Kamigami and Colonel Sun emerged out of the rain. They were a strange combination, Kamigami’s seemingly placid bulk dominating the diminutive but very active colonel, whose face was still pale from the helicopter flight from Central Headquarters on the main island. They shucked off their ponchos, and Sun tacked up a chart of Malaysia on the easel. As they had agreed on the flight in, the colonel would do the talking to avoid any confusion. “CHQ offered us an assignment,” Sun explained in Chinese.
“Offered?” one of the majors asked.
“That is unusual,” Sun replied. “But it’s an unusual situation.” He pointed to an outlined area in the center of the chart. “Units of the PLA effectively control this region of Malaysia and are holding the local population hostage, forcing them to supply food and shelter for their soldiers. There are also reports of forced prostitution of younger girls. If a kampong resists, they loot and burn it, killing every able-bodied man and boy. CHQ has asked us to insert rescue teams and move the villagers to safe areas.”
“You mean we have a choice?” a captain asked.
“Yes, we do,” Kamigami said, his voice barely audible over the rain drumming on the tarp inches above his head. The men fell silent, for it was a choice that went to the heart of who and what they were. With the exception of Kamigami and Tel, the First was composed of Straits Chinese. The assignment meant they would be fighting Mainland Chinese — a break with their ethnic identity. “Think about it,” Kamigami said.
The men talked among themselves, and to the uninitiated it was a wild conversation. But it had purpose and direction. Finally they quieted, and the senior major spoke. “We do not think of this as a choice but as a challenge,” he said. “When do we leave?”
Sun was ready and passed out a schedule. “We will move in stages, starting tomorrow. Each squadron will send an advance team to be followed by the rest two days later. We will move in force and take all our equipment with us to set up a permanent base camp.”
“Have they identified the location?” a senior NCO asked.
Kamigami tapped the map with a finger. “Here. Sixty miles north of Singapore.” His finger was pointing directly at Camp Alpha.
The sergeant handed Butler the message that had come in earlier that morning. “We’ve got a valid decode, sir.”
Butler leaned back in his chair and adjusted his glasses as he read. It was from the agent he had sent to New Delhi to monitor Zou Rong’s secret talks with the new Indian prime minister. Somehow the agent had contacted Piepmatz, which, all things considered, was a major feat in itself. Details of exactly how the agent had accomplished that would come later during an extensive debrief. But for now it was the message that had Butler’s undivided attention. Piepmatz had said only “When the rains end.”
The general shot to his feet, knocking his glasses askew. “Oh, shit,” he moaned. “How could I have been so fucking stupid?”
Piepmatz was German for “dickey bird” and the code name assigned to Jin Chu. Butler dropped the message and reached for the phone.
The small conference room at the back of the battle cab had turned into a war room for the ExCom, partly because it was central to the NMCC and partly because the members of the ExCom, with one exception, were spending most of their time in the Pentagon. Only the DCI had not fully made the transition to the war room and spent half his time at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. But there was a dedicated helicopter at his disposal to whisk him back and forth.
However, the heart of this war room was not the classic wall charts with pins and magnetic icons but a bank of TV screens and computer monitors. The big table and chairs had been replaced with six small tables with comfortable chairs clustered in front of the TV bank. As a consequence the five members of the ExCom were able to quickly access the information flows flooding into the NMCC. Mazie and Sam Kennett were cycling through the most recent logistic status reports when Butler joined them. “General Wilding,” Mazie said, “is in the Tank with the Joint Chiefs and the SecDef.” The Tank was the conference room on the second floor above the River Entrance where the JCS met. “He’ll be here as soon as we get an ETA on the DCI.”
Butler sat down next to the vice president. “When you see Shaw, tell him I’ve got what he asked for.”
“So soon?” Kennett asked. “About Leland, right?” He gave Butler his most serious look. “Shaw told us.”
Butler’s worst fears about politicians were reconfirmed. They simply couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Butler shrugged and decided to save himself the trouble of trying to be discreet. He reasoned that whatever he said would within minutes be on the jungle telegraph that linked the masters of the Imperial City. “Leland’s cut a deal with the French. The Froggies keep NATO out of the Gulf War, the war stalemates, and he delivers the election for his boy.”
“So what’s the quid pro quo?” Kennett wondered.
Butler was disgusted, and it showed. “The Frogs get to negotiate a Middle East cease-fire and in the process become the daddy rabbit of oil for Europe.”
“Son of a bitch,” Kennett muttered.
Mazie continued to stare at the screens as if she hadn’t heard. She had to talk to the secretary of state. Wilding and the DCI walked in, cutting off any further conversation about Leland. “I take it,” the DCI said, “that it’s hit the fan. Again.” His tone was a mixture of sarcasm and heavy doubt.
Butler rose. “Not quite.” He called up a map of Southeast Asia on the center screen. It was time for a geography lesson. “It rains all the time in Malaysia, and there’s no distinct dry season. But there are two monsoon periods when rainfall is much heavier. The southwest monsoon runs from June to September and is coming to an end. There will be a relative dry period until December, when the more robust northeast monsoon kicks in.” He took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “We have reliable information that the Chinese are going to exploit that dry period.”
“For what?” the DCI asked.
Wilding saw it immediately. “So obvious.” He stood, almost at attention. “We can expect the PLA to open up an offensive.”
The DCI shook his head. “I’ve said it before — you’ve got to stop obsessing. I assure you my analysts are on top of this. The intentions may be there, but the means are not.”
“Remember Korea?” Butler asked. “The PLA intervened when they could cross the frozen Yalu River.” He paced the floor. “Tell me this isn’t timed to the situation in the Gulf. Our supply lines are now stretched around the tip of Africa, taxing our logistics buildup to the limit. It has effectively delayed offensive operations by two months and taking everything we got.”
Wilding gulped. “That’s exactly what we were discussing in the Tank.”
Butler continued. “Meanwhile, with the exception of the British, our allies are dragging their heels, refusing to get involved, while the French maneuver for a negotiated cease-fire before we go on the offensive.”
“Thank you very much, Senator Leland,” Kennett muttered.
“So while we’re fully occupied in the Gulf,” Butler said, “the PLA intends to capture as much territory as possible in Malaysia before the northeast monsoon sets.”
“Which will cut off military operations,” Wilding added. “That will give them three months to consolidate their gains.” He paused. “Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. And we missed it.”