Violent Peace: The War With China: Aftermath of Armageddon

by David Poyer

  Justin Yangerhans had declared for the nomination. Unexpectedly, out of left field. He’d asked Blair to chair his campaign, and she’d resigned from the Department of Defense. Placing her in direct opposition to the administration.

  She’d need his support. Maybe, even, his personal protection. Paranoid? Maybe. But the country had changed since the war began. Edging toward some disastrous precipice.

  As for his own career … it was pretty much over, as far as he could see. Not that it mattered, but according to Niles, he’d probably be able to retire with his rank. Yay for you, Dan, he thought sourly.

  Starting with the Academy, he’d always looked ahead. The next qualification. The next warfare school. The next mission. The next command.

  Now, with his war finished, there didn’t seem to be any challenge left for him to face. And if the Senate didn’t approve the flag list, he’d be out of the Navy in mere months. What then?

  It left him feeling like an astronaut, beyond the reach of gravity. In search of some way to orient himself. Where was up? Where was down?

  He rolled over and punched his pillow into shape, yearning for an unconsciousness that would not return.

  Anyway, he’d done his part. Maybe that was all, in the end, one could really be proud of.

  He lay watching the light come. Suspended. Between.

  Until the alarm buzzed, and it was time.

  * * *

  HE got up, shaved, and dressed, but still felt tapped out, even after nine hours’ sleep. A few more hairs came out in his brush. When he cut himself, it took longer to heal. Most likely, he’d picked up some rads on his trip across the Midwest. His winter blues felt loose. He forced himself to swallow cereal, though he didn’t really want it. He’d been shocked by the price when he’d picked up a box at the grocery. And instead of forty choices, like there’d been before the war, there were only three brands on the nearly empty shelves. Patriot-brand ersatz raisin bran, only without raisins. Kellogg’s Corn Flakes, a perennial. And some kind of oat stuff in clear plastic bags that he didn’t like the looks of, but had finally steeled himself to buy.

  He still didn’t have an assignment. Just temporary duty, assigned to the CNO’s staff. He needed something to occupy himself with. Maybe he could get in on a study. The Joint Staff and Army Futures Command were planning war games to evaluate revised battle plans and explore what a postwar force might look like. Not just with new weapons, but with far more intimate integration than the services had achieved during the war just past.

  The postwar Navy would be much smaller. That was already plain. The country no longer had the resources for the huge military it had entered the conflict with, let alone to continue the massive hemorrhage of money and labor expended in the last four years. And it would be AI-enabled, with autonomous units replacing manned platforms, whether at sea, in the air, or beneath the waves.

  The coffeemaker trilled the first few notes of “Camptown Races” to signal it was done. Blair came in, fully dressed in the blue suit, blouse, low heels, and what seemed to be her favorite Hermès scarf these days, the one with the little foxes. He beckoned her over for a kiss. “The power look today, huh? Very sharp,” he told her. “Hair looks great too.”

  She brushed a lock down over her ear. “Just had it done. Got to make a good impression. And it’s harder for a woman, at least, every year … Thanks for making coffee.”

  “Sure, no problem.” She was stepping away when he reached out to pull her to him again. He held her for a few seconds, cheek against her tummy, her hand resting lightly on his head.

  She patted him one last time and stepped away. He checked the news, flipping through it on his phone as he sipped coffee. The last Covenanter militias were being “neutralized” in Indiana. The Russians were insisting on a permanent military presence in Ukraine and Finland. Sweden and Norway were rumored to be preparing to test a jointly developed nuclear weapon in the Svalbard Islands.

  She turned back from the door. “Want me to drop you off? My pass’s probably still good. At least to get us into West parking.”

  He swallowed off the last mouthful and stacked the cup in the dishwasher. Grabbed his jacket. “If you have time.”

  “Our meeting’s at nine. I want to sit down with Jim for a few minutes before it starts. Define my responsibilities. Especially, discuss fundraising. Without getting a lot more commitment, he’s going to end up in the lower tier of prospective candidates.”

  Dan nodded, looked out the window at the sky, decided against an umbrella, and followed her out.

  * * *

  IN her car, she flipped on the autodrive. The AUTO light came on and she immersed herself in a folder of documents. “Federal reporting forms,” she said, to his quizzical glance. “Form one: statement of organization. Form two: statement of candidacy. Form three: report of receipts and disbursements. Quarterly. Monthly. Cash, in-kind gifts, goods and services. Loans, guarantees, endorsements. Lobbyist contributions. This is going to be pure sheer hell.”

  He shifted in his seat, tensing slightly as the car sensed a slot, accelerated, and merged them into the highway traffic. Which was picking up significantly; probably a good sign for the economic recovery. “Are you really sure you want to take it on?”

  “Somebody’s got to, and he asked me.”

  He rubbed his nose as the car changed lanes. Her logic was pretty plain. Considering her unpopularity with the left wing of her party, running a presidential campaign might well be the only way she could deal herself back into the game.

  The car beeped and she looked up. “Here comes the turnoff. I’ll just drop you off, text you later.”

  He reached for the door. “That’s okay. I’ll probably get home before you will. I’ll just take the Metro.”

  “We’ll see.” A routine, casual, everyday husband-wife peck, and he rolled out and she pulled away. He looked after her, shaking his head. She’d never stop. He had to admire it. Even when it exhausted him sometimes.

  He was so fucking lucky to have her.

  * * *

  HE was head down at his temporary desk, down the corridor from the CNO’s office, when the aide stuck her head in. “Admiral would like you to step in, sir. If you’re not busy.”

  Actually he’d just been reading the latest Shipmate, having nothing much else to do. The Naval Academy alumni magazine.

  Which reminded him: he had to get in touch with the guy in Seattle he’d left his ring with. Pay him and get it mailed back. You could have a new one made, fresh metal, another stone, but he’d worn the old one through so much over the years it wouldn’t be the same. The gold was worn, the crisp outlines of his class seal smoothed and polished. The Academy seal was battered nearly to obliteration through thirty years of contact with handrails, bulkheads, and tools.

  Yeah, couldn’t forget that … He’d touched base with a classmate about getting in on a study for the new quad tilt-rotor, but it seemed to be fully manned already. There was an industrial base study going too, but he wasn’t eager to plunge into that mind-numbing mess. He’d never been much of a bean counter.

  When he tapped at the open door the chief of naval operations was at his desk. Nick Niles didn’t look up as Dan came in, just waved him to a seat. “Lenson.”

  So they were back to last names again, Dan thought. “Admiral,” he said.

  Niles took a few seconds to finish whatever he was reading, during which Dan got a good look at him. He didn’t look quite as ill as before. His color was better. A reprieve? Or maybe he was just bouncing back from the last chemo. His uniform still looked as if it had been made for a much bigger man, though.

  Finally Niles scrawled a signature, grunted as if satisfied, and swiveled his chair away. “Okay, what’d you want to see me about,” he muttered.

  Dan hesitated. Finally said, “Uh, the aide said you wanted to see me, sir.”

  “Oh yeah. Right.” Niles blinked, as if uncertain. The first time Dan had ever seen an unfocused look on the broad face.
Then he brightened. “Oh, right. What do we have you doing right now?”

  “Floater, sir. On your staff.”

  “Right. Right.” He nodded, as if to say I knew that.

  Dan tried a personal tack, to give him time to catch up and save face. “Your son doing okay, sir?”

  Niles nodded. “Still in the Gulf. His first command. Proud of him.”

  “That’s great.” Then he remembered Niles’s nephews. Missing since the attacks. He swallowed that question. Pretty much figuring he knew the answer.

  The CNO gave it a beat, then rumbled, deadpan, “Speaking of kids, I have somebody waiting next door you might want to see.”

  He hoisted himself, with a bit of an effort, crossed to the door to an inner office, and opened it. “He’s here,” he said to someone inside.

  A very thin young woman in a flowered headscarf stepped out.

  Dan stared, dumbfounded.

  She’d always been slim, but Nan was gaunt now. Wasted-looking. She limped as she ran toward him.

  But it was her. It was really his daughter.

  A moment later she was in his arms. They clung to each other, neither speaking. Just … holding each other. He buried his face in her scarf. Which smelled like … her … And found himself unable to speak through a thickness in his throat.

  It took him a while to get words past it. “I thought you didn’t make it,” he muttered into her shoulder.

  “I know, Dada. I guess I almost didn’t.”

  Dada. What she’d called him so long ago he’d almost forgotten it.

  Behind them Niles coughed. “I’ll give you a few minutes,” he suggested, and let himself out.

  They caught up with each other’s stories. The nuking of Seattle. Her flight across the country with the first batch of antiflu meds. His, beginning with trying to follow her, but finally losing the trail. Her captivity in the hands of the Covenanters. The battle she’d barely survived. Then the helicopter trip Niles had arranged, when the Special Action major had called him with the information she was in DHS custody.

  “We both had so many close calls,” she marveled.

  “Sounds like yours were closer than mine.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You were in the war, Dad. Right in the middle.”

  So it was Dad again, fast-forward. He grinned, still unable to believe she was really here. “We were all in this together, Bear.” He patted her hand. “Uh, does your mom know? That you’re back safe?”

  “Oh yeah. I called. She’s fine. How’s Blair?”

  “Great. Great. She’s got a new thing going, too. I’ll let her tell you all about it.”

  He put his arm around her again, and the scarf slipped down. He glimpsed a dark fuzz, like the first regrowth of a cancer patient’s hair. And a new worry gripped him. “What about radiation? Is that why—?”

  She pulled the scarf back into place. “Yeah, I’m in treatment. There’s actually a new protocol. They say I’ll recover. But I’ll still have to get checkups every year.”

  He was hugging her again, his face aching from the unaccustomed smiling, when someone tapped at the door. The aide. “Admiral? I’m so glad about your daughter … Umm, the CNO would like one more word. Before you leave.”

  “Excuse me, honey,” he told Nan, feeling awkward all over again. “I’ll just be a minute. Then we’ll go home, okay? Or stop at the cafeteria. Are you hungry? They have that bean soup you used to like.”

  She smiled. “Sure, Dad. If you’ll eat something too.”

  * * *

  NILES was waiting in the conference room, at one end of the long table. It was bare except for four notebook computers. He looked up from one. “So. She okay? Your kid?”

  “She’s great, sir. Just great. I can’t thank you enough—”

  “Got to take care of each other these days.” Niles waved it away, looking tired. “Take the rest of the day off. Take her home with you.”

  “Thank you, sir. Thanks again. I mean, sending a helicopter—”

  “I didn’t send it just for her. It was already out there on another mission.” He swatted the subject away, as if embarrassed. “But I wanted to tell you a couple of other things before you go. Remember our last conversation?”

  His boss sounded sharper now. As if he’d checked his schedule, looked at his notes, gotten back up to speed during Dan’s reunion with Nan. “Yes, sir,” Dan said.

  “About the International Criminal Court. The administration’s refusing to send anyone. I think it’s probably the right decision, but it puts us in bad company. If we send people, it compromises our sovereignty. If we don’t, the Chinese won’t feel obliged to either. And so far, everybody’s deadlocked. No real update, I just wanted to let you know where that stood.”

  Dan nodded. “I appreciate the info, sir.”

  “Next issue. About your twilight tour.”

  Dan nodded again. If he really picked up a second star, he’d be extended for two more years of active duty before mandatory retirement. And traditionally, for the final tour of duty—the “twilight tour”—Navy detailers were flexible. If at all possible, they’d give an officer, or senior enlisted, his first choice.

  Which apparently was what Niles was offering. And as CNO, even outgoing CNO, he absolutely had the juice to make pretty much anything happen.

  So Dan told him. Not really sure exactly when it had come to him. Maybe it had been in the back of his mind for a while.

  Niles didn’t answer right away. Only pursed his lips, looking back at his screen. “Huh. Interesting. You sure about that?”

  “It’d be my first choice, sir. As long as you’re asking.”

  “Uh-huh. Maybe. But the timing’s awkward. Second choice?”

  Dan hadn’t thought about a second choice. “Uh, well, I guess, sea duty. Whatever would be commensurate with my rank.”

  “And consistent with the needs of the service.”

  “Yes sir. Exactly.”

  “Well. You’re still on the list for two stars, Dan.” Niles rubbed his nose thoughtfully, looking out toward where the Potomac glittered beyond the trees. “But maybe I can do it. Maybe. Your first choice, I mean.

  “But … you’d have to agree to do something else for me first. Something kind of on the order of your second choice, actually.”

  Dan nodded a third time.

  And without a word, Niles rotated the screen to face him.

  The story of the turbulent aftermath of the war with China, and of a new and even more dangerous challenge from the north, will continue in David Poyer’s Arctic Sea.

  Acknowledgments

  Ex nihilo nihil fit. I began this novel with the advantage of notes accumulated for previous books as well as my own experiences at sea and ashore. In addition to those cited earlier in the series, the following sources were helpful for this volume:

  Hector’s chapters benefited from earlier comments by Peter Gibbons-Neff and Katie Davis. Other useful references included: “What to Expect When Someone You Love Is on a Ventilator,” UPMC Health, March 24, 2016. Nicole E. Jenabzadeh, RN, MS, BSN, “A Nurse’s Experience Being Intubated and Receiving Mechanical Ventilation,” Critical Care Nurse 31; no. 6 (2011): 51–54. W. J. Bowman, “Neuromuscular Block,” British Journal of Pharmacology, January 2006. Medical passages were commented on by Dr. Frances Williams, MD.

  Blair’s Zurich, White House, and Pentagon scenes were mostly based on personal experience. Other references that proved useful for her chapters included: Jack Perkowski, “Negotiating in China: 10 Rules for Success,” Forbes, March 28, 2011. Walter Lippmann, U.S. Foreign Policy: The Shield of the Republic (Boston: Little, Brown, 1943), 82–83. Eric Heginbotham et al., “China’s Evolving Nuclear Deterrent: Major Drivers and Issues for the United States,” RAND Corporation, 2017. “It’s Time for China to Free Float the Yuan,” Investor’s Business Daily, August 1, 2015. And Richard Javad Heydarian, “Can China Really Ignore International Law?,” National Interest, August 1, 2016.

  For Nan
’s passages: References cited in previous books, plus Joao Cabral, “Water Microbiology, Bacterial Pathogens and Water,” International Journal of Environmental Resources and Public Health, October 2010.

  For Navy passages: Previous research aboard USS San Jacinto, USS George Washington, USS Wasp, Strike Group One, USS Rafael Peralta, and M80 Stiletto, among others. Aaron DeMeyer, Phil Wisecup, and Matthew Stroup were especially generous with their advice. The following additional sources were valuable as background: COMNAVSURFOR Instruction 3120.1, “Zone Inspections.” Naval Education and Training Command, “Navy Announces FY-20 General Military Training Requirements,” Navy News Service, August 13, 2019. Megan Eckstein, “Navy Planning for Gray-Zone Conflict; Finalizing Distributed Maritime Operations for High-End Fight,” USNI News, December 19, 2018. Hal M. Friedman, “Blue Versus Purple: The U.S. Naval War College, the Soviet Union, and the New Enemy in the Pacific,” 1946. Naval War College Monograph no. 46, Naval War College Press, 2016. Also Joint Training Manual for the Armed Forces of the United States, CJCSM 3500.03E, Joint Staff, Washington, DC. “Russia’s Massive New Helicopter Carriers Could Displace 35,000 Tons and Deploy Fighter Jets,” Military Watch, July 7, 2018. And Office of Naval Intelligence, The Russian Navy: A Historic Transition, December 2015. Descriptions of the human aftermath of a nuclear strike benefited from Susan Southard’s Nagasaki: Life After Nuclear War (New York: Viking, 2015) and Samuel Glasstone et al., The Effects of Nuclear Weapons, U.S. Dept. of Defense, 1977.

  For Teddy Oberg’s strand of the story, the references listed in previous volumes, plus Peter Brugger et al., “Hallucinatory Experiences in Extreme-Altitude Climbers,” Neuropsychiatry, Neuropsychology, and Behavioral Neurology 12 (1999): 67–71. “New 105mm Light Tank for Chinese Marine Corps,” Global Defense Security, July 20, 2018.