Penko was not happy. Although the AWACS Westinghouse radar could reach out 250 miles, the capability of the radar improved at shorter ranges. The range of the J-STARS radar was even less. How close does she plan on getting? he wondered. An orbit over the Gulf of Tonkin in international waters was fine with him.
LaGrange saw him staring at her. She couldn’t resist the opportunity. “Relax, Moose. We’re not going into China.” A long pause. “Yet.”
“We can’t do that!” he protested.
“Wanna bet?”
“Major,” Moose Penko said over the intercom, “we can do something here.” LaGrange caught the hard, cold, detached tone in his voice. Experience had taught her not to ignore it. She moved behind him to look over his shoulder. “We got eight Warthogs in a CAP near Guilin,” he said. She knew that, but Guilin was beyond the range of their radar. “We can’t paint the Warthogs or Guilin, but we can give them range and bearing calls to the bandits off a bull’s-eye.”
It made sense to LaGrange. But the bull’s-eye had to be inside the range of their radar. “We need a common point,” she said.
Moose’s thick fingers danced over the keyboard like a concert pianist and an overlay appeared on his monitor. “This is a schematic of their training area. They call it the Dragon’s Teeth. This point is called the Gullet. We can use it as a bull’s-eye. It’s in radar range and they know the area like the back of their hand.” Moose had done his homework.
“But how do we talk to them?” she added, mulling Moose’s suggestion over. “The Hogs are still out of UHF range.” The range of the Warthog’s UHF radio was limited to line of sight—approximately 180 miles. The solution came to her. “But we’re close enough to use a radio relay.”
A message was sent over the high-frequency radio to the wing’s bunker at Guilin and Leonard ordered Mako Luce to shoot the moon and fly southward until he was in UHF radio contact with the AWACS. It worked and Moose transmitted his first range and bearing call. “Mako, four bandits bearing one-two-zero at forty from the Gullet. Heading three-two-five, speed four-three-five.” Mako relayed the range and bearing call to the Warthogs and they headed for the bandits. Moose kept feeding updates to the fighters, but they never found the bandits in the dark.
Moose stared at his monitor as the red inverted Vs, the bandits, reached the maximum range of the radar and disappeared in the direction of Guilin. He wanted to nail them, keep them from dropping their bombs. But he had failed. His frustration increased when the red inverted Vs reappeared, headed south and for safety after dropping their bombs. For Moose, the dots on his monitor were reality.
LaGrange saw the corded muscles in his neck bulge and his shoulders flex. Please, Moose, she thought, don’t hit anything. She wanted to touch him but knew it would be all wrong. For reasons she didn’t understand, Moose hated her guts. Tough tortillas, she told herself, he’s here for the same reason I’m here. “Next time,” she told him.
Friday, October 4
Nanning, China
For the first time in his life, Colonel Charles Parker experienced true rage. It seared him with a torchlike heat, burning away all his doubts, all the misgivings that had come with his assignment to the MAAG.
He had worked hard and as a reward, Von Drexler had made him the vice commander of the AVG. As second in command, he had experienced the depths of Von Drexler’s ego-driven mania. A brief period of sanity had been restored to his life when Trimler had taken over command of the MAAG and Pontowski the AVG. But Pontowski was on emergency leave, burying his wife, and Trimler had gone missing in the chaos of the attack on Nanning.
Bombers had appeared overhead at exactly 0415 in the morning. They had not aimed for any specific target and had dropped their bombs at random on the city, killing and maiming innocent Chinese. But the AVG’s headquarters compound was untouched and only two of his security police had been cut by flying glass. Parker had sent one of them to a nearby hospital to have a glass splinter removed from his left eye. But he had returned untreated because the hospital had been bombed.
The security policeman’s eyewitness account of the carnage at the hospital was only the first spark. More reports came in of nerve and mustard gas casualties—Kang was using chemical weapons on his own people. When communications with the New China Guard were reestablished, he learned of special forces units operating in the city with orders to kill everyone they saw.
His smoldering anger grew into a raging inferno. This was not the way to fight a war! Parker forced himself to think rationally. Slowly, he banked the fires burning inside him and in the ashes, a cold fury remained and he found hate.
A PLA special forces unit lobbed the first mortar round into the AVG compound at first light. The mortar attack lasted four minutes before they stormed the command post. Their orders remained the same as before.
Kamigami knew he was in the midst of a miracle. He had reinforced Resolute Company with Ox and Rat companies and the three had held. Five hundred men had stopped a division. They had used the narrow roads, flooded rice paddies, and detailed knowledge of the terrain to their advantage. But it had been a narrow thing and only the arrival of the Warthogs at first light had made the difference.
His communications were still good and the information coming through the J-STARS module was giving him the edge he needed to understand the situation around him. The three regiments south of the Pearl had also held and were proving their worth. But the Tenth Division on his left flank was crumbling.
An air liaison officer was begging for his attention. He wished the Chinese would be more direct and butt in when they had something important to tell him. But he understood. “General Kamigami,” the ALO said, “Guilin has been attacked and the runway is severely damaged. Their aircraft are recovering at Bose and the Americans are abandoning Guilin.”
Kamigami had lost close air support.
“Are we still in contact with the AVG at Nanning?” he asked. He needed to know when the A-10s would be able to launch.
The ALO dropped his eyes and studied the floor. “We’ve lost all contact with the AVG.”
Kamigami considered his next move. There was a lull in the fighting as Kang regrouped, and now was the time to disengage and start a tactical withdrawal. How long did they have before the Tenth Division on his left flank crumbled and he was faced with a total rout? He needed to force a decision from his own headquarters at the New China Guard. But unless Zou Rong was there to make the decision, nothing would happen.
He told his communications officer to place him in contact with the New China Guard command bunker at Nanning. It took thirty minutes to reach his immediate superior—an excellent general who had defected from the PLA to support Zou.
“President Zou has given strict orders,” the general said. “You must stand firm at all costs. The New China Guard will not retreat another inch.”
“If we do that,” Kamigami told him, “Kang will roll right over us and be in Nanning in an hour. By withdrawing now, I can slow him down.”
The general understood perfectly and he leveled with Kamigami. “It is chaos here. No one knows what to do. Zou is frozen with fear and can’t make a decision. If he cracks and leaves, many officers will desert our cause, steal what they can, and join Kang.”
Kamigami heard the desperation in the man’s voice. “Is Zou still in the bunker?”
“Yes, but he has ordered his pilots and bodyguards to be ready to leave on a moment’s notice.”
“Can you hold things together until I get there?”
“Maybe,” the general answered. “But you must hurry. When Zou leaves, we are lost.”
Kamigami cut the connection and looked at the situation map on the wall. Damn! he thought, I can’t leave now. He owed his men leadership and he had to do it from his own headquarters. To leave now would be the same as desertion. He had learned his lessons well.
“General Kamigami,” a familiar voice said. It was Trimler. The American was dressed in BDUs and still wearing a f
lak vest and helmet. He had gathered a small group of Americans and Chinese together and fought his way out of Nanning to reach the First Regiment. “It’s all coming unglued,” the general growled.
Kamigami reviewed the situation with Trimler and realized what he had to do.
The helicopter came in low over the outskirts of Nanning, flying at rooftop level to avoid hostile fire. It settled onto the helipad of a heavily fortified compound next to Zou’s helicopter. Trimler jumped out, spoke to the waiting general, and motioned at the helicopter for the other passenger to join them. The three hurried into the bunker.
Zou Rong was pacing back and forth like a caged animal. He stopped and jerked his arm at the situation map on the wall. “Reinforce General Kamigami with thirty tanks from the Tenth Division and order him to immediately counterattack.” He dropped his arm. No one told him the Tenth Division did not have thirty tanks. “Issue a new general directive!” he shouted. “Anyone retreating will be shot on the spot.” Again, no one answered, and he resumed his pacing.
Trimler paused in the doorway—he could sense defeat in the men around him. It crackled in the air with its own kinetic energy, waiting to release its destructive power. “President Zou,” he said, announcing himself.
Zou turned at the sound of his name. “You!” he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Trimler. “This has been a plot by the Americans to destroy me from the very first.” He pointed to one of his colonels standing against a wall. “Arrest the American bastard and execute him. Now!” The colonel didn’t move.
Trimler scanned the room, gauging the situation. He had never seen so many men on the edge of panic. Zou had lost his nerve and was crumbling, and with him, the Republic of Southern China. Trimler drew himself to attention and stalked to the situation map, every step confident and sure. He gestured at the big map. “You are far from being lost, Mr. President.”
“Do you know what will happen to me if I am captured?” Zou shouted. The graphic picture of the corpse of Wang Peifu, the PLA deserter who had joined the Junkyard Dogs only to be recaptured and executed by the death of a thousand cuts, was etched in his consciousness.
“You are not going to be captured, Mr. President, because General Kamigami is going to stop Kang here.” He jabbed at the map and circled the area west of Bose. “But you”—he stressed the “you”—”must make certain things happen. You must order a tactical withdrawal and make Kang bleed with every step.”
Zou stopped his pacing and cocked his head, staring at the map while Trimler rattled off what Kamigami wanted to do. For a fraction of a moment, Zou’s face calmed. Then his fear was back, riding him hard. “No,” he rasped, “it is not enough. How can Kamigami guarantee my safety?”
Trimler pointed to the door. Every head looked in the direction he was pointing—at Jin Chu. She was standing in the doorway, frail and trembling, dressed in the same clothes she had worn when Zou and Kamigami rescued her from the PLA. The tension in the room shattered as Zou nodded, his face again calm.
In his desperation, Kamigami had given Jin Chu to Zou.
CHAPTER 19
Monday, October 7
Washington, D.C.
The woman’s name carried a “Hazardous to Your Career” warning and Bill Carroll’s secretary was all smiles and attention when she entered the office. “Good morning,” she chimed. “Mr. Carroll is with the president and will be with you at any moment.” She gestured gracefully to a wing chair. “May I get you some coffee? Tea?”
Elizabeth Martha, better known as EM to her friends and confidants, sat down and crossed her legs. “Tea would be fine,” she said. Reluctantly, EM mentally conceded a meeting with the president of the United States was a valid excuse for keeping her waiting. But she didn’t like it. Elizabeth Martha had political clout and believed in using it.
Bill Carroll came through the door, smiled, and ushered her into his office. The woman was not what he expected. She was elegantly dressed, slender, and young-looking, and not a single strand of gray was visible in her dark hair.
EM came right to the point. There was no hint of politeness or civility in her voice. “Where is my son?”
Carroll sat down. “Please have a seat, Mrs. Hazelton.” She ignored him and remained standing. “Wentworth is at Cam Ranh Bay in Vietnam,” he told her.
“Then why haven’t I heard from him?” she demanded.
“I can’t answer that. Perhaps you would like to speak to his immediate superior. She arrived from Cam Ranh this morning.” He hit the intercom. “Please ask Mazie to come in,” he said.
EM sat down. “I’ve been wanting to meet your Miss Kamigami. It escapes me why someone like her would be placed in a position of such responsibility.”
Carroll briefly considered two replies, both of which would have destroyed whatever chance he had of appeasing the woman. Astute operators on the Washington scene did not, at least knowingly, cross EM Hazelton. She had worked hard to earn the name “Bitch Queen of Capitol Hill” and considered it an accolade. A fleeting regret at involving Wentworth Hazelton crossed his mind. Originally, he had hoped Went’s participation would mute, perhaps even channel, his mother’s political influence into supporting the administration’s efforts to contain the trouble in China.
The expression on the secretary’s face warned Mazie that danger lurked in Carroll’s office. She went inside anyway. Mazie estimated the wind chill coming from EM Hazelton to be around minus fifty degrees but she gave her a beautiful smile as Carroll asked about Went. Mazie explained she had left Hazelton in Cam Ranh Bay less than twenty-four hours before and he was fine. “Why don’t you telephone him?” Mazie suggested. She scribbled a number down and handed it to her. “We can call him right now, if you wish,” she said.
EM studied Mazie. Her eyes were cold and hostile. “Thank you.” She rose to leave, her mission accomplished. Wentworth had been deliberately avoiding her since he had become involved with this woman and now that she had met the “poor, unfortunate child,” one of her codes for “a piece of trash,” she could end his infatuation. Carroll escorted EM out, turned her over to a young military aide, and returned.
“What was that all about?” Mazie asked.
“China’s gone critical and Washington is choosing sides,” he answered. “La Belle Hazelton is deciding which one to join. Mazie, we may have lost our window of opportunity in China. All along, my goal was to contain China’s expansionist tendencies by helping Zou Rong and his rebels. I thought we had a chance to create a buffer state between China and Southeast Asia.”
“And losing southern China and Hong Kong to Zou,” Mazie added, “would sufficiently weaken the central government in Beijing to curb other moves against Taiwan, Singapore, Korea, and Japan—in that order.” Nothing new was being said and they were only rehashing the “Soviet Option” as applied in Asia.
Carroll paced the floor, needing to talk. “Beijing has been playing off Zou against Kang to keep them both weak, counting on picking up the pieces later. But everybody, us included, misjudged Kang’s strength. He’s consolidating his position and emerging as the new Mao Zedong of China.”
Mazie shook her head, disagreeing with Carroll. “Kang is nothing but a vicious warlord and Beijing has already shut off the supply tap. Kang is rapidly running out of options. He must defeat Zou quickly or Beijing will turn on him.”
“According to the latest reports,” Carroll said, “he’s doing it.” He looked out his window. “We’ve got to get the AVG out. Now.”
Mazie studied her hands, thinking. Was Carroll losing his nerve? “Sir, there’s a rhythm to the fighting in China. Kang has to pause and regroup. Zou may still be able to put together a defense and hold on. But if we pull the AVG out now, he’s certainly lost. We’ve still got some cards to play here. Congress hasn’t passed legislation cutting off aid to Zou.”
“They will,” Carroll said, “they will.” He played a videotape for her. “Recorded off C-Span yesterday,” he said.
The Honorabl
e Ann Nevers was giving a speech to a large crowd gathered in front of the Washington Monument. “We must not,” she shouted into the microphone, “allow the misguided policies of our government to draw us into another quagmire in Asia. Did we learn nothing from Vietnam? Must we sacrifice more of our men and women in the name of political expediency? How many more like Mark Von Drexler, one of our finest young generals, will be sent to their deaths? How many more!” A roar of protest swept over the crowd.
“I can’t believe she’s making a martyr out of VD,” Mazie muttered.
Nevers waited for the shouting to subside. “We must force Congress to act”—her face was flushed with success—”and force the administration to respond to the will of the people!” Carroll switched the TV set off.
“I can’t believe that woman,” Mazie said. Anger boiled in every word. “A month ago … we reached an agreement … she knows Kang is a butcher. He’ll slaughter half a million Chinese. It’s his way of sending them a message about dreaming of a better future.” She stopped, considering the future. “It scares me to think what will happen if he succeeds. What is Nevers thinking of?”
“There may be all of two Chinese-American voters in her district,” Carroll replied, “and she’s concerned with one thing—getting reelected. She plans on doing that by running us over with a congressional steamroller. How do we stop her?”
“Pontowski,” Mazie said. “He inherited a political base from his grandfather. If he goes back to China, that will slow Congress down.” Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in surprise. She understood. “You … us …” She took a deep breath. “You picked us all for a reason. You wanted Went involved to control his mother and Pontowski because of his political connections.”
“You’re looking at a future president of the United States,” Carroll said.
“Why did you pick me?”
A sad look crossed Carroll’s face. “The Japanese Connection. I needed Toragawa to get the Japanese involved and Miho was the key. She’s the last of the Toragawa line and he’s grooming her to take his place. You are a role model for Miho. That, and a chance to make an obscene amount of money, brought him on board.”
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