Violent Peace: The War With China: Aftermath of Armageddon

by David Poyer

  She stared at the words, trying to reorganize them into sense. Beside her Mills was shaking his head. “What the heck—”

  REPLAY: CJCS informs IndoPacom that negotiations for mutual withdrawal of US and Russian forces from Sea of Japan are concluded. Tangler will withdraw south of Tsushima Island and resume play Exercise Trident Junction in area bounded by sepcor until further orders. Acknowledge.

  Fingers trembling, she typed,

  TANGLER: Acknowledged. Wilco. Tangler out.

  “We’re both pulling back?” Mills sounded shaky too.

  “Both retreating, saving face,” she said. “Pretending we were both just carrying out exercises.”

  She closed her eyes and scratched under her arms, for once totally without inhibition. Yeah, it was good news. Great news. But she’d been so whiplashed over the last few minutes, with panic, fear, relief, rage, resignation, relief again, that her body felt like it didn’t know how to respond, or what to feel.

  On the display, the lines of advance of the oncoming units were altering. Clicking around clockwise. The opposing units were turning away together. The UAVs, too, were heading for the barn. Turning back, for their launch platforms.

  She sagged in her chair, and even though her skin felt like a full-body rash was breaking out, and she was wet through with sweat, and stank from nearly a day stuck in the chair, she closed her eyes and heaved a silent thanks.

  Then remembered: it wasn’t just she who needed to be reassured. She hoisted herself out of the chair’s too-soft embrace, steadied her knees, and stood. Turned to face the rows of consoles, the expectant, frightened faces, and mustered a smile.

  She spread her arms, palms up. “It’s over,” she told them all. “Both sides are backing down. We’re headed south. Probably to Shanghai for humanitarian ops. Keep an eye on things. But it looks, thank God, like we’re out of the woods.”

  Her desk pinged again, and she cringed, gut cramping, and whipped her head back to the displays. But the Russians were still in their turns. Still heading north. So what now? She bent quickly to the screen. No, she thought. Don’t let the wheels come off this now. I can’t go through it all again.

  HUSKY: Personal confidential for Tangler actual.

  Confidential? Everything on high-side nanochat was TS compartmented. What could be personal and confidential? She typed shakily, dreading the worst. Her mom? Maybe her dad? But they wouldn’t notify her this way about a death in the family.

  Filled with dread, she keyed in a terse response.

  TANGLER: Actual here.

  HUSKY: Muster list of personnel to be repatriated in POW exchange received from Beijing includes one Edward L. Staurulakis LCDR USN previously listed as missing in action, presumed KIA. Further status unclear. More to follow after formal exchange takes place but thought you would like to know soonest. Compassionate leave available if desired. Congratulations, Justin Yangerhans, Admiral USN.

  Mills was patting her back. Telling the others, since he’d apparently read it over her shoulder. In seconds, Terranova was excitedly relaying the surprise development to the other enlisted.

  Someone started clapping. Then they all jumped from their seats, applauding, cheering, shouting. Congratulating her.

  She smiled uncertainly, blinking back tears and trying to hold it together. Nodding and smiling wordlessly. Shaking the outstretched hands as she walked among the stations.

  The applause wasn’t just for her husband, or for her. It was for themselves. That they would live through this war, and go home. See those they loved again.

  The clapping went on and on, as if no one wanted ever to stop. She reached the far end of the compartment and turned to face them, to applaud them. Her crew, and all the crews. The new Savo. The old Savo. The ships and planes that had gone down, the men and women who’d burned and drowned in a war that never should have happened.

  But who’d done their duty, to the end.

  She clapped until her palms stung, tears hot on her cheeks, but not caring anymore. Not wanting to stop either, not wanting to stop ever, grinning now. Unable to fully join in their glee, but unwilling to dampen it either. They deserved it. They’d all come through, and won.

  As to what came next … well, she’d think about that tomorrow.

  13

  McLean, Virginia

  THE concrete and glass building was set amid a forest. It sparkled in the sunlight like a spaceship just arrived. The roads of a city enwebbed it, but a green space shielded it from view, cradling it like cerebrospinal fluid does a brain.

  “Vladimir” sat in a windowless room on the third floor of the west wing, waiting to defend his report. He’d shed the greatcoat and fur hat for slacks and a blazer and an open-collared shirt. His cheeks were still blistered with frostbite, though. He still wore dark glasses, too. His eyes watered, exquisitely sensitive from exposure to the glare of the sun at high altitudes.

  A young man and two women had just joined him at the table. A digital projector hummed overhead, projecting a map of the western Pamirs onto the wall.

  The door opened and another, taller man in slacks, sport coat, and hand-tooled Black Jack western boots sauntered in. Anthony Provanzano was the assistant deputy director for operations. “Hey, all,” he said. “Kaylie. Josh. Beverly. This must be Korzenowski, right? In from the cold. Good to meet you, Andy.” He wrung his hand, the two-handed grip beloved of politicians. Then took the seat at the head of the table.

  Provanzano kicked off. “Our tasking today is to clarify the situation in Xinjiang, try to predict where events are going, and what that means for long-term US interests for the postwar settlements with China, Iran, and Pakistan. All of which, what’s happening in western China is going to impact. The output will be included in the presidential daily brief and furnished to the negotiators in Singapore.

  “The usual reminders. Close hold personal notes, no recordings other than the official one, and focus on reporting, not policy. Our State and DoD reps will make their recommendations up the chain based on what they learn today. Plus of course their own sources of information.

  “For the record. Present today are a rep from State, Josh, one from DoD, Kaylie. The desk officer for western China—Beverly—and Andy Korzenowski, just in from Xinjiang with the latest and greatest from the field. At considerable risk, I understand, since the fighting’s still going on up there.” He sat back. “Andy, give us the situation on the ground.”

  Andres started with the Hunza, the tribe that inhabited the high uplands of Pakistan, Afghanistan, and China. They’d sided with the Allies early in the war, then switched support to Iran. “On my last trip in, I spoke to four of the highland tribal chiefs. All four understood China’s been defeated, and what that means—that the Allies will turn to Iran and Pakistan next. They’re pliable. Willing to realign, given the right assurances.

  “If they do, our supply lines up into western China will become much more secure. With better logistics, it might be possible to provide additional support to the ITIM forces in Xinjiang than we’ve managed so far.”

  “Provided we wanted to do that,” Josh, the young State rep, put in. The others nodded too.

  Except for Andres, who inclined his head gravely. “Yes sir; provided we wanted to do that.”

  He finished reporting on the Hunza and their disenchantment with the Iranians. Then pulled up another slide, zooming in on western China.

  “Moving eastward, my next stop was the Tian Shan. I met with agent SKFROG. For those unfamiliar with his history, SKFROG is a senior US Navy SEAL operator. The Chinese captured him in the South China Sea early in the war. They subjected him to enhanced interrogation before sending him to a POW camp where he and other Allied prisoners were being held under starvation conditions. Eventually he escaped. Five men left the camp; only two made it out to safety.

  “During his trek to the west, SKFROG encountered and was eventually taken in by a small group of ethnic Uighur bandits located deep in the Tian Shan. He contacted
us, asking to remain with them, embed, and take on an advisory role. He proposed that the group be built into a resistance movement, to divert enemy forces into fighting a guerrilla war in the west. His proposal was passed to us through military service channels.

  “The director cleared us to pursue this action. It was presented as part of the revised LC-INFRA Joint Operation Plan to the OSD/JS/Agency working group for transmittal to the Office of the Secretary of Defense. Approved by Defense and State, it formed part of the heads of state Joint Comprehensive Strategic Plan of Action. The concept was further refined and developed by the appropriate Agency, DoD, and CENTCOM authorities. It became part of the LC-INFRA strategy of diverting enemy forces by supporting revolts in Tibet, southern China, the Baluchi movement in Iran, and elsewhere.”

  He took a breath. Best to keep it short, but these people needed the deep background to make the right decisions. “Accordingly, we’ve supported this resistance, renamed the Movement for an Independent Turkistan, or ITIM, for the last two years. We supplied gold, medical supplies, weapons, ammunition, and second-tier communications and antidrone equipment. Our best read is that these efforts pinned down or otherwise kept from the front as many as six Chinese Internal Security divisions and over a hundred combat and transport helicopters, with associated logistic and support elements, including heavy artillery and drone reconnaissance and cyber support. Together with related LC-INFRA efforts in south China and Tibet, they succeeded in diverting major enemy attention and resources from the central war effort, and contributed to the success of the invasions of Taiwan and South China.”

  The State rep raised a hand. “Do we have any estimate of costs?”

  Andres hesitated. “Are you referring to casualties, or—”

  Josh smiled. “I’m assuming any loss of life was confined to local forces. My question was budgetary. That could impact whether to continue the program going forward, right?”

  Provanzano, the deputy director, said, “I’ll take that, Andy. Let me get those figures to you a little later, Josh. We’d have to pull the numbers together. But all in all, I doubt ITIM’s cost us more than forty million, total.”

  Kaylie, the Defense representative, had a question too. “Sounds like a lot of bang for the buck. But I’ve heard some disquieting reports about massacres, reprisals, pretty savage stuff going on in that part of the world.”

  Provanzano lifted his eyebrows. “Jeez, where did you hear that kind of thing, Kaylie? I wasn’t aware of anything like that. You say it’s been in the news?”

  “No. Anything like that, the censors would take care of, I assume. It’s just … rumblings. Hearsay. But things that could embarrass us if they surfaced after the war. Or worse, during the armistice negotiations.”

  Their eyes turned to Andres, who hesitated, at a loss how to answer. Trying not to think about skulls on sticks. A dank cave, and the stories he too had heard, traveling the mountains. Tales that exceeded both in barbarity and scale anything that had filtered to the outside world. He sighed and thrust his hands into his pockets. “Well, as in most unconventional wars, there’ve been civilian losses. Chinese reprisals for ITIM actions included gassing villages, shelling population centers, mass incarceration, and targeted assassinations.” He tried to think of some graceful way to put it, but there really wasn’t one. “Both sides have probably been guilty of some unpleasant acts. And yes, those include actions we wouldn’t want to be associated with. Even at a remove.”

  The DoD rep pressed. “But we have deniability?”

  Provanzano waved a hand, taking the floor back. “Built in from the start. We supplied non-US weapons. European antidrone technology. Commercial comms. And all subventions were provided in Krugerrands, which was all anybody in that part of the world wanted anyway. There are no fingerprints on this operation.” He grinned. “Unless someone in this room leaks it. All right?” He looked back at Korzenowski. “Andy, you can finish up. We have four other items on the agenda. Including cuts to the budget, which we are gonna have to be ready for if this peace process succeeds and we start winding down in earnest.”

  Andres cleared his throat. “Um, sure. My collection requirements when meeting with SKFROG and the senior leadership of ITIM included determining the number of effectives and whether the movement was broadly enough based to serve as a viable interim government for Xinjiang. Also, to determine if our asset could be extracted in case it was decided to slate the program for termination.”

  Provanzano sighed audibly. “Can we move this along, Andy? To your conclusions. Like I said—”

  “Yes, sir. Fast-forward to my conclusions.” He took a deep breath, aware of the focused gazes, aware that his next words could be seen as a betrayal. Could doom hundreds if not thousands of innocent people. “I believe ITIM is evolving from a sectarian rebellion into a more radical version of Islamic terrorism. Akin to the ISIS, Daesh, and Boko Haram groupings we were fighting in several countries in the prewar setting.”

  The four other attendeees avoided looking at him. Some studied the table’s surface. A couple looked up at the ceiling. None met his eye, or ventured a comment. At last Provanzano said, “Beverly, you’re Andy’s desk officer. What’s your take?”

  “I think he’s pretty well nailed it,” she said firmly. “I don’t need to remind anyone about our history supporting the Taliban against the USSR in Afghanistan, and what that morphed into. ITIM’s methods are ruthless. They’ve targeted teachers, government officials, healthcare personnel, mayors, anyone cooperating with the central government. Yes, that’s classic guerrilla strategy. But in some ways, they’re coming close to genocide against ethnic Chinese.

  “Early in the war, they operated effectively against strategic targets for us. But the most recent operation, Jedburgh, against missile sites in the mountains, was a failure. Going forward, our evaluation is that they will increasingly operate independently and not in a manner calculated to further the peace.”

  Kaylie frowned. “So your recommendation is to terminate our support?”

  “We don’t recommend squat,” Provanzano said firmly. “Remember? We provide information. It’s up to you guys what you do with it. So don’t saddle us with providing some kind of advocacy for any given course of action.”

  Josh said, “What about our asset? This SKFROG. Can we pull him out safely before we terminate support? Because otherwise, he’s likely to get whacked, right?”

  Andres tried to game it out in his head. Actually, he’d thought about this for a long time, about the end game if the program was shelved. “Um, I’m not sure he would be. He seems to be respected by the rebels. Integrated with their top leadership, which has turned over several times during the rebellion. In fact, he’s converted to Islam.”

  “Indeed.” Provanzano squinted and leaned back in his chair. “He wasn’t a Muslim originally?”

  “No sir.”

  “A real conversion? Or a false flag?”

  “Genuine, as far as I can tell. He even told me he’d had a personal talk with Allah once.”

  This seemed to give everyone pause. Finally Josh pressed, “But we can extract him? Um, he’s actually DoD, right? You said a Navy SEAL.”

  Andres nodded, but then shook his head. “Yes, but I believe he’s left that behind some time ago, sir. I discussed his future with him. Offered him promotion, back pay, surgery—he has a crippled leg, from the torture sessions after he was captured. Then, either retirement, a return to the Spec Ops community, or possibly a position in Special Activities.”

  Beverly, the desk officer, scribbled a note. “And what did he say?”

  Andres said reluctantly, “He says, the guy we knew is dead.”

  The State rep: “He have a family? Would they be any help?”

  “He’s single. Parents dead. A former girlfriend in San Diego. No siblings or kids.”

  Provanzano mused, “So we really have very little hold on him.”

  “We actually have no hold on SKFROG,” the desk officer clari
fied.

  Andres said, “If I could insert a personal opinion? I respect this guy. He’s given up a lot to make this rebellion work. I believe he’s just … lost his way. Possibly suffered from some form of mental illness or psychological trauma. I’d argue for inserting a team and returning him involuntarily.”

  “For what purpose?” his desk officer said. “Just to retire him?”

  Andres turned to her. “Well, maybe not, Beverly. He needs medical attention. After that, reeducation and treatment. He could be a valuable asset again, if he could be returned to service. An advisor on the internal politics in Xinjiang, if nothing else.”

  “Wait a minute. You said ‘mental illness.’” The deputy tapped a pen on the table. “Explain that. Like this chat with Allah you mentioned. He’s unbalanced? Insane? A loose cannon?”

  Andres turned to face Provanzano. “Uh, not exactly, sir. He still seems to be a competent commander. But he’s shared with me that he had some kind of … experience, up in the mountains. It’s convinced him he has a, um, mission. One that justifies, I guess, pretty much anything.”

  “An experience,” the DoD rep murmured. “A mission. You mean, aside from his tasking from you guys? Like, a mission from God?”

  Chuckles rippled around the table. Andres didn’t see much encouragement in their grins. The DoD rep rolled her eyes.

  “So, a kidnapping,” the State rep said. “In the Himalayas? From a group of armed guerrillas. Is that really practical?”

  “Anything can be done if you throw enough money at it,” Provanzano told him.

  “And enough lives,” Kaylie said. “So, we insert a special ops team and snatch him from these jihadis. We could lose a helicopter. Could lose the whole fucking team. And for what, exactly?”

  “We could send SEALs,” Provanzano suggested. “In the end, he’s still a DoD asset.”

  “No way. He’s your problem now. If you want him back, you go get him,” Kaylie said. She and Provanzano glared at each other.