“We have been waiting for a long time,” the Nationalist heard himself saying.
The UDFC officer nodded gravely. “It was a long journey here.”
And then their arms were locked around each other in a man’s embrace.
In a growing roar of voices, more Nationalists swarmed out of their emplacements and down to the road to meet with their countrymen-to-be.
There was a third army nearby as well, or the wreckage of one. The PLA had failed in its desperate effort to prevent the linkup between the Nationalists and the United Democratic Forces. Now its remnants stumbled northward, seeking the vague promise of shelter offered by the Wenzhou River line.
The Red Army bled even as it retreated, however. Again and again, the lash of Nationalist airpower fell upon its back. The skies had been emptied of Communist jets, and even the surviving antiaircraft guns were burned out and low on ammunition. And there was another, subtler kind of hemorrhage going on as well.
Singularly, and in small groups, PLA soldiers slipped away from the retreating columns. Some concealed themselves and waited for the UDF to overtake them, seeking to switch allegiances. Others simply tossed their weapons into the ditch and started the walk home. A few were caught by their officers, or by the Armed People’s Police, and executed for desertion. Not many, however. Most military and police officials simply didn’t care anymore.
The Communist Party’s propaganda machine hoarsely bellowed about a new “Long March” into the north, where the People’s Revolution would rally once more and arise resurgent. Few listened. It is difficult to produce effective propaganda when the people promoting it no longer believe it themselves.
“Harry, have you got the latest?” Lane Ashley’s voice issued from the phone’s conference speaker.
“About the UDFC breaking through to the Nationalist beach head? Yes, we’ve got the word here.”
Despite his suite’s air-conditioning, Harrison Van Lynden’s shirt was damp with perspiration. The printing on the situation report he had been trying to study kept turning incomprehensible as he forced his tired brain to stay awake just a little while longer.
“No,” the NSA director replied. “I mean what’s happening with Hainan Island. It’s just coming off the net now.”
Van Lynden swore under his breath and tossed the hard copy down on the coffee table in front of him.
“No, I don’t have anything on Hainan. What’s happened?”
“The Red garrison there has mutinied. The senior officer cadre is either dead, or in custody, and a committee of colonels and captains is running the show now. They’ve opted for the rebellion. The entire Hainan Military District has gone over to the UDFC.”
“Damn, Lane. I wish I could consider that good news.”
“I know,” Ashley agreed grimly. “The Reds are starting to come apart. Remember how our conflict-simulation projections were estimating that the Communists could hold out for another eight to ten months? Well, that’s recently been derated to six to eight. And personally, I think that’s generous.”
“How long do you think the Reds have?”
“As long as it will take the UDFC and the Nationalists to refit and reorient for the march north. I don’t think that the Communists are going to be able to establish a valid defense.”
“Except for the bombs.”
Van Lynden looked out of the suite’s windows across the velvet darkness of Manila Bay. He smelled the sour scent of his own weariness, and all at once, he felt old.
“Lane, is there anything new on the Reds’ ballistic-missile sub? Anything at all?”
“We only know that it’s out there, Harry. All ASW and intelligence assets on the Pacific Rim have been committed to the search, but there is just … nothing.”
Van Lynden rubbed his hand across his face and wished that he had the energy to go to the hotel bar for a drink.
“We’re organizing a low-profile evacuation of Embassy dependents and other American nationals out of the Philippines. If we start to get heavy fallout here, things could get pretty nasty in a hurry. What would your best guess be on how long we have before the Communists launch?”
“To tell you the truth, Harry, I think that somebody is taking a last deep breath before they reach for the button.”
47
“There you’ve got it,” Arkady said, tossing the hard copy onto Amanda’s desk. “I can maintain our current expenditure rate on sonobuoys for another twenty-four hours, then we’re tapped.”
“Will that leave us with a reserve to work possible solid contacts?”
“That’ll leave us with nothing but empty racks. If you want to keep any kind of decent reserve, I need to radio Zero Two right now and tell them to stop dropping. I can’t wait for our next UNREP, Skipper. If I’m going to stay in this ball game, I need reloads right now.”
“I don’t know where I’m going to get them from,” Amanda replied. “Task Force 7.1 and Seventh Fleet are both in about the same shape we are. The Orion squadrons are eating buoys like popcorn. Some reserve stocks are being flown in from stateside, but it’s going to be a while before we see any of them.”
“Then we’re screwed.” Arkady tilted his chair back until it thumped against the curved bulkhead. “Once we’re reduced to dunking sonars and MAD gear, our ASW air-search capability is going to fall way off.”
“Well, couldn’t you sort of stretch things out a little — be conservative on your drop patterns, that sort of thing?”
“A net full of holes isn’t much use. I’d say let’s save what we have left until we have something solid to use ‘on.”
“That sounds reasonable. Make it so.” From behind the cramped workstation, Amanda lifted her arms over her head and stretched out some of the kinks in her shoulders. “Frankly, I don’t think the damn thing’s around here anyway.”
It was a quiet night aboard the big destroyer, born out of an operation that seemed to be trending toward a dead end.
They were alone in Amanda’s quarters, having gravitated together earlier in the evening, both to deal with a backlog of problems and for the companionship.
“Where do you think he is, then?”
“If I had any idea at all, we’d be going there. Since I don’t, we aren’t, and I’m sick of thinking about the subject.”
She leaned forward over the desktop and cupped her chin in the palm of her hand. “Divert me, Lieutenant,” she said.
“Any preferences?”
“Do me a date,” she challenged, watching him through half-closed eyes.
“Where away?”
“Mmmm, Everett Fleet Base, about this time of year.”
“Okay.” The aviator grew thoughtful. Lacing his fingers together behind his head, he stared up at the cabin overhead.
“Captain, would you care to have dinner with me this evening?”
“I’d love to. What should I wear?”
“Let’s see … that green velvet dress, the one that you’re always afraid is too short for you, and your gold sandals. Not a lot of jewelry, but maybe a matching velvet ribbon around your throat. Oh, and that dress definitely calls for nylons and a garter belt. Pantyhose would be too plebeian.”
“Nylons and a garter belt? Is that all I should wear under it?”
Arkady gave her a sideways glance. “Surprise me. At any rate, we’ll drive down into Seattle. They’ve got the best seafood in the world there. I think for tonight … the old Edge water Inn. Not superglamorous, but it’s got great attitude. It’s also got this great St. Michelle Riesling for a house wine. Then an Alaskan shrimp cocktail, baked salmon with sage dressing and rice pilaf, and maybe a piece of cheesecake, afterwards.”