The whole allied position in the Pacific had crumbled. With Taiwan and Okinawa in mainland hands, the U.S. had been forced back to the second island chain. Palau was being reoccupied by the Marines. That made the defensive line Palau — Guam — Saipan — Chichi Jima.
He read an analysis that speculated on Zhang’s next move. Against Indonesia? Malaysia? Or the dictator could turn north, and seize the resources of Siberia.
The RHIB disappeared behind the ship, and Dan slid down from his chair. Hit the button on his Hydra. “XO? I’ll be on the fantail. Tell Bart to convene the snipes, get the damage documentation together. We’ll meet in the wardroom at 0700.”
The seaplane’s passengers were a mixed bag. Tiger Team engineers from Pearl Harbor Naval Shipyard. An investigator from DIA, who headed immediately to the pile of debris on the fantail. A rep from Raytheon, with a duffel of spares. And, to Dan’s bemusement, a female journalist. Presumably the “Chief of Information rep” the message had mentioned. Elfin. Dark-haired. “Maya Mao,” she introduced herself, with a small hand clasping his. “And, yes, I’m of Chinese descent.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“I’m a pool reporter. Accredited by CHINFO. Here are my credentials.”
He accepted the paper, but must have still looked bemused, because she added, “We’re hoping for an interview. About the battle, and so forth.”
“I have to get the engineers to work. We’re going into drydock as soon as we get back in.”
“I saw the damage. Amazing you made it home.”
He said it wasn’t he who had brought her back, but the crew. That she should really interview them, not him. Then excused himself, and headed for the wardroom.
When he left there Danenhower and McMottie, Carpenter, Uskavitch, Wenck, and the rest of his team were deep in the weeds with the shipyard people, translating the damage reports into statements of work, materials lists, parts orders. He’d planned to head for the bridge again, but halted in the passageway.
Sagging against a bulkhead, he closed his eyes. Giving up, just for a moment, now that he was alone. Tremors racked him. A spike of pain probed his cervical vertebra. He could hardly breathe. Fatigue, nausea, knees that just wanted to buckle…
Their orders read to refuel and make repairs, then await further orders. But in all honesty, he wasn’t up to it. If he was realistic, he should request relief due to health reasons.
The more likely scenario: They’d relieve him for cause. The Navy had never saved room for losers. Those who oversaw the initial defeats of any war, responsible or not — and usually they weren’t, just victims of the complacency, penuriousness, and misjudgments of those in higher office — were blamed, cast aside, and obliterated.
He leaned there, eyes closed, fighting the impulse to just open the safe in his cabin and load his pistol.
But at last he acknowledged that he was not in control. The regret, he would carry for the rest of his life. But maybe he could serve in some humbler way. Training recruits. Writing reports. And he’d see his wife again, and his daughter.
At least he’d brought Savo home. Saved her, and their lives, against all expectations. Including his own. A lot of families would be overjoyed tonight, hearing from husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters, after far too long without word.
Footsteps rattled down the ladder. He straightened. Cleared his throat. And became, once more, the captain.
“I was sent at the request of the media pool,” Ms. Mao said. Sitting primly, ankles crossed, fingers on her little notebook computer. Ready to write the first draft of history.
They were in his in-port cabin. He coughed into his fist, realizing he hadn’t bothered to check out her legs. Maybe he was in even worse shape than he’d thought. “All right. Shoot.”
“I believe we have some mutual friends. Hu Kuwalay? Of Senate Armed Services?”
“Not sure I know him. My wife used to work there.”
“I see. Well, shall we begin? Let’s start with your attack on the Chinese invasion fleet.”
He coughed again, and she waited politely. Finally he said, “I’d rather start from the setup of the blocking forces.” He kept to his own movements and the sequence of the campaign. It took nearly an hour, and when at last he fell silent she looked down, seeming to commune with her reflection in the screen.
“What do you think led to this war?” she murmured at last.
“In a nutshell? Hmm. I guess… deterrence is the art of making someone not do what he wants to do. Convincing him the price will be higher than he wants to pay.
“But we lost sight of that. We assumed everyone else wanted peace as much as we did. We tried to keep on with business as usual. Looked away, while our enemies stole our secrets. Did nothing, as they built islands and claimed the seas around them. Eventually, they concluded we were so feeble, so divided, and so fearful, we’d never fight, no matter how far they went.” He shrugged. “Just my opinion, though.”
“Who do you think should bear the blame?”
“Blame? There’s enough to go around. Anyway, that’s for the historians. The real question is, what are we going to do now, since we’ve lost the first round?”
She nodded. “I agree. So… you probably know Zhang has proposed peace again. On the basis of the ‘union and demilitarization’ of Korea. He also offers to return Okinawa to Japan, though he will keep the Senkakus. Once a conference of ministers ratifies the settlement, that is. He proposes they meet in Beijing.”
“Very magnanimous,” Dan said. “Until he decides he wants the rest of the pie.”
“There are reports of unrest in China. But also rumors of wholesale executions in Taiwan, and savage repression in Hong Kong and Tibet. Up to four hundred thousand people have been deported into the interior. Many were shot in the streets.”
Dan nodded, closing his eyes. Like any tyrant, Zhang was tightening control. “What about Washington? What’s the feeling there?”
“We’re starting to tool up again. But I have to say, many are still unconvinced that retaking the Western Pacific is worth the cost.”
“It’ll be a hard, bloody road,” Dan said. “But they started this. We can’t forget the Roosevelt battle group. Our allies need us. And America still hates warmakers.” She waited, looking as if she expected more. “So… yeah. We’ll be back. And I’m confident that somehow, dark though it looks right now, we’ll win.”
Dark arched eyebrows rose. “Mind if I quote you?” She tapped the keyboard.
Abruptly nauseated again, he hoisted himself to his feet. “I’ve got to lie down for a few minutes, I’m afraid. Hope you got what you wanted.”
“I think I got exactly what I wanted. ‘We’ll be back.’ And the rest. You’ll confirm, that’s a direct quote?”
He hesitated. Who was he, after all, to speak for a whole country? He wasn’t even sure he believed what he’d just said. Maybe America was beaten. Counted out. As Zhang, and so many others, thought. Weak. Soft. Corrupt. Could she pour out again the blood and heroism, the innovation and treasure and brutal tenacity, that had defeated the Germans, the Japanese, the Soviets? But at last he just muttered, “Yeah. It’s what I said.”
She snapped the notebook closed and stood.