“No,” Deng said. “War with America would be a grave error.”
“Comrade Deng,” the Chairman whispered, “tell us where we shall gain the extra foodstuffs now that America has closed its doors to us? Without massive imports, the people will riot. Such rioting could topple us from power. Jian Hong is correct in pointing that out.”
Deng blinked several times. “Perhaps secret protocols with Australia—”
“Don’t you understand that the Anglo-run powers plan to use grain to regain their preeminence?” asked Jian. “In their days of glory, they stole the best farmlands from indigenous peoples. Now they use those farmlands against the rest of the world. Must we go begging to them for food? Must we attempt to gain their goodwill when we possess the greatest army and navy in history?”
“War is a gamble,” Deng said, “as Admiral Qiang just reminded us several minutes ago. There are no guarantees.”
“Leaving a seething volcano of hungry people under us is a greater gamble,” Jian said. He believed it was wiser for him to point this out than to let anyone else do it. In this way, he seemed like a strong man, unafraid of the consequences of his failed farm policies. “China is rich,” he said, “but we are hungry. Now the Anglo-heathens refuse to sell us grain. Very well, we shall force them to sell it by taking American oil. I see no other way, other than to crawl on our knees to them and kiss their feet. Do you wish to kiss their feet, Deng Fong?”
“I wish for peace,” Deng said.
“And a rice revolt?” asked Jian.
“This revolt would not have occurred if you could have grown enough rice,” Deng said.
“No one could have grown enough rice during an ice age,” Jian said. “A bold military thrust into Alaska shall change everything. It will save our Party and save China.”
“Sir,” Deng said, turning to the Chairman. “Let me examine the situation in detail. I will report back to you.”
“As the people seethe and their bellies rumble?” Jian asked.
“We have the police and army,” Deng said. “There will be no revolt.”
“Ah,” Jian said. “I see. You would rather shed Chinese blood than hurt an American. How noble of you to care more for a barbarian than one of your own. I am proud to say that I do not share such a sentiment.”
“Sir,” said Police Minister Xiao. “My profilers believe we shall have increasingly bloody riots as the year progresses. If something isn’t done to alleviate the hunger, we shall have to institute massive suppression. The police battalions may need Army support.”
“What do you say, Deng?” the Chairman asked. “Shall we shed Chinese or American blood?”
Deng’s bad eye twitched, almost closing it. “I am against war, sir.”
“So we bleed our people?” the Chairman whispered.
“…no, sir,” Deng said.
“What then?” the Chairman whispered.
Jian leaned forward as he wet his lips. His armpits were soaked with sweat. He felt a trickle slide down his side.
“Perhaps a detailed war-study,” Deng said.
“I do not believe we have the time,” whispered the Chairman, “not if we hope to keep this preciously-given strategic surprise. This is a gift Fate has given us so China may forever secure her greatness.”
Every member present watched Deng Fong. He seemed to wilt under their combined stares. “Perhaps, sir, the polar raid to snatch the oil fields would prove enough of a lever.”
For a response, the Chairman’s chin sank onto his chest.
Jian was afraid the Chairman had fallen asleep. He had done so before, just as abruptly. Then Jian saw that the man’s eyes were open. For some reason, that frightened Jian. The old man was clearly thinking deeply.
Finally, the Chairman straightened his pain-racked body. “We will finalize the preparations for an Alaskan assault,” he said in a dry voice. “Admiral, you will continue preparations for a naval exercise, adding naval infantry brigades for a mass assault against metropolitan Anchorage.”
“Yes, sir,” said Admiral Qiang.
“You will also begin to implement your secret plan for crippling the American Navy,” the Chairman said. “In two weeks, no less than three, we must surprise the world with a bold snatching of Alaska.”
“Yes, sir,” said Admiral Qiang.
“Marshal, you shall finalize preparations for this cross-polar raid. Use the trains, use air transport, but get those specialist units ready for an immediate assault across the ice.”
“What if the Navy fails in its assigned tasks, sir?” asked the marshal. “It might leave my men open on the north slope of the Alaskan coast.”
“You will plan for Navy success,” the Chairman said, “not for failure. But if you feel that you cannot perform this task, tell me at once so I may find a general who can.”
“The Army will not fail you, sir,” the marshal said.
A grim smile stretched the Chairman’s face, showing the wrinkles there and the spottiness of his skin. He was diseased, but he seemed more invigorated than he had been for a long time.
A conqueror only truly loves conquering. Jian’s profilers had guessed right, and he was gaining a new lease on life. It was strange but heady to think he had brought about a war with America through his words. His words were a lever that were about to move the world. That was power, and it felt good, very good.
“Our Minister of Agriculture has seen farther than the rest of you,” the Chairman said. “We will not repeat the failure that faced Cheng Ho. This time, the Chinese will rise above every nation on Earth and stamp the world with its superior civilization. First, however, we must survive this new glacial period and gain for our people a secure food supply. Are there any here who disagree with our plan?”
Those last words were famous. According to legend they’d been spoken a week before the Siberian Invasion. Also, according to a much-whispered story, a minister had spoken up then, urging caution. As if delighted, the Chairman had thanked the minister for the courage to speak his mind. He had asked the minister to step outside with him so the man could tell him his worries in private. The two had left the room and they had left the other ministers and generals. Seconds later, a shot had rung out. The Chairman returned alone, with a smoking pistol in his hand.
Today, no one spoke up against the finalized plan, not even Deng.
“Then I declare the meeting over,” the Chairman said. “Everyone is dismissed. Ah, except for you, Jian Hong. I wish to speak with you alone. I would know more how you envision this battle to proceed.”
Jian’s heart beat faster. He had intrigued and plotted to survive Deng’s personal attack. Might he have stumbled onto the key to the highest position? Was the Chairman going to name him as his successor? Winning the war against America could possibly give him everything, while losing it—no, he mustn’t think about that. China would win. For his sake, it had to.
-4-
Placement
The small plane shuddered as metal groaned. All around Paul Kavanagh, men swore and gripped their armrests tightly. Outside, the wind howled like a legion of arctic demons. Each change in pitch sent the plane lurching in a different direction. There were eight new Blacksand employees in the plane’s passenger seats.
From the rearmost one, Paul stared out of a tiny window. It was dark outside except for the particles of white that beat against the glass. He couldn’t see the stars. He couldn’t see the ground. He couldn’t see crap and that was starting to make him hate this place. It was ten times worse here than northern Quebec. The Canadian Shield had been a rocky wasteland of snow, pines and the most ancient stones in the world. There had never been storms like this during his combat against the French-Canadian separatists.