“You had no indication they were going to attack Mogadishu, General?”
“None at all, sir,” Greene replied. “The Chinese keep a very low profile. As far as I know, they haven’t been in Somalia and have had only one or two other run-ins with Somali pirates over the years. I don’t think they’ve visited Djibouti or been briefed by the Joint Task Force-Horn of Africa, and I don’t know about any other East African nations.”
“You said they were based out of Yemen? Why not Djibouti, with the rest of the task force?”
“The Chinese seem to prefer to stay by themselves and not get crowded in with a lot of other foreign vessels,” Greene said. “I’m told they don’t really like the Yemenis, and vice versa, but it’s a convenient port for resupply-the Chinese can’t sustain blue-water ops as well as most Western navies can, so they want a pretty short supply line. Yemen works for them, and of course the Yemenis will be most happy to take China ’s cash for fuel, food, and other goods.”
“So what are the Chinese up to now, General?” Carlyle asked.
“Back to business as usual, sir,” Greene replied. “We’ve just received word that they’ve got a big convoy of three container vessels and one or two Ro-Ros heading for Tanzania next week, so they’re setting up for that.”
“‘Ro-Ros’?”
“Roll-On, Roll-Off ships-you just drive vehicles in one end and drive them off at destination out the other end,” Greene explained. “They’ll take a dozen tractor trailers loaded with goods on one ship. Pretty impressive. The Chinese prefer to escort their own ships through the region; they say it keeps up morale. That’s fine with us. Most skippers prefer to see their own flags surrounding them.”
“Okay, General Greene,” Carlyle said. “We’re hoping things will calm down now that the Chinese have spanked the pirates pretty badly. Thank you for the update, and let us know if you get any more info.”
He hung up before Greene could say “yes, sir,” and the general dropped the phone back on its cradle. “Jeez, where did that come from?” he muttered to his command sergeant major, Frank Nauert, who was in charge of the secure communications facilities along with all of his other duties. “Hasn’t he ever heard of chain of command?”
“That strike must’ve really spooked the White House, sir,” Nauert said.
“I’d definitely say so,” Greene said. “I just wished it was us who kicked Somali ass, not the Chinese.”
“Roger that, sir.”
“Well, if the White House is calling me directly, we need to have more info for them the next time they call,” Greene said.
“Teleconference the staff together and build me a situation-and-force status report. Quick as you can.”
“Roger that, sir,” Nauert said, reaching for the phone. But just before he picked it up, it buzzed with the distinct encryption ring of a secure call. Nauert picked up the receiver, heard the unlock tones, read the unlock routine code on the phone’s display, looked up his reply code, and punched it in. “ Nauert, U.S. AFRICOM, secure, go ahead, over,” he said when the encryption routine was authenticated and locked in.
“Raydon, Air Force Space Defense Force, secure,” Kai Raydon responded. “How are you, Sergeant Major?”
“Who is this, sir?”
“Brigadier General Raydon, aboard Armstrong Space Station. I have a couple questions for your traffic management officer if he has a moment.”
“Absolutely, sir,” Nauert said. “We haven’t stood up this headquarters quite yet, so I’m the TMO today and for the foreseeable future.” Even though Nauert was a dedicated veteran infantry soldier, he had always been fascinated by space technology, especially these days when it seemed to be advancing in vast leaps and bounds-he definitely saw himself as one of those Robert Heinlein “Starship Troopers,” dropping from orbit in delivery capsules to fight on planet Earth. He saw Greene’s quizzical expression and nodded assuredly. “What can I do for you?”
“We have been tracking a large convoy of Chinese cargo vessels heading your way,” Kai said. “I assume you’re familiar with the convoy?”
“Yes, sir, the Chinese Ministry of Trade gave the Combined Task Force their manifest and transit plan as requested. Destination Dar es Salaam, Tanzania; part of a twice-annual aid shipment to its friends and allies in Africa. Pretty standard convoy.”
“But the port call in Karachi was delayed a week?”
“Yes, sir, I believe that’s correct.”
“Any reason given?”
“Not that I’m aware, sir,” Nauert said. “Could be any number of reasons. We usually don’t get concerned about delays unless it affects the flow of traffic going through the Suez Canal or ports in East Africa-we don’t want too many ships anchoring wait for passage or berths because that complicates our patrol activities-or if traffic transiting our ops area increases to the point where we can’t provide enough security. In wintertime, traffic is usually less, so delays usually don’t create bottlenecks.”
“I see.”
“Why do you ask, sir?”
“No particular reason, Sergeant Major,” Kai said. “We collect a lot of data up here, mountains of it every hour, so in order to help sift through it, we look for trends and anomalies. If we see a broken sailing plan, we look for obvious reasons like weather, accidents, or civil disturbances, and if we don’t see any obvious reasons, we start asking around.”
“Sorry we don’t have that info for you, sir,” Nauert said. “I’ll pass your concerns to Stuttgart and they’ll take a look and report back. You may have to contact them directly for the latest info until we’re fully set up here.”
“Thanks, Sergeant Major, I will. If we see anything else from up here, we’ll pass it along. How do you like Ethiopia so far?”
“Nice place, good facilities, decent weather, friendly locals-a lot different than Afghanistan or Camp Lemonier. And how are things in space, sir?”
“Pretty routine, like being in a submarine, I guess, looking for trouble and hoping like hell you don’t find any,” Kai said. “Anytime you’d like to take a trip up here to look around, we’d love to have you stop by for a visit.”
“That’s definitely on my ‘bucket list,’ sir,” Nauert said. “Anything else I can do for you, sir?”
“Not right now. Nice to talk to you, Sergeant Major.”
“Same here, sir. AFRICOM clear.”
“That was the space-station guy?” Greene asked after Nauert terminated the call.
“Yes, sir. BG Raydon himself, asking about that convoy of Chinese ships headed our way.”
“What about it?”
“They were delayed for about a week in Pakistan. Raydon wanted to know why.”
“Shit, he’s the reason why the Pakistanis don’t tell us stuff anymore,” Greene complained. “If he hadn’t blasted that Pak village all to hell with his space weapon, we’d still be on speaking terms. The Paks aren’t going to tell us nothin’ about anyone’s ship movements until we get back on friendlier terms.”
“I’ll drop an e-mail to TMO at Stuttgart and ask the question.”
“Do that, but I’ll guarantee we won’t get an answer back from the Paks,” Greene said. “If the powers that be really want to know, they’ll probably have to send in the CIA to find out.” He sniffed derisively and shook his head. “Raydon and the Air Force think their space station and fancy space radars are so cool, but we’ll still use plain old-fashioned grunt work-some local in sandals and a turban, getting paid a couple bucks for info and maybe a photo or two-to get the real dope.”