Clark wanted to confirm what he was hearing. “So, Marshal Dong, you offer a cessation of hostilities, and freedom of navigation inside the South and East China seas? Is this what you offer?”
“Admiral, we propose a cessation, and we allow for innocent passage of foreign vessels in our near seas, including military vessels outside of your distance of 12 miles, which has been an established convention for some time. We seek harmony, Admiral.”
“And your Chairman knows we are talking now?”
“Indeed, Admiral Clark, I am authorized to speak for the People’s Republic on military matters such as these. It is incumbent on us to command our forces, and they will stand down with valid orders. In the near seas, we expect the sun to appear in six hours. I propose six hours hence, Admiral. Do you concur?”
“I could talk to my people much better and faster if I still had my satellites. What if someone doesn’t get the word?” Clark asked him.
After a pause, Dong answered. “We, too, no longer enjoy satellite communications due to your actions. Regardless, unfortunate incidents sometimes occur. As military men we know too well they occasionally occur despite the best of intentions, such as the time you bombed our embassy twenty years ago.”
“That was an unfortunate accident, and we apologized.”
“Yes, Admiral, and should an unfortunate accident occur today, the People’s Republic will understand, as we have in the past and most likely will in the future. Again, we are mere cogs, servants of the vast multitudes.”
Clark didn’t buy Dong’s soaring rhetoric, but Dong was offering what Washington wanted. There would be no ticker-tape parade celebrating victory in Manhattan; this fight had lasted little more than a month and, for the most part, was fought with forces on station. Hundreds were dead, and rust had yet to form on the broken ships and planes that lay on the bottom across thousands of miles of the Western Pacific.
“And your outposts? What guarantee do we have that you won’t rebuild?”
“Admiral Clark, your youngsters have destroyed them such that they are beyond repair. To be frank, a typhoon will one day devour them and leave no trace that humans ever dwelled there. We offer peace and harmony, Admiral, and we do not seek renewed conflict with you. Please convey this to your Secretary, and hours from now, at dawn, my chairman will call your president to cement our agreement. Billions the world over will rejoice at our pact, and only military men such as ourselves know the real cost in human suffering to our children and their loved ones. We must avoid this in the future… at all costs, Admiral.”
Clark exhaled through his nose. “In consideration of your gesture, I’ll stand down for now, Marshal Dong, but I can spin back up very fast. I will call Washington and report this, and wait for further orders from my civilian leaders. Meanwhile, I know I can demand the safe return of my sailors in Hong Kong and my pilots you’ve captured, in accordance with the Geneva Conventions.”
“Admiral Clark, you are a great humanitarian and wise commander!” Dong’s translator replied with ardor. “Your countrymen will remain safeguarded and returned to you forthwith. Thank you, Admiral, thank you, and best wishes to your family. Good day!”
The line went dead and Clark looked at his personal staff who had gathered during the call. “Holy shit, sir,” Ritchie Casher offered.
“Yeah, I’ve never had my ass kissed that much, even as a four-star. Okay, wake up John McGill to call me, and you guys contact his watchstanders now. Weapons hold, effective immediately. I think John Adams has a strike scheduled in another hour. Turn it off. Stay on alert and defend if they make a mistake. Let’s not make a mistake ourselves.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral,” Casher said.
“Ritchie, get me the Secretary first. This call will be just in time for Christmas.”
CHAPTER 63
With her exhausted crew at General Quarters, Hancock’s bow was pointed east into the rising sun. Despite the ceasefire directive issued hours earlier, Blower was taking no chances. He blew through the strait leading out of the Celebes to the open-ocean freedom of the Philippine Sea and to a waiting tanker 200 miles east. Armed helos and a P-8 overhead patrolled all around the strike group that included Cape St. George and Michael S. Speicher, with USS Earl Gallaher conspicuous by her absence.
Wilson had been up all night with Admiral Johnson feeding data to 7th Fleet HQ. The Americans assessed that sixteen PLA(N) warships had been sunk or put out of action, including three submarines, and some 40 fixed-wing had been shot down with another 20 destroyed or damaged on the outposts. Hancock had taken the brunt of the PRC attacks, absorbing two hits, with Carrier Air Wing Fifteen losing almost a quarter of its aircraft to all causes. After 72 hours of hard combat, all were spent, but Johnson had to keep his forces on high alert — just in case. The air wing rejoiced at one piece of good news; Rip was safe, rescued by Filipino fishermen off Palawan.
Wilson led Weed into his stateroom, and they took seats at the table. For a moment neither spoke, both bone-tired with fatigue. It was over, for now, anyway.
Weed broke the silence.
“What are you thinking?”
Wilson’s eyes drooped, and he shrugged. “Lots of stuff. Letters to families. After-action reports. Awards. Stand-down. Beer day. Liberty.”
“Sleep?”
“Yeah, I’ll try to fit that in.”
“You gotta address the Wing. The kids did good.”
“Yeah, let’s gather for quarters tomorrow. Need to meet with the COs tonight.”
“What about Mother?” Weed asked.
“He’s still the CO,” Wilson said. Weed said nothing, knowing his friend would clarify the matter.
“I don’t know what to do. I’m inclined to relieve him, and, if he were Navy, I would. But because he’s not… I’m not even sure. He works for me, and he works for his Group Commander back home. I run the show out here, but I can see the Marine Corps going high and right if I relieve one of their golden-boy skippers without consulting them. It’s going to be a red ass for everyone, and the admiral has enough on his plate right now.”
“Flip, he’s a pompous dickhead, and he’s undermined you from day one. But throw that out. He can’t or won’t fly at night. He admitted it. It happens. It’s unfortunate, but I’m sorry, airborne leadership is what COs do. What holds you back?”
Wilson stared at a spot on the deck as Weed waited for an answer. Wilson knew that not wanting to deal with it was not an answer, not what was expected of CAGs. CAGs took action when action was called for — no matter what. Both knew the word was out on Skipper Tucker, and inaction reflected on their ability to lead. After a long silence Wilson spoke.
“I know. It’s not gonna go away. I’ll ground him again and sit on it until we get to Hawaii, if that’s where we’re going next. The admiral will call Fleet Marine Force and give them a heads up.”
Wilson then sat up in his chair.
“But I take no pleasure, Weed. Yeah, he’s a dick, and he made my hard job harder, and interservice politics makes it harder still, but it’s always sad when a career implodes… or explodes.” With this entrée, Wilson knew now was the time to broach the subject with his friend. He swallowed, and did what he must.