Firestorm

30

Don Stroh sat in the communications room of the giant carrier and held his head in his hands. He had sent the message directly to the President at 0930. It was logged. How long should he wait hoping there might be an answer? An hour? Two hours? Six hours? He heard one of the machines chattering. Something was always chirping away in the commo room. Someone tapped his shoulder. He looked up. "Mr. Stroh. A message for you, from the White House." Stroh leaped up and knocked over the chair he sat in. "No shit?"

"Honest, Sir. Right over here."

It was coming off the encrypting machine. Stroh read the print out.

Stroh looked at the sailor, who had a big grin. "That's it?"

"No, sir. The President himself will talk to you on a handset directly at ten hundred. That's about twenty-two minutes from now, sir."

"Yes, yes. Thanks." Stroh looked at a pad and ballpoint pen on the desk. He righted the chair and sat and put down in order what had happened, where the SEALS were, and what could be done if the Taiwanese Air Force would do it, if the Taiwan President ordered them to. He thought he was ready. He had met the U.S. President twice, but he was sure the man wouldn't remember him. Damn, what else should he be doing? He didn't know. He felt drained, used up, as limp as yesterday's washcloth.

He'd close his eyes for just a minute. He leaned back in the chair and tried to relax. Just for a minute he'd rest his eyes and then he'd go over his list for the President.

Someone touched his shoulder again.

"Mr. Stroh. Mr. Stroh. The President is on the line for YOU."

Stroh came out of the chair, barely avoiding a tip-over, and went to the console the sailor directed him to.

He picked up the handset. "Yes, Mr. President, this is Don Stroh."

"Mr. Stroh. Good to talk with you again. How did your wife do in that art exhibit she was having? Sorry I didn't get there. Maybe next time. Now about those SEALS."

"We have thirteen inside China, sir. Right now they are about four to five miles from the coast east and south of Amoy. They have singlehandedly prevented the invasion of Taiwan by the Chinese. I understand you have prohibited any U.S. air-power to go to these men's aid."

"Yes, that would provoke an incident that could be far reaching. We just can't risk that if there's any other way."

"There may be, Mr. President. What about the Taiwanese Air Force? We helped build it, supplied them for years. Our men have just prevented up to ten million deaths on the island. I'd say they owe us. Could you call the President of Taiwan and ask him to help us? We'd need two jets for nighttime close ground support and maybe a chopper for an extraction of the thirteen men."

There was a moment of silence. Don Stroh's eyes went wide as he waited. "Yes, that seems like a fair request. What time is it there?"

"Just after ten A.M. sir."

"I've talked with Lee Teng-hui before. Yes, I'll get right on it. I'll call you back one way or the other. Yes, Stroh, good idea. They owe us, and we owe those SEALS to get them out of there. They've done a tremendous deed for Taiwan. I'm going to make sure that Lee appreciates that. You stand by, Stroh. I'll be back in touch with you."

"Will do, Mr. President. Thank you."

They signed off, and Stroh leaned back in the chair and mopped sweat off his forehead. The sailor came up.

"Mr. Stroh. We have a printout of that conversation if you need one for your files."

"Yes, thank you. He's going to call the Taiwan President. Isn't that great?"

Stroh thought of something else then. The President had remembered him. He'd asked about Barbara's art exhibit. He did remember. What a man. That does it, Stroh decided. If the man ran for President again, he had the Stroh family vote.

William Hawthorne, President of the United States, picked up the red phone in his office, his face a little on the grim side. "Mr. President, Hawthorne here. It's good to talk to you again."

"President Hawthorne, I am pleased to speak with you and to thank you and your countrymen for their invaluable aid to Taiwan." President Lee was proud of his command of English and never used a translator with the Americans.

"Good, good, Mr. President. Since we talked two days ago, the threat to Taiwan has been beaten back and, we think, eliminated. We have one small problem."

"What's that, Mr. President?"

"The small band of fighters that has prevented this attack and invasion of Taiwan is still in Mainland China and in extreme danger. We need the help of some of your military aircraft to aid them."

"Us attack China? That, sir, is not possible. We are a small beetle here beside a giant who can squash us any time it chooses. We can do nothing to irritate the beast.

"Mr. President. These thirteen men have saved the island of Taiwan. They have saved the lives of up to ten million of your people. They have prevented massive destruction of your armed forces and the deaths of most of your military personnel. We think that you owe these men a great deal."

"That may be true, but to send our warplanes into China… it could provoke all kinds of retaliation."

"If it were done at night, China wouldn't know what aircraft they were. They would have no way of determining who had entered their airspace. You have been violated. It is perfectly natural for you to respond in kind."

"Yes, I understand your thinking, Mr. President. Is there a time factor?"

"Our men are safe for the daylight hours. It's morning there, as I understand it. By nightfall we would hope that there could be some rescue attempt or at least some jets for close ground support to help these SEALS stay alive."

"Mr. President, I will talk with my cabinet and my military leaders. I will convey your viewpoint and your suggestion. I must have agreement here before I can do anything. I will let you know what my people decide within eight hours."

"Thank you, Mr. President. We have done all we could to help continue the existence of Taiwan. We hope that now you can repay that assistance with some aid of your own so we can rescue these thirteen heroes now trapped in Mainland China."

"Yes, Mr. President. I understand. Thank you and goodbye."

The U.S. President put down the handset and frowned. He had no idea which way President Lee Teng-hui would go. He was a politician, a skilled one, and he would act in accord with what was best for his career and then best for Taiwan. It was a toss-up. The President rubbed his hand over his face.

One of his aides came in reminding him about a reception he was due to attend. He sighed and stood. He wondered if those thirteen SEALS in China would be dying while he smiled and made polite conversation at some damned reception. He wished that he knew one way or the other.