The Pacific Rim Collection

by Don Brown

  “Are you sure?” Admiral Jones asked. He was speaking on a secure line to the Pentagon, and every eye in the room, including the eyes of the vice president, the secretary of defense, and the secretary of state, were fixed on him. “Repeat that? Still no news on the whereabouts of the Emory Land? … Okay … Do we have a chopper up from the Shiloh searching the area? … Good … What? …”

  Surber took a swallow of black coffee. The caffeine jolt might energize him, but it could do nothing to untangle his nerves or his mental image of Stephanie.

  Jones was still on the phone. The expression on his face showed that something else had gone wrong.

  “When? … Now? … Okay, let me hang up. I’ll tell the president.”

  “What’s going on, Admiral?” Surber demanded.

  “Mister President, we haven’t located the Emory Land yet. But we’ve been in touch with the British, and the Royal Navy has agreed to join in the search. Also, the Russians are calling for a total cease-fire. And I just learned that Tang is getting ready to address the nation live about military developments in the South China Sea.”

  “When?”

  Jones checked his watch. “About two minutes, Mister President.”

  “Arnie, get us a video feed in here. Now!”

  “Yes, sir.” The chief of staff picked up one of the phones and started barking instructions.

  “Any idea what he’s gonna say?” Surber asked the admiral.

  “No, sir,” Jones said. “A sudden thing.”

  “We’ve got a connection,” Arnie Brubaker said.

  A second later, flat-screen televisions lit up on the walls of the Situation Room. The Chinese president, in a blue pinstripe suit and a red tie, appeared on the screens.

  “Comrades of the People’s Republic and workers of the world. Greetings from Beijing. I bring you important news of developments from the South China Sea, because you deserve to know the truth, and because these developments could affect the security of the world.

  “I regret to inform you that, within the past two days, the United States has taken belligerent naval action toward sovereign ships of the People’s Republic in the South China Sea.

  “First, the US Navy attacked and then captured an unarmed civilian freighter, the M/V Shemnong, flying under the flag of the People’s Republic. When we demanded that America release this civilian Chinese freighter, America refused. Then when our naval Air Force attempted to rescue the freighter, American missiles from the USS Vicksburg shot down several People’s Republic helicopters.

  “Let me make it clear”—Tang shook his finger at the camera—”no one attacks the People’s Republic of China with impunity. Therefore, today I ordered Chinese naval forces to attack and capture the American warship USS Emory S. Land. Today I report to you that this military operation has been a success, and the American captain of the Emory S. Land has surrendered his ship to our naval forces. The Emory Land is in Chinese custody and will be returned only under the following conditions:

  “First, the United States government in general, and President Douglas Surber in particular, must publicly apologize for its capture of the Shemnong.”

  “That’s blackmail!” Vice President Rock Morgan exclaimed.

  “Yes, sir, it is,” Secretary Lopez said.

  “Second,” Tang continued, “America must release the Shemnong to the custody of the Navy of the People’s Republic.”

  “No way I’m doing that!” Surber hit the table with his fist.

  “Third,” Tang said, “America and other nations must understand that the South China Sea is uniquely within the naval influence of the People’s Republic. I am sure that the American people would not appreciate it if I were to order the Chinese Navy into the Gulf of Mexico to interfere in internal American affairs.”

  “That’s rank political pandering,” Arnie Brubaker said.

  “Therefore, in addition to a public apology and the return of the Shemnong, America must withdraw all of her naval vessels from the South China Sea immediately and stop interfering with internal Chinese affairs. Without immediate compliance, I am today instructing my government to begin liquidating our holdings in more than $1.2 trillion in United States Treasury issues.

  “This sell-off will continue until our demands are met. We are prepared to liquidate all of our holdings of American Treasuries if necessary. America must comply with all my demands within twenty-four hours or, in retaliation for the American attacks against Chinese aircraft, we will sink the Emory Land. President Surber, you have twenty-four hours.” The screen went blank.

  Surber’s stomach seemed to fall through the floor. He was the commander in chief. But all he could think about at the moment was his daughter. Jesus. Please.

  “Not good. He beat us to the airways,” Secretary Mauney said. “Not good.”

  “Couldn’t be helped,” Secretary Lopez said. “We were trying to keep it quiet until we got the Shemnong out of the area.”

  “Mister President.”

  “What is it, Bobby.”

  “Sir, with respect,” the secretary of state said, “we do need to discuss the issue of your daughter being on board the Emory Land and how that may change the diplomatic and military calculus of the situation.”

  “It doesn’t change the calculus, Bobby. I can’t capitulate out of a special favor to Stephanie. That wouldn’t be right.”

  “I understand, sir, but even if Stephanie weren’t on board, we now have a situation where we could lose an entire warship and its crew. So it’s not just about Stephanie.”

  “Maybe not, Bobby, but if I capitulate, it will look like it was about Stephanie.”

  “Not if the public doesn’t know she’s on board, sir,” the secretary of defense said. “And that information has not been made public.”

  “And how long can we keep that bottled up, Irwin?”

  “Don’t know, sir,” Secretary Lopez said. “But at this point, the Chinese don’t appear to know.”

  “Eventually, it will come out,” the president said. “And it would be perceived as special favors.” Surber wiped his forehead. “Not only that, but we can’t just let evidence of mass atrocities disappear.”

  “But it’s crucial right now that the Chinese don’t appear to know,” Secretary Lopez said. “If we’re going to get the ship back, we have a much stronger negotiating hand if they don’t know they have your daughter. With respect, sir, she would become a very valuable ace in Tang’s hand if he knew he had her, and he might demand more than he’s already demanding.”

  Surber looked at Bobby Mauney.

  “With respect, sir,” the secretary of state said, “I agree with the secretary of defense. We don’t want Stephanie to become a pawn giving greater leverage to the Chinese. But if they discover that she is on board …”

  Surber sat there. He had already lost one child. It would be so easy to just release the freighter. But still … the images of the dead baby girls …

  “Mister President.”

  “Mister Vice President.”

  “Sir, both the secretary of state and the secretary of defense make valid points. But even if no one ever discovers that Stephanie is on board, we must examine the question of what kind of precedent we are setting with Tang if we appear to back down too easily.”

  Surber felt paralyzed, torn between thoughts of Stephanie … sitting on his knee as a little girl … graduation from high school … from the academy … and visions of those murdered babies.

  He was the president. He had to make a decision. This was the first crisis of his young presidency. But never did he ever imagine that he would be caught up in a life-or-death decision involving his own daughter.

  “Gentlemen, excuse me a second.” He stood. Others stood. “Sit down. I’m just going to the restroom.” They sat down. He walked across the room and went into the restroom adjacent to the Situation Room.

  The lights were already on. He closed the door, locked it, and went to his knees. “Lord, what do you
want me to do? I’m torn up!”

  He clasped his hands together. “Tell me what to do!”

  Nothing.

  “Please, I’ve got to make a decision!”

  Still nothing. “You said you would provide wisdom!”

  He waited. “You know, my national security team would think I’m nuts if they heard me in here trying to pray like this.”

  Enough was enough. He wasn’t going to get an answer. For whatever reason, God would let him decide this one on his own. He got up off his knees and stood.

  “What? Mount Moriah?” These two words popped into his mind. Mount Moriah. “You want me to sacrifice my daughter? Is that it?”

  Surber felt sudden anger. Anger at the Chinese. Anger at Tang. Yes, even a tinge of anger at God himself. But anger or not, he had to do the right thing.

  He stepped back into the Situation Room. “Everybody sit!” he ordered. “Secretary Mauney.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Draft a communiqué to the Chinese. Mark it urgent for instant delivery. Tell them we are not going to turn over the Shemnong until we have disclosed its contents to the world. And if any harm befalls the Emory Land or any of her crew members, they will have hell to pay. Tell them I personally guarantee it.”

  The secretary of defense and the secretary of state stared at each other with quizzical looks.

  “Anything ambiguous about my instructions, Mister Secretary?”

  “No, sir,” Mauney said.

  MSNBC newsroom

  Washington Bureau

  2:50 a.m. local time

  Ever since the White House had alerted the networks that the president would be addressing the nation with a major announcement about the breaking situation in the South China Sea, the newsroom at MSNBC’s Washington Bureau had been a blur of activity.

  Longtime White House correspondent William P. “Wylie” Shepherd, his tie long since tossed aside and his sleeves rolled up, was craving another cigarette. But that would mean stepping outside into the dark again. Not enough time for that.

  Wylie popped peanuts in his mouth to help keep himself awake as he studied the hot-off-the-press transcript of the Chinese president’s speech.

  A war had erupted in the South China Sea, and the enemy made the first announcement. Tang beat Surber to the punch in the public-relations war that accompanies any real war. That, alone, was a major story.

  Wylie wasn’t a Surber fan, and to see Surber get trumped by the Chinese president—and the surefire embarrassment from that—wasn’t something he would lose any sleep over.

  As usual, the White House had been mum. Calls to the White House press room had generated no comment on Tang’s claims, including the incredible claim that an American warship had been captured.

  Wylie leaned back and studied Tang’s words. As a journalism student at Berkeley, he had studied Tang’s doctoral thesis from Tang’s days at Harvard. The thesis was admired and studied in detail at the best American liberal arts schools—Berkeley, Yale, Harvard.

  Tang’s thesis, he had decided, was a brilliant exposé by a brilliant young political mind condemning the American practice of big-stick hegemony for what it was. The concept of international coexistence in this age of postmodernism, they had taught at Berkeley, meant that no nation should assert its will over other nations. All is relative, he learned at Berkeley. The truth is not absolute. All nations, all cultures, and all religions are equal.

  His professors at Berkeley had argued that Tang’s thesis philosophically embraced postmodernism. This debate—whether Tang intentionally embraced postmodernism—dominated scholastic debates about the thesis.

  He smiled, just thinking about the brilliance of the man Tang.

  “Phone call, Wylie,” the young, leggy blonde copyeditor announced.

  “Can’t take it right now, Mary. I’ve got to finish this story before daybreak.”

  “Might want to rethink that.” The blonde raised an eyebrow and batted her big blue eyes at him. “Some guy claims he knew Stephanie Surber from the Naval Academy. He’s got some fascinating info that I think you’ll be interested in.”

  “Knew her from the academy?”

  “That’s what he says.”

  “What line?”

  “Three.”

  He picked up the receiver and punched the line. “Wylie Shepherd.”

  Bridge

  People’s Liberation Army-Navy aircraft carrier Shi Lang South China Sea

  3:00 p.m. local time

  Turn the Shi Lang into the wind!”

  “Aye, Captain!”

  With the tropical afternoon wind whipping across the flight deck, Captain Xue Haifeng stood on the flight bridge, his binoculars trained on the first two J-11 fighter jets positioned on the catapult below.

  In a moment, the great ship under his command would launch the most powerful and significant carrier attack since Pearl Harbor! Shi Lang had a maximum capacity of fifty jets. She was currently at 80 percent capacity and carried forty J-11BH fighter jets on board.

  And of those forty jets, thirty-eight were about to be launched for the mission at hand.

  This launch would leave the Shi Lang severely depleted from effective defensive air cover. This made Xue a bit nervous. But it was imperative that the mission succeed, and if that meant launching thirty-eight out of their forty attack jets, then so be it.

  “Captain. The Shi Lang is into the wind, sir. Steaming into a headwind of five knots. Ready for launch.”

  “Very well. Launch air wing!”

  “Launch air wing! Aye, Captain!”

  The roar of the two jets below grew to a loud thunder. Then, a few seconds later … swooosh … the first J-11 climbed into the sky, followed by swooosh … the second J-11 rocketed off the deck.

  Down below, flight crews prepared two more jets for launch.

  Officers Country

  USS Emory S. Land

  South China Sea

  3:59 p.m. local time

  Stephanie checked her watch. One minute to go.

  Her heart pounded, knowing that her life, in a matter of minutes, might soon be over. She felt she was about to hyperventilate. Images of her father and her mother and yes, of Commander Roddick and Ensign Lapuro, had been swirling in her head.

  Commander McCormick—who had insisted on her calling him Gunner in private—stood beside the door.

  Gunner gave her the thumbs-up. It was time.

  Hopefully there was only one Chinese Marine in the passageway out in front of her stateroom. Would she get shot the second she stepped out?

  She silently prayed, took a deep breath, put her hand on the knob—this was it—and turned it.

  She stepped into the passageway. One Marine, carrying his rifle, was walking away from her, but almost ready to do an about-face.

  “Help!” She started coughing and bent over. “Help me!”

  The Marine turned and pointed his rifle at her.

  “Help!” More coughing. She stepped back into the stateroom and walked straight to the back and feigned puking.

  A second later, she heard a clang. She turned and saw that the Communist’s rifle had dropped on the floor.

  As the Marine staggered, still on his feet, Gunner whacked him in the back of the head again with the butt of his pistol.

  The man twirled like a ballet dancer, and then hit the deck with a thud.

  “Close the door,” Gunner ordered. He felt for a pulse, found none, then pulled the body toward the back of the cabin, leaving a trail of blood from the gash in the back of the head. “Okay, get his gun.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You know how to use that thing?”

  “You bet.”

  “We’ll stuff his body under your rack.”

  They pushed the Marine’s body under the lower bunk rack.

  “Okay, stuff some blankets down there to cover him up. And wipe that blood off the deck.”

  Stephanie reached into the footlocker and took out two gray wool blankets
. She wiped up the blood trail with the first blanket and pushed it against the man’s body, covering it. She stuffed the second blanket under the rack for good measure.

  “You remember how to get to sick bay?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, take the rifle. I’ll keep the pistol. Hopefully they won’t have anybody posted down there. But if we have to take ‘em out, we’ll take ‘em out. Ready?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay. Stay quiet and stay low. Let’s go.”

  They stepped into the passageway, then through the door leading out of officers country and moved past the galley. The passageways just outside her stateroom were all empty.

  Belowdecks resembled an eerie ghost ship. Bright fluorescent lights were flickering in empty passageways. The humming roar of the ship’s engines was the only sound. All enlisted members were corralled topside, and all officers were being kept in their quarters.

  Soon, someone would notice that the Chinese Marine was missing, and then his body would be found, prompting a manhunt throughout the ship. They had to move quickly.

  The Situation Room

  the White House

  4:08 a.m. local time

  The secretary of defense hung up the phone. “We’ve got a problem, Mister President.”

  “What now, Irwin?”

  “The press room got a call from our favorite liberal, Wylie Shepherd at MSNBC. He heard Tang’s speech. Somebody’s tipped him off that Stephanie’s on board the Emory Land. He wanted our comment before he goes public with it.”

  Surber pounded his fist on the conference table. “I knew we wouldn’t be able to keep it corked up. But I had no idea it would come out this fast.” He stood up.

  “Mister President.”

  “You got any ideas, Rock?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Let’s invite Wylie over here right now,” Vice President Rock Morgan said. “We can have a friendly little chat and explain to him that if that information gets to the Chinese, it could endanger the lives of the entire crew. We can ask him to consider holding the information until the crew is safe and secure.” The vice president paused. “He must have some love of country and some sense of responsibility to use restraint with that information when lives are on the line.”