Chang frowned. Ho Kung-Sun was a generally competent officer, although, of course, his primary background was in the Taiwanese Army. Still, he had been extensively trained at the nation’s most prestigious military schools, and family connections had gotten him this sensitive position.
“Perhaps we should look at their actions rather than their words,” Chang said mildly.
“Yes, perhaps we should. The admiral, he does not call you himself, does he? And look at our position within the screen. Our ship is exposed to the first wave of air attacks. We will, in effect, be a missile sump for the American battle group.”
“We are repositioned where we are in the best position to prosecute the submarine contact,” Chang countered. “It is the same decision I would make myself.”
“And you truly believe that is their intention? After all I have told you, my analysis of the dynamics here — you believe that? That with all of their advanced weaponry and sensors, the American Navy still needs the assistance of one broken-down frigate that they got rid of twenty years ago?”
Chang stiffened. Political pull or not, the major’s tone was becoming unacceptable. “Our ship is—”
“—an antique. Ancient. Ming Dynasty,” Ho finished, cutting him off.
The crew inside combat turned pale. Captain Chang, while he was not as well connected as Ho, was well-known throughout the Navy for his ability. For a junior officer to speak to him so was entirely out of order.
“Believe what you will, Captain,” the major continued. “I will make the report. You’ll see what the results will be. And in the meantime, do not be overly impressed by your interpretation of the admiral’s reasoning. I can assure you that it is merely for public consumption. And this is just why I was placed here, was it not? To provide insight into the battle group’s decisions.”
Captain Chang, since he was treading on dangerous political ground, refrained from answering. Had he not been hesitant, his answer would have been, “No.” He had been placed there to insure that there was a maximum degree of cooperation between United States Navy and our forces in defending Taiwan. Not for personal glory — not for political reasons. To make sure, just as their man here did, that we understood each other. That is all.
“I will keep your thoughts in mind,” Captain Chang said out loud. “I thank you for your insight.”
Petty Officer Jim Lee, a cryptological technician (interpreter), or CTI, groaned as he listened to the conversation coming across his headset. He was taking notes, writing in Chinese characters, making an occasional English comment as a translator’s note. Senior Chief Armstrong Brady stood to one side. On the other side was Commander Busby.
When the Chinese voices finally stopped, Wells leaned back in his chair and sighed. “They’re pissed, sir. Real pissed. Major Ho Kung-Sun, he’s telling that skipper that we’re dissing him, disrespecting him. By the admiral not asking them directly to take care of that submarine, by assigning them to a station further away from the CV. That frigate captain, I’m not certain what he’s thinking, but he’s listening to the major. Doesn’t sound like he’s buying it one hundred percent, but he is listening. According to the background briefing, the major is connected back home. Real connected, I bet.”
“That’s right,” Lab Rat said.
Lee nodded. “That’s about the only thing that could account for the major taking that tone of voice with him. Talk about disrespect — it’s not as much the words as the way he says it, the way he doesn’t back off. I knew there was something else going on between them.”
“Captain Chang Tso-Lin is a senior naval officer,” the senior chief said. “That major — a ground pounder. I’m betting that the captain understands a lot more than the major does at this point.”
Lab Rat nodded. “I wouldn’t doubt it. But how is Captain Chang supposed handle this? I mean, Ho Kung-Sun is supposed to be his liaison. The Taiwanese would not have put him here if they didn’t have some confidence in him.”
“So we let them work it out themselves?” the senior chief asked.
“Yes, but — it’s always ‘yes, but,’ isn’t it?” Lab Rat said. “We can’t afford to have any misunderstandings right now. Not when everything is about to break loose. So what do we do?”
The senior chief shrugged. “Above my pay grade, sir. But I’d sure as shit get in there with the admiral and tell him what’s going on. Then try to figure out what set this whole thing off. There’s got to be something.” The senior chief turned to Lee. “How about you hang out in combat for a few days, kind of listen in on what’s going on? I’ll have someone else cover your watches. You keep an eye on this major. Maybe you can pick up some clues from how he’s acting. Something’s gone and pissed him off, and we need to figure out what it is before it gets any worse.”
“Does Major Ho know you speak his language?” Lab Rat asked Lee.
Lee, who graduated first in his class from the Naval Language Institute, shook his head and smiled. Lee stood around six-foot-three and was a large black man. “No, he doesn’t. And I’m betting I’m not going to be his first guess.”
EIGHTEEN
T’ing had chosen traditional garb for the occasion, and the delicate silks with flowing lines were so much more natural on him that Wexler wondered he had ever worn a western suit at all. Behind him, his assistants and aides were similarly attired. There was a complete hush over the great hall as he stood.
“Mr. Secretary-General, members and delegates.” He paused, and let his gaze roam over the entire assembly. Not a seat was vacant. Those who hadn’t heard the rumors had obviously been alerted by his office. “I am deeply saddened to be here today under the circumstances. But the nature of this organization is such that these matters are often before us. Never, however, have I felt so personally distressed over what I must say today.”
He turned slightly, facing directly toward the American delegation. “As most of you know, over the last two weeks, the United States has committed acts of war against my nation. We offered the United States the opportunity to apologize and pay reparations without further action. That has been summarily rejected. Accordingly, we must now asked that the United Nations pass this resolution ordering sanctions against the United States, and condemning their action. The measures, I know, seem harsh. But they are no more harsh than the measures the United States has enforced against Iraq for the past ten years. Essentials would be permitted to enter the country, but nothing that could be converted to military use. All assets in China will be seized, and all American citizens and nationals expelled immediately.
“There is an American saying — what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander as well. I think that applies here as well.” He paused for a moment as countless translators attempted to render the idiom into something meaningful in their own languages. “I apologize for difficulty to the translators.”
Utter silence fell over the hall. Not a person moved, not even the Secretary-General. As the silence deepened, the Secretary-General finally broke it by asking, “Is there no hope of resolving this in another fashion? The United States has normally been amenable to compromises.”
The delegate from Taiwan stood then, his face a mask of anger. “No — never!” He pointed an accusing finger at T’ing. “That missile was aimed at my country as are the ones sitting on those ships right now. All of you know it. Only the United States had the courage to step in and prevent this genocide. And now you dare to consider sanctions? If you do this, you’ll completely destroy everything the United Nations stands for.”