Shattered Trident - Страница 7

“There will be far less resistance if we don’t telegraph our intentions to the Vietnamese!” Su shot back. “The navy’s air-defense destroyers can temporarily fill the role of the platform. We can also fly in additional surface-to-air missile systems once the islands are secured.”

Wei reached over and placed his hand on the PLAAF commander’s shoulder. They weren’t going to win this argument, not with the minister of defense and the chief of staff in lockstep agreement. It was best to acknowledge the order and get to work on the changes needed to make the improvisations work.

Wen cleared his throat. “Comrade President, I recommend you approve Admiral Wei and General Wang’s changes, as well as General Su’s suggestion to advance the overall timetable.”

Chen answered formally, “Thank you, General Wen. The recommended changes are approved.”

Wen bowed politely, and turned toward his comrades. “I want all changes to the operational orders on my desk in two days. Do not make any large-scale unit movements. Do it in a piecemeal fashion. We must use extreme caution and deny the Vietnamese any signs that we are adapting to their strategy. Any final comments or questions?”

“Just one,” replied Su. “Keep the knowledge of these changes, as well as the recovered mine, to your immediate staff and your senior political commissars. No messages, no e-mails until further notice. I know this places an additional burden on you and your people, but we must protect this vital information. If you absolutely need someone to help with the planning, contact my office and we’ll get that individual cleared.”

“Anything else?” Wen asked. No one spoke. “Very well, gentlemen, you have your orders. Carry them out.”

19 August 2016

The White House

Washington, D.C.

Joanna Patterson leaned on the conference table in the situation room, her eyes darting back and forth from North Dakota’s message to an annotated chart of the South China Sea. Her right hand groped along the desktop for her morning coffee. Finding the cup with her mocha latte, she took a sip as she read the next section of Commander Mitchell’s report. Commander Mitchell. She was still having a tough time wrapping her brain around that concept. Wasn’t he just a junior lieutenant only a few years ago? Now he was the commanding officer of his own submarine. Was she really that old?

She’d made the mistake of voicing this question to her husband soon after their return from Jerry’s change of command ceremony. His response was a completely deadpan and wholly unsympathetic, “Well, yeah.” She threw something at him, as she recalled.

Looking at the narrative, she tried to imagine being there as the Chinese sub got into position. The shock when Jerry realized that the Chinese had actually blown the Vietnamese merchant out of the water. This had to be tied to the Liaoning incident; there was really no other possibility. She shook her head; the timing of these events couldn’t be worse. A potential crisis with another superpower just as the president’s reelection campaign was struggling to fend off his Republican adversary’s attacks.

The major foreign policy success of exposing the failed Iranian nuclear program had long been forgotten. The continuing poor economic situation now held center stage. Unfortunately, many of the problems and issues affecting the stubbornly lackluster U.S. economy were offshore, in other countries, outside the president’s control. Still, the aftershocks from those countries reached the United States, causing pain and hardship. And since professional politics is a “what have you done for me lately” kind of game, the president’s approval rating had taken a plunge.

A knock at the door pulled her from her musings. A navy lieutenant stood there, half leaning into the doorway. “Dr. Patterson, the national security advisor wants to talk to you. Line two, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Andy,” Joanna replied. She walked quickly over to the phone, picked up the receiver, and hit the blinking button. “Yes, Ray.”

“Joanna, grab your material on the Vietnamese merchant sinking and get up here. I managed to weasel a few minutes on the president’s schedule from Milt Alvarez, but we need to be in the Oval Office in ten minutes.”

“I’m leaving now,” she exclaimed. Joanna tossed the receiver back onto the cradle, then rushed over and gathered her purse, notebook, Jerry’s message, the chart, and background information. Running for the elevator, she wondered why she bothered to wear heels.

Dr. Ray Kirkpatrick, the national security advisor, waited for her by the security checkpoint. As she stopped to show her badge, Kirkpatrick stepped up. “Let me take some of that, Joanna.”

“Thanks. I got up here as fast as I could.”

“That you did. And we still have a moment or two to spare.”

“Good! Let me run a brush through my hair. I must look like a mess,” Joanna remarked as she dumped the rest of her material into her boss’s arms.

“Actually, I would say only slightly unkempt,” joked Kirkpatrick. Patterson’s annoyed look caused him to chuckle. Then he said more seriously, “Remember, the navy had a piece on the sinking in this morning’s read book, so the president has a good background on North Dakota’s report. What he hasn’t heard is your theory on the linkage with the Liaoning mining.”

“Got it. Anything else?” asked Joanna.

“Be brief. Milt is not amused that I bulled our way in this morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

No sooner had she spoken, the door to the Oval Office opened and a tight-lipped Milton Alvarez emerged. “Dr. Kirkpatrick, Dr. Patterson, the president will see you now.”

Joanna smiled as she walked past Alvarez’s stern glare. Kirkpatrick was right; he was not a happy camper.

“Ray, Joanna, please come in!” exclaimed an excited President Ken Myles. Pointing toward the couch he added, “Please, sit down.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Kirkpatrick as he motioned for Patterson to sit next to him. “I promised Milt we’d be expeditious, but Joanna has been working on a theory that I believe you need to hear.”

A series of high-pitched electronic beeps signaled to everyone present that Alvarez had started a stopwatch.

“Oh for God’s sake, Milt! Give it a rest,” Myles groaned.

“Mr. President, I’m just trying…”

“Yes, yes, I know. The almighty schedule!” Myles’s voice may have been sharp, but there was a twinkle in his eye. Looking back at Patterson, he said. “Go ahead, please.”

“Mr. President, the article in today’s read book provided a synopsis of the sinking of the Vietnamese merchant ship Vinaship Sea, by a Chinese submarine.”

“Yes, it seems that our favorite submariner has found himself in the thick of it once again,” replied Myles, smiling.

It was well known within the White House that Joanna and her husband, Senator Lowell Hardy, had a special fondness for a certain Jerry Mitchell that dated back to their serving together on USS Memphis.

Momentarily distracted, Joanna cleared her throat and continued, “This latest incident is just one of a series of events that have been part of an escalating trend over the last two years.”

“To say the least,” remarked the president. As an expert on Asian affairs, he’d watched the deteriorating situation in the South China Sea closely. The rhetoric and level of harassment between the disputing parties had been bad, going as far back as the 1990s. However, the number of incidents had increased dramatically following the collision of a Vietnamese warship with a Chinese fishing vessel in December 2014. The Chinese claimed it was an intentional ramming, while the Vietnamese countered that the Chinese vessel was fishing illegally within the Vietnamese Exclusive Economic Zone and was evading pursuit.

This was followed by the CCP’s public declaration the following March, that the Spratly, or Nansha, Islands had become a core national interest to China, elevating the dispute to the same political level as Taiwanese independence. This red flag had generated immense concern from every nation in the region.

“It was no surprise when the PLAN announced that this year’s major multi-fleet exercise would be in the South China Sea area, or that it included their new carrier Liaoning,” Patterson continued. “We expected a very big exercise. In fact, it’s been over twenty years since we’ve seen an exercise of this magnitude.

“Nine days ago, as Liaoning was departing Yalong Bay to take part in final air group training, she suffered an unknown engineering casualty and was returned to her berth. The official press release was vague, and offered no details. However, preliminary analysis of COMINT and imagery data strongly suggests she detonated a mine.”

Myles’s eyes popped wide open. “A mine? In Chinese waters?”

“Yes, sir. There was a reference to a ‘large plume’ of water, and imagery shows she has a distinct starboard list. This suggests significant flooding. Subsequent COMINT hits contained allusions to ‘distorted lines’ and ‘bent fans’ that almost certainly refer to the propulsion shafts and propellers. All of which point toward a mine; most likely a large bottom influence mine, laid by a submarine.”

“But who, and why?” Myles demanded.

Joanna shot a quick glance toward Kirkpatrick, who motioned for her to go on. “I can only come up with one possible suspect—Vietnam.”