by Mike Maden
Several shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but no one objected publicly. Tanaka already had by inference.
Ito nodded at his minister of defense. The MOD reported that the Chinese fleet was twenty-two hours away from breaching the territorial waters around the Senkakus. He briefed everyone on the extent of the Chinese ship, aircraft, and troop complement, as well as Japanese and American forces in the area.
The foreign minister then read the letter hand delivered to her office personally by Ambassador Pang and signed by Vice Chairman Feng. The letter began with a virulent protest against the “war-era suicide assault” on the Tiger II oil-drilling ship before launching into a reassertion of China’s historical and legal claims to the disputed islands. Feng’s letter then announced the arrival of Chinese PLAN marines who would occupy the two largest islands in the chain “in order to protect Chinese lives and property in Chinese territorial waters against future Japanese aggression.”
The letter also demanded unobstructed passage of their ships to Mao Island and no armed resistance to Chinese landing forces, and ordered the Japanese government to turn over all of the islands in question to Chinese authority and further demanded immediate recognition of the them as sovereign Chinese territory in perpetuity.
The letter concluded ominously. “Failure to comply with our demands or violating the terms set forth herein shall constitute an act of war against the People’s Republic of China.” The foreign minister practically hissed as she read the last sentence. So did the translator.
“So there we have it,” Ito said. “The Chinese fleet is on its way to seize the Senkakus, daring us to oppose them. We’ve discussed our options at length. Do nothing, wait for the Americans to dispatch the Sixth Fleet, or dispatch our own fleet to fight them.”
“If we do nothing, we’ll only encourage the Chinese to seize other disputed territories throughout the region,” the defense minister said. “Our inaction puts several of our regional allies at risk.”
The foreign minister nodded vigorously. “If we do nothing, we declare ourselves to be vassals of both the Chinese and the Americans.” She waved a hand for emphasis. “Completely unacceptable for a sovereign nation.”
“Our conference with President Lane yesterday made it clear that he will not dispatch the Sixth Fleet to block the Chinese,” Tanaka said. He turned to Myers, switched to English. “Do you agree with my assessment?”
Myers shook her head. “Not necessarily. President Lane has personally contacted President Sun, strongly opposing the current Chinese actions. He reaffirmed our treaty commitments to Japan and reminded him that any attack on Japan was tantamount to an attack on the United States.”
The aides of the few cabinet members who didn’t speak English whispered translations into their bosses’ ears.
“And what was President Sun’s response?” Ito asked.
Myers sighed. “He thanked the president for his concerns and promised to look further into the matter.”
The room exploded in a flurry of outrage. The translator did her best to keep up, but it was impossible to translate everything. It didn’t matter. Myers got the gist of it. They were mad as hornets, both at China and the U.S. She would be, too, if she were in their seats. She folded her hands politely in front of her and tried to calm the room with her disarming smile. “What matters is that President Sun has been formally warned about the consequences. I promise you those consequences were heard. President Lane also reminded President Sun that the George Washington carrier battle group was deployed to Okinawa two days ago for a training exercise.”
“President Sun is a liar if he is saying he has no idea about what’s going on,” Tanaka insisted.
“What would you expect him to do? Immediately apologize and promise to withdraw his fleet? If he’s behind all of this, he’s not going to back down with a phone call. But if other forces are at play, he might be helpless to act immediately,” Myers said.
“Other forces at play? It’s Communist China. He’s a dictator!” one of the ministers shouted.
The foreign minister leaned forward on her elbows. “But President Myers makes an interesting point. The letter was signed by Minister Feng, not President Sun.”
“He’s only covering himself in case something goes wrong,” Tanaka said. “Feng will suffer the consequences of failure, but Sun can seize the credit if they succeed.”
“That suggests some kind of schism within the leadership. A gap that perhaps we can exploit,” Myers said.
The room buzzed again as heads leaned in close for private conferences among themselves. That was a good sign, Myers thought. They’re thinking about the possibilities.
Everyone except Tanaka, who only glared at her. “Politburo politics are irrelevant. A fleet of Chinese ships loaded with missiles and marines is the reality we must address. Doing nothing is out of the question, in my opinion, and I still believe the Americans are hoping the Chinese will change their minds without the U.S. deploying the Sixth Fleet. Prime Minister Ito, I ask for a vote right now. I believe in the third option. I believe that Japan must act on its own. We should send our fleet now and dispatch our air force. We have a long and glorious history of defeating the Chinese dragon.”
Ito turned to the minister of defense. “What hope do we have of defeating the Chinese fleet?”
Like many of his counterparts in the West, the defense minister was a lawyer by training and a bureaucrat with no prior military service. His background had been entirely in government, working his way up the chain of security subcommittees and chairmanships in the legislature until he was appointed by Ito to head the defense ministry. He removed his glasses and set them on the table. “The commanders of the naval and air services assure me we can mount an effective attack on the Chinese fleet, but only with a high casualty rate of ships and aircraft and only if the Chinese don’t commit further air or naval assets. If the Chinese deploy long-range bombers or missiles, we risk a catastrophic defeat.”
“Sakai-san showed us the way! Death is not defeat!” The shouting cabinet minister was a former chairman of the Izokukai, one of the most conservative public-interest groups in Japan, responsible for the care of the controversial Yasukuni Shrine honoring Japan’s war dead.
“Hai!” Tanaka grunted. “I would rather suffer a catastrophic defeat in defense of our homeland than suffer the living humiliation of cowardice.”
Half the room shouted agreement. Several others nodded. Tanaka was running the room now. Ito turned to Myers, his eyes questioning her. Myers feared the worst.
“Mr. Tanaka, if Japanese forces cross the red line, China will consider it an act of war,” Myers said. “Do you want to bear the personal guilt of starting a war before Japan is even attacked?”
Tanaka laughed. “Guilt? That’s a strange word coming from an American. When did Afghanistan attack your country? Iraq? Libya? Syria? Yemen? How many others? You Americans have waged war all over the planet against countries that never attacked you. If you can bear the guilt, so can I.”
Myers flushed with anger. Probably the reaction Tanaka was looking for, she realized. Her job today wasn’t to defend American foreign policy, right or wrong. It was to prevent a war.
“My country is able to wage war all over the planet because it has the means to do so. We have the means to defend Japan as well, and we have been committed to doing so for more than seventy years. We will do everything in our power to prevent anything from happening to Japan now during this time of crisis.”
Tanaka sneered at her. “The same way your country protected the Syrian people when they were gassed by Assad? Defended Ukraine against the Russians? South Vietnam from North Vietnam? I could list a dozen examples of you Americans sacrificing your weaker allies on the altar of your own ambitions.”
“Tens of thousands of Americans have shed their blood in defense of her allies for no material gain whatsoever. When h
as Japan ever done that?” As soon as the words left Myers’s mouth, her heart sank. It was a huge insult and a terrible mistake. Her face stung with embarrassment.
The room quieted as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of it. All eyes turned to her. She lowered her gaze. She wanted to apologize, but couldn’t. What she said was hurtful, but it was true nonetheless.
The long, awkward silence was finally broken by Ito’s humble voice. “I thank President Myers for her frank and forthright opinions today. I have no doubt of her sincerity and integrity. She has presented the views of her nation, and I believe she wants the best for her country as well as ours. But our security, ultimately, depends on our own actions. We have relied on the United States far too long. This only proves to me once again it’s time to change the Constitution and begin our rearmament program as quickly as possible, even if this crisis should end peacefully.”
“Agreed,” Tanaka said. Other heads nodded.
“But the crisis is still upon us. We must decide what we shall do next.”
Myers was still stinging with embarrassment. She had offended everybody in the room, and in so doing had jeopardized everything, including the security of the United States. If Japan acted foolishly now, it might be because of her, and if they did, the Chinese would respond, and the United States would be at war. She took a deep breath.
“Mr. Prime Minister, please allow me to say one last thing if I may,” Myers said, softening her voice to nearly a whisper.
Ito’s mouth flattened. She was taking advantage of their friendship. But she was a former president of the United States, and she was here at his invitation.
“Yes?”
“The Chinese fleet is still twenty-two hours away, and as we discussed earlier, there seems to be some disconnect between President Sun and Mr. Feng regarding the deployment of that fleet. You’re right to say that you and your government are ultimately responsible for the security of your nation, and I agree with you wholeheartedly that you must do what you think is right. But as a friend of Japan, I would suggest that your government refrain from any provocative action for the next twenty-two hours. At least give us that much time to continue direct negotiations with the Chinese and pursue other avenues. If we have failed to stop the Chinese from violating Japanese territorial waters, then you should act according to your own best interests.”
Ito nodded, considering her words. He cleared his throat.
“In my opinion, if the Americans aren’t able to persuade the Chinese to turn around or if the Sixth Fleet isn’t willing to act decisively to stop them, then we should dispatch our armed forces into the region to defend the Senkakus. But we will wait for twenty-two hours before doing so.” He turned to the defense minister. “I assume the service chiefs have battle plans to defend the islands?”
“Hai.”
“Then I want those plans on my desk within the hour. And make all preparations necessary as if we are going to war twenty-two hours from now.”
The defense minister nodded violently. “Hai!”
Tanaka stood and began applauding. The other ministers followed. Ito remained seated, nodding his thanks. He shot a glance at Myers. That’s the best I can do.
She nodded her thanks and prayed it was enough. In twenty-two hours, she’d know for sure whether or not Pearce had pulled everything together and what stuff Lane was actually made of.
SIXTY
CABINET ROOM
THE KANTEI
TOKYO, JAPAN
18 MAY 2017
10:18 A.M. (JST)
Tanaka’s cell phone vibrated in his trousers while he was still applauding Ito’s decision. Ito was soon surrounded by the other ministers who bowed and shook his hand, congratulating him. Tanaka slipped out of the room into the hall in the confusion, heading for his private offices.
Ito’s decision to give the Americans another twenty-two hours was craven. The Americans would never risk a war with China on Japan’s behalf. Why couldn’t he see that? Like so many Japanese, Ito had become a willing participant in his own debasement. The whole country was suffering from a collective Stockholm syndrome. The Americans had killed millions of Japanese during the war, subverted the emperor’s divinity, and imposed pacifism on Japan by force of arms. And yet they acted as if America were some kind of benefactor. Japan must stand on its own two feet and assume its rightful role in the world. Only a nuclear-armed Japan would be able to do so. China, Russia, and the United States only respected force. Even backward North Korea had nuclear weapons—and look how the United States feared them!
Of course, Ito disagreed with his views. At least Ito was willing to consider conventional rearmament and amending the Constitution. But it wasn’t enough. Ito was the head of the nation and yet he had no martial spirit. That made him not only weak, but also a traitor to his culture and his people. Tanaka prayed Ito would have the guts to follow through on his promise to attack the Chinese fleet if the Americans failed to keep their promise, but he doubted it. Fortunately, Tanaka had a few reliable allies in the naval and air branches of the JSDF. If Ito wouldn’t pull the trigger, they would.
Safely behind his locked office door, Tanaka checked his text message. Finally, good news. His friend at the Naicho had, in fact, been able to locate Pearce through a mutual contact in the maritime service. The American was definitely up to something. The former CIA officer was mounting some kind of operation, no doubt directed at disabling Japan’s ability to defend itself against the Chinese. Like Myers, Pearce was an arrogant gaijin. He was also dangerous. Now that Pearce had been located, he could be dealt with. Tanaka messaged back to his friend at the Naicho to send his men home, then forwarded Pearce’s location to another number. He also called his JMSDF contact and told him to alert his men to the pending action.
Unlike Ito, Tanaka wasn’t afraid to shed blood in defense of the homeland. Especially American blood.
SIXTY-ONE
SASEBO NAVAL BASE
NAGASAKI PREFECTURE, JAPAN
18 MAY 2017
23:07 P.M. (JST)
A vintage American muscle car rumbled up to the poorly lit side gate of the JMSDF naval base. Only one guard was on duty. He stepped out of his guard shack and leaned into the driver’s open window. Two men dressed in black tactical gear were crammed inside the two-door coupe. The driver gave the password, slipped the guard a wad of cash. The guard waved them through.
—
Pearce and Dr. T. J. Ashley, a colleague and UUV expert, worked feverishly on the last assembly. They had just twenty minutes to finish up and get everything loaded on the fast launch if they hoped to meet the rendezvous at sea on time. Pearce’s Bluetooth rang.
“Are you watching your monitor?” Ian asked.
“Kinda busy.”
“You’ve got company.”
“So take care of it.”
“On it.”
“But I want them alive.”
Ian hesitated. “If you insist.”
—
The two-man sniper team set up on the rooftop of the nearest building just two hundred yards away from the Vietnam-era Quonset hut where Pearce and Ashley were working. The spotter had Pearce and the short-haired woman in his scope inside the building. He whispered the exact distance to the shooter, lying prone on his belly and sighting his rifle.
“Can’t miss,” he said, adjusting the scope one click.
The spotter glanced down around the perimeter one last time through his scope. Didn’t see anything.
“All clear. Fire when ready.”
The shooter smiled. His left hand was missing a finger but his shooting hand was intact.
“Ready.”
The shooter slipped his shooting hand toward the trigger guard. Two flash-bangs bounced on the asphalt roof between the shooter and spotter. Ian’s whisper-quiet quadcopter sped away. Before either man realized what had
happened, the flash-bangs exploded.
—
The yakuza awoke, his face slapped hard by a big hand.
He blinked his bleary eyes furiously against the fluorescent lights blazing overhead. He attempted to move his hands to shield his eyes but couldn’t. A thin plastic cable tie bit into his wrists behind his back so tightly his shoulders ached. He hardly noticed this because of the screaming headache hammering inside of his skull.
The big American lifted him up by his tactical shirt and pulled his face close to his, shouting. But the Okinawan yakuza didn’t speak any English and he could hardly hear him anyway through the shrill whine in his aching ears. He glanced over at the shooter, who lay on the floor, arms cuffed behind his back, blood trickling out of his ears and nose. His shirt had been ripped away, revealing the brightly colored yakuza tattoos adorning his chest and arms.
The spotter began to panic. If he looked as bad as the shooter did, then he was truly fucked.
The American let go of the spotter’s shirt and he thudded back to the floor. His eyes followed the American’s combat boots as they trudged toward a worktable in the center of the room. The spotter saw the short-haired lady carrying a big sealed plastic case out of the Quonset hut. She seemed entirely unconcerned about the situation. Her indifference terrified him even more.
The American turned around, holding a pair of yellow-gripped wire cutters in his hands. The spotter’s heart raced. The American marched over to the shooter and rolled him onto his stomach, exposing his cuffed hands pinned behind his back. The American was shouting again and kneeling on the shooter’s spine, holding the shooter’s left hand and tugging on the stubbed finger cut off from an earlier failure.
The shooter screamed, tears streaming down his face, utterly panicked. The spotter didn’t need to speak English to know what the American must have been threatening. The American shoved the shooter’s index finger between the razor-sharp cutting blades and began to squeeze the grips. That crazy American was going to cut off all the shooter’s fingers if he didn’t talk—but the spotter knew the shooter wouldn’t. Then the American would come after him—