Admiral Wu’s small audience of seven men — four politicians and three other uniformed officers, the senior officers of the military — chuckled, which relaxed the admiral, who was at heart a gambler. He was willing to bet China’s future on this one weird chance that fate had sent their way. He had to convince them.
“Comrades, it will take two generations for the Chinese navy to match the United States Navy ship for ship, plane for plane. It matters not how powerful our army, how mighty our air force. Upon the sea and under it, the United States Navy rules. We have been given an opportunity to change the odds. To level the playing field for at least twenty years.”
The admiral pushed a button, and a photo appeared on the screen at the end of the table. In it were five aircraft carriers, nestled to piers. Beyond them were a variety of other ships, including assault helicopter carriers, destroyers and frigates. At the bottom right of the photo in English were the words “U.S. Navy photo.”
“Two years ago,” the admiral said, “the American navy brought all five of their Atlantic Fleet carriers into their biggest East Coast base, Norfolk, Virginia, at one time. One, Enterprise, was there to be decommissioned, and one was there to began its refueling cycle.” Everyone at the table knew these ships were nuclear powered. “The other three were ordered into port by the administration, which was in a budget squabble with Congress.”
The admiral paused. “Someday the Americans might do it again, and if they do, it will give us another opportunity, a once-in-a-lifetime chance to halve the United States Navy’s striking force, and incidentally, stop construction on future carriers for years to come.”
He pushed another button, and on the screen appeared a map of the Norfolk, Virginia, naval base. The carriers were nestled against the piers, which stuck out into the wide mouth of the Elizabeth River. They were labeled with names. Farther south, the piers were filled with other ships, ten destroyers, a helicopter assault ship, several supply ships … every pier was filled.
Wu zoomed into the map to show the ships. The map had been generated by the naval technical staff, with overhead shots grafted onto the map. Wu knew these weren’t the exact ships that had been in Norfolk last December, but he didn’t share that with the other people in the room. Finally, he zoomed out so the audience could see the naval base against the peninsula, the navy yard to the south, up the Elizabeth River, and the Oceana naval air station twenty or so miles away, quite prominent with its crossed runways. The civilian Norfolk airport was there, too, equally prominent, only ten miles or so from the carrier piers.
The admiral pointed out the amphibious base at Little Creek, and the minesweepers and other small combatants based along the northern shore of the peninsula. Then he moved the center of the map north, across Hampton Roads, and stopped it on the dry docks and shipyard of the Newport News Shipbuilding Company. Carefully labeled in Chinese characters were the hulls of three aircraft carriers under construction there, in various stages of completion.
Smoking today and recalling that event, Admiral Wu remembered the expressions on the faces of his audience as they looked at the naval power on display in the graphic.
Then he said, “Comrades, they are indeed going to do it again. In late December of this year the five current American aircraft carriers assigned to the Atlantic Fleet will once again all be in port, along with most of their escorts. Five carrier battle groups. The opportunity will be historic, and it may never come again.”
The Paramount Leader lit a cigarette. He puffed it a couple of times, then said, “Comrades, I think I speak for everyone.” He placed the cigarette in the ashtray in front of him and forgot about it. “We do not want war with the United States. Such a war would be fought here, not there, and could only end badly. Such a war would be unthinkable. Trade would be disrupted, the economy pitched into depression, and even if we avoided military defeat, revolution would follow.” Here it was again, the Communist bugaboo. If they lost control of the people, the party and everyone in it were doomed.
Indeed, in this era of intertwined national economies, a complete breach in national relationships seemed impossible. Strategic thinkers had pondered these matters at great length. The world was a far different place than it was in 1941.
Admiral Wu had his arguments ready. The real problem, he thought, was the worldview of the Chinese leadership. Beijing was the center of their universe; the world outside of China was primordial ooze, populated by savage barbarians. Yet he wasn’t going to say that. What he said was, “The Americans do not want war either. They are soft, decadent, fat and fond of worldly goods, many of which are made in China. And they have problems around the world. The Middle East, North Korea, Africa, South America, horrible drug problems in their cities, an unarmed invasion of Mexicans … War with China is the last thing the Americans want. A complete break in relations would hurt them as badly as it would hurt us. We must arrange a situation that cuts the American fleet down to size — cuts it in half — yet gives us and them plausible deniability. They won’t like it, but all their alternatives are worse.”
“Can it really be done?” the Paramount Leader asked. The chairman was a career party man, shrewd, unscrupulous, fashionably corrupt and extremely ambitious. To stay on top of the heap he had to keep the party’s members convinced he was going in the right direction. Wu tried to read his mood. Was he dubious, or did he like the proposal and want reassurance from Wu to swing the opinions of the other men in attendance?
Wu went with his gut. “Yes, comrade, I believe it can,” he said positively. He well knew he was betting everything he had, his career, his position, his future, perhaps his life. Yet he believed he was right. Gambling was a way of life for many Chinese, Admiral Wu among them. When you have a good hand, you have to bet it. Shove everything you have onto the table.
“That is what the Japanese thought when they sailed for Pearl Harbor in 1941,” the chairman shot back. “Gut the American fleet and all would be well. A short, fast war. A fait accompli. The Americans would soon plead for peace on terms favorable to Japan. So they thought. It didn’t work out that way.”
“The Japanese made a surprise attack as they declared war,” Admiral Wu shot back. “We shall not declare war. The Americans may suspect we are responsible, they may even privately know, but the public will assume an American nuclear weapon exploded aboard a warship. We will be surprised and shocked and offer sincere condolences. Americans don’t trust their government, which has lied to them repeatedly. The decision makers will weigh the possible consequences of any response on the scale that measures human souls. Those decision makers will bow to public opinion and elect to follow the easy path.”
Wu paused, then added, “We shall reap the harvest.”
He pushed another button on the projector, and a second map appeared, overlaid over the first. On this one was a red spot under the second carrier pier. It was at the center of a circle. The circle was large, encompassing the entire naval base, the runways, most of the city of Norfolk, much of Virginia Beach and, across Hampton Roads, the Newport News Shipbuilding Company.
The men around the table looked at one another. “A chance of a lifetime,” one muttered, and his listeners nodded.
“Tell us of your preparations, and how it can be done,” the Paramount Leader said.
That was then.
Today the plan was well along. If the enemy didn’t get wind of it.