The Cultural Revolution was in full flower.
The man swung the rusty hoe into the hardscrabble ground. The scar on his forehead itched where the ax handle had hit. The wound had not healed well at the People's Community Farm. He shook the sweat out of his eyes as another worker came near. The man recognized the scientist from the university's staff. In better days they had argued together over many intellectual matters. Now the scientist had more important information he wished to impart. "I am leaving tonight."
The man was astonished. Leaving? There was no place in China where the party would not find him. "Where are you going?"
"Hong Kong. And then America."
The man shook his head. "They will never let you into Hong Kong. They will send you back and then things will be worse for you. You will be considered not capable of being rehabilitated."
The scientist looked up briefly and met the man's eyes. "There is a rumor that for people with expertise in certain fields of knowledge, the door to Hong Kong will open. It is said the Americans and the British are taking in some of these people. It is said they believe that the enemy of their enemy is now their friend."
The man thought about that. It would not be hard to leave the farm. The few guards did not believe that there was anyplace for their prisoners to go. The scientist's last sentence especially caught the man's attention. He absently rubbed the twisted scar on his forehead while he thought about what had gone up in the flames at the university and the bleak future here. He considered the possibility that he might be able to get his family out some day.
"I will go with you."
1
"War is a matter of vital importance to the state;
the province of life or death; the road to survival or
ruin. It is mandatory that it be thoroughly studied."
The small flashing light on the wall screen crept across the overlay of the eastern edge of China, heading with agonizing slowness toward the safety of the ocean. The men in the room watched the light's progress with mixed feelings. From the back of the room, Doctor Meng could tell that the air force general, Hixon, was the most anxious. With two good reasons, Meng knew. That light represented Hixon's prized toy, the B-2 Stealth bomber, and, more importantly, Hixon was in charge of the mission.
The aircraft was displayed on a screen measuring almost forty feet wide by twenty feet high, which dominated one end of the Tunnel. Facing the screen, in ascending rows, were banks of terminals where the various officers responsible for the mission worked. In the rear of the room, on a slightly raised dais, sat Meng, who oversaw the whole operation through a terminal that linked him to the master computer.
Meng glanced down at the computer screen as new input scrolled up. In a low voice, consistent with his small stature, he read the results. "There is sixty-five percent probability of target destruction."
Hixon didn't like that. "Hell, they went in right on top of the son of a bitch. There's no way they could have missed." The air force general signaled for one of his officers to type out a message over the SATCOM link. "Tell them to repeat transmission of strike data."
The general's words were transcribed into the keyboard. The letters went through a scrambler onto a tape, which transmitted the message to the National Security Agency (NSA) headquarters next door. There, a large dish antenna beamed the message to orbiting satellites, which then directed the beam down to the B-2's radio receiver, where the message was unscrambled.
The general turned his attention to the clear lower right corner of the forward electronic screen, where the answer would be displayed. In less than five seconds the reply appeared.
THIS IS PHOENIX ONE/ ROGER/ RETRANSMITTING STRIKE DATA/ END/
Meng's boss, General Sutton, sought to comfort Hixon. "Sixty-five percent is rather high for a mission like this. Within acceptable parameters."
Hixon ignored the information and concentrated on the dot on the screen. Another 120 kilometers and the aircraft would make it out of Chinese airspace.
Meng watched as the data appeared on his computer terminal. As he expected, the retransmitted data from the aircrew spelled out the same results as the original. The aircraft had indeed made it to target and had delivered its bombs. The only question was whether the ordnance had done the job it was supposed to do.
A new message appeared on the screen.
THIS IS PHOENIX ONE/ PICKING UP SOME TURBULENCE/ TERRAIN IS GROWING MORE BROKEN/ REQUEST PERMISSION TO GO TO 1,000 FEET AGL/ END/
Hixon scanned the telemetry he was receiving from the SATCOM channel regarding the aircraft. The general didn't want to take any chances. He typed in the reply himself.
THIS IS HELM BASE/ REQUEST DENIED/ END/
Another message pulsed onto the screen.
PHOENIX ONE/ REQUEST PERMISSION TO USE FLIR/ END/
Hixon immediately denied the request to use forward-looking infrared radar.
HELM BASE/ DENIED/ END/
Meng raised an eyebrow at Sutton. "I thought the reasoning behind using the B-2 on this mission was that it wouldn't get picked up on radar and wouldn't have to fly so low, sir."
Hixon looked at the civilian scientist with irritation. He didn't like some civilian egghead telling him how to do his job. "Yeah, that's true but—"
He was interrupted by the disappearance of the dot. General Hixon slammed his desktop. His telemetry link went blank. "Goddamnit, we've lost the link! How the hell did that happen?" He typed into his keyboard furiously.
PHOENIX ONE THIS IS HELM BASE/ STATUS REPORT/ END/
The only answer was a blank screen.
PHOENIX ONE THIS IS HELM BASE/ STATUS REPORT/ END/
Meng looked up from his computer. "Aircraft satellite transponder is off. We have to assume that Phoenix One has gone down."
Hixon turned on the frail old man clad in a white lab coat. "Bullshit! There's no way those bastards could have spotted her. It would take a miracle for them to have run across it randomly."
Meng spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "There are many possibilities, General. Their most modern military jets, which by the way we sold them, do have look-down radar and may have overflown the flight path. The data is unclear as to the B-2's stealth capability against such a system. A lucky visual missile shot, perhaps from a ground site? You knew that the flight out would be much more difficult than the flight in due to the destruction of the target, alerting the Chinese to the presence of the aircraft."
Hixon wasn't buying it. "Your goddamn computer is wrong. That plane is still flying."
Meng did not like being cursed at, nor did he enjoy being told that his computer was wrong. His computer was the heart of this entire system — a system that had taken Meng two years to design and the Department of Defense two years and more than a billion dollars to build. Meng glanced over at General Sutton, who, knowing how Meng felt, quickly intervened.
"If you'll be patient, General Hixon, in a few minutes we'll have a readout on what happened to Phoenix One."
Meng's fingers caressed the keyboard and accessed the aircraft file. He dumped in the data, sifted through the flight record, then looked back at the air force general. "You are most correct, General Hixon. The Chinese did not find your aircraft or shoot it down."