Jian’s mouth opened, but no words issued.
“He did, sir,” Admiral Qiang said in his gravely voice.
Deng slammed a fist on the table. “I knew it!” In the growing silence, Deng’s head swayed back as he glanced at the watching Chairman. “Please forgive my outburst, sir,” Deng said. “It was ill considered.”
The Chairman’s head swiveled so he stared once more at Jian. “Tell me why you would do such a thing, Agricultural Minister. Why step so far out of your bounds?”
Jian bowed his head. Here was the moment. Now he was on the edge of life and death. Choosing his words with care, he said, “I am convinced that the Energy Minister has taken China on a false path, sir.”
“A path that I sanctioned,” the Chairman whispered angrily.
Knowing that he could find himself hustled out of the room in the next few minutes, frog-marched by killers and possibly placed before a firing squad, Jian still forced himself to argue. He had little to lose now. “Sir, we cannot feed ourselves. I know this better than anyone.”
“You have failed to improve the agricultural industry,” Deng sneered. “That’s all you are saying. For that, you should be shot.”
Jian caught the Chairman’s angry glance at Deng. It was tactless to interrupt the old man. In former days, it would have brought terrible punishment. Clearly, the Chairman was beginning to resent these interruptions.
“Sir,” Jian said, making his voice contrite. “If you would allow me to answer that baseless charge…?”
“…speak,” whispered the Chairman.
Deng’s surprise at the permission emboldened Jian. “You are a clever man, Energy Minister. You slyly maneuvered me into accepting my present post. You promised to aid me and stand by my side if I would only attack the food problem with my customary zeal. I use your own words, not my own. Now I wonder if you secretly feared me and encouraged me to tackle a problem that no one can solve. China needs the Grain Union, or it needs the foodstuffs they so treacherously horde for their own use. You counsel us to go to them hat in hand, hoping to gain their good will. But life does not progress in that manner. The truth of history is that the strong survive and the weak fade away. We must cripple America and force them to trade to our benefit and at our call. That is the only long-term solution worthy of the greatest power on Earth.”
“War?” asked Deng.
“You make it sound as if I counsel a nuclear exchange, which is madness. I’m speaking about a limited war with limited goals, such as the Chairman achieved in Siberia and Taiwan.”
“War against America?” asked Deng. “Do you think us so superior to them that we can land in California and take their best farmlands through swift armor assaults?”
“You are adept at building a straw man and easily knocking him down,” Jian said. “No one here suggests what you just said. I spoke about a limited war. Our marshal and admiral are quite familiar with the subject. They have practiced war-games concerning it many times. I suggest a swift invasion of Alaska, the last great oil-bearing region of America. Once we own it, we will possess the Arctic Ocean oil basin and control the great Prudhoe Bay fields. With Alaska in our possession, the Americans will be at our mercy in energy terms. We will then ship them their own oil for massive imports of grain. The food rationing here will end and our Party’s power will rest secure for another generation at least. There will be no more rice riots and no more ugly executions in police basements.”
The people in the rich cities on the coast had already become accustomed to bread and other foodstuffs made by grain. Those in the interior still primarily ate rice. It would take time to accustom them to bread. But it was inevitable that they learn because the rice harvests were smaller each year.
“I’ve heard enough,” Deng said. “You spout madness. Invade Alaska? The Americans aren’t Siberians. They own a continent, not a tiny island like Taiwan. You cannot simply rip Alaska out of their grasp and hope the conflict ends there. World Wars have started on lesser pretexts.”
“No one thinks Americans are Siberians or Taiwanese,” Jian said. “But I don’t think you’ve studied their present force levels with a critical eye.”
“And you, as Agricultural Minister, have?” Deng sneered.
“The Debt Depression badly weakened their navy,” Jian said. “They’ve decommissioned countless vessels and hardly purchased any new hardware. Added to that, they are experiencing continuing secessionist trouble, and along with the Mexico Situation, it means they dare not commit their army units elsewhere in any force.” Jian nodded in the admiral’s direction. “I have spoken with Admiral Qiang and we’ve talked about his strategists’ plan to cripple the American Fleet before the start of hostilities.”
“What plan?” the Chairman asked, swiveling his gaze onto the admiral.
Reluctantly, it seemed, Admiral Qiang explained the plan.
“An interesting concept,” the Chairman whispered after Admiral Qiang had fallen silent.
“Sir,” Deng said. “This all sounds like unadvised adventurism. The admiral’s so-called bold plan is nothing more than a terrorist assault on a large scale. If it fails—”
“Why should it fail?” asked Jian. “The White Tigers are the foremost Special Forces in the world. Their record of success is spotless.”
“Sir?” Deng said.
Everyone in the room turned to the Chairman. He had a far-off look as he stared at some distant point. He blinked slowly as he regarded the others. “On the cusp of the Siberian Invasion years ago, there were those who told me I was too adventuresome,” he told Deng.
Jian closed his eyes as his stomach continued to seethe. His profilers had told him the Chairman still dreamt of military glory. It was something that always seemed to pull on conquerors: one more roll of fate’s dice. The Chairman’s name was intimately linked with the victories in Siberia and Taiwan. Surely, the idea of matching strength and wits against the formerly mighty Americans appealed to the Chairman’s vanity. Jian’s plan counted on it.
“Come gentlemen,” Deng implored. “Am I wrong in suggesting that war with America is against our national interests?”
The marshal stirred. He was the Army Chief of Staff and the Army Minister. He had strangely sculptured features and smooth skin. He was eighty, used botox injections, and had artistic leanings. He was known to be cautious, one who loved building an army but feared to use it.
He bowed his head in the Chairman’s direction before saying, “We would need time to prepare, sir. Some of our most capable units are stationed in Siberia and Taiwan. An Alaskan invasion would demand complete control of the sea. If the Navy can guarantee passage and keep the supply lanes open, it would be possible. I would think eight months preparation—”
“What about a cross-polar attack against Prudhoe Bay?” Jian asked. “Most of the needed units are already in position, or nearly so. We have the trains to bring them to the forward areas. Some of these formations are already in Siberia. It would take two weeks at most to bring them into readiness for a swift polar assault. Even before that, you could begin pre-positioning the needed supplies onto the ice.”
Sputtering, the marshal asked, “Where did you learn this? These are highly confidential matters.”
“I am a member of the Ruling Committee,” Jian said. “Tell me. Do you deny these things?”
“I deny nothing,” the marshal said. “I want to know how you learned of them.”
“Are the ice-mobile formations ready?” asked Jian.
“No, not as you suggest,” the marshal said.
“How long until they are?” asked Jian.
“I will not sit here and be quizzed by a failed Agricultural Minister,” the marshal told the others.