Ashes of Victory

— 23 —

Col. Lian Guõ worked her way through a bottle of Moutai, the prestigious brand of the sorghum-based alcoholic drink commonly called baijiu, also referred to as Chinese vodka.

She sat alone at the bar in the officer’s club, while Hai Jing pinned a photo of Major Zhao Ren and the other officer killed that day on the base’s wall of heroes. The five-by-eight corkboard behind the bar, flanked by glass shelves packed with assorted bottles, depicted close to eighty fallen pilots. The tradition had been started by her jiujiu following the Second Taiwan Strait Crisis.

Refilling her shot glass, Lian regarded the quote from Tao Te Ching along the top of the sixty-year-old memorial.

Those who die without being forgotten get longevity.

She lifted her shot glass toward it and whispered, “Here’s to becoming a fucking picture on a wall.” She downed it, feeling the warmth in her throat, then refilled her glass. She ignored the look the old bartender, Hai, gave her. His heavily scarred face showed obvious concern.

Hai looked at Lian with his good eye and said, “All of life is a dream, Lian. All of death is a going home.”

“Do me a favor, would you, Hai? Spare me the damned proverbs. And, when my turn comes, just don’t bother with this crap. I don’t want to be some ghost on your wall.”

Hai slowly retreated to the other side of the bar as she continued glaring at the array of photos, but in her mind, the PLAAF colonel saw the weathered Super Hornet with the peculiar hot-pink call sign. Although killing the other jet with her missiles had given Lian some solace, it wasn’t enough.

I will find you, Lieutenant Amanda Diamante… and help you reach your fucking home.

Amanda Diamante was in tears as she sat next to a stoned-faced Juan Ricardo in the ready room, along with the rest of the somber-looking pilots from their fighter squadron.

Cmdr. Benjamin Kowalski walked in, followed by a few officers, including Lt. Cmdr. Vince Nova, the squadron’s safety officer, as well as the squadron’s XO, and even the air boss, Capt. James Buchelle, a hard-looking man with a full head of silver hair, whose grim expression reflected the sentiment in the room.

Kowalski stood in front of the group and said, “Let this be a lesson to all of you. You can whine all you want about that Sukhoi pilot firing three radar-controlled missiles from that distance, but the reality is that we do the same damn thing all the time. Mullet bought the farm not because that Chinese pilot shot those missiles. He died because he didn’t follow orders. As much as I rag on you about protecting the equipment — and as much as the photo of the CAG standing there looking through that hole in his Phantom might inspire you to bring your bird home — when I order you to eject, by God, you better eject.

“Now, I want everyone here to understand one thing: this is combat, and people die in combat. Today was Mullet’s turn. Tomorrow might be yours, Ricky, or yours, Deedle. Or the guy to your left or your right. Or it might even be my Asian-Polish ass that goes up in smoke. But know this: the chances of that happening are much higher if you choose not to put Mullet’s death behind you this minute. Right now. Before you leave this room.”

Almost on cue, the room shook with the roar of a roller coaster rumbling overhead.

“That,” Kowalski said, pointing at the pipes and wires layering the ceiling, “is the sound of the war machine. Hear it well and remember that it does not stop. It can’t stop, or our enemies will eat us alive. The war machine doesn’t sleep, ladies and gentlemen. And it certainly isn’t going to wait around for you to get over Mullet’s death.”

Kowalski paused, looked over at Buchelle, who gave him a brief nod. Then the commander of the World Famous Golden Dragons regarded his pilots once again and finally added in a somber voice, “There will be a memorial service for Mullet on the flight deck at oh six hundred. Uniform is Summer Whites.”

“We can’t let them get away with that, Mr. President,” General Deng Xiangsui opened up the emergency morning meeting. He was addressing Xi Jiechi from the opposite end of the table as they sat with the minister of national defense, the chief of the joint staff, and the commanders of the PLA Air Force, the PLA Navy, and the PLA Rocket Force. In addition, five of the nine members of the Politburo Standing Committee sat along one side of the long conference table. Though, as was customary, they were there just to observe how the newly elected president handled this crisis.

“Exactly where were our aircraft, General?” Jiechi asked.

“Within our airspace flying combat air patrol,” Deng replied, his commanders bobbing their heads in unison. Three of the PSC members whispered to one another.

Jiechi felt a headache coming on. “And the Americans simply fired their missiles?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No warning? That’s…”

“Impossible to believe?” Deng said. “This is just their next step in their strategy to send us a very clear message. Then, they even had the audacity of sending one of their jets after our Sukhoi while on retreat, so we took it down.”

Once more, some of the PSC members whispered among themselves.

“And your recommendation, General? A message of our own?”

“Indeed, Mr. President. And make it… unequivocal.”

“It was the right call, sir,” Admiral Denny Blevins said. He sat next to Secretary of State Brad Austin on a sofa across from President Cord Macklin and DNI Hartwell Prost in the Oval Office. “Even if we lost one of our guys in the process. It could have been much worse had one of those Sukhois fired on Vinson.”

The president read the short brief in his hands once more, then looked away over the rim of his glasses at the lights in the darkness outside of the Oval Office windows, processing what he’d read. He wore jeans and a sweatshirt he’d pulled on when they’d woken him to come down for the briefing. Two hours earlier, Super Hornets had shot down a pair of Chinese jets that attempted to reach Vinson. But in retaliation, a Sukhoi had fired long-range missiles at another F/A-18E, killing the pilot, Lt. Cmdr. Trey Malloy.

“I agree,” the DNI said. “The carrier group must be allowed to defend itself, otherwise—”

Macklin raised a hand. “I’m not second-guessing the call, guys. I’m just… wondering what the response will be, though they already shot down one of ours. And while I’ll make sure that Brad goes all out broadcasting this as what it was, an act of self-defense, plus a cowardly missile attack on one of our planes over international waters, I have to think that Beijing is in turmoil over what happened. And I also think our newly elected president will be under pressure from the old guard to do something — or risk looking weak.”

“We’re speaking to him in an hour, sir,” Austin said.

“How are you going to play this, sir?” asked Prost.

“Well, I was going to ask you guys for recommendations.”

“I would play it down, sir,” Austin jumped in. “At least overtly. Try to defuse the situation. Use the self-defense card.”

Macklin frowned. He removed his reading glasses, folded them, and looked at his secretary of state.

“And I get it, sir,” Austin added, “that’s not your style — or mine. Hell, I just crossed swords with the Chinese ambassador over a few old pictures. But we’re at a strategic crossroads with China, one step away from an adversarial relationship with Beijing. That would be a colossal mistake, made even more difficult by the loss of two aircraft carriers.”

“I agree, sir,” Prost said. “At this moment, we need cooler heads, especially since I strongly believe the new president over there is not only dealing with this crisis but also swimming in a pool of old-guard sharks.”

Macklin inhaled before pointing the glasses at his chief of naval operations. “Denny? Thoughts?”

“Well, sir,” Blevins said, dressed in his Service Dress Blues sporting a chest full of ribbons below his Navy SEAL gold trident. “This business is getting out of hand out there. I haven’t seen this much excitement since the Third Taiwan Crisis during the Clinton years. It’s close to becoming the fourth one. So, yes, it would be great for things to cool down a bit. Give our guys a chance to grab a cup of coffee.”

“Okay,” Macklin finally said. “But I can’t allow them to continue to bait and harass our guys.”

The president stood and walked to the windows next to his desk, the cue for the others to clear the room. Arms crossed, he played the conversation in his mind, trying to figure out exactly what he could say to the Chinese president that would be taken as an olive branch but without appearing weak. It would be a thin line to walk. He could only hope that President Jiechi would find a way to meet him halfway.

An hour later, just past one in the morning, Austin and Prost, along with a Chinese interpreter and an aide from the communications staff whose job it was to record the call, waited in the Oval Office. President Macklin, seated behind the Resolute Desk, stabbed the speaker button on his phone.

“You shot down two of my planes, Mac,” Jiechi said.

“Good morning, Xi,” Macklin replied. “And they were over international waters headed straight for Vinson. Plus, you shot down one of my planes while it also was over international waters.”

Silence, followed by, “That is not the report I received from my generals. Your planes were violating Chinese airspace.”

“Then your generals are either lying to you or they don’t have control of their rank and file. I have undeniable proof from our space assets that the two Sukhois bypassed our BARCAP fighters and were within a couple of minutes of overflying the carrier. And, also that one of your Sukhois fired three long-range missiles from inside your airspace at a Super Hornet flying BARCAP over international waters.”

The Chinese president looked around the room. The faces of his generals, starting with his mentor, were carved in stone. None appeared surprised by this accusation, but neither were they protesting.

“Mr. President, I’m not sure what this proof is, but the discipline of the military of the People’s Republic of China is known worldwide. Our pilots would not fire without provocation and would not violate international law. And you know I studied international law when I attended school in the United States after my undergraduate work at Oxford. I feel confident you understand me in this regard.

Macklin looked around the room, wondering if anyone else was as confused as he was.

“Mr. President,” Macklin finally said, “I would prefer that we work together toward maintaining peace in the region. I do not want to embarrass you or your generals by publicly sharing the information I have. That would merely serve to inflame the situation.”

After a long pause, Jiechi said, “President Macklin, I cannot be clearer on this matter: our planes were attacked in our airspace and acted in self-defense. If you don’t understand that aspect of international law, I suggest you take a short drive to Georgetown University and educate yourself.”

What the hell does that mean? Macklin thought, shaking his head. He didn’t understand the resistance to working together to resolve the matter. He understood the Chinese didn’t like to lose face, but this was fantasy.

“Mr. President,” Macklin replied. “If I must, I will release the proof that I have to the news media and the UN. It will be very embarrassing for your government.”

“President Macklin, I stand by the account my generals have given me. However, we will… review the matter with our pilot and provide the United States with our own proof. I also strongly suggest you pull your aircraft carrier from the region to ensure there are no future… misunderstandings.”

“I appreciate your willingness to provide us with ‘proof.’ I’m sure you understand that our carrier group will remain in international waters in support of the Taiwan Relations Act and for the safety of our allies in the region. Good day.”

“Good day, Mr. President.”

Macklin punched the off button on the phone. The translator and technician quickly cleared the room.

“Well, that was a real W-T-F phone call. He can’t have any proof, can he?”

Prost answered, “No, sir. My guess is that he’s sitting there with others during the call, so he couldn’t possibly take your side. He did say one thing I want to look into.”

“What’s that?”

“The references to Oxford and Georgetown. I would bet that was very intentional. I can’t help but wonder what he meant by that.”

“By all means, look into it then.”

As Prost, Austin, and Adair left the room, the president tilted his head back and closed his eyes, hoping like hell for no more incidents.