“At some time,” Mein Low said, “we will have another conversation on this matter. You must know that we have only the best intentions for our southern brothers. In the interest of regional security, we must stand united. Would you have either of our countries become slaves to the American culture, as the Japanese have become? I think not. For too many years, we have both fought to avoid that.”
Bien nodded politely. “Naturally, the differences in culture are too extreme to permit that to happen. The Chinese have always been supportive of our independence.” While they have simultaneously fought to prevent us from assuming control of our own destiny. Throughout the Vietnam wars, first with the French and then with the Americans, you have sought to control events in our country.
“Our joint operations have been the beginning of even more cooperation,” the Chinese Commander continued. “You are wise to understand that we must present a united front to the world on this issue.”
“My pilots have gained a great deal of useful experience operating with your forces,” Bien added politely. Experience in being the victims of your aggression! In every exercise, we are forced to play the hapless victims patrolling the skies, while your Flankers pounce on them. It is just good joss, as you would say, that no one has been killed thus far.”
The Chinese Commander permitted himself a small smile. “We have tried to share our experience with you,” he agreed. “Your forces have shown much progress. Together, I believe we can repel this American battle group. With one stunning sweep, we will ensure that they will never meddle in our affairs again!”
“Our wish as well,” Bien murmured. At least that much was true. Vietnam needed neither Chinese hegemony nor American imperialism any longer.
“Then we are of one mind. As I said, we will talk more about these matters when we approach a final solution.”
Bien executed a tiny bow, one that almost verged on insolent. Pig.
The Chinese Commander stared after him as he left. Scum.
CHAPTER 14
Amidst the noise and the lights of the Swedish ambassador’s reception, the delegates to the United Nations still found time to conduct business.
“And again,” T’ing said, barely raising his voice above an icy whisper, “once was not enough.”
“Sir, the United States had no part in the attack on your — on Mischief Reef Island,” Ambassador Wexler said, catching herself just in time. She was under instructions to avoid any positive acknowledgment of China’s ownership of the South China Sea rocks. She saw Ngyugen, the ambassador from Vietnam, nod ever so slightly at her correction.
T’ing sighed. “No other military forces were in the area, madam. As it was last time — an American jet circles an isolated Chinese oceanographic research station, and then the island mysteriously explodes. Perhaps a fishing boat attacked the scientific camp?”
“An oceanographic research station? With tanks and fighter aircraft? And Stingers and submarines on patrol? Forgive me, but I doubt that the ambassador from China is being entirely candid.”
“With unprovoked attacks by the United States on our land, what nation would not make some self-defense preparations?” T’ing replied. He knew it would be impossible to hide the presence of military forces on the islands from the circling satellites.
“The United States has attacked no one, the ambassador insisted, struggling to keep her temper under control. “It was China who attacked us! Your submarine, sir, fired on one of our aircraft operating in international airspace.”
“Following,” T’ing said, “the American destruction of an undefended research station, an attempt to provide a radar lock-up on one of our patrol aircraft for firing an Aegis cruiser missile, and the continued presence of American forces in a legally declared exclusion zone. Only the United States could have the audacity to claim status as a victim while simultaneously attacking our forces herself!”
“We are prepared to make our tactical logs and crews available to an impartial investigating committee. Whatever is causing these incidents in the South China Sea, I believe that the ambassador from China knows more about it than we do.”
“A very generous offer,” T’ing broke in. “Very generous indeed — if the United States had not had sufficient time already to completely fabricate records pertaining to that time. The gentle art of manipulating electrons — who better than the Americans at it?” T’ing shrugged. “Fortunately, we will not need to rely on electronic memories and fabrications. We have something far more reliable.”
“What, a confession?” Sarah Wexler asked sarcastically, immediately regretting her words.
T’ing locked her with a cold stare and let the seconds tick by while all eyes in the room turned to him.
“Something better than that, I believe. And far more reliable. Late this morning, a Chinese naval vessel initiated a search for survivors. Three members of the Spratly base camp survived. One, Shih Tan, was standing outside when the attack occurred and observed the overflight of an American military aircraft, followed minutes later by the explosion. The force of the blast tossed him off the island and into the sea. Shih Tan almost drowned trying to avoid the rain of fiery debris. Only his will to live and superb training, plus his determination to tell of American perfidy, enabled him to survive.”
“And a very interesting story it will be, I’m sure,” she said tartly. “Excuse me, but I believe I need to greet our hostess.”
Battle-ax! How well that suits you, madam, T’ing thought. But no matter how skilled you are in this arena, too many preparations have already been made in other theaters for your words to make the slightest bit of difference in the outcome. You’ve missed the battle, and the war is almost over. For without the cooperation of the sniveling mongrels’ countries that yap at your heels, you have no future in our seas — and you lack the will to make it otherwise!
“She seems quite annoyed,” Ngyugen said, slipping smoothly into the gap in the conversation. “Defensive, almost. They are behind these incidents — you are sure?”
“We have our sources,” T’ing snapped. “As you well should know. And should you be the least bit confused about this, let me remind you of the landing rights we assert within your own country. Do you really wish to enter into this political discourse? Oh, yes, we’re aware that normalization of relations is the watchword in your country now. But remember who you will have to live with when the Americans are gone!”
“And you believe that they will leave this theater of operations? Still, with all the increases in trade and travel?” Ngyugen pressed.
“I have no doubt about it! And it will be sooner than you ever dreamed!” T’ing turned and stalked away. It was one thing to tolerate the arrogance of the American ambassador. While that might be required in the short term, it would eventually come to an end. Impudence from Vietnamese politicians was another matter entirely.
Lab Rat swore silently and shivered as a particularly cold gust from the overhead air conditioning vent blasted down his neck. Only when the carrier was deployed to the brutally hot Persian Gulf did the temperature in CVIC ever approach habitable. In the South China Sea, the temperature in the room packed with electronics gear hovered between fifty and sixty degrees. No amount of pleading with the ship’s engineers could get it stabilized at an almost livable sixty-five degrees. It was an article of faith with every engineer he’d ever met that electrons worked better when frozen.