Deng made the appointment because of one conversation he had with the young Admiral, who told him, “When I was a very little boy, my father was the best freighter captain in Xiamen. He worked harder than anyone, and he was cleverer than anyone, but our ship was old and it continually went wrong. My father was probably the only man on the whole waterfront who could have kept it going, but the struggle was impossible because we were poor, and people with better, faster, and more reliable freighters took the best of the trade, especially in transporting fruit and vegetables. In maritime matters, sir, there is no substitute for the best equipment. I would rather have ten top-class modern submarines than a hundred out-of-date ones. Give me ten brand-new guided missile destroyers, fifty modern frigates, and a new aircraft carrier, and I’ll keep this country safe from attack from the sea for half a century.”
Deng loved it. Here was a modern man who could see beyond the horizon. He knew the elderly High Command of the People’s Liberation Army would not like what they heard, since most of them still believed that huge numbers of half-trained men—2.2 million soldiers — and a vast, near-obsolete fleet of aging warships was preferable. Deng, however, knew instinctively that Admiral Zhang was his man.
The decision to equip the Chinese Navy with the ten Russian-built Kilos had in the end been Zhang’s, and it was he who urged the Navy paymasters to buy the sixty-seven-thousand-ton aircraft carrier Admiral Gudenko, still unfinished in the Ukraine yard of Nikolayev. And now his plans were in ruins, his strategies for the twenty-first century in chaos, and he faced the reproving stares of the elderly Vice Admirals Pheng Lu Dong, seventy-one, and Zhi-Heng Tan, sixty-eight, with a mixture of anger and inhibition.
In his soul, he knew that he was being blamed for all of this. The older generation believed that China had no further need to expand its borders, save for some future opportunity to bring Taiwan back into the fold. They had all the territory they would ever need, and they basically had no natural enemy since the demise of the Soviet empire. The worst that could ever happen would be border skirmishes of little significance in the north. Now the purchase of three billion dollars’ worth of submarines from Moscow was sucking them into a war with the United States of America. At least that’s how it looked to Pheng Lu Dong and Zhi-Heng Tan.
Admiral Zhang, his friend the Chief of Naval Staff, Vice Admiral Sang Ye, and the South Sea Fleet Commander, Vice Admiral Zu Jicai, viewed the matter differently. All three felt that this was a terrible affront to the honor of China and a momentous loss of face in front of the world community. China had the largest Army in the world and the third largest Navy, in numbers if not in capability, and all three believed they should carry out some ferocious retribution against the United States.
Admiral Sang Ye was prepared to finance and organize a terrorist attack on the American mainland. Something similar to the Oklahoma bombing. “There are 1.6 million Chinese people living in the United States,” he said. “I am sure we could arrange for twenty of them to carry out a bombing in New York or Washington. When it is done we can send a one word message: KILOS. Our honor would be saved.”
None of the three suggested taking a shot at a US Navy warship. But Admiral Zhang said, as he had so many times before, “We must get the rest of the Kilos. Only by doing so can we ever hope to dominate the Taiwan Strait. Those submarines could allow us to carry out a Naval blockade of Taiwan. I am just afraid our political masters will not have the will for this, and that the entire order will be canceled. We will be forever powerless. It is the Kilo submarine which really bothers the USA, and they know we can send their big aircraft carriers away for good, if we can just get ten Kilos in service.”
“We do have three in our possession right now,” said Admiral Pheng. “Would it not be possible for us to build the rest ourselves, perhaps under license from Russia? It happens quite often in the West.”
“It happens, Admiral,” replied Zhang. “But it does not often work. Submarines are capricious creatures unless they are perfectly constructed. They have millions of working parts. If one of them is not correctly fitted the whole is flawed and you end up with a boat that is not right and will never be right. Almost every Third World nation that has made submarines under license has had trouble from them. The Middle East is a scrap yard of ambitious nations that thought they could run a submarine force, but never got to sea, never mind underwater. I am afraid that to own and run efficient inshore submarines, you have to get them from Great Britain, Russia, France, Holland, Sweden, or Germany. The USA does not make them anymore.”
“Then perhaps we should not bother with them and build destroyers and frigates instead,” ventured Admiral Pheng. “They are very much less expensive and can be very effective.”
“Admiral, you have been a friend to me for all of my time in the Navy, and I am honored to have been taught by you,” replied Zhang. “But I have made a study for years of the American capability, and you must believe me when I tell you that if the United States Navy turned a couple of Carrier Battle Groups loose on us in the South China Sea, they could annihilate our entire southern Navy in less than a day. The only way to combat them would be to hit and destroy their carrier, and the only way to do that is with a submarine capable of deploying a torpedo containing a nuclear warhead. All other subjects are irrelevant.”
His voice softened a little when he added, “In the end, we are talking about Taiwan and repossession of the island. Just by having a Kilo fleet, we are deterring anyone, including America, from interfering. In the end you will find we are merely upping the ante. If we can get those Kilos, there will be no war. Because no one else will like their chances.”
“I must bow, then, to the great wisdom of the Navy’s young master,” said Admiral Pheng, smiling. “As ever you have my loyal support.”
Admiral Zhang also smiled. But he found it difficult. He rose to his feet and announced that he was retiring for the night. “Walk with me, Jicai,” he said to the South Sea Fleet Commander. “I’m staying in Naval quarters tonight, and we’ll take my car. We need to be back here in six hours, and in my view the entire future of the Navy is in the balance.”
Five Navy staff cars awaited them at the side entrance in Chang’an Avenue. It was 0400, and the snow had stopped, but the ground was covered and the temperature was twelve degrees below freezing. The wind was raw. Admire Zhang and Vice Admiral Zu boarded the first Mercedes-Benz limousine. The others bowed as they left. And the wide tires of the German-built automobile made a soft, creaking sound on the fresh snow as they drove slowly away from the white expanse of Tiananmen Square.
At 1100 the following morning, the Paramount Ruler, smoking fiercely, walked unsteadily into the conference room on the second floor of the Great Hall of the People. Parliament had been suspended for the day while he and the General Secretary of the Party attended the meeting with their senior military command. No other members of the ruling Politburo were aware of what had happened. And they never would. Each man in the private conference room had been sworn to absolute secrecy.
They now deferred to the Paramount Ruler, who wished them all good morning. He then asked for the recommendation of his Commander in Chief, Admiral Zhang Yushu, who rose to his feet and confirmed that he would be honored to report.
“I do not think there should be anyone in doubt that our submarines were hit and destroyed by the United States Navy,” Zhang began. “There is no point speaking to them about this because they will simply deny all knowledge of it, and act as if they are shocked that such an outrage should have occurred.