“I deny nothing,” the marshal said. “I want to know how you learned of them.”
“Are the ice-mobile formations ready?” asked Jian.
“No, not as you suggest,” the marshal said.
“How long until they are?” asked Jian.
“I will not sit here and be quizzed by a failed Agricultural Minister,” the marshal told the others.
“Answer his question,” the Chairman said.
The old marshal of China sat back in surprise. “Sir?” he asked.
“Answer the question,” the Chairman repeated. “How long until the ice-mobile formations are ready?”
“Sir,” said the marshal, blinking rapidly, “…two months, maybe more.”
Jian pushed a button and on his screen appeared a force readiness chart. “If you gentlemen will bring my information onto your screens, you’ll see that the marshal has exaggerated. We have the needed ice-mobile units in position now, or nearly so. They could begin crossing the Arctic Ocean in six days at the soonest or two weeks at the most.”
The marshal touched his screen and he glared at what he saw.
“No, no,” he said. “The charts show the needed force for a probing raid. What Minister Shihong is suggesting would take an invasion force.”
“The formations in position would be more than enough to occupy the oilfields,” Jian said.
“Preposterous!” said the marshal. “Firstly, army units are not like combine drivers during a harvest. Intense training is needed. Secondly—”
“While I respect your military acumen,” Jian said, “I must point out that our Chairman practiced a different style of warfare against Siberia and Taiwan. Each time, he launched an assault before our enemies suspected anything. He gained the greatest of all assets in war, strategic surprise. If we launch in two weeks, we will easily catch America and the world by surprise, and therefore we shall succeed. To do as you’re suggesting, to train, mass and wait for the perfect moment, is to wish for failure by alerting our enemies. We would certainly be stronger by gathering our strength, but our foe would also be that much stronger and waiting for our attack.”
“You are drunk,” the marshal said. “This is madness.”
“I speak about facts and you hurl insults,” Jian said. “Tell me. Was the Chairman drunk when we invaded Siberia?”
“Sir,” the marshal said quickly. “I meant no insult concerning your amazing exploits.”
The Chairman had been carefully following the exchange. He now asked Admiral Qingshan, “Earlier, the marshal spoke about supplies for his troops. Could you guarantee open sea-lanes to Alaska?”
“There are no guarantees in war,” the admiral said carefully.
The words were like a stab in Jian’s chest. What was this, betrayal? Thirty-eight days ago, the admiral had agreed to his plan. Was he backing out now?
“Without such guarantees, I am against such adventurism,” the marshal said.
The Chairman scowled.
“We wouldn’t necessarily need Army help,” the admiral said in the ensuing silence. “My naval infantry brigades could capture Alaska.”
Jian felt hope again, and he wondered what game the admiral played.
“This is yet more folly,” Deng said.
“Not necessarily,” said Admiral Qingshan. “The Agricultural Minister makes an interesting point.”
“Which is what?” Deng asked.
“A swift assault, strategic surprise,” Admiral Qingshan said. “As the Chairman surely knows, we are three days from a large-scale naval exercise.”
Deng slapped the table. “Sir, here is evidence that both the Agricultural Minister and the admiral have conspired against you.”
“Explain,” whispered the Chairman.
“Are we to believe that this naval exercise just happens to be occurring now?” asked Deng. “It would have been planned months in advance. The needed logistics and preparations—”
“I am well aware of what it entails to launch a large-scale naval exercise,” the Chairman said. “What is your point?”
“Sir, I believe they timed their commando mission to thwart my trip to Sydney so they could begin this war with America, using the naval exercise as a blind.”
“When did you plan your trip to Sydney?” Jian asked in seeming innocence.
Deng glared at him.
“Hmm,” the Chairman said. “You told me of your plan five weeks ago, Deng. Instead of secretive plotting by your comrades, I think that fate has given us a golden opportunity. Strategic surprise is a rare and valued thing. If we move quickly now, we shall catch the Americans and the world with their pants around their ankles.” The Chairman turned to Admiral Qingshan. “The oil-bearing regions around ANWR and Prudhoe Bay, could the Navy secure those, too?”
“Possibly, sir,” Admiral Qingshan said. “When I spoke earlier I meant securing the major Alaskan cities and ports, particularly Anchorage. Fully half the Alaskan population lives in and around metropolitan Anchorage. Capture it, and the State will naturally fall to us.”
“You wouldn’t need Navy guarantees for open sea-lanes if you only made the polar attack,” Jian told the marshal. “You could use the ice-mobile units now in Siberia, possibly with an addition of a few specialist formations.”
“I demand to know how you’ve learned about the polar assault war-game plans,” the marshal said. “They are top secret and of recent design. Few in the Army even know about them.”
It was through the Police Minister, but Jian wasn’t going to tell anyone that. There were highly patriotic generals on the marshal’s planning staff. Some of them were spies for the Security Bureau—the Police. Jian simply stared at the old marshal and shrugged.
The marshal sputtered.
“I do not believe what I’m hearing,” Deng said. “Jian Shihong has jeopardized our nation by his interference in military matters. His urging of the destruction of the American oil well sabotaged us at the most critical moment in Sydney. The Americans will never give us preferred status now for wheat and corn purchases.”
“Then we must show them the Chinese fist,” Jian said. “The Americans are like an aging woman who still possesses charms. A few sharp slaps across the face will teach this woman her place.”
“Spoken no doubt as a practiced rapist,” Deng said.
“Your mockery of Chinese military power has not gone unnoticed, Deng Fong,” Jian said.
“I only mock your plans,” Deng said. “It is either the ravings of a lunatic or the desperation of a guilty man.”
“So a few frightened men dared to say about our honored Chairman before he sent troops into Siberia,” Jian said. “The Chairman’s courage has richly rewarded China. What will our courage here now give us?”
“Siberia was weak and Russia was an ailing power then,” Deng said.
“You have a vicious soul to denigrate our Chairman’s foresight and courage,” Jian said. “Only our glorious Chairman had the manliness to deal with the problem directly by unleashing our military might. The Northeastern Area was finally returned to China after too many years in Russia’s dirty grip. The nation wept with joy, and we gained the vast Siberian oilfields.”
“You carried China on your shoulders, sir,” Deng told the Chairman. “No one here denigrates your noble deeds. But suppose we capture Alaska and still the Americans refuse to sell us grain? Then what have we gained?”
“Your rhetorical tricks won’t blind us today,” Jian said. “We would turn the wheel, cutting off their oil. Many of their industries would grind to a stop. Their cars would lie idle and there would be a revolution in America, as everyone understands their love affair with motor vehicles.”
“I am not convinced you’re right,” Deng said. “The Americans have learned how to clean coal, and they have massive reserves of it. Lack of oil would also spur them into space and construction of the Solar Powered Satellites.”
“That all lies well in the future,” Jian said. “We may not have that futur
e if our people riot from lack of rice.”
“All brought about because of your amateur meddling in foreign affairs,” Deng said with heat.
“No!” Jian said, “For I’ve learned the lesson of Cheng Ho. Chinese greatness depends on our acting forcefully now that the scepter of world power has once again been laid in our hand. It is time to usher in an era of worldwide Chinese civilization. All we must do is act quickly, act with strategic surprise as the Chairman has shown us twice before.”
“No,” Deng said. “War with America would be a grave error.”
“Comrade Deng,” the Chairman whispered, “tell us where we shall gain the extra foodstuffs now that America has closed its doors to us? Without massive imports, the people will riot. Such rioting could topple us from power. Jian Shihong is correct in pointing that out.”
Deng blinked several times. “Perhaps secret protocols with Australia—”
“Don’t you understand that the Anglo-run powers plan to use grain to regain their preeminence?” asked Jian. “In their days of glory, they stole the best farmlands from indigenous peoples. Now they use those farmlands against the rest of the world. Must we go begging to them for food? Must we attempt to gain their goodwill when we possess the greatest army and navy in history?”
“War is a gamble,” Deng said, “as Admiral Qingshan just reminded us several minutes ago. There are no guarantees.”
“Leaving a seething volcano of hungry people under us is a greater gamble,” Jian said. He believed it was wiser for him to point this out than to let anyone else do it. In this way, he seemed like a strong man, unafraid of the consequences of his failed farm policies. “China is rich,” he said, “but we are hungry. Now the Anglo-heathens refuse to sell us grain. Very well, we shall force them to sell it by taking American oil. I see no other way, other than to crawl on our knees to them and kiss their feet. Do you wish to kiss their feet, Deng Fong?”
“I wish for peace,” Deng said.
“And a rice revolt?” asked Jian.
“This revolt would not have occurred if you could have grown enough rice,” Deng said.
“No one could have grown enough rice during an ice age,” Jian said. “A bold military thrust into Alaska shall change everything. It will save our Party and save China.”
“Sir,” Deng said, turning to the Chairman. “Let me examine the situation in detail. I will report back to you.”
“As the people seethe and their bellies rumble?” Jian asked.
“We have the police and army,” Deng said. “There will be no revolt.”
“Ah,” Jian said. “I see. You would rather we shed Chinese blood than hurt an American. How noble of you to care more for a barbarian than one of your own. I am proud to say that I do not share such a sentiment.”
“Sir,” said Police Minister Xiaodan. “My profilers believe we shall have increasingly bloody riots as the year progresses. If something isn’t done to alleviate the hunger, we shall have to institute massive suppression. The police battalions may need Army support.”
“What do you say, Deng?” the Chairman asked. “Shall we shed Chinese or American blood?”
Deng’s bad eye twitched, almost closing it. “I am against war, sir.”
“So we bleed our people?” the Chairman whispered.
“…no, sir,” Deng said.
“What then?” the Chairman whispered.
Jian leaned forward as he wet his lips. His armpits were soaked with sweat. He felt a trickle slide down his side.
“Perhaps a detailed war-study,” Deng said.
“I do not believe we have the time,” whispered the Chairman, “not if we hope to keep this preciously-given strategic surprise. This is a gift Fate has given us so China may forever secure her greatness.”
Every member present watched Deng Fong. He seemed to wilt under their combined stares. “Perhaps, sir, the polar raid to snatch the oil fields would prove enough of a lever.”
For a response, the Chairman’s chin sank onto his chest.
Jian was afraid the Chairman had fallen asleep. He had done so before, just as abruptly. Then Jian saw that the man’s eyes were open. For some reason, that frightened Jian. The old man was clearly thinking deeply.
Finally, the Chairman straightened his pain-racked body. “We will finalize the preparations for an Alaskan assault,” he said in a dry voice. “Admiral, you will continue preparations for a naval exercise, adding naval infantry brigades for a mass assault against metropolitan Anchorage.”
“Yes, sir,” said Admiral Qingshan.
“You will also begin to implement your secret plan for crippling the American Navy,” the Chairman said. “In two weeks, no less than three, we must surprise the world with a bold snatching of Alaska.”
“Yes, sir,” said Admiral Qingshan.
“Marshal, you shall finalize preparations for this cross-polar raid. Use the trains, use air transport, but get those specialist units ready for an immediate assault across the ice.”
“What if the Navy fails in its assigned tasks, sir?” asked the marshal. “It might leave my men open on the north slope of the Alaskan coast.”
“You will plan for Navy success,” the Chairman said, “not for failure. But if you feel that you cannot perform this task, tell me at once so I may find a general who can.”
“The Army will not fail you, sir,” the marshal said.
A grim smile stretched the Chairman’s face, showing the wrinkles there and the spottiness of his skin. He was diseased, but he seemed more invigorated than he had been for a long time.
A conqueror only truly loves conquering. Jian’s profilers had guessed right, and he was gaining a new lease on life. It was strange but heady to think he had brought about a war with America through his words. His words were a lever that were about to move the world. That was power, and it felt good, very good.
“Our Minister of Agriculture has seen farther than the rest of you,” the Chairman said. “We will not repeat the failure that faced Cheng Ho. This time, the Chinese will rise above every nation on Earth and stamp the world with its superior civilization. First, however, we must survive this new glacial period and gain for our people a secure food supply. Are there any here who disagree with our plan?”
Those last words were famous. According to legend they’d been spoken a week before the Siberian Invasion. Also, according to a much-whispered story, a minister had spoken up then, urging caution. As if delighted, the Chairman had thanked the minister for the courage to speak his mind. He had asked the minister to step outside with him so the man could tell him his worries in private. The two had left the room and they had left the other ministers and generals. Seconds later, a shot had rung out. The Chairman returned alone, with a smoking pistol in his hand.
Today, no one spoke up against the finalized plan, not even Deng.
“Then I declare the meeting over,” the Chairman said. “Everyone is dismissed. Ah, except for you, Jian Shihong. I wish to speak with you alone. I would know more how you envision this battle to proceed.”
Jian’s heart beat faster. He had intrigued and plotted to survive Deng’s personal attack. Might he have stumbled onto the key to the highest position? Was the Chairman going to name him as his successor? Winning the war against America could possibly give him everything, while losing it—no, he mustn’t think about that. China would win. For his sake, it had too.
-4-
Placement
ALASKA
The small plane shuddered as metal groaned. All around Paul Kavanagh, men swore and gripped their armrests tightly. Outside, the wind howled like a legion of arctic demons. Each change in pitch sent the plane lurching in a different direction. There were eight new Blacksand employees in the plane’s passenger seats.
From the rearmost one, Paul stared out of a tiny window. It was dark outside expect for the particles of white that beat against the glass. He couldn’t see the stars. He couldn’t see the ground. He couldn’t see crap and that was st
arting to make him hate this place. It was ten times worse here than northern Quebec. The Canadian Shield had been a rocky wasteland of snow, pines and the most ancient stones in the world. There had never been storms like this during his combat against the French-Canadian separatists.
According to what the Blacksand rep had told the eight of them before boarding in Anchorage, the plane was likely north of the tree line by now. Beyond the tree line was the tundra, a land of ice, snow and blizzards worse than any Saharan sandstorm.
Another gust howled around their puny craft. The plane lurched upward as metal groaned. It felt as if a giant twisted the tubular main section, trying to pry it apart and spill them like ants onto the snow below. Just how far below the snow actually was, Paul had no idea, and that troubled him.
A speaker crackled into life several feet away, and the pilot spoke. At least, Paul figured it was the pilot. The man was hidden behind a curtain up front, a curtain that swayed far too much. Paul heard garbled words from the speaker. He had no idea what the pilot was trying to tell them. There was no way he was going to unbuckle to crawl closer to find out, either. Therefore, he was glad when the speaker quit broadcasting its gibberish.
A new wind shoved them sideways so the plane seemed to skip like a stone flung across a pond. Paul might have heard a moan. It was hard to hear anything but the roaring engines and wind. Then the man across the nearly nonexistent aisle was bent over, his forehead shoved against the back of the seat before him. The man spewed onto his black combat boots. The grim odor caused Paul’s stomach to lurch.
As the man wiped his lips, he glanced over. Paul remembered that his name was Murphy. The man was squat, with dark, curly hair and the whitest face Paul had ever seen. There were beads of sweat on the man’s forehead. Murphy was an ex-Army Ranger and had bragged earlier about his sniper skills. He’d said something about hoping to bag seals the way Eskimos used to do it with harpoons. According to Murphy, now the Eskimos or Inuit used rifles to take headshots. They had to make sure they killed the seal with a single shot. The marine mammals slept by their air holes, and if you only wounded the beast, it slid into the hole and out of sight.
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