Shattered Trident - Страница 63

2130 Local Time

August 1st Building, Ministry of National Defense Compound

Beijing, People’s Republic of China

Chen almost lived in the conference room now, so he’d seen the broadcast almost from the beginning. None of the CMC members were ever far from a television, and unlike most of China, they could watch the uncensored transmissions. Chen knew this news would be blocked. China’s censors did not have to wait for permission to block foreign media.

He wasn’t sure how the ordinary Chinese citizen would react. The party spoke of Taiwan as a wayward child, misguided, lured astray by foreigners. Disappointed, but always hopeful that eventually she would realize how wrong she’d been and would return to the loving arms of her true mother.

It would be well not to push the “mother and child” analogy too far, Chen realized, because it was the way of the world for children to leave their parents.

The chairman of the Central Military Commission and the president of China shook off his musings, as if regaining consciousness. The others seemed as shocked as him, most sitting silently. General Wen was calling urgently to an aide. General Shi was writing furiously. As the head of the political department, he would be most affected. He looked angry.

Other members of the commission started to arrive from their offices elsewhere in the building. Not everyone was there, of course. The announcement had caught them by complete surprise, which meant uncomfortable questions for General Xi Ping, chief of intelligence. They hurried in, asking questions that brought the rest out of their stunned silence.

Vice Chairman Zhang spoke first. “Why do I feel betrayed?”

“It’s because Taipei initially declared neutrality,” General Su explained. “I was relieved then. It meant one less enemy, and at least one possible path out for our trade. But after that traitorous announcement, I feel it as well.”

Shi had stopped writing, and his angry expression had softened. He spoke sharply. “Before the war, if Taipei had done this, we’d be ordering military action. Comrade Vice President, your anger is well founded. Taiwan saw which way the wind was blowing. Her neutrality helped us, to some small degree, withstand the alliance. That will now be turned against us as she tries to hasten our end.”

Zhang asked, “How will this news affect the population? How will they react?”

Shi shrugged. “I’ve been a political officer for thirty-four years, and all I’ll predict is that it won’t be to our advantage.” Shi paused for just a moment, then added, “Comrade President, members of the council, the Political Department recommends that we break all connections with the Internet immediately. As we sit here and discuss the effects of Taiwan’s defection, the rest of China is doing the same thing.”

Some at the table rose in protest, but Shi waved them down. “I understand the value of the Internet in commerce and government, but this stream of bad news is damaging the morale of the people.”

Instinctively, Chen agreed. The Chinese-controlled media was censored, of course, and her cyber security services blocked the great majority of objectionable sites. But it was impossible to completely block word from outside her borders, not with the Internet. And worse was the citizenry using it to talk among themselves. The CMC was well aware of the role that social networking had played in the collapse of other governments.

There was plenty for them to talk about. Hunts for foreign spies, industrial sabotage, the losses at sea, and now energy shortages all powered the rumor machine. The new fuel rationing system was already corrupt, rife with hoarders and profiteers.

Protests and riots were endemic, with no relief in sight. Ethnic groups like the Uyghurs in Xinjiang province and Tibetans were restive. Dissidents throughout the country were quick to claim that the communist party’s ambitions in the South China Sea had started the war. The information supporting that argument had come from outside China.

General Shi was still explaining, but Chen cut him off. “Comrades, I believe General Shi is right, and becomes more right with each passing moment. Does anyone else wish to comment?”

A few shook their heads, and others muttered their agreement with Shi.

Chen waited for a full minute, then said, “General Shi, your recommendation is accepted. Will you please give the necessary orders?” Shi nodded and left quickly, almost at a run. Chen was sure it was the right thing to do, but why did it feel like another loss? Damnit, he was still shaking off the news about Taiwan.

General Su, the chief of staff, stated flatly, “We have to change our grand strategy.” When there was no immediate agreement, Su explained, “I’m a soldier. We’re trained to make an estimate of the situation, evaluate possible courses of action, and then choose the best one. My estimate of our situation is that we are losing this war. The trends are all in the wrong direction. What do we do about this?”

Chen answered him. “There are only two choices. We either agree to a cease-fire, which amounts to a surrender, or escalate.”

There was dead silence in the room as the others absorbed the idea. Chen reasoned, “We must evaluate both courses before we choose. Adopting either one has benefits, and costs.

“To remove the risk of anyone being accused of disloyalty or defeatism, I will discuss the benefits of a cease-fire. The damage to our economy stops. Oil begins flowing again. The losses of equipment and men cease. What are the costs, Comrades?” He gestured to the others at the table.

Zhang said, “Unbelievable loss of prestige. The world would accuse us of being a failed superpower.”

“The failure of Trident,” General Su added.

“But the plan has already failed,” General Ye Jin countered. “We will never be able to exploit the South China Sea’s resources, as we had planned.”

“We could use a cease-fire to mobilize and reposition our forces, then aim for a more limited objective,” General Wen suggested.

Su quickly shook his head. “It won’t work, Minister. Trident depended on surprise, on getting strong forces in place before our opponents could react. I don’t think anyone here truly appreciated just how vital a factor surprise was.”

Zhang added, “And we didn’t expect such a unified response. The sudden appearance of the Littoral Alliance has completely changed the political calculus in this region. If we had known of its existence, would we have even started the operation?”

“That is not the issue, Generals,” Chen insisted. “What are the costs to China of a cease-fire?”

Zhang looked thoughtful. “I’ve already mentioned the loss of prestige abroad. Domestically, we face widespread unrest. Energy supplies will be tight this winter, even if we restart imports immediately. Many industries are damaged, and our export markets will be lost for years, perhaps a decade. Unemployment, especially in the cities, will rise sharply.”

“The best we can all hope for, personally, is resignation,” Chen observed, “followed by a retirement in disgrace. That may not be the end of it, though. The next government will be looking for ways to assuage the citizens’ anger. Accusations of criminal conduct and show trials are one method of placating the masses.” Chen had stated the uncomfortable truth. Nobody expected justice in China, unless it served the party’s purposes.

“Our economy crumbling, our citizens angry, the world turned against us. Regardless of my own fate, this is not what I dreamt of for China.” Zhang’s voice was hard. “If this is the aftermath of a cease-fire, then we must keep fighting.”

“But we cannot win,” Su reminded him. “The South China Sea is lost to us.”

“Then we change the war,” Zhang explained. “Instead of three or four countries, we are fighting an expanding coalition that now encircles us. We must recognize our new situation.”

Chen asked, “Then what is our goal? How do we win?”

Zhang replied, “We bring enough force to bear to make them ask for a cease-fire, on our terms. We demand free passage of the ocean straits and removal of all economic sanctions.

“They haven’t faced our full power yet. We’ve limited ourselves because of the military ties some countries have with the United States. We know America doesn’t want this war. There’s pressure in the American government to renounce the treaties. Let’s call the alliance’s bluff.”

“We change the war,” Chen repeated, testing the idea in his mind. “A full range of attacks against all alliance members, short of nuclear weapons. We remove the restrictions we’ve placed on our submarines. Allow them to attack any alliance shipping—it won’t matter that they’ve disabled the automatic identification system. Any ship approaching an alliance port will be attacked. And we withdraw from the territories in the South China Sea we’ve captured.”

“That was one of the alliance’s demands,” Su reminded him.

“The garrisons on those islands have been under constant siege. They can only be supplied by air, which costs fuel we can’t spare. They are also at considerable risk from Japanese fighters staged in the Philippines.”

Su nodded his agreement. “You’re right. They can be sustained only with great effort, but cannot not be expanded, or exploited for further gain. What about Vietnam?”

“I see no reason to suspend that campaign,” Chen replied. “Indeed, with the cancelation of Trident, we should be able to allocate more resources to that front. And where is General Hu?”