“Yes, sir, I understand,” Curtis replied, and quickly added, “There are a few more items—”
President Lloyd Taylor had had enough, but he said, “Yes, General, make it quick…
“CINCPAC has requested an increased ‘safe zone’ around his fleet assets in the region…”
“Sink — who?"
“Sorry, sir… Admiral Stoval. Commander in Chief, Pacific Forces. He’ll be in overall charge of operations in the South China Sea; he is asking permission to order the fleet that is sent down there to engage unidentified or hostile vessels or aircraft out to a range of two hundred miles instead of the usual one hundred miles.”
“Why does he need that?” President Taylor grumbled.
“Sir, if it was a Fei Lung-9 missile that was launched from a Chinese ship, the missile has a range in excess of one hundred miles and is supersonic, which makes the task of shooting it down very difficult. With a nuclear warhead, the kill radius of the missile is that much greater. The commanders in the area will want to keep all unidentified aircraft as far away as possible from their ships and to provide air cover for the reconnaissance planes,” Curtis said. “They all operate no closer than two hundred miles from Philippine waters…”
“Air cover? I said no air operations!” the President snapped.
“This would be for the STRATFOR reconnaissance jets, sir,” Curtis explained. “Those jets — the AW ACS, the EC-135, and the RC-135 are unarmed recon planes. We have to provide air cover for them if they’re operating so close to the Chinese forces…”
“I thought you said this would be a simple operation, General…”
“Sir, for safety’s sake, each STRATFOR aircraft should have a minimum of eight fighters with it at all times…”
“Eight fighters!” the President exploded. “And how many aircraft will you send from the STRATFOR?”
“Four, sir,” Curtis replied.
“You want thirty-six aircraft involved in a ‘simple’ reconnaissance mission? That’s out of the question. If I saw that many planes near my ships, I know I’d be angry. Good God, man, don’t you get it? I’m trying to avoid a fucking war! We’re sending in all this force and we don’t even know what the hell is going on!”
“Our aircraft need that kind of protection…”
“Do it with less,” the President ordered. “If you can’t protect the reconnaissance aircraft with two fighters each, you can’t send them in — we’ll rely on satellite data to gather intelligence information instead.”
Curtis paused for a moment, then said, “I’ll confer with General Falmouth…”
“Yes, yes, fine,” the President said, waving his hand as if dismissing a bothersome insect. “Do what you want, just make sure you cover those planes with two jets each. I don’t care how you do it.”
“Of course, sir.”
“And, Curtis?” the President added, pointing his index finger at the General. “If this thing blows up in our face… if this puts my ass in a sling? Guess what? Your ass is going to be in a sling.”
And with that, Curtis was dismissed. Other aides and staffers were already being buzzed into the Situation Room before Curtis reached the door. Curtis’ aide, Colonel Andrew Wyatt, met the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in the corridor next to the Marines guard desk. He fell in beside Curtis as they headed for the elevator.
“Well, how’d it go?”
“Don’t ask,” Curtis said as Wyatt punched the elevator call button.
“That bad?” Wyatt asked.
Curtis said nothing. Instead he was too busy thinking about what was going on halfway around the world…
Admiral Yin Po L’un awoke to find himself lying on a very soft bed under clean white sheets. Through blurred eyes, he saw several nurses — Filipino nurses, he soon realized — surrounding his bed. One of them, after realizing that he was awake, ran off out of sight.
“Who… who are you?” Yin asked in Chinese. The nurses looked at each other, then turned back toward him and shook their heads, replying something in English that obviously meant they did not understand him. But a nurse bent forward to wipe sweat and mucus from his face and eyes, and he was able to see—
— several Filipino soldiers marching into the room, with M-16 rifles slung on their shoulders. So. He was a prisoner of the wretched Philippine Army, or worse, the damned Americans. Even though he saw no American-looking faces, he assumed he would be turned over to them soon.
Presently, a physician in a white lab coat appeared before him, along with, to his great surprise, the senior ship’s doctor from the Hong Lung, a Vietnamese immigrant named Commander Tran Phu Ko. Finally, a man who appeared to be an officer stood at the foot of the bed, bowing slightly at the neck when he noticed Yin looking at him.
Commander Tran bowed to Admiral Yin. “Thank the gods you are well, Comrade Admiral.”
Yin struggled to rise to a sitting position, and Tran helped him. “Report, Doctor. Who are these men? What is the status of the ship? What of the crew?”
“The men are well, Admiral,” Tran replied. “Many casualties, but we can speak of that later. The ship is damaged but safe. It is secured in Ulugan Bay, not far from here. Several other ships of our task force are there as well.”
Ulugan Bay. Palawan Province, the Philippines. So they were prisoners…
Tran motioned toward the officer at the foot of the bed. “This is General Robert Munoz di Silva, commander of the provincial defense force,” he said. “He is our… host. He speaks no Chinese. I know English, sir; I can interpret for you.”
“Ask him then if we are his prisoners,” Yin said, “and what sort of treatment my crew and myself can expect from them.”
Tran looked puzzled, then relieved. “No, sir, you do not understand…”
“Ask him,” Yin ordered.
Tran was about to speak once again, but, at a stern glance from Yin, bowed and relayed the question in broken, hesitant English. But obviously General di Silva understood, because the pig-faced bastard threw back his head and laughed out loud, right in Admiral Yin’s face!
Then, to Yin’s complete surprise, the Philippine General walked over to Yin and kissed him on both cheeks! Yin stared at the man, flabbergasted, while General di Silva babbled on enthusiastically about something or other.
Yin shook his head warily. They must have given him morphine. Or worse. Something was wrong here.
Dr. Tran read his thoughts: “You do not understand, Comrade Admiral. We are not prisoners of General di Silva — we are their liberators and allies.”
“What?” Yin asked, sitting up straight. “What are you saying? Their liberators? But—”
“According to General di Silva, he no longer considers his force to be part of the Philippine military,” Tran said. “He and his men have been secretly opposed to the capitalist pro-American government in Manila for over forty years. They’ve been waiting for such an opportunity to strike out at the puppet of the Americans. He is asking for our help in supporting his movement and assisting him and his fellow Communists in severing ties with the rest of the Philippines and establishing a pro-Communist state here on Palawan.” With that, they watched in complete surprise as di Silva stripped off his blue and gold epaulets of the Philippine Integrated National Police and tossed them over his shoulder. A few of the nurses and doctors who had filled the room looked ashen at the demonstration, but most of the others were smiling broadly, some even applauding.