Ultimatum

by Matthew Glass

  Joe Benton looked at him incredulously. “Jay, I didn’t just say that. This is where I’m staying. Every six hours, the American people are going to see me in front of this White House to know that’s exactly where I am.”

  MacMahon glanced at Enderlich. “But sir—”

  “I’m not taking discussion on this. Now, let’s have a full briefing. Let’s get everyone up to speed.”

  Lou Katz gave a summary of conditions in the Bay area and Kansas and the relief operations that were under way. Satellite imaging showed the extent of the devastation at the centers of both strike zones. Rescue teams had moved in until they ceased to find survivors, which left them some miles short of the strike zone in both areas.

  Joe Benton couldn’t keep himself from asking the question. “Stanford?”

  Lou Katz shook his head. “That’s gone, sir.” He almost whispered it. “Would have been gone in seconds.”

  Some of the people at the table gazed at the president, others looked away.

  Benton was silent. He frowned, then nodded slightly to himself.

  “General Steiffel,” he said, turning to Dan Steiffel, head of army intelligence who was coordinating information from the theater. “What can you tell us?”

  Steiffel reported that Chinese forces had moved on Taiwan and were encountering resistance, supported by the U.S. Pacific Fleet and the Grant and Franklin carrier groups, which had been in action since the previous day.

  “Who ordered that?” demanded Benton.

  “I did,” said MacMahon. “I was told you were not in contact, sir.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “That was my information, Mr. President.”

  Benton gazed at him, then turned back to Steiffel. “Give me the details.”

  “As of zero nine hundred we’ve flown four hundred thirty-seven sorties and have inflicted substantial losses on the enemy.”

  “Our losses?”

  “Twelve F-42s and five B-3 bombers, sir. The destroyer USS Cable is lightly damaged. The destroyer USS Morley Kade is reported sinking and assistance is being rendered.”

  “Sinking?”

  “We don’t have an estimate of casualties yet.”

  “What’s the crew complement?”

  “Three hundred twenty-three crew and officers at full strength, Mr. President.”

  “Are Chinese forces on the island?”

  “Yes, sir. PRC forces have landed in strength in four places along the west and northeast coasts and we have reports of advance units on the outskirts of Taipei.”

  “Sounds to me like Taiwan’s gone,” said the president.

  “Not necessarily, sir.” Steiffel went on to report what was happening on the mainland. There were reports of uprisings in Shanghai, Guangzhou, Hong Kong, Dalian and the central provincial capitals of Lanzhou and Chongqing, all being opposed by government troops. From Nanjing there were reports of an army division going over to the opposition and a battle taking place on the streets.

  “Mr. President,” said MacMahon, “if we can sit this out a little longer, the Chinese regime might fall. We could help that process. We have forces in the region. Let’s deploy away from Taiwan and toward the mainland.”

  “You want to invade China?” demanded Alan Ball, who had recovered some of his presence since the return to Washington, but still had the look of an utterly shell-shocked man.

  “I don’t want to invade China. I’m saying a little targeted assistance might help some of these uprisings to succeed.”

  “What exactly are these uprisings?” said Benton. “General Steiffel? Can you be more specific? Are these demonstrations? Are they riots? Are they genuine insurrections?”

  “It varies,” said Steiffel. “Our intelligence isn’t perfect.”

  “So some of these might just be demonstrations?”

  “For the moment, Mr. President. But the force the government is exerting is likely to make them worse.”

  “Or end them,” said Ball.

  “Mr. President,” said MacMahon, “I think we could be seeing the end of the regime.”

  “Let’s say you’re right, Jay. What happens next?”

  “Well...” MacMahon was puzzled. “They’re gone.”

  “I think what the president is asking,” said Larry Olsen, “is who do we negotiate with?”

  “And who has control of a nuclear arsenal that has attacked the United States twice within the last seventy-two hours,” said Benton pointedly.

  “We combine it with a knockout attack on their nuclear capability,” said General Anderson, chief of the army staff. “We disrupt command and control.”

  “And kill half a billion people.”

  “We didn’t ask to start this.”

  “General, if we do that, some of their weapons will be fired automatically. Isn’t that true?”

  Anderson didn’t respond. The president looked at Enderlich.

  “Yes, sir,” said Enderlich. “That’s true.”

  Joe Benton nodded. “Gentlemen,” he said to the Joint Chiefs. “You all need to understand something. This is not a war for regime change in the People’s Republic of China.”

  “But it’s an extraordinary opportunity,” said Jay MacMahon. “If we can get—”

  “No, Jay, that’s where you’re wrong. We need a strong government in China. This is a war about carbon. Not about Taiwan, not about the Chinese nuclear capability, not about regime change. Carbon. It’s about the future of our people, the American people, and what kind of life they’re going to live. We need a government in Beijing we can talk to which can cut emissions. We don’t need chaos in China. How long will it take them to sort themselves out if we help foment some kind of revolution? Two years? Five years?”

  “A generation,” said Olsen.

  “A generation,” said the president. “If that happens, we lose this war. Do you understand? We don’t win, no matter how many people we kill, no matter how many nuclear weapons we destroy. We lose.”

  “Mr. President,” said Jay MacMahon quietly, “what do you want?”

  “I want the Chinese government to remain in power. I want it to come out of this situation prepared to do what it has to do over emissions and to be capable of doing it. Otherwise, all of this, everything we’ve suffered, has been in vain. And we’ll probably end up suffering it again.”

  There was silence. The president looked at Olsen, who bore nearly as much responsibility for what had happened—right or wrong—as he did. Larry Olsen met his gaze and nodded.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” said Benton. “Admiral Enderlich, you will start immediately to withdraw all U.S. forces from the Taiwan region. And any covert support we’re giving to opposition groups on the mainland stops, right now. Have we been providing covert support?”

  Complicitous glances were exchanged around the table.

  “It stops. Now. Larry, I want you to make sure that President Wen, or whoever the hell’s in charge over there, knows we’re doing this. Make sure they know we’re withdrawing from Taiwan and we won’t interfere in internal affairs on the mainland. And tell him we’re not going to retaliate for their second nuclear strike for another twenty-four hours.” Benton looked at his watch. “Say until midnight our time tomorrow. If he publicly pledges support for the Carbon Plan by midnight our time tomorrow, we won’t retaliate.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “We will. It’s an ultimatum. He does what he has to do, he signs up to the Carbon Plan, or we hit him. I’ve done it once, I can do it again. His choice.”

  Olsen nodded.

  “And in the meantime,” said Enderlich, “we sit here waiting for them to throw whatever they’ve got at us.”

  “Don’t worry, Admiral,” said Benton. “If they do blow us all to hell, our response will do the same to them, won’t it? That ought to make you happy.”

  The admiral gazed resentfully at the president. Benton thought of putting the handcuffs back on him.

  “I
just think of those people,” said jay MacMahon. “The people the Chinese government is going to repress. And the people of Taiwan. We’re betraying them all. We could bring this regime down, but instead we’re betraying them all.” MacMahon paused, gazing directly at the president. “It makes me sick.”

  “Mr. MacMahon,” said Benton, “you are relieved of your duties.” He looked around the table. “With immediate effect I am assuming the duties of secretary of defense.”

  MacMahon stood up and walked out.

  “Anyone else?” Benton waited a moment. “All right. Admiral Enderlich, you remain under arrest. General Anderson, I appoint you acting chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. You have your orders.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go and execute them.”

  ~ * ~

  Thursday, November 3

  The White House

  Armored vehicles were on the White House lawns. The White House itself was full of soldiers. Anti-blast nets were draped across the windows. A further Chinese strike was possible, and whoever had stayed in Washington knew they were the likely target. Troops patrolled the streets to prevent looting in the evacuated city. There were scares. Reports of possible incoming missiles that failed to materialize. Whenever there was a loud noise, someone would jump.

  By two in the morning, Taipei had fallen. Chinese news agencies had announced the reunification of the province of Taiwan with the motherland.

  But by now Joe Benton had started getting calls. They began a few hours after his statement on the White House lawn. Maybe it was the sight of him literally putting his own life on the line that did it, maybe it was the realization of the sheer, unimaginable horror of what had actually happened. First Ogilvie, then Nakamura called. When Ingelbock of Germany rang to announce his support, Benton knew the balance was really shifting. Sometime after the Chinese announced the fall of Taipei, Prime Minister Kumar of India came on the line. He apologized for the lateness of the call but said he thought the president would still be awake. Benton listened to him promise that India would sign up to the plan.

  At seven in the morning he heard Alexei Gorodin’s voice. “Please make certain that President Wen knows,” he said after Gorodin had told him Russia would join.

  Still no word had come from anyone in authority in Beijing.

  Shortly after eight a.m. Larry Olsen called to request that the president come down to the situation room. The military chiefs were waiting when he got there.

  “I have a verbal message from Minister Ding,” said Olsen.

  The president looked at him expectantly.

  “He said the government of the People’s Republic understands that the United States requires retaliation for the nuclear strike on Kansas, and that his government will therefore accept a strike on a tertiary target in China. He’s given me four alternatives.”

  “What did he say about the Carbon Plan?”

  “Nothing. That was his message, Mr. President. We are free to launch a retaliatory strike on one of these targets and there will be no response.”

  The president stared at him.

  “When do they want us to hit them?” asked General Anderson.

  “Today.”

  “Have you got the list of targets?”

  Olsen pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Anderson. The general studied it.

  “Bob,” said Steiffel, “I’m not so sure this is a good idea. We hit them, it makes them look like the victim again.”

  “How can they be the victim?” said Anderson. “They attacked us. This is a retaliation.”

  “But if we don’t retaliate the second time, we keep the moral high ground. Strategically, that’s more significant than a strike on some godforsaken town.”

  “Dan’s right,” said another of the generals. “That’s what they want. They want to be able to say, the United States launched the last attack, and we were the ones who held back.”

  Anderson shook his head. “You have to understand the way they think. They’d demand retaliation, so they think we will. They think if we don’t have a retaliation, we’ll always be wanting it. It’s important we do this for their sake. They need it to feel safe.”

  “Sir,” said a colonel who was one of Steiffel’s senior aides, “I would also say, unless we do retaliate, it’ll look like we backed down and were too scared to stop them taking Taiwan. That sends a bad message to other states that might be tempted to attack us.”

  “Exactly,” said Anderson.

  Steiffel frowned. “I don’t know. That might be right, but. . . they asked us for this. That means we’re giving them what they want. It doesn’t smell right. We should think about it.”

  “We’re doing it!” said Anderson.

  “No, we’re not.” Joe Benton had listened in disbelief. “I am not going to kill another million, or two million, or whatever-it-is million people just because someone tells me I can.” He looked at the Joint Chiefs in revulsion. “Listen to what you’re saying!”

  They were silent.

  The president turned to Olsen. “Thank Ding for his kind offer. Tell him our deadline stands. They have until midnight eastern time to sign up to the Carbon Plan. If they don’t do it, we will launch retaliation, and we’ll be the ones to choose what it is. And it’s Wen himself who has to say they sign up. In public, in Chinese, and on a website that’s unrestricted in China.”

  Olsen nodded.

  “And in the meantime, get on the phone to every foreign minister in every country that’s signed up and get them calling whoever they can find in Beijing to tell them they’ll join us in sanctions if China doesn’t come on board.”

  “And if they don’t, Mr. President?” said Anderson. “You’ve told them we’ll retaliate. We’ll have to do it. What do you have in mind?”

  Benton gazed at him. “I’ll cross that bridge when I have to.”

  He found Heather in the middle of the day. Her eyes were empty, grief-stricken. No uncertainty remained, not the slightest shred of hope to cling to. Joe knew he was lucky right now to have so many demands to occupy his time.

  The hours seemed to fly by, filled with meetings and briefings and decisions he had to make to drive the emergency relief effort. The midnight deadline loomed closer. Benton was acutely aware that Ding’s message hadn’t mentioned the Carbon Plan. What if Wen didn’t sign up? What if he just said, effectively, come on, hit me? China would suffer deeply if it tried to go it alone for any length of time with the whole world applying sanctions, but maybe Wen thought, when it came to it, the sanctions would never be applied. And maybe he thought Benton wouldn’t launch any retaliation. Or maybe he didn’t care. China survives. Whatever happens, China survives. Maybe Wen thought that somehow all of this would actually be good for the party’s hold on power. So maybe that’s what he was going to do, like he had done all along, at every step, call anything that looked even remotely like an American bluff. Benton couldn’t bear to think about it. It was too horrible to imagine.

  At nine p.m. he was in the Oval Office. Ball, Hoffman, Eales and another half dozen people were with him. Olsen arrived. They discussed the outlook. All afternoon, the Joint Chiefs had been pressuring Benton to authorize specific action in the event that Wen didn’t sign up. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to look at their plans, as if just considering them might make the nightmare come true.

  Now he had to.

  At ten o’clock Jodie Ames interrupted them. There had been an announcement across the Chinese media that President Wen would be speaking from Taipei at ten thirty in the morning local time, ten thirty p.m. in Washington.

  At ten thirty, the Oval Office was crowded. The screen showed Wen at a lectern in front of an enormous crowd of civilians. He was waiting for applause to stop. Benton wondered how many people they must have shipped to Taipei to get that response.

  Then Wen began speaking.

  The web stream carried an official translation. In the Oval Office they listened to Wen’s words i
n Mandarin and Oliver Wu translated.

  Wen began by formally announcing the reintegration of the province of Taiwan into the People’s Republic. There was prolonged applause, and Wen stood there, beaming, and clapping in response as it went on. When the applause died down, he eulogized the Chinese military that had carried out the conquest. He could hardly get through a couple of sentences without more applause breaking out. He launched into a history of the loss of Taiwan and came back to the theme of its glorious recovery. The motherland was reunited. The great imperialist wound on the body of the Chinese people was healed.