“Meanwhile, significant elements of the Republic of China Army have fallen back into Taiwan’s eastern mountains. The Chingyan Shan is unpopulated, ravined, forested. In other words, ideal for a guerrilla campaign. We’ve established contact with Luong Shucheng, deputy chief of the general staff. As far as we can tell, he’s the senior general still at large. If we can supply him with weapons, ammunition, and food, we can keep Zhang fighting, while we bleed him at the end of his supply lines.
“It might be possible to strand half a million troops on Taiwan. Cut them off, and force them to surrender. An island Stalingrad. If our other allies hold, that may give us a chance at war termination on reasonable terms.”
The group seemed to take a collective inhale. Yangerhans paused as if gauging the reaction, twisted face screwed up as if in pain. “We’ll see if the enemy cooperates… and whether Washington supports us. Any further questions?… That’ll be all for now, then.”
They got to their feet, not with the alacrity of a group of junior officers, but PaCom didn’t wait. Just waited for Niles to lumber up, and gestured him aside.
The meeting broke in an undertone of murmurs. Dan glanced at Niles, but the four-stars had their heads together. He strolled over to Byrne. “Jack. What’re you doing here? I thought you retired.”
“Civilian policy adviser. Triple the salary.”
“Nice. How’s Rosemary? The kids?”
Byrne lowered his voice. “Got ’em out to the country. Blair, I guess she’s — where? Still parked square on the bull’s-eye?”
“Uh, still in DC, if that’s what you mean.”
“Your daughter?”
“Seattle. A good job, microbiology.”
“Good Lord. Seattle? Get her out of there. Or at least, ready to evacuate.”
“Lenson? Lenson?” Niles’s rumble, over the mutter of side conversations.
“His master’s voice,” Byrne cracked.
Dan bit back an angry response. Turning away, he located the CNO in the far corner, by a GCCS terminal. Niles and Yangerhans were contemplating a ground terrain display. The northern border of Vietnam. Yangerhans shook Dan’s hand, grip bony and dry. “Nick here says you’re a fighter.”
“We’ve had our differences,” Niles put in. “And right now, he’s suspended from command pending an investigation. But I kept him in my back pocket, just in case.”
“We need bruisers.” PaCom nodded curtly. “That was a good question about Hormuz, by the way. You’re thinking ahead. Any amphib experience?”
“A PHIBRON staff, in the Med. During the Syrian crisis,” Dan said.
Yangerhans half smiled. Close up he looked even uglier. “And you led the attack in the Taiwan Strait?”
“That was him,” Niles said.
“I’ve been looking for a street fighter. Somebody with balls and brains, both. You can stonewall these investigations, right, Nick?”
“Lenson’s your guy,” Niles rumbled. “Only problem will be keepin’ him on the leash.”
“If you vouch for him, Fireball, that’s good enough for me,” Yangerhans said equably.
With surprising grace for such a huge man, the CNO executed a wheeling movement, opening the distance between him and Yangerhans. A beefy hand plumbed a pocket. Fat fingers tore open a plastic packet. “Sorry Blair couldn’t be here for this,” Niles grunted.
Dan stood bewildered as the two admirals manipulated his lapels, as a camera flashed. Applause battered his ears. He looked down at his palm. His old captain’s eagles glittered there.
“It’s not a permanent commission.” Yangerhans leaned in, still holding the handshake as he grimaced into another camera-flash. “Only Congress can give you that. Which, as I understand it, isn’t going to happen in your case. This is just a fleet-up, understand? A temporary wartime rank.”
Dan touched his new insignia. The hard outline of a five-pointed star. “Um, yessir. I get that. But still. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. You haven’t heard the job description yet.”
“You’ll love this, Lenson,” Niles said. “Right up your alley.”
Yangerhans said, “I mentioned a pushback. I want you to lead it.”
Dan nodded cautiously.
“It’ll be like sticking your face in a blast furnace. But we can’t sit on our thumbs. Nick and I envisioned TF 76 as a combined U.S. — Japanese force. But Japan’s accepting Zhang’s cease-fire. We’ll plug the Koreans in instead. That’ll give you a robust force level. Concur?”
“I’d be happy to fight alongside Min Jun Jung,” Dan said. “But wouldn’t he be senior to me?”
Niles said, “Why d’you think you got the promotion? Your first task will be to clear the sea lanes between Guam and the fighting on Okinawa. Then, land an element of the Second Marine Division in a location to be designated. Also, be ready to position as a blocking force to protect Guam and the Marianas, if the enemy moves faster than we expect.”
“I personally don’t think Zhang will make the mistake Tojo did, and overextend,” PaCom said somberly. “But he’s kicked our asses so damn hard already, Lianfeng might just persuade him to keep it up. So be wary. They’ve got more surprises for us, I’m sure.”
“Your next question will be about carrier support,” Niles rumbled. “For obvious reasons, there won’t be any. Not after what happened to FDR.”
Yangerhans said, “We’re holding the remaining battle groups out of missile range. Nimitz, Vinson, and Reagan east of Hawaii. Abraham Lincoln, off Australia. The good news: we have more decks on the way. Not attack carriers, but ESBs and containership or tanker hulls with modular decking. And we should have microsatellite recon and at least limited chat up again before too long.”
“Report to USS Hornet, and take command of your force,” Niles concluded. “Your orders will be there this afternoon.”
When they emerged from the building a siren was screaming. Dan was looking around for a shelter when a passing trooper called, “It’s a drill, sir. Testing a new missile-attack warning.” The wind freshened, blew harder. The palms clashed above their heads, and rain danced across the asphalt, bringing coolness and the smell of the never-far-off sea.
Niles was lumbering toward the Humvee that had brought Dan up the hill. The driver stood holding the door. Dan double-timed after him. “Admiral,” he called.
The massive head half turned. “Yeah — Admiral?”
“I’m not ready.”
“Nobody’s ready for a war, Lenson. I think you know what’s at stake. Otherwise I wouldn’t have pinned those stars on you.”
A second siren joined the first, then a third. They dropped an octave, then rose again, and began to keen in earnest: a spine-chilling, off-key note that sawed at some primitive chord of the back-brain. Niles frowned. “Or did you mean the rank?”
“I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want it.”
“I don’t remember asking for your fucking preferences, Lenson. The Navy needs somebody we can afford to lose. You fit the requirement. Clear?” Niles slammed a beefy hand on the frame of the vehicle. Half-ducked into the door, then paused. “I’m gonna data-dump you everything you need to know about wearing those stars. Listening?”
The sirens rose another octave, screaming like attacking velociraptors, like plunging Stukas. The rain prodded Dan’s face like the icy fingertips of hungry zombies. Humid air was supposed to be easier to breathe, but his airways, scarred from sucking smoke on 9/11, were starting to constrict. He said with difficulty, “I’m all ears.”