Warshot (The Hunter Killer Series Book 6)

by Don Keith

  Most were important, frightening, but ultimately boring. This latest one, though, Ward did not like. No, not at all. The reports out of Southeast Asia—and particularly the South China Sea—had been especially worrisome for quite a while now. The Chinese had upped their belligerent stance considerably with a lot of talk about the Middle Kingdom returning to its rightful place among the world’s nations, to fully revert to center stage after what they termed the “Century of Humiliation.” Ward well knew that the Chinese Communist Party viewed the Middle Kingdom’s rightful place was to be the world’s dominant power economically, but more. Right now, it was clear that they were looking to a military effort to convince the rest of the planet of that fact.

  The Tarbox’s mysterious disappearance and the loss of the drone Triton flight PE Six-Zero certainly added to the angst that the Navy’s new top spook was feeling. Was this only the initial steps in a deadly escalation? Were the Chinese looking for some kind of rash retaliation, some overreaction, so they could claim to be in the right and that the United States was the imperialistic aggressor at their doorstep? Jon Ward needed some answers and he needed them now.

  He jumped up and stepped to his office door. “Get me General Willoughby on the phone. He’s over at the Australian Embassy,” he told his aide. “Then get me COMSUBPAC. I need a couple of subs and I need them quick.”

  Ψ

  Yon Ba Deng smiled broadly as he read the message traffic. Those haughty Americans had fallen into his trap, just as he knew they would. Flying the “stars and stripes” as they openly flaunted international law and sailed into Chinese waters to show their muscle and thumb their noses. And using one of their weapon radars was proof that they were hostile.

  Then, just as he also knew they would, they flew one of their spy planes over to see where their missing ship might be. The only regret was that they had used one of their new remotely controlled, unmanned contraptions. Otherwise, even more dead Americans would be littering the bottom of the South China Sea, paying the price for violating Chinese air space.

  The phone on his desk buzzed.

  “Ni xiang yao shenme?” he called out to his assistant, Bing Dou, in the outer room.

  “It is your brother calling,” the aide announced. The telephone continued to buzz. “He wants to speak with you.”

  Even having a brother was an extreme rarity in modern China. Although the one-child policy had been relaxed over a decade ago, it would be many more years before family dynasties again became common in the country. Except at the very highest levels, of course. The privileged and the favored had always remained exempt from the Party’s political excesses. And a good thing that was. It assured a steady supply of the best and brightest. And those most loyal to the Party.

  Yon Ba Deng punched a button on his phone. “Didi, ni hao ma?”

  “I am fine, elder brother,” Yon Hun Glo replied. “I have just returned to Yulin from a patrol down to the Riau Archipelago. I suddenly learn that I have jumped from senior captain and commander of a submarine to vice admiral. And that I now command the PLAN Submarine Force. Elder brother, is this your doing?”

  Yon Ba Deng chuckled. “I may have had some small part in bringing your talents to the attention of the Party decision makers. As Confucius teaches, ‘No one can find fault with what his parents and brothers have to say about him.’ And I am sure you recall that Sun Tzu told us, ‘The strength of the nation derives from the strength of the family.’ We, together, will now contribute much to the strength of our nation.”

  Yon Ba Deng had the remarkable ability to instantly quote from memory the most appropriate phrase from The Art of War by Sun Tzu, regardless of the situation or context. Just then, Bing Dou stuck his head through the massive doors to the outer office.

  “Excuse my interruption,” the assistant murmured. “Soo Be Xian is here and demands to see you immediately. He does not appear to be calm.”

  Ah, yet another occurrence fully anticipated by Yon Ba Deng. The Vice Deputy to the Minister of National Defense stormed through the door without waiting any longer, shouldering Bing Dou aside. The short, portly bureaucrat, clearly agitated, waved a document in his hand. Then he slammed it down on the desk and, ignoring the fact that Ba Deng still had the telephone to his ear, yelled, “What is the meaning of this? I never authorized using force against the Americans! Are you trying to usurp my authority?”

  Yon Ba Deng said a quick goodbye-and-good-luck to his brother, then gently returned the phone to its cradle. He glanced at the report and smiled.

  “Worthy Vice Deputy Minister,” he answered, lingering slightly on the “vice” title to give it just the proper amount of emphasis to make his point. “The Party Central Military Commission approved those actions. You must recall that I hold office there, too. If the Party chose not to inform a government official, it is the Party’s way, and I, for one, do not question the Party’s decisions.”

  He smiled—proud he had mentioned the word “Party” multiple times—as he politely picked up and handed the offending document back to Soo Be Xian.

  “But I...”

  “And I might suggest that you take a similar stance. I find that questioning the Party is not profitable. Perhaps in the future, we should work together more closely to avoid these unfortunate misunderstandings. I do not know how the Party might react if they believed you and I were not pulling together to accomplish the Party’s ultimate goals.”

  Soo Be Xian closed his eyes, fought to control his breathing, then muttered that perhaps Yon Ba Deng was correct. He nodded, backing his way to the door, then turned and left the office much less dramatically than he had entered it.

  As the outer office door closed, Bing Dou frowned, raised an eyebrow, and glanced at his master questioningly.

  Yon Ba Deng smiled and rubbed his chin.

  “Sun Tzu said something else. ‘We are to build our opponents a golden bridge across which to retreat.’ Of course, I just gave the vice deputy minister a golden bridge that will not only allow him to retreat, it will ultimately lead him to his defeat.”

  Ψ

  The New China News, the CCP’s official mouthpiece, broke the news on its nightly Asian round-up. In a short, low-key piece, the news anchor, with a full-color map of the South China Sea as a backdrop, stated that an American warship had entered Chinese territorial waters near a scientific and military base on Dong Doa Island. When challenged about their illegal act, the American ship had initiated hostilities by opening fire on the island’s Coast Guard base.

  The backdrop zoomed in to show the Spratly Islands with a large red star marking the location of Dong Doa.

  Though only a very small garrison with limited defensive weaponry, the Chinese had bravely and rightfully defended themselves against this unprovoked attack. The American vessel, identified as the USS Tarbox, was defeated and nearly sunk. After the crew surrendered and pleaded for mercy, the ship had been quickly stabilized and salvaged by the efficient, well-trained crew of the People’s Liberation Army Navy tug Nan-Tuo Pennant 185 and towed to safety in Dong Doa harbor. The surviving crew were being held there until they could be tried for their crimes before the People’s Court.

  The screen shifted to show the aggressor ship’s burnt and battered gray hull, the number—72—just visible through smoke-blackened paint.

  The news anchor shifted to a story about a state visit from the president of Azerbaijan, including an official trip to a cellular telephone manufacturing plant and a tour of a new robotic soybean-processing facility.

  Ψ

  Stanley Smitherman, the president of the United States, sat behind the Resolute Desk, his elbows resting on its glossy oak surface, idly chewing on a huge bite of beef jerky. Two of his cabinet members awaited his questions. Secretary of State Sandra Dosetti and Secretary of Defense Harold Osterman were the only other people in the Oval Office at the moment. Each sat, as if at attention, in relatively new straight-back chairs, directly across the ancient desk from the president. They
had both watched carefully to be sure he had not switched on his recording device.

  The late-afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow through the thick bulletproof windows behind Smitherman. The effect, however, belied the tense mood permeating the big room.

  “Okay, what do we do about this Tarbox fiasco?” Smitherman finally asked, his thick Texas drawl almost as pronounced as the Saturday Night Live characterizations of him. “Sandy, what in hell do those experts of yours say?”

  Sandra Dosetti, a major player in her political party, hailed from the northeast corridors of power and academia. She had unofficially been dubbed by some in the media as the “Secretary of State for Wall Street.” She hesitated for a moment before answering, a trait often mimicked by members of her staff. Behind her back, of course. Then she cleared her throat and spoke.

  “Well, Mr. President, our ambassador in Beijing advises me that the Chinese military is now on heightened alert. And our China desk warns that everything they are seeing points to an unprecedented belligerency from both the government and the Party. They are recommending we deal with this with a very delicate touch diplomatically so as not to play into whatever scheme they are carrying out. They believe overreacting would be a costly mistake.”

  “Scheme?” The president was biting off another big piece of jerky.

  Ever the astute politician, Secretary Dosetti ignored the question, referring to a sheet of paper on her lap. “Our polling is showing a very mixed voter response to media reports about tensions with China and our administration. Sixteen percent favor a show of military strength. Forty-two percent want to go to the United Nations for a resolution. Almost forty percent of the respondents were undecided. The rest is statistical noise.”

  “Soccer moms.” Smitherman snorted. “That’s the ones where we’re lagging. Where do the damn soccer moms fall? I figger that’s always the best road sign on which way to turn.”

  “Mr. President,” Dosetti replied. “I am afraid I don’t have an answer for you there. That particular demographic made up most of the undecided sample.”

  “Well, that sure as hell ain’t much help,” President Smitherman grunted. He turned to the Secretary of Defense. “Help me here, Harold. What does the military make of all this struttin’ and spittin’?”

  Harold Osterman, newly confirmed as Secretary of Defense, represented the West Coast power structure in the Smitherman regime, specifically Silicon Valley and Hollywood. He was still finding his way around the labyrinthine corridors of the Pentagon.

  “Mr. President, the Joint Chiefs are doing their usual little noncommittal routine, but the best I can tell, they don’t think we are in a position to go head-to-head against the Chinese right now. Especially way out there. Our supply chains are very vulnerable. We depend on Chinese sources for many vital materials, not the least of which are high-performance computer chips and the primary ingredients for solar panels, which your administration is pushing very hard.”

  Smitherman muttered a decided, “Harrumph,” in response to Secretary Osterman’s last statement.

  The SECDEF ignored him and continued. “Military intelligence informs us that they would expect a strong military response to any action we take, claiming they are only defending their historic territories in the South China Sea. You know they’ve put a flag on every rock, reef, and turtle in that ungodly pool of water. You saw that silly twelve-segment, dotted-line map they just released. It shows them claiming everything from just off Vietnam all the way around the South China and Philippine Seas to northeast of Taiwan. Including Taiwan. Any miscalculated armed response and things could easily spiral into something very damaging. Maybe even World War III, and the Joint Chiefs have no assurance that we would win such a conflict.”

  President Smitherman leaned way back in his leather desk chair and clutched his hands behind his head.

  “Well, that kinda decides things, then, don’t it? We hem and haw for a bit, and just let everything play out with the talking heads on the news channels doing all our fussing for us. Make a fire-and-brimstone speech in the UN that nobody will notice. We’ll keep everybody on alert over there, just in case the Chinese get stupid about it. But this Tarbox thing will have all died down and been forgotten long before the primaries start in the early states. Then we can tell ’em how tough we’ve been and how we kept the peace. Right?”

  Both secretaries nodded their agreement and simultaneously said, “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Oh, and Harold. Have your folks get with my folks and get the names and numbers of the wives and mothers of the boys we lost out there on that ship. Once the media knows, I’ll give ’em all a call and let ’em know how deeply sorry we are for their sacrifice. All right?”

  “Girls, too, sir,” Secretary Dosetti interjected.

  “What?”

  “Girls. Two young female sailors were lost in the incident.”

  “Yeah. Well. Of course. Thank you.”

  3

  Soo Be Xian was in a full rage by the time he returned to his offices at CMC Headquarters in the First of August Building. The long car ride through thick, tedious traffic from central Beijing had not helped diminish his anger. It only served to remind him that Yon Ba Deng had benefit of a palatial office at Zhongnanhai in the Forbidden City. But he, Yon Ba Deng’s superior, was relegated to little more than a closet at the Ministry of National Defense on the outskirts of western Beijing, far from the seat of power.

  Soo Be Xian stormed into his office suite, slamming the door behind him. Bien Sung, his general factotum, was waiting, wringing his hands. “General Xiang is on the video conference line already. It is past time for your meeting with the Southern Theatre of Operation staff.”

  Soo Be Xian waved him off as he stepped into his inner office. He plopped down in the red leather armchair at the head of the heavy mahogany conference table. The far wall was covered with a large-screen display. Colonel General Xiang’s florid face nearly filled the screen. The three-star general was one of the most senior officers in the People’s Liberation Army. He commanded the Southern Theatre of Operations and the three complete armies stationed there. With these forces, General Xiang was responsible for protecting China’s southern border as well as projecting the government’s will toward the south.

  Xiang’s chief of staff, Major General Shun, was just visible in the background, looking over his boss’s shoulder. Soo well knew that Shun was the iron fist and real brains on this team. Shun would be his most dangerous enemy or his greatest ally, depending on where his allegiance would ultimately lie. And Soo knew that Shun’s greatest loyalty, above all else, lay with the People’s Liberation Army.

  Soo began the meeting. “General Xiang, General Shun, it is good to see you again and I apologize for my tardiness. Traffic in this city is impossible. Now, I have read your reports detailing the conditions of your forces. I must say I am most concerned with the lack of coordination that the PLAN appears to be giving your One-Twenty-Fourth Amphibious Division. It concerns me that our brothers in the PLAN seem to harbor some disrespect for your Land Forces.”

  Soo could see General Shun visibly bristle at this. He had taken the baited hook.

  “But that is only part of the problem our Navy friends have caused,” the vice deputy minister went on. “It seems that some in the higher reaches want to kick the Americans some more.” He held up the same report that he had waved in Yon Ba Deng’s face. “I am sure that you have seen this action report about the latest so-called FONOP by the Americans and the PLAN’s dangerous response.” He slapped the paper onto his table. “This presents us with two problems. First and most obvious, the Americans will once again have cause to bluster and pontificate on the subject of the ‘freedom of the seas.’ We must be fully prepared to provide a strong response to them should their rhetoric escalate beyond the verbal. The second problem is that all this sea-going schoolyard pushing and shoving will inevitably cause the Party to move even more resources to the PLAN. They are clearly committing a
ssets and influence in the direction of the navy at great costs to our army.”

  Soo took a deep breath and watched both men’s responses. Xiang and Shun, as expected, were angry and agitated. But both remained silent, waiting for Soo to go on.

  “However, I believe we can successfully resolve both problems with one bold stroke. It is really quite simple. We will move the crisis so it becomes a land-based one. One where only the PLAN is in a position to respond. General, you will move several brigades of the Fourteenth Army from Kunming down to the Vietnam border across from Lao Cai. At the same time, deploy the Forty-First Army brigades from Liuzhou down to the border at Lang Son. You will not be subtle in making these moves. Create much dust and noise. We will let the world think that we are replaying the 1979 incursion. But I do not want you to do anything other than make abundant noise and dust. Do you understand?”

  He looked carefully at the two generals. Xiang, as expected, gravely nodded. And also as anticipated, Shun was unable to hide a sly grin.

  Soo signaled and the screen went blank. He rose, stretched, and smiled. Bien Sung entered the office with a cup of tea on a tray.

  “Did it go well, Minister?”

  “Indeed. Very well,” Soo told him, almost gleefully. “We will teach that peacock, Yon Ba Deng, who really understands the quotations of Sun Tzu. Remember, Master Tzu also said ‘Engage people with what they expect; it is what they are able to discern and confirms their projections. It settles them into predictable patterns of response, occupying their minds while you wait for the extraordinary moment — that which they cannot anticipate.’ We will soon see if he is familiar with this quote.”