by Dale Brown
“That’s it?” Jamieson remarked, her blue eyes wide with disbelief. “That’s our nuclear strike force? I know most of our bombers and land-based ballistic missiles were destroyed in the American Holocaust, but where are all the submarines?”
“Normal patrols these days are usually six or seven subs total, split between the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans, Senator Jamieson,” Secretary of Defense Fredrick Hayes said. “We’re lucky to be able to deploy the other two. The remaining subs are either undergoing maintenance, coming back from patrol, or getting ready to go out on patrol. The ones getting ready for patrol can be accelerated to get them out faster, perhaps in a day or two. Others may take as long as a month.”
“A month?” Joseph Collingsworth blurted out. Although a member of the House of Representatives almost as long as Jamieson, Collingsworth was relatively new to the top leadership position in the House and was not as knowledgeable of military or foreign affairs. “I didn’t realize what a sorry shape our military was.”
“Since we got into office we’ve been pushing for more military spending, primarily in long-range strike and space, Congressman,” Vice President Ann Page said. “But with tax receipts down, unemployment still high, and nondiscretionary spending through the roof, there’s no money available for the military unless other programs get cut first.”
“You can solve this problem right away without cutting entitlement, education, research, and health-care programs, Miss Vice President: raise the marginal top tax rate to what it has been during any period we are at war or needed to raise money for defense or infrastructure; eliminate the Medicare salary cap; and support cap-and-trade carbon emissions legislation,” Senator Jamieson said. “Cap-and-trade alone would raise one hundred billion dollars a year, along with reducing greenhouse gases and encouraging development of antipollution technology.”
“Let’s get back to the issue at hand, ladies and gentlemen,” President Phoenix said, trying very hard not to sound exasperated. “My response to the Chinese use of a nuclear weapon was to raise the DEFCON level, place more nuclear-armed subs and bombers on alert, and prepare other assets such as tactical fighter aircraft and other warships to employ nuclear weapons. I have been in contact with acting president Gao Xudong of China, who explained that former president Zhou had ordered the use of a nuclear weapon but is no longer in charge. This has been verified by our ambassador in Beijing. We also agreed to limit naval activity in the South China Sea to outside the two-hundred-kilometer economic exclusion zone in order to reduce tensions. Any other suggestions?”
“Let’s start with kicking China out of the United Nations Security Council and slapping a trillion-dollar sanction on them!” Senator Jamieson said.
“The ouster of a permanent member of the Security Council requires a unanimous vote of the permanent and temporary members of the Council and a two-thirds vote of the General Assembly,” Secretary of State Kevich said, “and in my opinion Russia would veto. However, Congress could pass a nonbinding resolution to that effect. China has agreed to pay the costs for environmental cleanup, rescue, recovery, and replacing the damaged and destroyed warships.”
“That’s it?” Senator Jamieson asked incredulously. “China sets off a nuke in the South China Sea, and all the United States can do is gear up its scant military forces for war?”
“China has the second-largest economy in the world, Senator,” Phoenix said. “Their GDP is growing while ours is shrinking, and it’s possible that in five years their GDP could surpass ours. They hold twenty percent of U.S. debt, and we import twenty-five percent of what China produces. They have the largest military in the world, and it grows both in numbers and quality every year, while ours shrinks. It’s difficult to fight numbers like that.”
“I never would have believed we’d come to this point,” Jamieson said. “You’re saying we’re powerless to do anything?”
“We’re not powerless,” Phoenix replied. “This is what I want Congress to do: approve my budget, which provides the Department of Defense an additional two hundred billion dollars a year for the next six years. With it I will reactivate the Space Defense Force constellation of space-based weapon platforms to provide the United States with proven, reliable, responsive global strike capability. I will also speed up development of a next-generation long-range bomber force and put the canceled Ford-class supercarriers CVN-79 and -80 back into accelerated production.”
“Your budget, Mr. President?” Jamieson asked derisively. “The budget that eliminates four cabinet-level departments, cuts everyone else’s budgets by twenty percent, and eliminates hundreds of programs meant for education, research, environmental protection, health, and retraining? Your budget was soundly rejected by both houses of Congress, sir. It’s never coming back.”
“It’s the only budget that’s been put on the table, Senator,” Ann said. “Congress hasn’t passed a budget in over five years.”
“When we get a budget that doesn’t force the lower and middle class to pay for military hardware and tax breaks for the rich, Miss Vice President, we will,” Collingsworth said.
The president looked at each of the faces around him, saw no compromise in sight, and nodded. “All right, Majority Leader, Speaker,” he said finally. “I think this situation with China is serious enough that something needs to be done immediately, so I’ll agree to support a temporary ten percent income tax hike . . .” As a smile began to break out on Jamieson’s face the president raised a hand and quickly added, “ . . . on everyone, Senator. Across the board.” The smile began to disappear. “Shared sacrifice, Majority Leader?” Jamieson finally nodded. “And the funds go completely to bolstering defense: long-range strike, aircraft carriers, and military space, all the things we should have been building up over the past five years.”
“And the marginal tax rate, cap-and-trade, and Medicare salary caps?” Collingsworth asked. “The last time we had a large military or infrastructure building program, the marginal top tax rate was seventy percent. A ten percent hike is a good start, but it’s not enough.”
“That discussion we’ll save for some other time,” the president said, a touch of weariness in his voice. “Do we have a deal, Miss Majority Leader, Mr. Speaker?”
The two congressional leaders looked at each other, and their eyes said it all: they had finally gotten the president to go back on his pledge not to increase taxes—he was toast in the next election. Jamieson turned to the president and nodded. “We have a deal, Mr. President,” she said.
“Good. If there are no other suggestions on what we might do with China, I’d like to thank you for coming. Please remember all the information I’ve passed along to you today is classified secret and is not to be released to the public in any way. Thank you again.” Phoenix got to his feet, and the others did likewise. He shook hands with each member of Congress and his national security staff, then departed, followed by Ann Page.
Back in the Oval Office, the president poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at his desk, staring out the windows. “Do you believe Jamieson and Collingsworth?” Ann asked behind him. “China sets off a nuke in the South China Sea and shoots down two American aircraft with a microwave weapon, and all they want to do is argue over entitlement spending and cap-and-trade? They control both houses of Congress, but they still can’t agree on a damn thing!”
“They’re ideological partisan politicians with a strong progressive agenda, Ann,” the president said. “National defense is not high on their priority list except as a big chunk of the budget they hope to raid to pay for other programs. The South China Sea might as well be on the planet Mars.”
“We should have talked before you agreed on a tax hike, sir,” Ann said. “We both pledged never to raise taxes. The other side is going to rake us over the coals for that.”
“I know, I know, campaign season starts up soon, and I’m starting it by going back on a promise,” Phoenix said. “But when the world finds out that China used a nuclear weapon again, the
United States won’t be the only country building its military. I’m just relieved Jamieson agreed to earmark the new income for defense—that’s huge for her.” The president remained silent for several long moments, sipping his coffee. Then he spoke: “Leak it.”
“Excuse me, Mr. President?”
“Leak it,” Phoenix repeated. “Leak a few of the details of the Chinese nuclear depth charge, long-range antiship missiles, and the high-power microwave weapon. Do it over a period of a few weeks. Refuse to comment on reports from foreign media outlets or blogosphere rumors, but acknowledge to a few outlets that we’re looking into these reports.”
“Aren’t you afraid of creating a panic, Ken?” Ann asked. “Once folks learn China set off a nuclear warhead in the South China Sea and can hit a ship with a missile hundreds of miles over the horizon, trade through that area will disappear. No shipping company in their right mind will sail a cargo vessel or tanker through the South China Sea. A third of the goods that travel by sea go right through that region.”
“Yes, I realize that,” Phoenix said quietly. He turned to Ann. “Congress won’t act because they’re not focusing on the military threat from China—everyone thinks we’re linked so tightly together that there’s no threat against the United States from China. But the United States was linked with Japan just as tightly until Japan invaded China in 1937 and we cut off oil and steel exports to Japan in 1941, which resulted in the Pearl Harbor attack. If there’s a panic, it won’t be because we leaked some information—it’ll be because China attacked foreign warships and aircraft and wants to turn the South China Sea into their own private lake.”
Ann Page studied the president for a few moments. “You’ve changed over the past few weeks, Ken,” she said finally. “You’re still the same president, but . . . the man has changed, I think. You’re silently getting pissed off at all the antics being pulled off around the world, and you want so badly to do something about it, but you don’t quite have all the tools . . . yet. So you’re pissed off.”
Phoenix looked at his vice president for a long few moments, then shrugged and asked, “So?”
“So nothing,” Ann said, smiling. “I like it. I like pissed off.”
TEN
SHANGHAI, PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA
AUTUMN 2015
The afternoon protest was just getting under way. For the past several weeks, idle dock workers at the Wangma Jiazhai piers in northeastern Shanghai would gather, organizers would whip them up by giving speeches with a bullhorn, then the angry crowd would march down Wuzhou Avenue to the Government Administration Building a few kilometers away to protest the continued high food prices, layoffs, inflation, and perceived government indifference to the precipitous economic collapse that was gripping China. Their numbers started out modest, just a few hundred, but now the protesters numbered in the thousands, large enough to block the Shanghai Ring Expressway during rush-hour traffic, which made everyone angrier still. The signs and banners that the protesters brought at first were still there but in much greater size and numbers, and more and more protesters were bringing tools, chains, and other implements from the docks.
The protests started two months earlier, following the news reports of the Chinese use of a nuclear depth charge in the South China Sea. At first every country involved denied it, but soon independent tests confirmed low levels of plutonium contamination in the sea. Even so, the public outcry was not as loud as might be expected: China said it reacted because of a perceived submarine attack on its carrier battle group, which Taiwan did not deny; the contamination levels were not very high and still dropping; minimal damage had been done to the seabed and nearby coral formations; and China had pledged to compensate all involved for the deaths and damage done.
However, the matter was far from over. Unseen by the public was the astronomic climb in insurance rates for cargo ships transiting the South China Sea, East China Sea, and Yellow Sea—any body of water in which a Chinese warship was patrolling or within range of a Chinese air base. It was simply too risky for most private companies to insure a vessel traveling anywhere near mainland China, and the companies that did write insurance policies charged hefty premiums. As a result the cost of everything, from clothing to electronics, nearly doubled overnight. Unsold goods started to pile up in warehouses and on piers. The Chinese government tried to subsidize workers’ salaries, but soon the layoffs began, and in a few months hundreds of millions throughout the entire country were unemployed. There was double-digit inflation, and not on a yearly basis, but a monthly one.
It was immediately apparent that this protest march by unemployed dockworkers was different. In all other marches the city police were on hand to protect stores and commuters, and there was rarely any violence, but this time the protesters noticed that the closer to the Government Administration Building they got, the more they saw soldiers and armored vehicles in the streets. By the time they were within two blocks of the administration building, the avenue was completely blocked by soldiers armed with automatic weapons. In the center of the avenue was a truck with a large rectangular panel atop it mounted on a pedestal that resembled a blank white billboard.
Over the protesters’ chants a voice over a loudspeaker said, “Attention, all protesters, attention, this is Major Li Dezhu, commander of the 117th People’s Armed Police Force from the Zhimalou barracks. You are hereby ordered by the Shanghai Municipality Office of Safety, the mayor of Shanghai, and the Ministry of Security to disperse and go home immediately. You can be assured that your grievances against the government have been heard and will be addressed by your government leaders. There is nothing that can be accomplished by your presence here, and these protests are disrupting the movement of your fellow citizens. Go home to your families immediately.”
“We are not leaving!” a protester with a bullhorn shouted back. “The monthly unemployment money we receive will not pay for even two weeks’ worth of food! Our landlords are threatening to turn us out into the street if we do not pay the rent!”
“No one will be rendered homeless during this financial emergency,” Li said. “The National People’s Congress is voting to appropriate more unemployment funds. All that can be done is being done! There is nothing you can do here at this time, and you are disrupting traffic! Now go home!”
“You tell us the same every day!” another protester shouted. “But no one in Beijing listens to us! Let us in to talk with the mayor and city council!”
“You have been warned!” the major said. “Disperse immediately and go home! The use of special crowd control systems has been authorized! Disperse immediately!”
“We are not leaving until the mayor speaks to us!” a protester shouted. “If he will not come out to talk with us, we will go in!” The mob started to surge forward.
Li brought a portable radio to his lips, keyed the microphone button, and spoke, “Level green, jihuó.”
At that moment the first one hundred protesters at the head of the mob stopped and began patting their arms and face, as if their skin was being pelted with windblown hot sand. The ones farther back in the crowd still marched forward, colliding with the stopped ones in the front, and then the ones moving forward had the same strange feeling on their bodies. But now confusion started to turn into panic as more and more of the mob was affected. People started to run in every direction, mindless of who they ran into. Despite the strange sensation, many of the mob still marched forward.
“Level yellow,” Li ordered.
Now the sensation of being hit by a sandstorm turned into the feeling of standing in front of an open furnace. Shouts of pain and fear quickly changed to screams of panic. Persons were no longer trying to brush away sand—they were trying to protect themselves from the searing heat, although they saw no fire and their skin did not seem to be damaged. Some tried to put out the fire they felt by throwing themselves on the ground and rolling. There was no tear gas, no sounds of bullets or shotguns, but people were falling to the ground
as if shot. Finally the crowd stopped advancing, and they bolted left and right to get away from whatever they were being exposed to . . .
. . . and as they ran behind buildings or darted down adjacent streets, the feeling of being set afire disappeared.
“Get over here!” several of the protesters shouted to their comrades who were still writhing in pain out in the open, and as they ran for cover the pain stopped. “What is going on? What is happening?”
“I saw something like this on television,” another worker said. “I will bet it is that large sign in the middle of the street.”
“A sign? What does that have to do with anything?”
“It is not a sign—it is a microwave transmitter,” the other man said.
“A microwave? Are you joking?”
“Remember that major said something about ‘special crowd control systems’? I will bet that is what he was talking about. The police are using microwaves on us! The microwaves heat the fluids in our bodies without burning the skin.”
“How are we going to shut that thing down?”
“I think it is directional—I did not see any of the police standing beside it affected, and as soon as we ran behind this building the pain stopped,” the other said. “I think if we rush it from the sides it will not affect us, either.”
