Island Warriors c-18

by Keith Douglass

  Drake looked up from the notepad in her hand and stared directly into the camera, her face a mask of concern, her dark green eyes reproachful. “On the surface, it appears that this is another instance of America ignoring other nations’ rights to their territorial sovereignty. The loss of life on board the AWACS and Observation Island is regrettable, but the true fault lies with the military commanders who insist on such aggressive posturing before all diplomatic measures are exhausted. China is not alone in the world in expressing grave concern about the presence of nuclear reactors just off her coast, and her concerns warrant serious consideration.” She turned to a small monitor by her side and said, “With me now is General Herman Caring, who retired two years ago from the Air Force. General, what’s your initial take on this?”

  General Caring, USAF (retired) was the sort of senior officer who looked like a general. His features were strong, his voice confident as he spoke.

  Caring. A fine person to ask. Cashiered for financial misconduct. They never should have let the bastard retire quietly — a court-martial, that would have kept him out of this cushy spot now. Wexler stared, as the general began to speak.

  “Of course, our first thoughts must be with the crew of the AWACS,” he said. “The crew carries parachutes, but in a combat situation, there is rarely time to use them.”

  “So you believe there’s little chance they survived?” Drake asked.

  “That would be my initial assessment.” Although she had not thought it possible, Wexler saw Caring’s face look even more concerned. “But as you say, the question about what the aircraft was doing there in the first place must be answered. I can tell you that during my days in command, all pilots were carefully briefed to observe international boundaries. But what practices are currently, I hesitate to say.”

  “But China does claim one thousand miles around her coastline as for own airspace, does she not?” Drake asked. “And neither the AWACS or the Observation Island carry offensive weapons, do they?”

  Okay, give her credit. She’s at least trying to put on a fair show. Maybe at least part of the people watching will understand.

  “Yes, it’s true that not all nations recognize China’s territorial claims, the U.S. among them. And as to whether either American platform was carrying weapons, well — it wouldn’t have been normal procedure,” the general conceded. “Although with the portability of weapons platforms today, I could not state with any certainty that the ship was not carrying Harpoon antiship missiles. But Pamela, I think we have to look at the circumstances. This issue is still being addressed by a number of legal experts, and there are diplomatic ways to address this sort of thing. The use of force, in the aggressive testing of another nation’s limits, should only be as a last resort. The consequences, as the families of the AWACS and Observation Island crews will tell you, are altogether too serious.”

  “I assume we can safely conclude that this is related to the rumors about a new ballistic missile that the Chinese have developed,” Drake continued. “Can you put that in perspective for us, General?”

  “Of course, Pamela.” To Wexler’s jaundiced eyes, General Caring appeared to enjoy addressing the reporter by her first name almost as much as he enjoyed taking pot shots at his former service. “You have to understand that many nations around the world engaged in ballistic missile development and testing. In China’s case, her coastline does not primarily open on to open water, as ours does. The United States routinely conducts these sort of tests itself. But every report I’ve seen has shown that China has gone to extraordinary lengths to prevent any inadvertent problems from threatening the security of the world nations around her. Indeed, given the rise of anti-American sentiment in some regions, I would wonder that the other nations are not more supportive. After all, a strong China is the best defense against what they claim is American imperialism.” Caring pointed one finger at the camera. “I must emphasize, that there is no evidence — none — that China is planning any ballistic missile test launch at this particular time. And even if they were, we have countless examples of how safely they have done that. There was no reason for American forces in the area to assume that aggressive posture, and certainly no reason to cut short the sea trials of an untested carrier. This sheer waste in terms of manpower and resources is absolutely mind-boggling.” He leaned back, apparently confident that he had made his point.

  But Wexler could see, to her credit, Pamela Drake was not fully convinced. Uncertainty furrowed her brow, and she looked as though she had several follow-up questions. That would have been in keeping with the Pamela Drake that Wexler knew.

  But apparently in response to a question that she alone could hear, probably from the microphone in her ear, Drake simply said, “Thank you, General. I’m sure we all join you in wishing and hoping for the safety of the men and women on the AWACS.”

  I bet you are. Just drooling over the possibility of asking some grieving wife or husband how they feel about it, aren’t you? Shoving the microphone in their faces just seconds after they’ve been told that someone is never, ever coming home again. And you people think diplomats are cold!

  Suddenly, Wexler heard a scuffle in the outer office. At first, it consisted of higher female voices raised in protest and indignation. Then, she heard Brad’s deeper voice bark out, “Stop! You can’t go in there.” There was a crash as something hit the floor, and the door to her office flew open.

  T’ing was framed in the doorway. Although he was not much taller than she was, the cold glare on his face and icy disdain in his eyes made him seem much more formidable.

  Wexler stood, as much out of surprise as courtesy. “What’s going on out there?”

  Brad loomed immediately behind the ambassador from China. Wexler could tell he itched to grab T’ing and throw him bodily out, but she knew he wouldn’t. Not under the circumstances.

  T’ing drew himself up to his full height. “I apologize for barging in unannounced — but under the circumstances, it is clearly appropriate, if not practically demanded. Yesterday, the United States interfered with lawful, peaceful military operations conducted by my government. First, during a routine test over open ocean, your ships attacked and destroyed a missile. And now your commanders insist on deploying spy ships and aircraft into our territorial waters. Our response was immediate and proportionate, and only the greatest restraint on the part of our military commanders prevented the situation from escalating.” She thought she saw something that looked like pain flit across his face. “And I am personally offended at your treachery. I thought that our working relationship precluded surprises such as this. But obviously I was mistaken.”

  “T’ing, please.” She gestured to all of their subordinates. “Can we dispense with the formalities and sit down and have a civilized discussion about this?”

  “Civilized? You speak of civilized conduct, after this?” He shook his head, and then renewed his glare. “No, Madame Ambassador. We will not speak alone. Before, that might have been possible. And I like to think that as representatives of two of the most powerful nations on this planet, you and I have managed to avert our share of crises. But this — no, this is far out of our hands. My government demands an immediate and complete apology, coupled with reparations. The president has twenty-four hours in which to comply. If not, whatever follows will be the sole and complete responsibility of the United States. You cannot treat other nations in the world like this. You cannot. It is time that someone demonstrated that to you conclusively and finally.” With that, he turned, spoke sharply to an aide, and stalked out of the room.

  Wexler sank back down in her chair, a feeling of loss pervading her soul. She could understand the Chinese position, oh, how well she could. And in one sense, T’ing was right. There should have been a way to resolve this before military action was required.

  “That’s it,” Brad said with finality. “Madame Ambassador, I must insist that we upgrade security precautions immediately. I can’t guarantee your safety othe
rwise.”

  “And just who’s going to guarantee the safety of those men and women on our ships?” she said, her frustration boiling over into anger. “You heard the man — something terrible is afoot, Brad, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

  “If you’re dead, there’s nothing you can do at all,” he said bluntly. “I’ve told you we need locked access to our suite, and you refuse to consider it. You’re bull-headed, Sarah Wexler. Bull-headed and blind to the consequences of your actions.” He crossed room and stood directly across from her. He pointed an accusing finger at her. “Just answer me this. If you’re dead, who will sit in that chair? Can you guarantee me that it will be someone as capable?”

  “The president will—” she began, and Brad cut her off.

  “The president is a political creature. Yes, I know the two of you are friends. So even if you don’t want to admit it to me, I know that you know he doesn’t make his appointments based sheerly on ability. Name one potential candidate who would have been able to pull off the things that you’ve done in the last four years. Name one. And if you can convince me that there’s anyone nearly as capable as you are, I’ll stand aside. Be honest — I’m not asking you to brag or become an egomaniac. Just give me an honest assessment. Is it conceivable that he could appoint anyone with as much commitment to the process of diplomacy, who has as much understanding of international affairs, and who just all in all gives a shit about our military forces? Well? Is it?”

  “You’re out of your league, Brad. And way out of line,” she said sharply.

  “Am I?” He stood resolute, refusing to back down, and waited for answer. “Because if I am, and there is a great deal I have misunderstood about our working relationship.”

  And how had it come to this? First T’ing, now Brad. Was everyone in the world determined to have a showdown at the OK Corral this morning?

  Brad had asked the one question that was almost impossible for Sarah Wexler to answer. She had deep streaks of both humility and pride running through her, and his question put them squarely at odds. Yes, she understood her role in the United Nations, understood in a way her predecessors never had. And, if she was forced to honesty, she would have had to say that most of them would not see her role as she saw it. It was something she had worked hard for, spent agonizing hours analyzing diplomacy and the art of it and now, at the culmination of her career, was able to bring every skill to bear on an increasingly precarious world.

  At the same time, she was constitutionally incapable of admitting her own uniqueness. It went too hard against her grain to hold herself out as important, to claim to the world that indeed she was irreplaceable.

  But a keen intellect such as hers could not long deny the truth of Brad’s position. Yes, if she were replaced, in all probability it would be by someone less capable than she deemed herself. She thought the president would strive for someone he could count on the way he counted on her, but Brad was right about the role politics played as well. And she knew she was distinctly at odds with the rest of the diplomatic community in letting her concern for the American military factor into her decisions. Too often the State Department was foaming at the mouth: Send in the troops, send in the troops, constantly seeming to invalidate the very reason for their own existence. No one from State expressed concern over the American lives that might be lost, over the damage to countless families across the United States. No, when their best efforts failed, they immediately called for firepower, convinced that the failure lay in the intransigence of their opponents rather than in any shortcomings in their own capabilities.

  “That missile was headed for Taiwan,” she said slowly. “I’m certain of it.” She let her thoughts roam over the probable scenarios, the massive loss of life, the consequences for the Taiwanese people of a return to the control of mainland China. Horrors raced before her eyes, countless atrocities and deprivation. As much as she admired — yes, and even liked — T’ing, she knew what his government was capable of. “And the AWACS and the ship were in international waters. There was no legal justification for attacking them.”

  Finally, she transferred her gaze to Brad’s face. He was still waiting, and she saw that he must have an answer. Had to, for his own understanding and peace of mind.

  “I will agree to certain additional precautions,” she said slowly. “But not to making this an armed camp. Within what you have in mind, is there a way to accomplish that?”

  She saw him immediately relax. He nodded, and said, “I know what you want and I know what I want. Let me give it some thought — I’ll find a compromise that I think you can live with, okay?”

  She leaned back in her chair, suddenly weary beyond measure. “I want to see the details before you implement it.”

  Brad nodded. He hesitated for moment, and said, “I meant what I said, Sarah. Right now, at this point in time, you are irreplaceable. And if I overstep my bounds occasionally, it’s because I think I have a deeper understanding of that than you do.”

  She waved him off. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s been a long morning, and it promises to be a long week. But let me say this — one of the things I cherish about you is your bluntness. Now go on, get out of here before I change my mind.”

  SEVENTEEN

  USS United States

  TFCC

  Saturday, September 21

  1145 local (GMT +8)

  Coyote was in a killing rage. The loss of the AWACS and the defenseless Observation Island ate at him, and the refusal of the National Command Authority to order an immediate retaliation almost drove him over the edge. On an intellectual level, he understood the reasoning. The United States was not prepared to go to war, not now. Forces had to be moved into place, the support of the public garnered, and every diplomatic avenue exhausted. When America fought, it fought with massive numbers of troops and assets, intending to win quickly and decisively, and there was no way the carrier and her escorts could pull that off — not yet.

  But Coyote knew what the Chinese intended to do as surely as if he was sitting in on the Chinese staff meetings — and until they made the first move, there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. Not actively — but he could get ready for them.

  He turned to his operations officer. “Get us in an antiair formation,” he ordered. “And that submarine — that worries the hell out of me.” He pointed at the large symbol displayed on the screen. “Even with old gear, that Taiwanese frigate is the best asset we’ve got. I want her on the outer edge, with full authority to prosecute as her captain sees fit. And tell him I’m giving him two helos in addition to his Sea Sprite. He can use them any way he wants.” Coyote glanced over at Major Ho. “If there are any communication problems, I want you on them immediately. Got it?”

  Ho bowed slightly. “Of course, Admiral. There will be no problems.”

  A respectful answer, a competent one, but there was something in the Taiwanese Army officer’s eyes that worried Coyote. What was it? Damn, these guys were hard to read sometimes, and it was a bitch getting them to speak up.

  Despite his redneck origins, Coyote was an exceptionally astute observer of human nature. He knew that it was the cultural differences that made the Taiwanese officer sometimes seem deferential, when the Taiwanese officer thought he was making himself perfectly clear. He had debated several times on the best way to encourage the officer to speak up, and to make allowances for their lack of understanding, but nothing seemed to penetrate his reserve. Indeed, Coyote had the suspicion that the officer had taken his comments as criticism, rather than a plea for help. Because there was so much that they could do, so much that they could learn from each other. These people knew this water like no one else did, and that frigate — well, he hadn’t seen a sailor do so much with so little since he worked with the Coast Guard on a few situations.

  Damn it all, he tried. But the situation was getting too critical for niceties. He turned to Major Ho. “Is there anything on your mind?”


  The Taiwanese officer’s eyes were shuttered. “No, Admiral.”

  “Anything I have overlooked?” Coyote pressed.

  A slight look of horror crossed the man’s face, and quickly disappeared. “Of course not.”

  Coyote turned back to study the screen, frustrated at not being able to get the information he wanted. There was something on the Taiwanese officer’s mind, but he couldn’t get at it. Was it something in the formation? Coyote had the feeling the major was offended at something, but how could he possibly be offended at conveying primary responsibility for the submarine prosecution to his nation’s ship, as well as giving the Taiwanese skipper operational control of two additional helicopters? If anything, it was Coyote’s own DESRON Commander who was likely to get his panties in a knot over that.

  “Your ship is well inside our antiair umbrella,” he said, turning back to watch the officer’s reaction. “She will be in no danger — or at least, no more than the American ships.”

  And now he really stepped on it, he could tell. Why? Had Ho taken it as an accusation of cowardice?

  Inwardly, Coyote groaned, wondering how bad he’d screwed up this time with the man.

  “I wish you to convey to your captain,” he said to Ho, “my utmost respect and admiration for his abilities in ASW. It is for that reason that I ask them to take command of this problem.”

  The Taiwanese major bowed slightly again. “Of course. I’m certain he appreciates the honor.”