It would be a cold day in hell before the Kuriles chose that indeed. The vast majority of the population have roots in Japan rather than Russia, and I suspect that taking the Islands from Japan would prove to be a difficult task.
But it would be less difficult if we don’t interfere. Less difficult, less costly, and probably done quickly. Because we have assets in the area, we could divert them from Taiwan to the Kuriles. Whether or not we chose to do so would send a strong message to the rest of the world. And by the time we can get more carriers over there, it would be a done deal.
“But as I said, I suspect the issue is entirely moot,” she said, bringing them back on track. “Because we have no plans to deploy the Patriot missiles in Taiwan. None at all.” Now she leveled a hard glare of her own at the Russian Ambassador. “But I do think this little conversation has answered a number of questions in my mind. And perhaps some debate in your contingent as well.” She stood, dismissing him. “I would not advise attempting any aggression toward the Kurile Islands or Japan,” she said sternly. “Speaking as a friend, of course.”
“But… but… you will regret this, Madam Ambassador. You will regret this.”
“Ambassador! Such a tone to take with a friend. Before you go, please do me the favor of rendering me one final opinion. I would treasure your thoughts on the matter of redecorating my office.”
“What nonsense is this?” he blustered. “Do you take me for a fool?”
“In particular, I am considering repainting my office. That red circle — it does not go well with the rest of the decor, does it?” She pointed to the red circle that covered a small portion of her wall and the molding around her door.
All the air seemed to rush out of the Russian Ambassador as he grasped her meaning. He turned on her, his expression ugly. “You tricked me!” he thundered.
“And you spied on me,” she said calmly. “I wonder which action the world will find the more objectionable? I think I can guarantee, with some degree of certainty, that every delegate to the United Nations would be most interested in what we have discovered.” Watching the emotions play across his face, she smiled brightly. “But, as originally proposed, we would be willing to remain silent. As a friend, of course. In exchange for Russia’s full and complete support of our operations in Taiwan.”
“Japan has denied you landing rights,” he pointed out. “And yet you would choose them over us?
“We would, indeed,” she said crisply. “But under the circumstances, I do not think we will have to choose at all.”
NINETEEN
Coyote paced the bridge of the ship, dividing his attention between the impenetrable fog around them and the radar screen. Every two minutes, the ship sounded a prolonged blast on her whistle, warning others of her presence. From out on the bridge wing, although the fog had a sound-dampening effect, Coyote could hear a chorus of other small vessels sounding off as well. The other vessels’ fog signals ranged from tinkling bells, and air horns, to an occasional voice shouting in panic.
“Nasty, isn’t it?” the captain of the ship said as he walked up to Coyote. “And it’s going to get worse, according to the weather reports.”
“All these little boats are clearly insane,” Coyote said. “They’ve got to know we’re here, and have to know that we can’t turn on a dime. If I were in a small boat, I’d stay well clear of us, you can bet your ass on that.”
“We’re in the middle of some good fishing grounds, Admiral,” the captain said quietly. “It’s the only source of income — and food — that some of these folks have. They live on those boats, spend most of their days just searching for enough fish to buy fuel and feed their families. They can’t afford a day off because of the fog.”
“They’ll be taking a lot of days off if we run into one of them,” Coyote muttered.
“I doubt it,” the captain said, cynicism in his voice. “Because you know our government would pay reparations immediately. Any family that we run into is set for life.”
“So that’s why they’re so close, maybe?” Coyote asked. “Hell of a way to play the lottery.”
They both stared at the thick soup, trying to see what lay before them. Visibility was reduced to a mere fifty feet around them, far too little for them to even attempt evasive maneuvers should it be required.
“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” Coyote said at last. “The president can’t put up with this situation; he just can’t. I expect a message within the next eight hours ordering us to conduct freedom of navigation operations. And the closer we get to shore, in the shallower, warmer water, the heavier the fishing activity will be.”
“Smaller boats, too,” the captain agreed. “And more desperate people.”
Freedom of navigation operations were designed to exercise the provisions of international law that gave a ship the right to sail into foreign territorial waters as long as it did so expeditiously and did not stop to conduct military operations. Although the Chinese claimed that their territorial waters were contiguous with their economic zone, extending out to three hundred miles — and that their airspace extended a thousand miles off the coast as well — and claimed the entire Yellow Sea as their own, they had never before actively objected to freedom of navigation operations. That, Coyote suspected, was about to change.
“Constrained waters — I know you’re not going to like it,” he said, casting a glance over the captain. “Going to play hell with the flight schedule as well.”
“CAG is still complaining that not everybody has all their traps,” the captain said. “He wants to stay here in open water for at least another week.”
“Not going to happen. It’s a come-as-you-are game.”
Just then, the USW tactical circuit crackled to life. It was the Lake Champlain’s TAO, reporting radar contact on a periscope. “But I don’t want to send the helos out in this to continue localization,” the TAO concluded after the formatted part of his report. “It’s too nasty out there.”
“God, no,” Coyote said. “Nobody’s launching anything until this clears up. Not as raw as most of our crew is.”
“It’s obviously a diesel,” the Lake Champlain’s TAO continued. “We’re picking up enough of the signature in the passive spectrum to say that. She’s recharging her batteries, taking advantage of the fog.”
“Great, just great,” Coyote muttered. “Pass all your data to the P’eng and coordinate tracking with them. And pass on to Captain Chang that I don’t want him getting gung-ho and launching that Sea Sprite of his. Tell Goforth to make that clear to him — we’ll have at it when the weather lifts some, but for now maintain contact as well as you can, and a continuous firing solution to the best of your capabilities.” Coyote glanced around the room, making sure Major Ho was not there. “And Captain, listen — you keep the P’eng out of the Seawolf’s box. I don’t care what you tell them, but keep them out of there. If you’re holding this contact, Seawolf has it, too, and she’s going to be all over it. If it makes a run on the carrier, she’ll be the first one to take it out.”
Just then, a radioman approached Coyote, holding a clipboard in his hand. “Admiral?” He tendered the clipboard to Coyote.
Coyote glanced across to the captain, a smart-ass expression on his face. “You a betting man? I’m willing to give you two to one odds that this is the message ordering freedom of navigation operations.”