The Pacific Rim Collection

by Don Brown

  South China Sea

  course 094 degrees

  5:40 a.m. local time

  Captain, the bomber’s breaking off. She’s climbing … looks like to ten thousand. Turning west.”

  “Very well,” Kruger said. He exhaled in relief. “Well, the cat’s out of the bag, gentlemen. We’ve been spotted. Stand down on fire-control radar. Disengage jamming.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Enjoy the respite while you can, gentlemen,” Kruger said. “They will be back. And in full force.”

  Presidential Palace

  Zhongnanhai Compound

  Beijing, People’s Republic of China

  7:55 a.m.

  President Tang Qhichen looked in the mirror and finished adjusting his red tie. There. Excellent.

  He checked his watch. 7:55 a.m. Five minutes until his morning military briefing with General Shang and Admiral Zou, and then, at 9:30 a.m., his appearance before the nation at Tiananmen Square to announce the greatest military conquest since the expulsion of the capitalist nationals.

  He threw on the navy blue pinstripe jacket of his suit, tailored in Hong Kong.

  A knock on the door.

  Ah, the perks of presidential power! Tang thought. That knock would be from Captain Lo, the low-level, starry-eyed, and well-intentioned military attaché whose sole duties at the moment involved escorting the president from the presidential bedroom to the morning military briefing, or to the next meeting in the Presidential Palace at Zhongnanhai, or whatever else he, as president, ordered him to do.

  He smiled, but then that smile was doused by the sobering thought that the Shemnong was missing, and with it …

  “Focus, Tang,” he said to himself.

  The president opened the door of the bedroom. In the ornate hallway, two junior officers snapped to attention, as did the young Army officer Captain Lo. “Good morning, Mister President,” Captain Lo said. “General Shang and Admiral Zou are in the briefing room, sir. Also, Foreign Minister Liu is present this morning as well.”

  “Foreign Minister Liu?”

  “Yes, Mister President. Apparently there were overnight developments that may require diplomatic coordination.”

  “What kind of diplomatic coordination?”

  “I am uncertain, Mister President. I am passing along only bits and pieces that I overheard when I was in the briefing room earlier, preparing your oolong, which is awaiting you as well.”

  “Excellent.” But why would Liu Tanchong, the foreign minister, attend the military briefing? “And after that, I would like you to accompany me to Tiananmen Square for my speech to the nation.”

  “It will be an honor, Mister President!” The young officer’s eyes ignited with excitement.

  “Very well,” Tang said. “Let us proceed.”

  They walked down several long hallways on the second floor and then took the elevator to the first floor of the palace and walked into the military briefing room.

  “Sit down, gentlemen,” the president said as he sat down in the plush leather presidential swivel chair. “Let us get down to business. The first thing I want to know is about the Shemnong.” He picked up the cup of hot, steaming oolong and took a sip.

  “Mister President, we have found the Shemnong,” General Shang said.

  The president put down his tea. “Found it? Where?”

  “One hundred fifty miles east of her previous location. She is steaming just south of due east. Toward the Philippines. And she seems to be under forced escort by an American warship.”

  Tang wondered if he had heard that right. “Did you say the Shemnong is being escorted by an American warship?”

  “Admiral?” General Shang deferred to his naval colleague.

  “Shemnong is under escort by the cruiser USS Vicksburg,” Admiral Zou said. “When our long-range bomber flew close to investigate, it was warned not to fly a low-altitude overpass over the top of the American ship. The American captain even locked his fire-control radar onto our plane.”

  “He locked on?”

  “Yes, Mister President. The American captain claimed that his rules of engagement required him to lock on because of the dangerous military situation in the South China Sea. When our pilot tried to radio the Shemnong, he was hit by powerful electronic jamming from the American warship.”

  Tang leaned back in the chair, then leaned forward and slammed his fist on the table. “Where did this take place?”

  “About one hundred miles south of the Paracel Islands, sir. And well north of the Spratlys.”

  “Where is the Shi Lang? Is she in the area?”

  “Yes, Mister President,” the admiral said. The Shi Lang is about one hundred nautical miles to the south of this location, which is well within striking distance for her aircraft if needed.”

  “The Americans are siding with Taiwan.” Tang slammed his fist on the conference table again, this time so hard that hot oolong tea sloshed out of his cup. He stood, gritted his teeth, removed the pinstripe jacket, and flung it across the other end of the long table. “The Americans are asserting themselves in the midst of Operation Lightning Bolt, gentlemen, which as you know, is my brainchild! And they are doing so for one reason only.”

  He stared into the faces of his senior military officers, who stared back but said nothing.

  Tang said, “They are doing this because they do not wish for the People’s Republic to become the world’s dominant military superpower!”

  He caught himself before he said more. He knew he had to calm down, show control in front of his subordinates. He looked at his foreign minister. “Well, Liu Tanchong, now I see why you are here. You are hoping to propose a diplomatic solution with the Americans?”

  The slender, wrinkled diplomat nodded. “My services are available, should you so choose,” the foreign minister said.

  “Thank you, Liu Tanchong. We go back a long way, from my days in the diplomatic corps. And I have a feeling we shall have to exert both diplomatic and military pressure on the Americans.” He turned to Admiral Zou.

  “Admiral, can you show me where this occurred on a nautical chart, along with the current position of the Shi Lang?”

  “Yes, Mister President.” The admiral tapped several keys on a laptop computer. A map of the South China Sea appeared on a large computer screen at the end of the table.

  Ships’ positions in South China Sea

  “Very well, Mister President. The star in the center of the screen is where we spotted the Vicksburg and the Shemnong. The arrow from the star shows the course heading, toward the Philippines. The sunburst at the top of the screen represents the Taiwanese naval task force heading toward Itu Aba.

  “At the tip of the white arrow is Itu Aba Island. Our carrier, the Shi Lang, as you can see, is operating to the northeast of Itu Aba and to the southeast of the current position of the Shemnong and Vicksburg.” The admiral paused.

  “And our carrier-based aircraft are now within striking distance of the Shemnong?” the president asked.

  “Yes, sir. That is correct. We positioned the Shi Lang in this sector following our assault on Itu Aba so that she could be ready to ambush and destroy the Taiwanese naval task force sailing south. The remarkable flexibility from having our first aircraft carrier gives our fleet a tremendous array of military options.”

  “Are there other American ships in the area?”

  The admiral nodded. “We believe that the Vicksburg’s sister ship, the Shiloh, is in the area, although we have not spotted her. Shiloh would be the only other ship with significant firepower in the sector that would concern us at the moment. However, the same plane that found the Shemnong also discovered the American sub tender Emory S. Land steaming in the vicinity last night at dusk. The Emory Land carries light weapons and is not much of a threat. But her presence suggests that American attack submarines are nearby, which is a concern for any of our surface ships, including the Shi Lang.”

  Tang thought for a moment. “Admiral, do we hav
e coordinates on the Emory Land?”

  “We have coordinates as of twelve hours ago, Mister President. Noting her speed and course, it would be simple to find her. The Shi Lang’s planes could track her down. The Emory Land is not that fast.”

  Tang stood, walked to the end of the table, and picked up his pinstriped jacket. He stopped to study the faces of his subordinates—the general, the admiral, the foreign minister, and a handful of junior officer aides, including Captain Lo—all looking to him for leadership.

  He could not dismiss the historical significance of this day … not only of the historical speech that he would make at Tiananmen but also the historical decision that he was about to make on dealing with Americans at the zenith of a power struggle between the world’s old superpower and its new emerging one. This could become the defining moment of his presidency.

  He put his left arm through the jacket, and then Captain Lo, seeing what he was doing, rushed forward to help him with the right.

  “Thank you, Captain,” he said. He lowered the tone of his voice as he began to deliver what he considered to be historic orders. “Foreign Minister Liu.”

  “Yes, Mister President.”

  “Open a channel to the Americans. Demand an explanation as to why one of their warships is escorting a freighter on the high seas that is flying the flag of the People’s Republic.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell them that the PLA Navy will board that freighter and take control of it, and that we expect no interference from the US Navy or anyone else when we do.”

  “Yes, Mister President.”

  “General Shang. Admiral Zou.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your instructions are twofold. First, I want the Navy to find that sub tender”—he held up a finger—”which ship is that?”

  Admiral Zou said, “The USS Emory Land, sir.”

  “Yes, of course. Find the Emory Land and keep track of it. Do not let it out of our sight. And I want the PLA Navy to keep track of every American warship in the South China Sea.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In fact, I am issuing a new mandate from this day forward that the South China Sea shall become a naval mandate for the People’s Republic. As our Navy continues to grow, we shall dominate that sea, just as the US has done with the Gulf of Mexico.”

  “An excellent idea, Mister President,” General Shang said.

  “Finally, Admiral Zou, you will dispatch a platoon of PRC Marines from the Shi Lang by attack helicopter to seize control of the Shemnong, and then we will steer her to Itu Aba.”

  Admiral Zou nodded. “Yes, sir, Mister President.”

  “Today is the dawn of a new era,” he said. “Today, we shall witness the birth of the People’s Republic as a military superpower! And no one, and no nation, shall stop us. If necessary, we shall bring all our diplomacy to bear, and all our weapons to bear, to bring this about.” He shook his fist. “Any questions about my orders?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Very well,” he said. “Now, I have a speech to make. Captain Lo, is my motorcade ready?”

  “Yes, sir,” the young eager-beaver said.

  “Very well. Alert my security detail. Let us head toward Tiananmen Square.”

  Presidential Palace

  Zhongnanhai Compound

  Beijing, People’s Republic of China

  8:15 a.m.

  Surrounded by a cadre of bodyguards and with his personal aide, Captain Lo Chen, beside him, President Tang Qhichen stood inside the front foyer of the Presidential Palace.

  “Ready, Mister President?” Lo asked.

  “More than ready,” Tang said.

  “Follow me, sir.”

  Lo pushed open the front doors, letting in a stream of morning sunlight and warm air. A small sea of humanity, including military personnel and state-appointed journalists from Xinhua, the official Chinese news agency, had gathered to record the beginning of this historic day.

  “Attent-chun!” The booming voice of the honor guard commander was followed by the sharp clicking of leather boots echoing off the marbled entryway to the Presidential Palace.

  “Preezent arms!”

  Pop … pop … slap … slap … echoed as the twirling rifles were slapped in place into the hands of the twelve-man honor guard of the People’s Liberation Army.

  Now at strict attention, the honor guard formed two human walls of soldiers facing each other on each side of the red carpet that led from the front door of the mansion down to the circular driveway, where a long black limousine, a Chinese-designed Hong Qi HQE with the five-star red flag of the People’s Republic mounted above each headlight, waited at the other end.

  In front and in back of the HQE, two other limousines were parked with their engines running. In front of the first limousine was a squad car from the Beijing police department with its blue roof lights twirling. In front of the squad car, at the vanguard of the motorcade, three police officers in blue uniforms waited on motorcycles. At the end of the motorcade, behind the last limousine, nine more officers on motorcycles were positioned in three groups of three.

  Two helicopters of the People’s Liberation Naval Air Force hovered above.

  Tang was not concerned about security. Beijing was not as dangerous as Western capitals. But the mob assault on the Rolls-Royce of Prince Charles and Lady Camilla in the streets of London in December of 2010 had gotten Beijing’s security personnel on edge permanently.

  But security was the last thing on Tang’s mind. Not even his speech in Tiananmen Square concerned him. He needed to make a telephone call.

  “Are you ready, Mister President?” Captain Lo asked.

  “Let’s go,” Tang said.

  The president stepped forward and, at the request of the public information minister, who had informed him that his departure from the Presidential Palace would be a cut-in live national broadcast, strolled slowly down the red carpet, through a tunnel of flashing strobe lights and Xinhua news cameras.

  He stopped at the limousine’s right rear door and waited as a PLA major in service dress green uniform opened the door for him. He turned and gave a final wave into the sea of flashing lights and television cameras, then got into the limousine.

  “Good morning, Mister President,” the driver said.

  “Good morning, Sergeant.”

  Captain Lo got in the front seat and turned to look back at Tang. “Are you ready to roll, Mister President?”

  “Yes. Let’s move.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The three lead motorcycles moved out first, followed by the police cruiser, then the first armored limousine, and then the presidential limousine.

  “Captain Lo.”

  “Yes, Mister President.”

  “Put through a secure call to my sister.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The Zhongnanhai Compound had within it two large placid lakes, known as the “Central Sea” and “Southern Sea.” These lakes were part of a series of irrigation projects carried out during the construction of the adjacent Forbidden City.

  From the lakes, Tang had learned to draw strength. Although official Communist Party doctrine embraced atheism, the party tolerated the somewhat peaceful and nonthreatening movements of Buddhism and Taoism.

  All places of worship, whether a temple or a church, had to be approved under a tightly controlled state licensing procedure. All religions were superficially tolerated in one form or another, with the exception of evangelical Christianity. The Christians worshiped in so-called “underground churches,” which the state considered an official threat and found reasons to punish them.

  Tang agreed with the American Ted Turner and the great Karl Marx, who had said, “Religion is the opium of the people.” Turner was just as negative: “Christianity is a religion for losers.”

  Tang had found his personal tranquility in the placid lakes of Zhongnanhai. In recent days he had more than once walked to the lakes, trailed in the distance by a handful
of armed security guards. He would walk down to the water’s edge, alone, where he would gaze and meditate, drawing strength from whatever force was there. Standing by the lakes, he would at times reflect on his rapid rise from a boy in an orphanage in Harbin, adopted by a Communist Party couple that did not have any children, to the presidency of China. It was almost enough to make him believe in God, if there was a God.

  Now, as he rode along the road headed to the southern gate, Tang looked over at Nanhal, the Southern Sea. A flock of graceful swans floated near the shoreline, their images replicated on the water as clear as if they were resting on a mirror.

  Tang’s innermost core was twisted with anxiety. He wanted to call out for help. But who could help? A higher being? Tang wondered how he could be wrestling with such a feeling. He was the highest of all beings.

  His thoughts were broken by the sound of Captain Lo’s voice on the secure cell phone in the front seat of the limousine. “Tang Lenlin? This is Captain Lo, the president’s military attaché … Yes, ma’am, the president wishes to speak with you.” Lo handed the cell phone to Tang. “Your sister, Mister President.”

  “Tang Lenlin. How is my wonderful sister?”

  “I am watching on television. Are you at Tiananmen yet?” she asked with excitement in her voice.

  “Not yet. My motorcade is en route now. We are about to leave Zhongnanhai.”

  Tang held the phone from his ear as his sister continued babbling with the excitement of a school girl. “Tang Lenlin, listen to me! There is something I must tell you. It is about Fu Cheuk-Yan.”

  “What about Fu Cheuk-Yan?”

  “His ship is missing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We lost communication with it yesterday. It stopped responding to our radio calls. One of our planes discovered it this morning at sunrise in the South China Sea headed east toward the Philippines. It was under the escort of an American warship.”

  “What?” The schoolgirl excitement was gone. “Why? What has happened? An American ship?”

  “I don’t know yet. Perhaps the Americans are aiding their puppets in Taiwan, as they have since the Great Revolution.”

  “Tang Qhichen, please do not let them harm Cheuk-Yan!”