by Bond , Larry
Again the President sat thinking for a moment and then said, “All right. Let’s do it. Cut the orders and I’ll sign them.”
“Excuse me, Mr. President.” Putnam leaned forward in his chair, his face flushed and his voice barely under control, obviously smarting at having been ignored in the discussion so far. “Shouldn’t you consult with our allies and with the congressional leadership before taking these steps? I mean, we don’t want to go this thing alone.”
Blake frowned. The President saw it and motioned to him to respond. “It would be wise to consult with our allies as soon as possible, Mr. President. But there’s no need to give them a veto over our discussion here. The actions you’re taking now are all covered under the UN Security Council resolutions passed back in June and July of 1950 calling on member states to meet North Korea’s aggression with force. They’ve never been rescinded. So, technically, our allies have the same obligations with regard to South Korea that we do.”
Blake pointed to the map. “But no one else has the ability to transport the needed troops and equipment into the Pacific region. In practical terms, then, we’re going to have to go it alone anyway.”
Putnam’s face purpled. “That may be true. But what about the Congress? Under the War Powers Act—”
“Come off it, George!” The President cut Putnam off in midsentence. “No administration has ever recognized the War Powers Act as constitutional, and I’m not about to start now. Christ! You think I want the North Koreans believing I’ll have to go hat in hand to the Congress to keep our troops there longer than a lousy ninety days?”
He slapped a hand down on the table. “Not a chance, Mr. Putnam! This is a question of national security, and I’m acting on my authority as commander in chief. I’ll meet with the congressional leadership later.” The President stared icily at his national security adviser. “Does that give you some kind of problem?”
Putnam subsided into an embarrassed silence while the other NSC members looked carefully away. Blake glanced down at the conference table to hide his own grin. The President had obviously grown tired of pretending to respect Putnam’s opinions.
“All right, does anyone have anything else we should discuss right now? I’m going to have to make a statement to the public before long and I’d like to work on it.” The President looked around the table.
Simpson nodded. “Yes, Mr. President. One final matter. I’d like to raise the DEFCON status of all our forces in the Pacific. There’s no reason we should assume that North Korea’s attacks will be confined to our facilities and troops in the ROK.”
The President shook his head slowly. “I’m sure you’re right to worry, Phil. But I don’t want a general Pacific Command alert just yet. That might provoke an unnecessary Soviet reaction. Stick with an alert for our forces in and near Korea and Japan for right now. I want to try to keep this thing bottled up there as long as possible, okay?”
He stood and everyone stood with him. “All right. Let’s break this up for now, but I want this room continually manned by a crisis team. And I want you all ready to meet again as needed, clear?”
Heads nodded around the room. “Good. Okay, these North Korean sons of bitches have caught us with our pants down. Now let’s pull them up and kick their teeth in.” Both his voice and face conveyed grim intent, and muttered agreement from other NSC members echoed across the Situation Room.
Blake hoped that would be enough.
DECEMBER 25—THE OVAL OFFICE, WASHINGTON, D.C.
The makeup artists had done a wonderful job, thought Blake Fowler, as he studied the President from off to the side—from off behind the tangle of cables and cameras now cluttering the Oval Office.
The Chief Executive’s bleak, haggard look and worried expression were gone, replaced by what appeared to be calm, rested confidence as he addressed the nation:
“My fellow Americans, by now many of you have heard the first reports of fighting from the Korean peninsula. I must tell you that those reports are accurate and that we are once again engaged in a desperate struggle to preserve the cause of freedom in our world.
“Beginning before dawn today—on this day sacred around the world as the birth day of the Prince of Peace—communist forces from North Korea brutally and without warning attacked a wide range of civilian and military targets inside the Republic of Korea. Their assaults have also been directed at American diplomats and American soldiers serving the cause of liberty and peace under the auspices of the United Nations. Many of our fellow countrymen have already lost their lives while heroically resisting this vicious and utterly unprovoked aggression.”
The President stared directly into the cameras and his voice hardened as he spoke. “Their sacrifices will not be in vain. North Korea will pay a heavy price for this dastardly aggression. They have fired the first shots in this conflict, but I assure you that we shall fire the last.
“And with God’s help and our own commitment and courage, the cause of freedom will triumph in the Republic of Korea. Together with the other members of the United Nations and with the courageous Korean people, the United States of America will resist this communist onslaught with every proportionate means at its disposal.
“We shall not rest until we have once again secured the blessings of peace and liberty for the people of the Republic of Korea.
“Accordingly, I have declared a state of national emergency for the duration of this conflict. Effective immediately, all ships and aircraft registered under…”
Blake turned to go. The crucial words had been spoken. America was going to war.
DECEMBER 25—THE KREMLIN, MOSCOW, R.S.F.S.R.
The General Secretary of the Communist Party inclined his head gravely toward the general standing by the large wall map of the Northern Pacific. “Thank you, comrade. That was a most concise and enlightening briefing.”
The General Secretary swept his eyes around the elegant, wood-paneled room with its polished brass lamps, thick carpets, and priceless paintings. Not exactly the sterile, modernist room one would have thought would house the top leadership of the world’s most powerful Marxist state. The irony never failed to amuse him slightly.
His eyes focused on a thickset, bull-necked man at the other end of the table. The director of the KGB looked more like a butcher or farmhand than a master spy, he thought. And judging by its most recent efforts, that description of the KGB’s master might well be accurate. He put his thoughts into words. “Well, Viktor Mikhailovich, I’m glad that we had the benefit of your marvelous intelligence assessments to prepare us for news of this war.”
The KGB director flushed at his heavy sarcasm. “The North Korean regime’s actions have always been difficult to predict, Comrade General Secretary. Every report I’ve submitted on the situation has included a note to that effect.”
“Oh, very true, Viktor. Naturally it was only our own foolishness”—the General Secretary gestured around at the assembled Politburo—”that made us read phrases like ‘the likelihood of open warfare is negligible’ and assume that they were correct. Shall I read from your most recent submission, Viktor?”
The director stayed silent.
“Very well.” The General Secretary adjusted his reading glasses. “Ah, here it is. Quote, instead of offensive action, the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea will almost certainly pursue an escalating campaign of terror and subversion designed to add to the increasing chaos in the South, end quote.”
He looked up at the director. “So, a completely accurate document, eh, Viktor? Assuming that is, of course, that one counts an invasion by over six hundred thousand troops as ‘an escalating campaign of terror.’” He smiled with his lips pressed tightly together. Now he could see the veins standing out on the man’s neck.
Abruptly he dropped the matter. Pushing the director of the KGB into a premature heart attack would be satisfying but hardly productive. “Very well, comrades. You can see that we have a problem. Our North Korean friends have taken it upon
themselves to open a war with the United States. The question we must face, therefore, is what our response to all of this will be.” He gestured at the map, opening the floor to discussion.
The defense minister was the first to speak. “With respect, Comrade General Secretary, I think that we should view this as a golden opportunity. As our briefing showed, the North Korean offensive has been astonishingly successful so far. With judicious assistance on our part, they could win this war—crushing the American puppet regime and humiliating the United States.”
The defense minister shoved his chair back and moved to the map. “The strategic benefits of such a victory are obvious and might even exceed those we reaped after Vietnam.” His hand moved across the map, touching briefly on Japan, the Philippines, Taiwan, and on down to rest on Singapore. “By again shattering the American image as a reliable ally, a North Korean victory would force Japan and all of the emerging economic powers in Asia into a more neutral posture. A posture that would make it easier for us to expand our presence in the region and obtain important advanced technologies.” The defense minister’s dark brown eyes gleamed beneath heavy eyebrows at the thought.
He continued, “By driving the Americans out of Korea, comrades, we could also roll them back halfway across the Pacific. Out of their offensive bases in Japan and the Philippines. The benefits to our defense of the motherland and to our ability to project power in the Pacific unhindered would be incalculable.”
The foreign minister, a lean, impeccably dressed man, objected, “Come now, comrade. You’re not proposing direct intervention against the Americans? That would be madness.…”
“No, no.” The defense minister’s voice was impatient, irritated. “General war with the United States is out of the question. I know better than you that the strategic correlation of forces does not yet decisively favor us. When our antiballistic missile system is fully in place, perhaps then—but not yet.”
The General Secretary thought it time to take a hand in the discussion. “What are you proposing then, Andrei?” He kept his tone friendly, even solicitous.
“That we maintain the supply of advanced armaments that we are presently providing, provide spare parts, and replace combat losses.”
“Why should we provide any help to them?” one member objected. “They didn’t provide us with any warning of their actions.”
The defense minister stared at the man. “We must continue to help them for the same reasons we sent assistance in the first place. If we do not bribe Kim’s regime with weapons and assistance, he will look to the Chinese for support. North Korea will move into the Chinese sphere of influence, and comrades, the last thing we need is a Chinese ally on our border.”
He let that sink in, and then continued, “Comrades, I do not believe the North Koreans can win a modern technological war without our support. They know that, and once they are totally dependent on our stream of weapons, we can dictate any terms we choose. We will control them.
“While we must increase our own support to Kim, we can help them reduce the flow of supplies to the puppet South Korean regime.”
The foreign minister raised a finely sculpted eyebrow. “And just how do you propose to do that?”
“By putting pressure on the Japanese. The Americans need their airspace, airfields, and ports to ship supplies and reinforcements to South Korea. A strongly worded diplomatic note to Tokyo protesting their intervention in this Korean ‘internal struggle’ might force the Japanese to assert total neutrality. And that would choke off the American resupply effort.”
The General Secretary asked, “You think a diplomatic note would have that much effect on the Japanese?”
“Yes.” The defense minister’s lips creased into an unpleasant smile. “If it were accompanied by intensive air, sea, and naval infantry manuevers off their coast.”
He shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps we could even offer to return the Kuril Islands to them?” That raised smiles around the room. They had been seized by the Soviets at the end of World War II and held by them ever since. They would never willingly give it up.
“Go on, Andrei. We’re listening.” The General Secretary leaned forward in his chair.
“Well, we could also provide the North with useful military intelligence on U.S. movements in the Pacific. RORSAT data. That sort of thing.” The defense minister’s eyes fixed on a small aircraft symbol attached to the map near Pyongyang. “And finally, Comrade General Secretary, we could ‘allow’ our MiG-29 instructors already in North Korea to serve as ‘volunteers’ and participate in the air battle. That kind of tangible support would count for a lot with our little yellow comrades. It would certainly give our crews some valuable combat experience.”
The foreign minister frowned. “Comrades, with all due respect to the defense minister, I said this was madness before and I say it is madness now! We are on the verge of a new long-range arms agreement with the Americans—an arms agreement on terms favorable to us. This is not the time to reignite the Cold War!”
One hand smoothed his tie, half-unconsciously. “And even more importantly, the Western banks are only now again starting to lend us the money we need. It took us nine years to repair the damage we suffered for intervening in Afghanistan. We should not repeat that folly now.”
Heads nodded gravely around the table, the KGB director’s among them.
The General Secretary turned to his defense minister. “Well, Andrei? What do you have to say to that?”
“That my friend, the foreign minister, is wrong. That he is shivering at shadows.” The defense minister brought a heavy fist crashing down on the table, making some of the older Politburo members jump. The gibe about Afghanistan must have cut deep, thought the General Secretary.
“The Americans are weak-minded, forgetful fools. They won’t dare link your precious arms talks with South Korea. And even if they did, they’d soon be back at the bargaining table. Their own internal politics will see to that.”
That much was true, the General Secretary admitted to himself. The American capacity for self-delusion never failed to amaze him. He pondered the matter while the debate raged on around him, back and forth across the conference table.
Not all of the defense minister’s arguments were wholly convincing, but the General Secretary had been intrigued by the possibility he held out of greater trade and technology transfers with the new Asiatic economic powers. Trade and new technology that would speed the work of revitalizing the Soviet economy.
He tapped a fleshy finger reflectively against his chin. The Asian countries, while economic giants, were military pygmies. Once stripped of American protection, they’d be easy enough to keep in line with a judicious mix of outright pressure, internal subversion, and fancy diplomatic footwork.
The thought pleased him and he studied the other men around him through slitted eyes.
In this matter the Politburo’s own factional politics were fully as important as the facts of the matter. And judged in that light, realism dictated a decision in favor of the defense minister. Despite all the General Secretary’s efforts, his position remained tenuous—dependent on a shifting coalition of votes. The armed forces were a crucial part of that coalition. They’d supported his reforms so far, believing they would lead to greater military strength in the future. If he thwarted their will now, how long would their support last?
Not long, he judged. The General Secretary nodded to himself. Together he and the defense minister had enough votes to force a consensus from the Politburo—despite the foreign minister’s objections.
The Soviet Union would support its “fraternal socialist neighbors” in North Korea.
But something nagged at his thoughts. Another factor that would have to be evaluated. Ah, yes. China.
He reminded himself to ask the KGB and GRU to step up their intelligence-gathering operations in Manchuria. It might even be worth another diplomatic push to ease tensions with the revisionist bastards in Beijing. It didn’t seem lik
ely that the Chinese would be able to do much to influence events in Korea, but there wasn’t any point in risking an unpleasant surprise.
The General Secretary turned his attention back to the ongoing debate. Although he now knew which policy he would follow, it was still important to observe the formalities.
BEIJING, THE PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA
The Premier of the People’s Republic of China walked deep in thought across the windswept pavements of the Forbidden City. A security detachment trailed along behind him, shivering in the winter cold.
The Premier had no doubt that most of his bodyguards hated these slow, seemingly aimless, noontime strolls through the squares and palaces of the old Imperial compound. But he found them useful. They gave him time by himself to think.
Of course, they also served another purpose. They demonstrated his relative youth and good physical condition. Many of the others in the ruling Politburo were well past their prime. Some, including his two chief colleagues, the president and the Party’s general secretary, were either past or closing on eighty.
By itself, his youthfulness gave him no great advantage. Despite over forty years of Marxist rule, the people of China retained a traditional veneration for the elderly and automatically ascribed the virtue of wisdom to them. In fact, that attitude toward age had even insinuated itself into the Party. And the Premier had to admit to himself that he shared some of that peasant reverence for the old—despite the years he’d spent in the Soviet Union training as an engineer and administrator.
Still, this daily demonstration of good health acted as a reminder to his colleagues and younger members of the administration that he would be around for years to come—long after the first generation of the Revolution was dead and buried. And that was useful. It gave him an edge in the fierce internal struggles that often racked the Party out of public and foreign view.