“Alright, Fedorov, out with it. What crazy idea do you have this time?”
“There are two ways we can try this,” Fedorov began, somewhat excitedly. “One way is to use the ship as before. We would have to get Rod-25 back and mount it as the maintenance control rod.”
“Then what?” Karpov would be the devil’s advocate. The grave situation they were facing demanded it, but he would listen nonetheless. “Do we just sail out and vanish again?”
“Something like that,” said Fedorov. “I was thinking we get up into the Sea of Okhotsk, or in the gulf west of Sakhalin Island south of the Tartar Strait. We’d be less visible there. The fog is thick as pea soup. Then we put men ashore and travel to Kizlyar.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“I’ll go. And I was thinking of asking Troyak and some of the Marines—volunteers.”
“A rescue operation, eh? That’s a thousand miles from the coast. None of our helos could even fly that far, let alone back again.”
“We go by the Siberian rail.”
“Then you get there and do what? Ask around for Orlov? The place would be crawling with NKVD. And what about the Germans? Meanwhile what do the rest of us do? We just sit there in the ship off Sakhalin Island, waiting while all hell breaks loose here with this war? This is madness, Fedorov. And when they learn Kirov sailed and disappeared again, what will they think? I’ll tell you as much. They’ll think a big fat American submarine ripped open our belly and put us at the bottom of the sea, that’s what. Only they won’t have time to look for us, because the missiles will be flying. The nation needs this ship desperately now if it does come to war. All eyes will be on us if we sail again, and the hope of the nation. Have you considered that?”
“I have…Not that I relish the prospect of Kirov going to war again. All we’ll do is push the world a little closer to the abyss if we do that, and you and I both know that this ship has a lot of muscle left, wounded or not. If we push, we push hard.”
“I understand what you are saying, but consider the men, they’ve been through hell. We can’t ask them to do this again. If we have to fight here, that’s one thing. The men will understand that. It’s why they signed onto the navy in the first place.”
Fedorov shrugged. “Alright, then there’s another way. We leave Rod-25 where it is and go back from the Primorskiy Engineering Center…Just like Markov…”
Karpov just looked at him. “But how will you get back?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Well neither do I. Here you sit worried about a man like Orlov and his Portable Wiki, and you assume this situation we’re facing here can be laid at his feet, but then you can glibly suggest you go back yourself with Troyak and his Marines? After what we saw with Markov? Damn it, Fedorov. Listen to yourself! What makes you think Orlov is the devil incarnate now? For all you know he died there, or in Baku, and that was the end of it. Anybody who found his jacket wouldn’t have the slightest idea what they had in their hands. Orlov may have done nothing. He could be completely innocent of the crime you fear he has already committed.”
Fedorov looked down, rubbing his forehead. Karpov was correct. What did he really know? Who was he to say that Orlov was responsible for anything going on in the world now. Was it just an easy way for him to excuse himself, the Admiral, Karpov and the ship? No. They were all equally guilty if any crime had been committed here. When he looked in that broken mirror he would have to be man enough to say he saw his own face there.
“Perhaps you’re right, Captain,” he said, feeling somewhat deflated. “Yes, it is a crazy idea. There’s no way we could take the ship and do what I propose under these circumstances, and what you say about plan B is equally compelling. If we try to follow Markov and go back that way, then we’d all be trapped there in the past. I’d like to think that I would be cautious enough to behave myself there, but I’d be the man who knew tomorrow, and that is a temptation I would not wish on any man.”
“And then there would be Troyak and the Marines to think of as well,” Karpov put in.
“I know…” Fedorov had a defeated look on his face. The Captain was the voice of reason this time, and he had to put his wild notions aside and face the reality of their situation now.
“What’s going on out there, Captain? I’ve had my nose in 1942 the last two days.”
Karpov scratched his head, thinking. “I’ve been watching the headlines and I can rattle them off from memory: Russian Fighter Jets Breach Japan Airspace, Japan Warns China Over Missile Attack, Vows Reprisal, North Korea Warned Against Provocative Actions, Taiwan Enters Fray In China Japan Sea Spat. They’ve kicked the football into the U.N. Security Council for the moment, but you and I both know what’s going on behind the scenes—the telephone calls, the angry words, the threats. And I have little doubt that men in every military base on the globe are sharpening their spears. I heard they flew in two squadrons of strategic bombers and new squadron of T-50 PAK-FA fighters. That’s our fifth generation stealth fighter, so you know they mean business.”
“How much time do you think we have?”
“Hard to say. If things are taking the course we fear, then the U.N. won’t resolve anything. Japan will ask for a resolution condemning China’s ballistic missile attack on Okinawa. China will veto it. That was a big mistake the UN made long ago to allow any single permanent member a veto. A vote of four to one from permanent members should have been decisive.”
“In another world,” said Fedorov.
“Precisely. Well, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Russia would have voted with the Chinese. As it stands now the Japanese have a small detachment camping out on those worthless islands, and both sides are moving ships and planes around. But the real threat is Taiwan. It was the major flash point in that newspaper we found, yes?”
“That’s what it sounded like.”
“The Admiral called me yesterday to ask about the ship. He told me the satellites have been seeing a big Chinese buildup along the Taiwan Strait. He thinks this business over the Diaoyutai Islands is nothing more than the overture. The curtain is about to open on act one of this little drama, and soon.”
“He thinks the Chinese will attack Taiwan?”
“Most certainly. It will start with a demand, of course. Then China will pass some kind of resolution declaring Taiwan as an integral part of the People’s Republic. The Taiwanese government will rebuke them and on and on it will go for a few days while the Americans move their carriers.”
“Yes, the carriers. That’s how it really caught fire according to that article. Remember, the Chinese moved the Liaoning out to sea and the US stopped it with a submarine. That led to the attack on the Eisenhower. Any news on that ship?”
“It’s coming,” said Karpov. “Volsky says it’s in the Indian Ocean at Diego Garcia.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Fedorov fretted. “They may be loading nuclear warheads from stockpiles kept there.”
“Sharpening their teeth? Most likely, just as we are. They made a special delivery today.”
Fedorov was not happy. “How many?”
“You know that is always undisclosed until we actually put to sea with orders.”
“Martinov knows.”
“Of course Martinov knows. How do you think I pulled off that nonsense in the Atlantic? Well I’m not asking him this time, and believe me, I’m have no great urge to see any of them mounted on a missile after what we’ve been through and seen. In the meantime, I hope we’ve put this plan of yours to rest, Fedorov. We have more on our duty list than worries about Orlov.”
Fedorov looked down at the folded paper he had handed Karpov, the letter from the dead, feeling a strange connection with the man who must have surely met his own fate and died decades ago. They were living now in the world Orlov and the men and women of that generation left them. To think that Orlov alone could shape the contours of the entire world was nonsense. Yet something told him that voice of re
ason was wrong, some aching sense of warning that set his adrenaline rising. Deep down, that persistent inner voice still whispered the truth: they had to get Orlov or the world would end in fire.
Part X
Enter The Dragon
“If you ignore the dragon, it will eat you.
If you try to confront the dragon it will overpower you.
If you ride the dragon, you will take advantage
of its might and power.”
— A Chinese Proverb
Chapter 28
Major General Zhu Hong boldly strode down the long aisle into the Security Council, a red bound book under his arm. He seated himself in the front row of the Chinese delegation, and to see a military officer there was quite an omen, as well as a message to the world that now watched with nervous interest on their television screens when they could pull themselves away from the thousand other distractions of the day.
The heated discussion had been a typical theater of back and forth, with one side making pronouncements, condemnations and threats, while the other side sat stolidly waiting to make reprisal. Neither side was listening to the other, and the stage was now littered with props and maps and displays showing photographs and documents. The Japanese Ambassador showed video footage of the sinking of the small DDE Oyoko. The Chinese Ambassador showed photos of families weeping for the sailors lost aboard the submarine Li Zhu. The Japanese showed film of the captured Coast Guard cutter Howo, and its hostage crew paraded before cameras in China. The Chinese showed Japanese troops illegally landing on the reputed Chinese soil of Diaoyutai, and the burning of the Frigates Weifang and Shouyang.
On it went, with the Japanese showing the terrible destruction of their helicopter carrier Hyuga and then the final images of the missiles exploding on Naha airfield, a barrage of six ballistic warheads that had cratered the runways and blasted a hanger to pieces there, with smoke and fire making a dramatic backdrop to the scene. He shook his finger in solemn admonition, stating that this was the homeland of the Japanese nation, and of that there could be no dispute. The escalation, he said was a cowardly act by a nation who had suffered military defeat at sea and a desperate attempt to save face, and nothing more.
The Chinese Ambassador brushed his accusations aside as nothing more than the mutterings of an old fisherman, which brought the only ripple of muted laughter to the scene, quashed quickly when the Japanese Ambassador stood stiffly and led his delegation out of the room.
The issue then passed to the American Ambassador, who lamented the inability of nations to resolve their disputes without resort to military conflict, before stating that China should be well aware of its obligations on the world stage.
The Chinese Ambassador retorted by showing satellite photographs of the American carrier Eisenhower at Diego Garcia, and asking where it was going? “Before the distinguished American Ambassador decides to lecture the People’s Republic of China regarding its obligations, perhaps it would explain why this aircraft carrier now hastens to the scene. It appears that the United States is also quick to put forward a military solution to the dispute now under discussion, so their words are hollow when they presume to point a finger at China in this matter.”
To this the Americans gravely trotted out even more placards with additional satellite photography mounted and showing the dramatic buildup on the coast of the Taiwan Strait, week by week, as amphibious ships were being loaded, the power plants of more frigates and destroyers blooming alive on infrared, the aircraft lining up on coastal air fields, and finally the movement of mobile ballistic missile launchers.
“Mister Ambassador,” he said pointedly, “We now note that the Chinese military has deployed army troops amounting to three full divisions on this coastline, with up to two brigade sized elements now loading on the ships in these photographs. The islands now under dispute in this discussion do not have sufficient space for even a tiny portion force. So kindly tell us where these troops are going? Why is China loading weapons and men of war on ships?”
The cat named Taiwan was quickly out of the bag, as it was no mystery as to what the Chinese intended. It was the Chinese Autumn Moon festival back home that September, and the Taiwanese Ambassador angrily held up the traditional festival moon cakes he had obtained that had been molded in the shape of his home island. “The Republic Of China,” he scolded, “is not a confection to be eaten by our greedy neighbors to the west! Taiwan will state categorically that it will oppose any and all attempts to violate its territorial integrity with the full might of its armed forces on land, air and sea.”
To this the People’s Republic Of China warned that they may attempt to do so, but would soon find their efforts lacking and they would be wiser now to acquiesce and submit to the authority of their rightful masters in Beijing. He spoke at length of the long years that China waited patiently for her wayward son to come home, until he had well tried the patience of every delegation in the room prompting the Taiwanese Ambassador to slap his hand on the table demanding to be heard in the middle of this diatribe.
He rudely reminded China that his nation did not stand alone, nor did the Japanese nation stand alone, which set the American delegation to nervous whispers as the inevitable strings of attachment would eventually bind both Taipei and Tokyo to Washington, the work of treaties and mutual defense agreements that had stood for eighty years.
China shouted down the Ambassador, berating his bad manners. “The younger son should never presume to speak thusly before his elders,” he said angrily. Then he reminded the audience that the People’s Republic did not stand alone either, which set the Russian delegation to nervous whispers, and on it went.
When the American delegation next took the floor to make their closing statement they did so with gravity and a somber, well rehearsed candor. “Yes, gentlemen, it is clear that treaties and obligations now force the United States to the regretful step of deploying deterrent forces in the region, in the hope that they may never have to speak in anger over these matters, but with the firm resolve to do so should China persist in this aggression and threaten or attack any party to the treaties and mutual understandings I now speak of.”
China’s Ambassador took this for the threat it was, looked hotly at the Russian delegation, and began reminding the Americans that SinoPac was also an organization dedicated to peace, but not peace at any price, and that any interference in what it considered the internal affairs of the Chinese people in the matter of Diaoyutai or Taiwan would be treated as an act of war.
It was then that Major General Zhu Hong, made his sudden appearance, striding boldly down the aisle and throwing his thick red book on the table as he took the microphone.
“I too, have pictures to show,” he said coldly, and he proceeded to hold up photos of the USS Washington battlegroup at Yokohama, now putting out to sea, the USS Nimitz battlegroup leaving Hawaii after a recent port call and now heading west, the USS Eisenhower battlegroup now moving east towards the Singapore Strait.
Then he held up one last photo, of a chalky while stretch of sand in the Gobi desert, around which there was drawn a thin red outline in the obvious shape of an aircraft carrier. He pointed out two deep craters that would have been direct hits on the flight deck by ballistic missiles fired from a range of 2000 kilometers. The day was long gone, he said, when the American Navy ships could carry the big stick their president Theodore Roosevelt first gave them. China had big sticks of its own, and then, to the utter shock of everyone present, and right before the worldwide television audience, General Zhu threatened the United States with a nuclear attack if it became embroiled in a conflict between China and Taiwan.
“If the Americans bring their fleets and send their aircraft onto the disputed zone to violate China’s territory, I think we will have to respond with nuclear weapons,” Zhu Hong told the stunned circle of balding men around the Security Council. “And should the United States respond in kind, we Chinese will prepare ourselves for the destruction of all of the cities
east of Xian. Of course the Americans will have to be prepared to see hundreds of cities destroyed by our missiles,” he added gravely. “When it is all over, we estimate our population will be reduced to some 300 million, roughly equal to the population of the United States today. But if that tomorrow comes, your people will all be gone. There will be no United States to speak of.” His cold calculus concluded, the General stood up, taking his thick red book in arm. “This has been decided,” he said with finality. “There will be no further discussion.” Then he turned and strode up the aisle, quickly followed by the whole of the Chinese delegation.
The stunned delegations watched them go, unable to believe such a threat could be so callously pronounced in the Security Council chambers. At the American delegation, Ambassador Stevenson was shaking his head in sheer disbelief. He turned to his assistant, James Porter, and frowned.
“Never let your vigilance drop when the ships start sliding off the spillways in the Pacific, Mister Porter. The Chinese have been building them for the last fifteen years, and now it’s come to this again. Once you build the damn things the men in white and blue uniforms want to use them.” He heard a quiet tone sound, and realized one of his staff members in the second row had just received a call. Stevenson turned, a grave expression on his face as the young staffer leaned in and whispered the latest news.
Stevenson quickly zipped up his attaché case and stood, feeling the blood flow into his long legs after the grueling three hour session. He knew he would be making a full report to the brass to receive further instructions within the hour. “Better get General Gabriel on the line as soon as we reach the office. And I’m sure Admirals Ferguson and Richardson at PACOM will want to weigh in on this...Who else? Carlisle at PACAF, and probably Ghortney too.”
Men of War (2013) Page 26