China Attacks

by Chuck DeVore

  Donna decided he reminded her of a younger, taller version of her father, Admiral Ben Klein, USN, retired. “Great. I hope the good guys win in the end.”

  “Don’t we always?”

  “We’ll see. I’m on the bad guy side this week.” Donna grinned slyly, turned on her heels, and walked out the door.

  8

  What to Do?

  Fu Zemin, politico-military affairs advisor to the Chinese Communist Party, sat down at his PC and began to try to put to words his ambitious thoughts. After several false starts he lit up a cigarette. He sighed. He put the cigarette down and returned to the keyboard. His phone rang, making him flinch. Fu waited one more ring to calm himself before answering. Normally, his secretary screened his calls, direct calls only came from his wife or, rarely, higher ups who wanted something.

  “Hello, Fu Zemin here.”

  “Comrade Fu, this is the office of the Chairman’s Chief Central Military Commission Advisor. You are wanted for an informal meeting.” It was a male voice.

  Fu felt a shudder of anticipation from the surprise call—the Central Military Commission, you can’t get much higher than that. “When?”

  “Immediately, of course.” The voice sounded impatient, “The discussion is already underway. Come to the CMC Chief Advisor’s office.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Fu rocked back in his leather bound chair, reached to the right top drawer, brought out his comb, and smoothed his hair—looking sloppy was a certain path to engendering a lack of confidence. Fortunately, the Chairman’s working offices were just across the street from the Party headquarters. Since it was cold and rainy outside (he had a rare window office) he decided to take the tunnel connecting the two structures together under the wide thoroughfare.

  He made it to the Central Military Commission’s office in only seven minutes. Again a surprise, he was shown right in to Chief Advisor Soo’s office. In addition to Soo, a thin man of about 50 who’s sole vice was chain smoking, there were two PLA generals in the office, and a high-ranking man from the Foreign Ministry. Fu had socially met the other three men at various parties over the years. He remembered they all had wives, but he couldn’t remember their names. He bowed and waited to be addressed.

  “Comrade Fu, you write interesting memos.” It was the man from the Foreign Ministry. He was in his 70s. He looked trim, fit, and alert, with a full head of closely cropped gray hair. The other men looked at him, waiting for a reaction. Soo sat behind his desk and a veil of cigarette smoke, the two generals seated to either side examining him as if he were a bug. Only the man from the Foreign Ministry had a look of kindness, almost grandfatherly, he was seated to Soo’s right, facing the generals. It was apparent the four had been having a conference before he arrived.

  “Yes, Comrade Fong (he remembered the old man’s name!), I try to do what I can for China.” It was a safe answer, one couldn’t be too careful, even nowadays, when dealing with power.

  Soo began to look impatient, “Let me cut to the chase. Zemin, we have been watching you for some time. You are smart and ambitious. You even show signs of wisdom—for a man of only 36. We want to include you as part of our discussion group. Everything said here is in the strictest confidence, understand?”

  “Yes, comrade.”

  “So, before you showed up for your first meeting late, Zemin,” Soo cast a sly look to Fu, “We were discussing the issue of America’s recent anti-missile tests. What is your opinion about the American missile defenses?” Four sets of eyes regarded the younger man.

  Fu was beaming inwardly, outwardly, his face was impassive—he was advising men only one step removed from the Chairman himself! Fu began slowly, deliberately, “I believe this is a most unwelcome development for China. . .”

  “We don’t need you to tell us that! Eh?” One of the generals cracked. The other general laughed.

  Soo cut them off with a curt wave, “What I really want to know is, what should we do about it?”

  Fu swallowed, “We have three years, five at the most, before America develops theater defenses capable of making our ballistic missile force obsolete in Asia. Within six years, America might think herself invulnerable from nuclear attack. Our only course of action is to begin a build-up of long-range ballistic missiles—of course, that’s what the Americans want us to do. . .”

  “Eh?” It was the other general.

  “The Americans want us to join them in an arms race. It weakened and eventually destroyed the Soviet Union and it could destroy us as well.”

  “So, what do we do?” Fong asked.

  “Cigarette?” Soo offered.

  “Why yes, thank you comrade.” Fu gratefully accepted the proffered cigarette, a strong-tasting domestic. Fu began to reach for his lighter and Soo offered Fu his own—a heavy gold inlaid model. Fu felt the tension ease out of his muscles. The first puff brought him intensely into focus. “We must seize the initiative,” he said as one of the generals shifted forward in his chair, eyes intensely fixed on Fu. “No nation wins using only the defense. America today is a nation full of itself. America believes itself to be the world’s only superpower. That is its greatest weakness. So long as the Americans believe that there is no real threat to their national interest, they will crusade around the globe, putting their noses into other people’s business. I propose we use this to our advantage.”

  “Madness! If the Americans get any more active in the world how long will it be before they demand we hold a referendum on independence for Tibet or some other such nonsense?” It was the general who had made the sarcastic comment moments before.

  Fu finally remembered the man’s name while idly wondering if the lack of formal introductions was purposeful, “General Ching, the Americans have not yet intervened in a nation’s internal business when that nation was capable of defending itself, now have they? Did America do anything when the Russians invaded Chechnya and crushed the rebels? Of course not. Likewise, China has nothing to fear from the Americans.”

  Fong spoke up, “Where first? Give us a concrete example of your idea so we may discuss its strengths and weaknesses.”

  “Indonesia.”

  “You mean East Timor?” Soo asked.

  “No, Indonesia. All of it. It’s a powder keg ready to explode with religious and ethnic strife. Because of its oil and its size, I believe the Americans will be compelled to intervene and stabilize the situation. . .”

  Soo narrowed his eyes and said slowly, “Do you really believe it would be to China’s advantage to have American troops stationed in another Asian country?” His question had a sharpness about it, even a hint of danger.

  Fu was cautious. He decided the best course of action was to be firm, but careful. “Yes Comrade Soo, if the Americans come away from the deployment with a bad taste for Asian combat it would be good for us. Moreover, a larger American troop deployment will further reduce their strategic flexibility.”

  “What do you propose?” General Ching asked.

  “Comrade General Ching, I propose we use whatever clandestine methods we have at our disposal to increase American casualties and frustrate their designs. An American failure in Asia, coming on the heels of the protracted stalemates in the Balkans and against Iraq would enhance our prestige and hand the Americans a serious loss of face.” Fu swallowed, then continued, “Such a loss might make the Americans less likely to aid the province of Taiwan, should reunification be achieved with, ah, less than peaceful means in the near future.” The generals chuckled softly, “And, let us not forget, the Americans are growing increasingly weary of their international commitments. Remember, their Congress recently voted to end registration for conscription. No nation has ever maintained world power status without the ability to draft soldiers.”

  Fong stroked his chin, then spoke, “What you propose is much easier said than done. Our infrastructure in Indonesia never recovered from the blow the fascist generals dealt it in the 1960s. If we aid the anti-independence militia in E
ast Timor and get discovered, it could be unpleasant for us.”

  “I agree. That is why I said Indonesia should be our target, not just East Timor. Indonesia has thousands of islands. Our cargo ships visit many of them. There is also a large ethnic Chinese presence throughout the archipelago. Our agents could move with relative impunity throughout the region. Of course, Indonesia could be just the beginning, if the Americans show enough appetite for intervention, we could always destabilize the Philippines. . .”

  “More than we do already?” Ching said with a grin.

  “Yes. Think of this plan as what the Americans called the ‘Reagan Doctrine’, only in reverse. President Reagan funded and equipped counterrevolutionaries to challenge Soviet hegemony. We could do the same to challenge and reverse Pax Americana.”

  Fong furrowed his brow, “What if the Americans move to destabilize our government? We nearly lost control in 1989 and the Americans had nothing to do with it. The people have even less faith in the Party today than they did then, especially after the elections in Taiwan threw out the Nationalists. What makes you so sure we can drive the Americans from Asia with a few guerrilla wars? What is your end-state? So, we bloody America’s nose and they still end up deploying missile defenses; how are we better off?”

  Fu was shocked at Fong’s candid admission of how close the Tiananmen Square uprising came to destroying the Communist Party’s grip on power. Fu gathered his courage, “We can solve all our problems with the successful reunification of China—in victory, everyone’s a patriot.”

  Fu’s words hung like ripe fruit in the middle of the room. All the men could taste it, even while they knew it to be unreachable.

  The general next to Ching spoke up, “Ha! Take Taiwan and everything will be fine! Easy for you to say! How many troops have you commanded in war?”

  “None. . .”

  “What do you expect us to do, swim across while we wait for the U.S. Navy to pay us a visit?”

  “No general. I expect a proud nation of 1.3 billion people can, with ingenuity and industriousness, figure out how to seize a small, rebellious island. As for the U.S. fleet, I suspect there are ways to divert their attention until it is too late. If I may. . .”

  “Please,” Soo said, extending another cigarette, “We find your ideas most interesting. . .”

  9

  Good Intent

  On the morning of December 26, the Island of Timor came into view. It was a dark green against a backdrop of brilliant blue skies and billowing cumulus clouds hovering over the island’s mountainous spine. Even at sea it was beastly hot.

  After almost a century of foreign interventions, most for the purpose of securing American lives and property, the 2nd Battalion, 4th Marines of the 31st Marine Expeditionary Unit prepared to go ashore on their latest mission. Colonel Flint gripped the railing on the deck of the USS Belleau Wood and looked at the tropical island that was his latest assignment.

  * * *

  The flare-up in East Timor combined with the decision to send in the Marines pulled Donna out of the Pentagon’s China war game. “Tier Zero crisis coverage.” Mr. Scott called it as he phoned Donna at home after the war game’s first day. While Donna was a China expert, she was also known as a creative and flexible analyst. The Indonesia section was understaffed for the crisis, so Donna was brought in to augment their efforts.

  Donna had been working on the East Timor crisis for a month when she stopped to consider its “Tier Zero” status. Presidential Decision Directive-35 sought to better prioritize intelligence requirements. “Tier Zero” was for crisis coverage, “Tier One” for countries that were enemies or potential enemies, and “Tier Two” for other countries of high priority. “Tier Zero” situations were first in line for resources. The PRC was “Tier Two.” Donna had ceased struggling against this politically correct ranking—to even suggest China as a “Tier One” country was a sure route to being posted to Chad as Assistant to the Deputy CIA Station Chief.

  Donna settled into her desk to review the morning traffic from China before getting caught up in her East Timor “day job.” She absentmindedly untied her walking shoes and slipped on her modest high-heeled work shoes. She scanned and stored a wide range of facts from 21 pages of information: China now had 110 million unemployed; China was violently cracking down on Islamic unrest in its western provinces; China had taken delivery of another 50 front-line Russian Su-30 fighters; China’s manned space program was slowing down due to a lack of resources; China’s leadership was growing increasingly worried about religious “cells” in its major cities.

  Donna looked at her watch and shook her head—Time for the East Timor morning staff meeting. She locked her stack of traffic up in her desk and knew there was intelligence to be made from that small pile of paper—No time.

  10

  Decisions

  Communist Party Chairman Han Wudi stepped off the Boeing 737 into the welcome warmth of a Hainan afternoon. He paused at the top of the passenger ramp, letting the warmth envelop him like a blanket while his eyes feasted on the luxuriant green of this tropical island, China’s southernmost province. What a relief to be out of the bitter cold of a Beijing January, with its parched landscape and incessant loess dust storms.

  Welcome to China’s Hawaii, Chairman Han said to himself without thinking. He immediately grimaced at his slip. Never concede primacy to the U.S. in anything, he scolded himself. Lines from his recent secret speech to the CCP (Chinese Communist Party) Central Committee came unbidden into his mind: “The U.S. is in decline, while China is rising. Someday soon China will replace the U.S. as the world’s hegemon. Our goal is to lead the world in the twenty-first century.”

  Han smiled. If things went as planned, the first concrete steps towards establishing—re-establishing, he corrected himself—Chinese hegemony over Asia would be taken at the upcoming expanded Politburo meeting. And that was only the beginning. Han’s smile widened wickedly. Someday American presidents will be riding in Chinese-made jets. And someday the world will refer to Hawaii as America’s Hainan. That is, if we allow Hawaii to remain an American possession after what the Americans have done to Taiwan . . .

  Chairman Han was still smiling broadly as he descended the passenger ramp. He was greeted effusively by the Hainan provincial party secretary, a longtime crony who had first served under him twenty years before when he was Minister of Electronics. He nodded politely as the underling gushed about the island’s recent economic advances, listening with only half an ear. By now nearly all of the provincial party secretaries were his habagou, his lapdogs. After more than a decade in power he had managed to ease all of the possible contenders for his position into retirement, and to appoint dozens, no hundreds, of habagou to key posts in the party, military, and government. They were all talented enough, but his first requirement had been loyalty. As a result, Chairman Han now reigned supreme and secure at the top of the party pyramid. As Chairman of the Military Affairs Committee he was also commander-in-chief of the largest military in the world. Having concentrated all power in his hands, it was time to expand his writ abroad.

  His underling—the man’s name escaped him—bowed low as Chairman Han got into the waiting Mercedes Benz. With the streets cleared by police escorts, he and they were out of the provincial capital of Haikou in minutes, speeding down a private and well-paved road towards the Thousand Palms Resort. Mao Zedong Wansui, he thought. Hooray for Mao Zedong. The late Chairman had projected the public image of a simple peasant, but had secretly nourished a taste for the good life. Every province had one or more palatial compounds that he had built exclusively for his own use. The one in Hainan was particularly luxurious, and had come in recent years to be used for meetings of senior leaders, particularly in the winter when everyone was eager to escape the biting cold and yellow grit of the North China plain.

  Han stepped out of the Mercedes and addressed the assembled crowd of dignitaries, “Thank you all for coming to this expanded meeting of the Politburo,”
he began with a smile. “We have an important three days of work ahead of us. China must resume her rightful place in the world—and soon. Our decisions over the next three days will determine how and when that happens. We have spent the past half-century developing our economy, our technology and our military. China has the world’s second largest economy, a rapidly expanding industrial base, and the world’s largest military. A new century is dawning, and it belongs to China.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Yet we are still hemmed in by the American imperialists. They plot to destroy our Party and divide our country. They bomb our embassies. They prevent us from completing the liberation of the offshore islands and Taiwan. China must break out of this encirclement and assert its rightful place in the world!

  “A half a century ago, upon the founding of the People’s Republic of China, Chairman Mao proudly proclaimed that China has stood up. Now it is time—no, it is past time—for us to take bold steps, steps that will shake the world.”

  Premier Wang began clapping enthusiastically. The others joined in, including Chairman Han himself, for it was the Chinese custom to applaud oneself. Defense Minister Han’s applause, along with that of one or two others, was distinctly perfunctory.

  Fu Zemin was the first to arrive at the entrance to the assigned conference room—the Dragon Room, it was called—the following morning. His mind was racing as the guards meticulously searched his briefcase and person. He hadn’t slept much the night before. Rather, gripped by an anxiety bordering on panic, he had spent the night making revisions to his speech, first taking a harder line, then a softer. Near dawn, exhausted, he had given up trying to guess the mood of the audience he was addressing and returned to his original draft.