by David Poyer
Enzweiler looked as puzzled as Dan was. “Aye, sir. Signal’s going out. But withdraw … to where? These guys will just follow us.”
Hornet leaned into a radical turn, steel fabric creaking. Graciadei was bumping on additional RPM, five at a time. Danenhower stood beside her, looking worried. Dan licked dry lips. “I agree, but it’s not phrased like we have an option, Fred.”
“Admiral.” Singhe’s tone twisted him round in his seat. “Look. Those air contacts.”
He squinted, then frowned. The tracks of the Galaxies had bent northward. The altitude readouts on both contacts were spinning rapidly downward. Losing altitude. Their course would take them directly over the oncoming Shangs. For a moment he wanted to warn them, then realized it wasn’t necessary. The missiles the subs had just taken down his helos with were short-range. Low-altitude. More like Stingers than anything else.
“What the fuck,” Wenck muttered beside him. “What the—”
“I’m not sure either, Donnie.”
“They’re losing altitude, but coming in hot. WTF, over?”
Dan cocked his head, a light snapping on. Could they be going in for a drop? But of what? The huge cargo birds weren’t equipped with anything more dangerous than flares. They weren’t bombers.
“What the fuck,” Wenck breathed again.
Dan lifted the handset again. Waited for the sync. “Husky, Barbarian Actual, over.”
“Fleet, over. Are you clearing the area as ordered?”
“This is Barbarian. Affirmative. Interrogative: What is going on with these Air Force big birds? Over.”
A pause, a hesitation. Then, “This is Fleet. Do not log or record what’s happening behind you. Do not discuss with the crew. This is close hold within the command team. Acknowledge. Over.”
Still confused, Dan acknowledged. Then sat back rubbing his chin, frowning up at the screen. The Galaxies had completed their pass in front of the oncoming pack. Then, still low, began a clockwise sweep, as if for a second run in front of the advancing submarines.
Singhe stepped up to his chair. He caught a whiff of her perfume as her lips brushed his ear. “We’re getting a hint on one of the chat rooms,” she whispered. “It’s called ‘Spyglass.’”
He frowned. “What is?”
“Whatever they’re dropping. The word is, something hush-hush out of Silicon Valley.”
The ASW controller lifted his voice. “Farncomb reports: low-order detonation bearing two-two-zero. Hold on … there’s another.”
CIC was silent. Dan bent forward, waiting too, though he wasn’t sure for what. Someone put audio from Sonar on a speaker. Two more distant, trivial-sounding thunks echoed through the deep, reverberating like dull bells. Not nearly as dramatic as a torpedo detonation.
Aside from that, they heard nothing more.
12
Washington, D.C.
BLAIR swung down the corridor, following the junior officer who trotted ahead. The sun gleamed on the blue floor tiles. The windows looked down on the central garden and white gazebo at the heart of the Pentagon.
The past week had been grim. She’d finally buckled and told her campaign manager to place the call. Beiderbaum had been almost friendly on the phone. Said he hoped they could work together someday. She’d bitten her lip, and lied about how much she looked forward to it. After making the official announcement, she and several friends had gone to the Monocle for martinis. She didn’t want to think about how much money she owed, or how narrowly she’d lost.
But she had no time to be depressed. Not while trying to hold together a fragile consensus on their course of action in the Pacific. Which would be the topic of today’s meeting.
She hadn’t heard from Dan for a week. Comms were still spotty out there, even though the nanosatellites had gone up. But surely he could have found time for a call. An e-mail, at least.
Unless something had happened …
Her phone vibrated. She pulled it out as she walked, squinting, but didn’t recognize the number. “Uh, hello? Who is this?”
“Blair? Beverly Maclay. How are you doing today, dear?”
Mrs. Beverly Maclay chaired the House Intelligence, Emerging Threats and Capabilities Subcommittee. A moderate from Kansas, she dressed for the part in dark suits, her gray hair in a schoolmarm bun. They were from different parties, but Blair had met with her when she’d worked on Armed Services. “I’m doing all right, ma’am. Good to hear from you.”
“I called to say I’m sorry you lost the recount. It would have been great having you on the subcommittee.”
“I very much appreciate that, Beverly.” She followed the JO down a narrower corridor toward a checkpoint.
“And how is your husband doing out in the Pacific? I hope he’s safe?”
“I haven’t heard much lately from him, I’m afraid.” She handed her SAIC ID and briefcase to an MP. “I mean, not that I’m afraid, but … okay, I’m afraid. When you don’t hear anything … never mind. How can I help you today?”
“Maybe it’s how I can help you, Blair. You’ve heard the president is shuffling his cabinet in response to the emergency.”
“Yes.” The motorized belt hummed, carrying her briefcase and purse through the X-ray. “I read that in the Post.” Szerenci had also mentioned it when he’d invited her to join him in the security adviser directorate.
Which she’d never responded to … The congresswoman said, “Well, he wants to expand our tent. Form what the British would call a national cabinet. He asked me for recommendations. People who supported the war, who had defense credentials. I have to confess, you were the only one I could think of.”
Blair nodded to the MP as he handed her briefcase back. “Oh. Well, thanks, Beverly. I’m flattered, really, but I’m pretty much fully tasked at SAIC.”
“I know, but couldn’t you make a bigger impact as part of the administration? That’s a rhetorical question. Of course you could. And that handsome husband of yours, who knows what you could do for him from there.”
“I don’t know … I really don’t like this New Freedoms Act the administration’s pushing. What kind of position are we talking about? Advisory, policy?”
“I’m not privy to the specifics, but they’re thinking of you for DoD. Not the spot you had under De Bari, I don’t think, but you’d have to discuss details with the SecDef. And the Freedoms Act … I have misgivings about that myself.”
“Well, Bev … This would be something I’d probably better sleep on.”
“Of course, we don’t expect an instant response. But could you give me a call back by tomorrow? Or call Mr. Strohm’s office if you want to discuss it further?”
Leif Strohm was the secretary of defense. Blair took a couple of breaths. “Uh, I’m in the Pentagon right now.”
“Well, why not stop by his office?”
“I’d need more time than that to—”
Her escort was steering her toward a heavy door with two more guards outside. Both had carbines ready to hand. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I just can’t say yes or no right this moment. I’d need to sound out my people first. See how the land lies.”
Sounding disappointed, Maclay said, “I understand. Let me know, then. Good-bye.”
The MP held out a hand; Blair presented her ID again. “That phone, too, ma’am. We’ll keep an eye on it.”
She handed it over, musing on the offer. Pluses and minuses. An undersecretary position, most likely. She’d held one before, but with her own party in power. By joining this administration, even under some kind of national banner, she’d be burning her boats. The antiwar wing would never forgive her.
But maybe, for the good of the country, she ought to do it.
She just hoped it was for the good of the country.…
* * *
THE Chiefs were gathering around the big table. Ricardo Vincenzo, chairman of the Joint Chiefs, presided in Air Force blue. Dan’s alternate mentor and enemy, Nick Niles, was in service dress blue. General Glee, the Arm
y chief of staff. The Marine commandant. A face she didn’t recognize; probably the commander of the National Guard. Ranged behind them were staffers and advisers, many of whom she knew, including Dr. Denson Hui, director of the Missile Defense Agency. She nodded to two others from SAIC: Professor Glancey, the war-termination scholar from Stanford, and Haverford Tomlin, retired general. Plus an ugly, tall man she didn’t know.
The first presenter, a congressional liaison, gave a ten-minute overview of legislation currently before both houses. She listened carefully, chin propped on her cupped hand. The Post had outlined the issue, but now she was hearing the uncensored version.
Belatedly, the U.S. was facing full mobilization and the draft. The “New Freedoms” Act had been moved by Congresswoman Sandy Treherne, a Republican from Kentucky, and by a Democratic member from Massachusetts. “Both parties are getting some of what they’ve always wanted, under guise of wartime needs,” the briefer said. The slide read:
* * *
• social entitlements halved
• defense expenditures doubled
• all privately owned assault rifles confiscated
• undocumented aliens either report for military service or they and their families are deported
• all citizens between ages of 18 and 50 subject to conscription for military or industrial duties
• first amendment and habeas corpus rights suspended for the duration
• guaranteed minimum income and health care for those in defense-related employment
• 100% taxes on incomes over $500,000
* * *
The generals and admirals stirred, but didn’t comment. The briefer continued. “The ‘partyless administration’ being formed is intended to unite the country behind the war. But as you can see, there are significant social policy changes here.”
She shook her head. Maybe Beiderbaum hadn’t been as paranoid as she’d thought. What had he said in their final debate … “It happens in every war: our freedoms erode, government prying and control increases.”
Regardless of whether they won or not, the United States of America was going to feel very different.
The head of Strategic Command spoke next. “This war is more dangerous to the homeland than any other we’ve ever fought. Zhang’s secretly deployed new ICBMs exceed our heaviest missiles in terms of throw weight, accuracy, and number of independently maneuverable warheads. We estimate now he has at least seventy in service. All presumably targeted against major cities in the continental United States.
“Facing this surprise breakout, our options are constrained. We can wage conventional war, against overwhelming numbers. We can escalate to theater nuclear war. Zhang already has, so in a sense we’re there. But escalation from that point runs the risk of a strike on the continental U.S.
“We’ve asked Professor Glancey to prepare a white paper on war termination between nuclear powers.”
The academic stood, but Vincenzo asked politely if he’d mind holding that report for a separate briefing. “We need to keep things short today, and make some essential decisions.” Glancey nodded and sat again.
Vincenzo said, “The president has asked our advice as to how to respond to Zhang’s offer of a cease-fire on the following basis: Union of the two Chinas and the two Koreas. Return of Okinawa to Japan. U.S.-Japanese alliance ties dissolved. Respect for China’s leading role in those islands and sea areas historically Chinese. The United States to withdraw from the western Pacific and refrain from what he calls ‘additional provocations.’
“To give us the background…”
The next presenter was the military liaison to State, who explained what agreement to Zhang’s terms would mean politically and economically. Was there any way to achieve peace with honor, without further war? Was compromise still possible, with the ten thousand casualties from the FDR battle group, thousands missing from the Army and Marine elements being extracted from Korea, and ongoing casualties from the all-but-lost battle for Okinawa?
The Chiefs quickly took over this debate. Their sentiment seemed clear, and when Vincenzo asked for a show of hands, it was unanimous. The president should not respond to the Chinese offer.
“All right, now we’ve got all that out of the way—” Vincenzo began, then stopped.
Two men had slipped in. One went to the State rep, the other to the chairman. Handed each a paper. The two read, then exchanged glances. Vincenzo nodded, placed his copy on the table, and cleared his throat.
“The Japanese have accepted Zhang’s offer,” he said. “In exchange for his promise to evacuate Okinawa. But they’re asking for time to help U.S. forces stage a phased withdrawal. No answer yet from Beijing.”
Vincenzo raised his voice into a buzz of worried discussion. “Another setback. But bear in mind, we’re already moving forces out of Japan, and evacuating the last troops from Korea.”
“But there’ll be second- and third-order effects,” Niles put in. At the admiral’s bass rumble the hubbub lessened. “We’ll lose logistic support from Japanese ports and airfields. Their industrial base. Fleet support. Intelligence. Cybersecurity.”
The State rep said, “It’s unfortunate, I agree. Tokyo doesn’t make decisions without balancing the outcomes … and they’ve obviously decided who’s going to win.”
“If so, they’re wrong.” Vincenzo frowned. “But it’s going to be a handicap. Especially since Manila’s bowed out too.
“All right, let’s hear from the combatant commander. Commander, Pacific Command, Admiral Justin Yangerhans.”
Blair remembered Dan mentioning this guy. The bones of Yangerhans’s face were misshapen. He was ugly. And awkward. He hoisted himself gangling like a Halloween skeleton. But when he spoke a shrewd intelligence gleamed through.
“Tokyo’s decision is unfortunate. But we have some good news at last.
“I’m referring to yesterday’s battle in the Central Pacific. Details of losses will not be released to the public for some time. Nor will the specifics of the new weapons that enabled us to take a heavy toll of the enemy. Historians will argue over this engagement for decades. I will note that one of the programs from the Air Force’s Rapid Capabilities Office played a part in the final stage of the battle.
“We paid a price for victory in casualties and damage. But it’s fair to say the stranglehold has been broken. The western Pacific’s still dangerous. But the most modern elements of their denial-of-access blockade are at the bottom of the sea. Which means the way could be open for an offensive.”
Niles lifted a fat finger. “Our own submarines?”
“Thanks for the reminder, Nick. They’re fighting hard, deep in the enemy’s end zone. I can’t give details—the silent service, after all—but though we’ve had losses there, too, they’re taking a toll.” The CNO nodded, sitting back, and Yangerhans glanced next at Tomlin, Blair’s boss. “My command has been, shall we say, too busy to look beyond the immediate threat. But pursuant to direction, an SAIC committee explored possible initiatives. It was chaired by Hav Tomlin, whom I believe you all know. General Tomlin.”
Tomlin rose, but nodded in Blair’s direction. “If it’s all right, I’d like to yield to Dr. Blair Titus. Vice president, Strategic Plans and Policy Division. We were tasked with gaming responses to Chinese aggression in the Far East. And coming up with a plan to strike back.”
“I know Blair. Fine, but let’s keep it short.” Vincenzo glanced at his watch. “I have to brief the SecDef, then be at the White House in an hour.”
She’d presented in many venues but still felt nervous as she stood. Started to finger her damaged ear, but stopped herself. There’d been nothing on the news about this battle. Had Dan been involved? Was he hurt, even dead? Perhaps that was why he hadn’t called?
Drawing a breath, she pushed her fears aside. The country’s future would depend on what the Chiefs decided today. The lives of so many sons and daughters and spouses, and, if they miscalculated, of the populations of whole cit
ies.
In the face of all that, she had to set her personal concerns to one side.
“General Vincenzo, gentlemen,” she began. “I agree not all the news today has been good. But this is no time to retreat.
“We have to show we haven’t lost our resolve. To demonstrate to those allies still remaining that we are not a spent force.
“The main limitation, as usual, will be supplies—fuel, ordnance, food, and parts, transported halfway round the world. But now that the way’s been cleared, it’s time to take the war to Premier Zhang, rather than reacting to his moves.”
Niles was nodding, but Vincenzo’s eyes were hooded. The other generals leaned back. She read their body language. They were distancing themselves from whatever she was about to present. Withholding judgment.
Her first slide flashed on the screen. It read:
* * *
OPERATION RECOIL
* * *
III
THE WHETTING OF THE SWORD
13
San Diego, California
TWO months later, Dan woke with a headache. It was there most days now, ebbing and waxing with the hours.
“Are you up yet?” Blair called from the hotel bathroom.
For a moment, he wondered if this was still a dream. Then remembered. One day and a night together, slotted in after her visits to the Lockheed plants in Alabama, the Archipelago campus in Seattle, and the Defense Innovation Unit in San Francisco. She wouldn’t tell him what that was about. Though, knowing Archipelago’s driverless cars and pilotless airliners, it probably had something to do with autonomous systems.
There was a lot he couldn’t tell her either. Their reunion had been a mix of passion and something English didn’t seem to have a word for. Perhaps … regret, in advance? Knowing he’d just come out of danger, and was most likely going back to it again.
