It looked like the final stage of the operation, taking Portland and overthrowing the Palaeopitus, would go sometime in October. The total Cascadian force was down to under 20,000 men. The Palaeopitus had concentrated its best troops, those who were still motivated by Deep Green ideology rather than greed, around Portland. They would be a tough nut to crack, but the hopelessness of the overall situation made me believe even the Deep Greeners might not put up too much of a fight. We continued to stress that anyone who surrendered would be treated well, and on October 3rd we twisted the arms of the Resistance leaders into promising foreign sanctuary to native Cascadians as well as mercenaries, if they wanted it.
On October 5th, the conference to set D-Day met on board the Adams. Attendees included Resistance leaders from both Idaho and Portland, the Japanese naval staff, Admiral Tanaka and myself. I still wanted to go slow, preferring to spend time rather than blood since time was now working for us. But the Resistance scented victory and wanted to move fast. Tokyo was also pressing Admiral Tanaka to get the whole thing over with so they could begin to restore normal relations with China. I hoped to get a compromise, aiming for about the 20th.
The conference was due to start at 10:00 hours. At 09:51, Tomo knocked at my door.
“Admiral Rumford, Admiral Tanaka asks if you would join him immediately in the CIC.” Tomo's use of my title and his tone both told me something was up.
“Sure, let’s go on down,” I replied. Since our first headbutting over the question of fleet dispersion, Tanaka had involved me in all the important decisions. I was careful not to press too hard, and he in turn took my input seriously. Looking at the clock, I realized this meeting would almost certainly make us both late for the conference. In view of the Japanese stress on punctuality, that meant rocks and shoals ahead.
The atmosphere inside the CIC confirmed my guess. I’d been with the Japanese long enough that I could begin to read their body language. The staff officers were moving like marionettes, in short, jerky motions, punctuated with rapid-fire, overloud talk. Admiral Tanaka almost ran over to me, bowed deeply and apologized for delaying my arrival at the conference.
“No sweat,” I replied through Tomo, although the admiral was in fact sweating. I hated councils of war. “We have an unusual development,” Tanaka continued. “A Chinese military transport aircraft is flying toward Cascadia.”
So far, the Chinese had not challenged our blockade in the air or on the water. “Maybe it is to pull their people out,” I replied. “If they are withdrawing their embassy and military mission, that’s a good sign for us. It means they know the game is up.”
“Unfortunately, that does not appear to be the aircraft’s mission,” Tanaka replied. “We have intercepted a communication that suggests another purpose.”
Commander Yahashi, the Signals Intercept officer, stepped forward. “Yesterday afternoon, we intercepted a radio message from the Cascadian government to Beijing. The message read, ‘Confirm three tons AU 173.’ Three hours later, Beijing replied, ‘Confirmed 173.’ Forty-five minutes ago, a Japanese air station on Hokkaido queried the Chinese aircraft now heading for Cascadia. It identified itself as Flight 173.”
“In other words, the Chinese aircraft is bringing the Cascadian government three tons of gold to pay its troops,” I replied.
“That is our interpretation,” Yahashi replied.
“The question is, would three tons of gold enable the Cascadian government to reverse the trend on the ground?” Tanaka asked. “And if so, should we intercept the aircraft?”
“That’s two questions,” I replied. “And there’s a third. Were we meant to intercept this information?”
“What do you mean?” Tanaka asked.
“Is this a set-up? Do the Chinese want to create an incident, as a pretext for escalation?”
Once Tomo translated, that brought a general round of hissing. “Yes, that is also a possibility,” Tanaka said.
“If China wants an incident, it wants one with the Northern Confederation, not Japan,” I said. “So the decision is my responsibility.” I took a few moments to think. That much gold would enable the Palaeopitus to stabilize its forces, at the least. We would lose time–a month? two months? three? I was counting on time to work for us, to reduce the odds against us in Portland. Now, we would lose the time advantage.
“I’ll take the risk,” I told Tanaka. “It may be a trap, but sometimes the only way out of a trap is first to fall into it.” When the other side faces you with a dilemma, that’s sometimes the only choice. Score one for them, I thought.
“So you think we should intercept the aircraft?” Tanaka asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “Are you willing to do that?”
Now it was Tanaka’s turn to think. After a pause, he said, “The aircraft making the intercept would carry Northern Confederation markings, but in fact, Japanese aircraft would be shooting down a Chinese aircraft. I do not think Tokyo would look favorably on that.”
“I understand,” I said. “But I said intercept, not shoot down. You have highly skilled pilots. Can they maneuver their aircraft so as to continually force the Chinese plane off course?”
Tanaka turned for a quick conversation with his air boss.
“Yes, we can do that.”
“The Chinese pilot will be a long way from home. His eye will be on his fuel gauge. If you force him into constant maneuvering, he’ll have to calculate the possibility that instead of landing in Portland, he’ll have to make it all the way back to China. I think he’ll make that decision pretty quickly,” I said. “And I’ll bet he heads for home. That means no gold and no incident.”
After some more jabber with his staff, Tanaka turned to me with a smile and bowed. “We will intercept the Chinese aircraft as you suggested.”
“When will the intercept take place?” I asked.
The G-2 replied, “The track of the Chinese aircraft will put it in our range in about four hours.”
“Intercept as close to the carrier as possible,” I suggested. “We want the Chink to go bingo before our own fighters do.”
After Tomo translated, the air boss looked at me, grinned, and said “Roger!” I was glad I’d spent enough time with Marine aviators to learn their lingo.
That problem solved, Admiral Tanaka, Tomo, and I headed for the D-day conference. The admiral was upset by his tardiness and half-jogged along the corridors and up the companionways, rehearsing his gomens for being ten minutes late. We entered the conference room adjacent to the admiral’s quarters to find a bunch of nervous Japanese officers and no Cascadians. The Cascadian landing force commander had already come out from Portland, and we flew in a delegation from the Resistance Council in Idaho yesterday. So they were here, but not here.
The explanation sauntered in more than an hour later, with the rest of the Cascadians. The Idaho delegation was headed by a god-damned woman! Shit, I thought, here we go. Not only are women never ready on time, they absolutely hate taking responsibility and making decisions. I should have guessed that even the Resistance in Cascadia would be infected by the old nonsense from the latter days of the American republic, including putting women in men’s jobs.
Her ladyship offered the slenderest of excuses for keeping us all waiting, something about not being able to sleep with so many armed men around. That was a double entendre, I thought. Then, she bloviated for most of another hour about how she hated war, agreed with the Deep Greeners about green growing things and furry little creatures, deeply regretted the need for foreign assistance, and just felt so unhappy that things had some to such a pass. The Japanese were polite as always, but I could tell the Cascadian Resistance military men wanted to crawl under the table. By the time the dingbat finished, lunch was ready and we had not moved one inch closer to making a decision. How wisely Clausewitz wrote against councils of war–and he’d never dreamed about including a woman in one, not even in his worst nightmares.
I was supposed to sit next to the silly bint at lun
ch, but I motioned a Jap lieutenant into my place and took his at the far end of the table. He didn’t speak a word of English, which in this case was a comfort. Tomo, who was stuck up there with the admiral, told me she spent most of the meal refusing to eat any meat or fish and lecturing the Japanese about hunting whales.
I ended up sitting next to a young Cascadian resistance leader from Portland. “Is she typical of what we’re supposed to put in power in Cascadia?” I asked him. “If she is, I’m wondering why we’re here.”
“She’s typical of the so-called Resistance Council in Idaho, but not of the people in Cascadia who’ve done the fighting,” he replied. “The Council thinks they’ll just walk in once it’s all over and tell us what to do. Worse, what they want is not all that different from Deep Green, a paler shade maybe, but at root the same stuff. It’s all pagan, but the fighters in the Resistance are almost all Christians, and we’re not going to take it.”
I knew the troops on the amphibs were Christians to a man. Maybe this broad didn’t represent much beyond herself and the Council. If that was the case, maybe I could find a way to tilt the game for the good guys and against her and her pagan friends.
It was 13:30 before we got back to the conference room, and before we’d all sat down she was on her feet again. “Before this goes any further, I want to take some time and make sure you all understand just how the Council feels about the situation.”
“Lady, cut the crap,” I said from my end of the table. “Nobody in this room gives a rat’s ass how you or anybody else feels. We’re here to make a military decision, and you’ve already made it more than clear that you have nothing to contribute. So let’s get on with business.”
The Japanese looked inscrutable, the Cascadian landing force CO gave me a thumbs up, and the dumb broad began to say, “I am deeply offended that–”
“SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!” I bellowed in my best Marine parade ground voice.
She sat down and shut up. With women, as with many things, the old ways usually work best.
We then got a useful discussion going on the pros and cons of moving now or waiting. The deck was stacked against me, but I had some strong arguments and by around 15:00 I felt the group was beginning to move my way. At the least, I should be able to get the compromise October 20 date.
It was just after seven bells that the carrier air boss came into the room and whispered something to Admiral Tanaka. Tanaka looked at me, then spoke quickly to Tomo. “Would you join Admiral Tanaka in the CIC, please?” Tomo translated.
We hurried back down to the CIC, jogging again, now faster than when we’d been late. I figured we had news about the intercept and hoped they would tell us the Chinese aircraft had turned for home. But our pace and Tanaka’s face both said the news wasn’t good.
Once again we entered a tense CIC. The Japanese staff officers avoided looking at me, which also suggested something had gone wrong, something that was my fault. I suddenly understood where the term “losing face” came from. It was as if I didn’t have one.
The air officer explained the situation while Tomo translated. “Four Mitsubishi fighters from this ship intercepted Flight 173 just after 15:00 hours. As we agreed, they began close maneuvering to force the Chinese aircraft to take evasive action. Whenever the Chinese aircraft attempted to head west, they cut it off.”
“At approximately 15:20 hours, the Chinese aircraft made a clear turn east and stayed on its new course. Our aircraft formed a close escort around it, but took no more maneuvers. Our pilots have reported that our message must have been clear to the Chinese aircrew: if you head for home, we will stay out of your way.”
“At approximately 15:25, our fighters were preparing to take a more distant escorting position, with the intention of accompanying the Chinese aircraft to the limit of their range. Without warning, the Chinese aircraft turned to the right as hard as possible. Our closest fighter did the same, but our pilot apparently was taken by surprise. The right wing of his fighter touched the tail of the Chinese aircraft, and both aircraft plunged toward the sea out of control and crashed.”
“Were there any survivors?” I asked.
“Our pilot did not attempt to eject.” Transport aircraft, I knew, generally had no ejection seats. But fighter planes did.
I had to try to put myself in the Oriental mindset. I understood why the Japanese pilot had not ejected. He felt he had failed, so he went down with his plane. What about the hard right turn of the Chinese transport? The Chinese crew knew they were all dead men if they had a mid-air collision. Were their orders to create an incident? Would Chinese commit suicide in order to carry out their mission, as Japanese would? Ever since the Sino-Japanese War of 1895, the Japanese had always beaten the Chinese. Did the Chinese crew find death preferable to another Chinese defeat? Or would worse have been waiting for them it they came home having failed?
Whatever their intention, one thing was clear. We now had an incident between China and the Northern Confederation, an incident with Chinese casualties. My plan for the intercept had failed. I’d been hooked by one horn of the dilemma, and my first task now was to avoid the other one.
Turning to Admiral Tanaka, I said, “In view of this change in the situation, my judgment of the appropriate timing for our attack on Portland is also changed. We must act to resolve the situation in Cascadia as swiftly as possible, to present China with a fait accompli. That may forestall further Chinese action as pointless.”
“I agree,” Tanaka replied. After a short talk with his staff, he said, “We can be ready the morning of the day after tomorrow, October 7th.”
“The landing force is as ready as it will ever be. Let’s do it,” I said.
On the way back to the conference, I had to make some more quick decisions. Trust was vital in any military operation, especially a combined operation with forces from two countries. But I did not trust the Idaho crowd.
Walking into the conference room, I did not sit down. “Gentlemen,” I said, ignoring the woman, “we have had some developments in the military situation which concern only those who will be taking an active part in the operation. This conference is concluded. The delegation from Idaho will report to the flight deck immediately, where an aircraft is waiting to take them home. I will ask the Cascadian Resistance military leaders to remain here for some further discussions.”
The broad at least knew when to cut her losses. “It is imperative that the Resistance Council arrive in Portland as soon as possible after fighting is concluded,” she said.
“We will send an aircraft to Idaho as soon as Portland is secure,” I replied.
“Thank you very much,” she said stiffly.
The Idaho delegation filed out, and the rest of us sat back down. I explained the incident with the Chinese aircraft and why it was now necessary to move fast. Everyone saw the point. “I know the landing force is ready. Can the Resistance units in and around Portland move by the day after tomorrow?”
The consensus was that they could. Their job was to tie down as many enemy forces as possible while the landing force went after the Palaeopitus.
“OK, it's a go.”
The last big question was the weather. In Cascadia, it rains a lot, the weather changes almost hourly, and fog is common. Rain we could handle, but fog was a problem, since we were coming by air straight into downtown Portland. Like the old German airborne, we would land right on top of the objective to cause maximum confusion among the enemy.
By 03:00 on October 7th, the fleet’s chief weather boffin gave us a go. The ceiling should be about 3000 feet, which was perfect. They wouldn’t see us coming until we were on top of them.
Overnight, the fleet had steamed up close to the coast to minimize flight time. We had enough helos to carry a third of the landing force in each lift, with about two hours between lifts. Our target was the former campus of Portland Community College, located on top of Mount Sylvania, which the Palaeopitus had turned into their compound.
At 05:0
0 the local Resistance forces were to hit Deep Green barracks and checkpoints throughout the Portland area. Their mission was to keep the enemy occupied so he couldn’t shift his forces. At 05:30, our first lift was to hit the compound. The timing was tricky. We needed to tie down enemy forces before we went in, but not give the Palaopitus time to skip town.
It didn’t work. I went in with the first lift, and we found the former community college deserted. Food, clothes, and abandoned vehicles spoke of a hasty flight some time in the night. They’d obviously gotten the word we were coming, probably from a double agent in the Resistance. I was disappointed, but I knew that when you worked with local forces this kind of thing had to be expected.
Elsewhere in the city, the remaining enemy didn’t put up much of a fight. They knew that if they surrendered they’d get their back pay, a bonus, and a safe trip wherever they wanted to go. The government they were fighting for couldn’t offer them any of those things, much less all of them.
By about 11:00 the city was in our hands, but not the Palaeopitus. The local Resistance leaders trickled in to the former campus where they knew they’d find me. I needed them, because their humint was the only source for what I needed to know: where had the Palaeopitus fled? I had air reconnaissance up, but in typical Cascadian fashion, the ceiling was coming down. The air boss called to tell me that by 13:00, they’d have to suspend air operations.
We established our headquarters in the old gym of the community college and the Cascadians worked their nets from there, trying to piece reports together. As always, many of the reports were false, and we couldn’t know which were good. We ended up graphing them, trying to determine where the most sightings were being reported. If the bad reports were spread evenly, the density of reports in a given area should still give us a clue. By mid-afternoon a pattern was emerging: a steady build-up of reports from west of the city, toward the sea.
Victoria: A Novel of 4th Generation War Page 36