allowing time for the sound waves to reach them, she ran off, presumably in search of other unsuspecting victims.
“We’d better go back,” Azhar suggested, and the pair headed for the main house.
They could soon hear excited voices, then staff and other alliance functionaries greeted them with broad smiles, and urged them toward the dining room.
The large central room had been filled with tables. A wide-screen television at one end of the room was kept on the news, normally with the sound muted. Komamura could hear the set now, though. “… have taken this action in the belief that Mainland Chinese aggression can no longer…” They were speaking in Chinese, but he could see the text at the bottom scrolling in English, and on the right side in Japanese.
As he stood in the back, someone recognized Komamura and urged him forward. Kubo and Hisagi both spotted the commotion around him and waved. Advancing silently and half crouched, he discovered they’d saved a space for him in the center front, almost too close to the screen. At the back of the room, people continued to pour in, and he could sense an air of celebration. Had the Chinese abruptly surrendered?
Kubo saw the question in his expression and whispered, “The broadcast started exactly on the hour, 9:00 P.M. in Taipei.” Kubo stopped and smiled. It was the happiest he’d ever seen the admiral. “They’ve joined us, sensei! Taiwan is joining the alliance. Our encirclement is complete!”
Hisagi leaned over from the other side. “I just heard from the communications department. Their delegation to the alliance is already en route. They’ll be landing at Narita in a little over an hour!”
Ever since he’d realized that the alliance might actually come to be, Komamura had struggled with the question of Taiwan. Normally, the more members that belong to an alliance, the stronger it becomes. And Taiwan not only had a small, but capable navy, it had economic power, and was a major trading partner with both Mainland China and the West.
But Beijing still considered Taiwan a “rebellious territory,” part of China. It had long been accepted that if Taipei ever formally declared independence, it would trigger a long-dreaded invasion of the island. This was worse than mere separation. Taiwan had joined in a war against her “mother country.” Beijing would—must—react.
By joining, Taiwan added her military power, economic power, and political power to an already complex set of simultaneous equations. Komamura didn’t think anyone truly could comprehend how all the variables would work together—he certainly did not. How would the results from those equations change?
The professor watched his colleagues. Kubo was almost euphoric. Why couldn’t he share their excitement? All he could see was the danger. Suddenly weak, he sat back in his chair, forcing a smile and trying to follow the subtitles. Information. He needed to know the details.
The Taiwanese minister had finished his prepared remarks, and was answering questions, still in Chinese. The image shrank to an inset and was replaced with two Japanese analysts. Komamura listened to them repeat the obvious facts for a few moments, but then one held up a map of the western Pacific. Tracing arcs with a pen, he drew a single line from Indonesia in the south to Hokkaido in the north, all of it controlled by the Littoral Alliance.
China’s access to the open sea was now completely blocked. She’d tried to seize the resources in the South China Sea, with future designs on the East China Sea. Instead, those two and the Yellow Sea were now war zones.
It was getting harder to find worthwhile targets at sea for the alliance forces to destroy. They’d already started attacking China’s oil processing infrastructure on land, but while the professional military figures agreed with the revered academic publicly, he sensed it was begrudgingly.
The urge to go after military and political targets would become even stronger, now that the alliance had added another three countries to their ranks. The combined militaries of the alliance would not want to wait for the inevitable effects on the Chinese economy. They would ask for new targets, new ways to inflict pain on their enemy.
On the screen, the two journalists were interviewing another journalist about the chances of China suing for peace, now that the Littoral Alliance had grown so strong. Economically, the clock was ticking. The big unknown was the determination of the Chinese leaders. “If they do the math,” the guest was saying, “they know they can’t win. But the men in charge may not want to hear that. They have too much to lose.”
Kubo was right. Taiwan was the final straw.
8 September 2016
2130 Local Time
August 1st Building, Ministry of National Defense Compound
Beijing, People’s Republic of China
Chen almost lived in the conference room now, so he’d seen the broadcast almost from the beginning. None of the CMC members were ever far from a television, and unlike most of China, they could watch the uncensored transmissions. Chen knew this news would be blocked. China’s censors did not have to wait for permission to block foreign media.
He wasn’t sure how the ordinary Chinese citizen would react. The party spoke of Taiwan as a wayward child, misguided, lured astray by foreigners. Disappointed, but always hopeful that eventually she would realize how wrong she’d been and would return to the loving arms of her true mother.
It would be well not to push the “mother and child” analogy too far, Chen realized, because it was the way of the world for children to leave their parents.
The chairman of the Central Military Commission and the president of China shook off his musings, as if regaining consciousness. The others seemed as shocked as him, most sitting silently. General Wen was calling urgently to an aide. General Shi was writing furiously. As the head of the political department, he would be most affected. He looked angry.
Other members of the commission started to arrive from their offices elsewhere in the building. Not everyone was there, of course. The announcement had caught them by complete surprise, which meant uncomfortable questions for General Xi Ping, chief of intelligence. They hurried in, asking questions that brought the rest out of their stunned silence.
Vice Chairman Zhang spoke first. “Why do I feel betrayed?”
“It’s because Taipei initially declared neutrality,” General Su explained. “I was relieved then. It meant one less enemy, and at least one possible path out for our trade. But after that traitorous announcement, I feel it as well.”
Shi had stopped writing, and his angry expression had softened. He spoke sharply. “Before the war, if Taipei had done this, we’d be ordering military action. Comrade Vice President, your anger is well founded. Taiwan saw which way the wind was blowing. Her neutrality helped us, to some small degree, withstand the alliance. That will now be turned against us as she tries to hasten our end.”
Zhang asked, “How will this news affect the population? How will they react?”
Shi shrugged. “I’ve been a political officer for thirty-four years, and all I’ll predict is that it won’t be to our advantage.” Shi paused for just a moment, then added, “Comrade President, members of the council, the Political Department recommends that we break all connectio
ns with the Internet immediately. As we sit here and discuss the effects of Taiwan’s defection, the rest of China is doing the same thing.”
Some at the table rose in protest, but Shi waved them down. “I understand the value of the Internet in commerce and government, but this stream of bad news is damaging the morale of the people.”
Instinctively, Chen agreed. The Chinese-controlled media was censored, of course, and her cyber security services blocked the great majority of objectionable sites. But it was impossible to completely block word from outside her borders, not with the Internet. And worse was the citizenry using it to talk among themselves. The CMC was well aware of the role that social networking had played in the collapse of other governments.
There was plenty for them to talk about. Hunts for foreign spies, industrial sabotage, the losses at sea, and now energy shortages all powered the rumor machine. The new fuel rationing system was already corrupt, rife with hoarders and profiteers.
Protests and riots were endemic, with no relief in sight. Ethnic groups like the Uyghurs in Xinjiang province and Tibetans were restive. Dissidents throughout the country were quick to claim that the communist party’s ambitions in the South China Sea had started the war. The information supporting that argument had come from outside China.
General Shi was still explaining, but Chen cut him off. “Comrades, I believe General Shi is right, and becomes more right with each passing moment. Does anyone else wish to comment?”
A few shook their heads, and others muttered their agreement with Shi.
Chen waited for a full minute, then said, “General Shi, your recommendation is accepted. Will you please give the necessary orders?” Shi nodded and left quickly, almost at a run. Chen was sure it was the right thing to do, but why did it feel like another loss? Damnit, he was still shaking off the news about Taiwan.
General Su, the chief of staff, stated flatly, “We have to change our grand strategy.” When there was no immediate agreement, Su explained, “I’m a soldier. We’re trained to make an estimate of the situation, evaluate possible courses of action, and then choose the best one. My estimate of our situation is that we are losing this war. The trends are all in the wrong direction. What do we do about this?”
Chen answered him. “There are only two choices. We either agree to a cease-fire, which amounts to a surrender, or escalate.”
There was dead silence in the room as the others absorbed the idea. Chen reasoned, “We must evaluate both courses before we choose. Adopting either one has benefits, and costs.
“To remove the risk of anyone being accused of disloyalty or defeatism, I will discuss the benefits of a cease-fire. The damage to our economy stops. Oil begins flowing again. The losses of equipment and men cease. What are the costs, Comrades?” He gestured to the others at the table.
Zhang said, “Unbelievable loss of prestige. The world would accuse us of being a failed superpower.”
“The failure of Trident,” General Su added.
“But the plan has already failed,” General Ye Jin countered. “We will never be able to exploit the South China Sea’s resources, as we had planned.”
“We could use a cease-fire to mobilize and reposition our forces, then aim for a more limited objective,” General Wen suggested.
Su quickly shook his head. “It won’t work, Minister. Trident depended on surprise, on getting strong forces in place before our opponents could react. I don’t think anyone here truly appreciated just how vital a factor surprise was.”
Zhang added, “And we didn’t expect such a unified response. The sudden appearance of the Littoral Alliance has completely changed the political calculus in this region. If we had known of its existence, would we have even started the operation?”
“That is not the issue, Generals,” Chen insisted. “What are the costs to China of a cease-fire?”
Zhang looked thoughtful. “I’ve already mentioned the loss of prestige abroad. Domestically, we face widespread unrest. Energy supplies will be tight this winter, even if we restart imports immediately. Many industries are damaged, and our export markets will be lost for years, perhaps a decade. Unemployment, especially in the cities, will rise sharply.”
“The best we can all hope for, personally, is resignation,” Chen observed, “followed by a retirement in disgrace. That may not be the end of it, though. The next government will be looking for ways to assuage the citizens’ anger. Accusations of criminal conduct and show trials are one method of placating the masses.” Chen had stated the uncomfortable truth. Nobody expected justice in China, unless it served the party’s purposes.
“Our economy crumbling, our citizens angry, the world turned against us. Regardless of my own fate, this is not what I dreamt of for China.” Zhang’s voice was hard. “If this is the aftermath of a cease-fire, then we must keep fighting.”
“But we cannot win,” Su reminded him. “The South China Sea is lost to us.”
“Then we change the war,” Zhang explained. “Instead of three or four countries, we are fighting an expanding coalition that now encircles us. We must recognize our new situation.”
Chen asked, “Then what is our goal? How do we win?”
Zhang replied, “We bring enough force to bear to make them ask for a cease-fire, on our terms. We demand free passage of the ocean straits and removal of all economic sanctions.
“They haven’t faced our full power yet. We’ve limited ourselves because of the military ties some countries have with the United States. We know America doesn’t want this war. There’s pressure in the American government to renounce the treaties. Let’s call the alliance’s bluff.”
“We change the war,” Chen repeated, testing the idea in his mind. “A full range of attacks against all alliance members, short of nuclear weapons. We remove the restrictions we’ve placed on our submarines. Allow them to attack any alliance shipping—it won’t matter that they’ve disabled the automatic identification system. Any ship approaching an alliance port will be attacked. And we withdraw from the territories in the South China Sea we’ve captured.”
“That was one of the alliance’s demands,” Su reminded him.
“The garrisons on those islands have been under constant siege. They can only be supplied by air, which costs fuel we can’t spare. They are also at considerable risk from Japanese fighters staged in the Philippines.”
Su nodded his agreement. “You’re right. They can be sustained only with great effort, but cannot not be expanded, or exploited for further gain. What about Vietnam?”
“I see no reason to suspend that campaign,” Chen replied. “Indeed, with the cancelation of Trident, we should be able to allocate more resources to that front. And where is General Hu?”
An aide left, in search of the Second Artillery commander. Chen said, “I remember his briefing argued for missile strikes on Japan, South Korea, and the Philippines. He can now add Taiwan to the list.”
8 September 2016
1310 Local Time
North American Air Defense Directorate
Peterson Air Force Base
Colorado Springs, Colorado
They’d been on high alert since word had come from Washington about Taiwan’s decision. Not that they hadn’t been on high alert before, with half the Pacific shooting at the other half.
“Heaven help us, they went and did it!” the controller announced, hitting the audible alarm and calling the duty officer. “Multiple launches from within China!” He didn’t even try to count the dots on the screen. The computer kept track, but the number kept climbing. Finally, he reported, “I’m seeing sixty-plus launches.”
The duty officer, a major, didn’t wait to see where they were headed. They wouldn’t know that until after boost phase ended, a couple of minutes from now.
“Make sure PACOM’s seeing this,” the major ordered as he picked up the red phone. “This is Major Markowitz at NORAD. I have flash traffic for the NMJIC duty officer.”
8 September 201
6
1315 Local Time
White House Situation Room
Washington, D.C.
Ray Kirkpatrick was keeping vigil when the word arrived. When he phoned the residence, Myles answered after one ring.
“It’s happened, Mr. President. Multiple Chinese ballistic missile launches.”
“Do we know where they’re going?” Myles asked, sounding resigned.
“Not yet, sir. It’s too early.”
Myles appeared in the situation room five minutes later, dressed in maroon sweats that had UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO printed on the shirt. The call had caught him just as he was getting ready to go to the gym.
Kirkpatrick greeted him with, “None of them are headed for U.S. territory. Targets are in Japan, Taiwan, South Korea, and the Philippines. NORAD says they’re DF-21s.”
The president nodded an acknowledgement as he studied the display. “That’s one nightmare avoided, then. Where will they hit first?”
Kirkpatrick pointed to a window on a side display. “Taiwan. Time of flight is six minutes. They’ll be hitting about now.”
“Taiwan’s got Patriot,” Myles observed.
“Yes, Mr. President. I was reviewing their order of battle. Eight batteries on line, with PAC-2 and PAC-3 missiles. And three Sky Bow batteries.”
As they spoke, the display operator zoomed the view in so that the island of Taiwan filled the screen. Nine hostile missile symbols crawled in from the west. Their apparent slow speed was deceptive. Much of their movement was in the vertical plane.
Projected targets appeared, and Kirkpatrick called them out. “Two at Tsoying Naval Base where their submarines are berthed. Three at the BMD radar on Leshan Mountain, and … the Mailiao oil refinery. Four missiles headed there.” Surprise filled his report.
“Payback. Makes sense.” Myles’s tone changed to puzzlement. “What’s happening? Shouldn’t the defenses be engaging them?”
“Yes, sir, they’re just in range.” One hostile missile headed for the sub base disappeared, then another, but that was it. As the two watched, the remaining seven symbols merged with their projected targets, then disappeared.
