Shattered Trident

16. DEPRESSION

7 September 2016

0500 Local Time

By Water

Halifax, Nova Scotia

Mac returned to his computer with a fresh steaming cup of coffee. It had been another long night, and he was still feeling a bit groggy. Looking out his office window, he could see the sun just peeking over the horizon. It was a glorious sunrise, with dazzling fiery oranges and deep reds. He frowned as the old adage “Red sky in morning, sailors take warning” popped into his mind. He’d have to check the weather forecast; it looked like a storm was brewing. But that would have to wait; there was a major blog entry he had to finish on the storm raging on the other side of the planet. Mac turned and looked again at the images on the flat-panel display. The photos of the two ships showed they’d both gone through hell.

The first photo was a crisp close-up shot of a Vietnamese Molniya-class guided missile boat, hull number HQ-380. The PTG had limped into port some four hours earlier, displaying incredible damage to the superstructure. Hell, the entire superstructure has been practically stripped off, Mac thought to himself, shaking his head. It was a miracle the little boat even made it back.

He shifted his gaze to the second photo. It had been taken from farther away, and while not as sharp, the ship was still easily identifiable. The Type 052C destroyer was under tow. Three huge blackened holes contrasted starkly with the pale gray hull. Streaks of soot along the upper decks spoke of a severe fire. Mac shuddered as he imagined the men desperately fighting the raging inferno. They had little choice; there is nowhere to run on a ship at sea. He took another sip of coffee before setting the cup down, his fingers slowly returning to the keyboard.

Finished, he paused to read the entry one last time before posting. Suddenly, Mac felt cold. Here he was, writing a sterile, dispassionate article about the greatest sea battle since the Pacific campaign of World War II. And while it was his “job” to give as accurate a depiction as he could, he’d largely ignored the cost in human life. Undoubtedly several hundreds of sailors on both sides had perished in that incredibly short, but equally intense battle. When one added the loss of life from the two PLAN frigates and over thirty-six Chinese merchant ships that had been torpedoed, the grand total was somewhere on the order of two thousand souls. At first, the number “felt” small, then Mac remembered that the war was only in its ninth day and he hadn’t included any of the casualties on land. Depressed, Mac hit the “Post” button on the screen, and then went to the kitchen to find something to fortify his coffee.

7 September 2016

1915 Local Time

Squadron Fifteen Headquarters

Guam

Captain Glenn Jacobs hurried into the conference room and sat down by Simonis; he still had five minutes to spare. The commodore said nothing; he just took another sip from his insulated travel mug. Judging by the smell, he was drinking peppermint herbal tea.

“Good evening, Commodore,” greeted Jacobs.

“Is it, CSO?” Simonis grunted quietly.

“It’s no worse than the others.”

Simonis only snorted. He then looked around the room, taking roll of the required attendees. After the first pass, a frown appeared on his face. When he finished the second, he looked at his CSO with irritation. “Where’s the OPS officer?”

“Rich stopped by the comms shack. We’ve received a message from Santa Fe. He should be here in a couple of minutes.”

“About time Halsey reported in,” growled Simonis. “He’s been out of touch for nearly forty-eight hours. I was about to declare him missing.”

“Warren’s had a pretty rough time, Commodore. His boat’s material condition has been a challenge for the past year. She’s an old boat that needs an overhaul.”

Simonis sneered. Halsey wasn’t his favorite commanding officer—the man had problems keeping to the schedule and his boat always seemed to have mechanical issues at the most inconvenient time. Jacobs’s defense only irritated the commodore more. “You don’t hear Dobson complaining. And his boat is even older.”

“That’s true, sir, and while Oklahoma City isn’t fresh out of an overhaul, she also isn’t overdue for one either.”

Simonis let it go. There was no point in discussing the issue further. At that moment, Walker entered the conference room, walking briskly. He made a beeline to Simonis, a single piece of paper in his right hand.

“Commodore, Santa Fe’s got a major problem,” said Walker, handing the paper to Simonis. “The aft bearing on the port main engine is overheating again.”

“I thought that deficiency had been repaired!” fumed the commodore.

“We made temporary repairs, sir, just before Santa Fe sortied with the rest of the squadron. Apparently it didn’t hold. On top of that, Halsey is reporting the same thing the other three skippers have already noted. The Littoral Alliance boats aren’t backing down anymore.”

Simonis snatched the paper from Walker and read the message from Santa Fe. His eyes narrowed as he read Halsey’s description of a near collision with a Japanese Soryu-class sub. Santa Fe’s skipper remarked that it was his opinion that the very close pass was intentional. Without speaking, Simonis handed the message to Jacobs. The CSO scanned it quickly, shaking his head as he read.

“Commodore, we’ve got to get our boats out of there. This spoiler tactic has run its course and is no longer effective,” Jacobs said with a mixture of concern and frustration.

“No shit, Sherlock!” snapped Simonis. “That is exactly what I’m going to do, even if I have to ram the point down the CNO’s throat!”

“Commodore,” interrupted the IT petty officer, “Washington is up on the VTC.”

“Understood,” Simonis replied. “Bring us online.”

“Aye, sir,” answered the petty officer. “White House, Squadron Fifteen is up online, how do you receive?”

“We have you on both audio and visual. Please stand by.”

Simonis watched as two small sub-displays, with the CNO’s conference room in the Pentagon and COMSUBPAC at Pearl Harbor, popped up in the lower corners. It was just a minute longer before Admiral Hughes, Rear Admiral Burroughs, and Dr. Patterson were all in view. Simonis reached over and hit the mute button on his control console, activating his microphone. He saw no purpose in waiting any longer.

“Good morning Dr. Patterson, Admiral Hughes, and good afternoon to you, Admiral Burroughs.”

“Good evening to you too, Commodore,” Patterson replied. The two admirals also sent their greetings.

Without waiting, Simonis launched immediately into his report. “Since my last SITREP, the situation in the South and East China Seas has continued to deteriorate. Two more Chinese merchant ships have been sunk, one medium-sized tanker and one bulk carrier. This brings today’s total to four ships thus far. While this represents a slight decrease in the number of sinkings from yesterday, I attribute the reduction to the continuing decline in overall shipping traffic in the affected areas.

“There is growing evidence that the Littoral Alliance has deployed more submarines into the East China Sea now that the Indian blockade has effectively closed down any approaches to the South China Sea. It is also apparent that China is deploying her own submarines, probably to interdict Japanese and South Korean shipping. My only asset in the East China Sea area has reported nearly a one hundred percent increase in submerged contacts.”

“Chuck,” interrupted Burroughs, “do you have any idea on what China is deploying?”

“Our best estimate, sir, is at least three Type 039 Songs, and a like number of Type 035 Mings. Oklahoma City held four Chinese boats at one time as they passed through his patrol area. The commanding officer indicated that a Ming appeared to be heading toward South Korea, while three Songs were heading southeast out into the Pacific.”

Burroughs shook his head. “The situation is getting worse by the day. Dr. Patterson, I recommend that a warning be issued to U.S. merchant ships to avoid Japanese and South Korean ports. We don’t want our ships steaming into an expanding war zone.”

“Concur with the recommendation,” echoed Hughes.

“All right, gentleman, I’ll forward your recommendation to the president,” Joanna responded.

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Hughes. Burroughs nodded his approval.

“Commodore, what is the current status of the spoiler campaign?” Joanna asked, moving on.

“Frankly, Dr. Patterson, it is rapidly losing effectiveness. All four commanding officers have reported it is getting harder and harder to break up any attack by a Littoral Alliance submarine. Within the last twenty-four hours, we have only forced a couple of their boats to withdraw without attacking. That’s about a thirty-three percent effectiveness rate. In addition, my COs have noted a significant increase in the use of active sonar by alliance boats, as well as aggressive maneuvering. As I reported in my last situation report, Commander Mitchell lost one of his long-endurance UUVs this morning when it was rammed and sunk by the Indian Akula. Now, Commander Halsey has just recently reported a very close pass, a ‘near collision,’ as he called it, by a Japanese Soryu-class submarine. In Commander Halsey’s opinion, the maneuver by the Japanese boat was intentional.”

Simonis paused momentarily to let his message sink in, but he wasn’t finished yet. Not by a long shot.

“Ma’am, it is clear that we have exhausted the element of surprise, and that Littoral Alliance submarines have been instructed, at the very least, to ignore us. Furthermore, I view the recent aggressive maneuvering as a more explicit warning for us to get out of their way. Finally, with the increased deployment of hostile units into the South and East China Seas, the risk to our submarines continues to grow, while mission effectiveness has declined sharply. It is my professional opinion, Dr. Patterson, that we can no longer sustain the spoiler campaign, and that the probability of us losing a submarine is becoming more and more likely. I, therefore, most strongly urge the president to order the withdrawal of my squadron from the declared war zones.”

There, he’d said his piece. He’d been respectful, but Simonis hoped the bluntness of his message would finally shake some sense into the senior decision-makers. Patterson nodded slightly, while Hughes and Burroughs both looked composed. This wasn’t the first time they’d heard the squadron commodore’s strong views on the matter.

“I appreciate your views and concerns, Captain,” replied Joanna. “And to be equally frank, the recent actions taken by Littoral Alliance submarines isn’t the only warning we’ve been given. Late last night, we received demarches from Japan, Vietnam, and India denouncing our uneven treatment of their forces involved in the conflict.” There was no longer any pretense that the United States was not involved; the Asian alliance missives had demanded that they make it official, openly announcing their position.

“All three feel we were providing aid to the Chinese in their war, and they insist that if we were going to officially stay out of the fight, that we needed to declare our neutrality and withdraw our forces from the area. They would not be responsible for the consequences if we did not do so.”

Simonis looked relieved. He wasn’t the only one delivering unwanted news to the president. “This merely reinforces my point, Doctor. They don’t want us interfering, we have little ability to influence their actions, and we are unnecessarily putting our people at greater risk. For God’s sake, let’s get the hell out of there!”

Patterson took a deep breath. She was in complete agreement with Simonis. The submarines of Squadron Fifteen had done everything asked of them, and more. It was time to cut their losses and get out. But on the other hand, she was also a loyal subordinate to the president, who desperately wanted to stop the fighting, somehow. She didn’t like finding herself at odds with her loyalties, and the fact that Jerry was one of the people who would conceivably have to pay for the president’s decision didn’t help matters at all.

“I hear you, Captain Simonis,” she empathized. “I will inform the president of your recommendation, and I will endorse it.”

7 September 2016

2100 Local Time

MV Tamilnadu

Fifty Nautical Miles Southeast of the Port of Nagoya, Japan

Captain Somnath Manogar sucked nervously on his pipe; the whistling sound it made proved he was only moving air, the tobacco having been consumed hours ago. They were still in what the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force called the “danger zone,” and over four hours from safety. The warnings issued over the last two days by the Indian government were now showing up in the Notice to Mariners. The submarine war with China was expected to expand into the Pacific Ocean; the approaches to Japan were now considered a war zone. Manogar wondered what those idiots in Mumbai were thinking. Why would anyone want to intentionally anger the giant dragon to the east! It made no sense to him. All he wanted to do was get his ship tied up to a safe berth, then he could think about taking a hot shower and a long nap. He’d slept little once the ship entered the danger zone, two hundred nautical miles out from Japan.

Manogar walked over to the helmsman, checking their course and speed for the tenth time in the last hour. It was totally unnecessary; the automatic pilot had them squarely on course for the port of Nagoya at twelve knots. The young mate at the helm smiled. He knew his captain was a compulsive worrier. If there were such a thing as sea monsters, Captain Manogar would fret over them. The war that he feared was far away, near China. The warnings were merely a precautionary measure the Indian government felt compelled to issue. Ever since the 2008 terror attack in south Mumbai, they’d started proclaiming warnings every time they thought something bad might happen. If the government felt the potential risk for severe sunburn was high enough, they’d issue a warning. A bunch of paranoid old men, he thought to himself.

“We’re still steady on course three three zero, speed twelve knots, Captain,” he reaffirmed sarcastically.

“I can read, Helmsman,” Manogar replied tersely. Annoyed by the young man’s flippant report, Manogar marched over to the bridge windows. Staring out into the dark overcast night, it wasn’t even ten seconds before he felt the overwhelming urge to raise his binoculars and conduct a search. It was pure habit, one he had acquired since his time as a junior mate. He doubted he’d ever see a submarine’s periscope, but a stupid fisherman cruising around the ship lanes without his running lights on was another danger that he had to keep in mind.

He’d completed a full forward scan and had turned to look at the bridge’s radar repeater when suddenly the ship shook violently. Both men were knocked off their feet; the helmsman suffered a nasty gash to his head and was bleeding profusely, but he was still conscious. Manogar pulled himself up on the control console and saw the alarm panel had numerous red lights flashing. The audible alarms pierced the quiet night. Through the din, the ship’s internal phone rang. The captain silenced the alarms and grabbed the phone. “Bridge.”

“Captain, Engineer here, we’re taking on water in holds two and three. We’ve also lost the main engine, not sure what the problem is.”

“Engineer,” Manogar spoke quickly, “we’ve been torpedoed. Get your men topside immediately!” He hung up before the engineer could reply.

“Jack, pass the word, prepare to abandon ship!”

The woozy helmsman responded and headed over to the shipwide PA system. Manogar reached over and grabbed the ship’s radio mike and moved the frequency band selector to “16,” the international distress channel.

“Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Motor Vessel Tamilnadu. We’ve been hit by a torpedo, forty-eight nautical miles south-southeast of Irago Suido. Location, latitude, three three degrees, five zero minutes north. Longitude, one three seven degrees, two five minutes east. Repeat. Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Motor Vessel Tamilnadu. We’ve been hit by a torpedo, forty-eight nautical miles—”

The second torpedo exploded aft, right under the ship’s superstructure, abruptly cutting short Captain Manogar’s distress call.

7 September 2016

1300 Local Time

White House Situation Room

Washington, D.C.

Secretary of Commerce Joyce McHenry pulled up the next chart in her brief. The diagram showed a disheartening trend.

“Trade with China has been severely reduced due to the Littoral Alliance submarine campaign. Even though the alliance was only targeting tankers initially, insurance costs have gone through the roof for any ship transiting through a war zone—and Lloyd’s of London includes India in that mix. The bottom line is the number of Chinese ships entering U.S. ports is down to a quarter of the normal level, and many of the ships that get here don’t want to leave. We’ve also seen a decrease in the number of Japanese and South Korean vessels arriving, by about one-third.”

President Myles rubbed his forehead; he dreaded asking the obvious question. “Joyce, what is your best estimate on the damage to the economy?”

McHenry sighed deeply. “Mr. President, China, Japan, and South Korea are in the top ten of our global trading partners. Indian and Taiwan are in the top fifteen. If the merchant traffic doesn’t decrease further, we’re looking at an estimated loss of sixteen billion dollars in exports to the countries directly in the war zone each month. Unfortunately, Europe was still in a weakened condition and it has been bludgeoned by this crisis. Many of the European Union economies have dropped back into recession—resulting in a similar reduction in our exports. An optimistic figure would suggest that we are looking at a fifteen to twenty percent reduction in monthly exports.”

“And the unemployment rate?” groaned Myles.

“Mr. President, we have a ‘just-in-time’ economy,” emphasized McHenry. “It is predicated on an uninterrupted flow of goods, in and out of the country. There is little in the way of stored inventory. Since we produce only a small fraction of the consumer goods sold, particularly in the electronics, appliance, and clothing sectors, you’re looking at two weeks, tops, before many stores will have little or nothing to put on the shelves. Add in the impact of a precipitous drop in exports, and significant job loss is all but inevitable. Initial estimates suggest the unemployment rate will probably exceed twelve percent. Perhaps as high as seventeen percent.”

Myles winced. Many of the other cabinet members sat in shocked silence.

“And that’s an optimistic assessment, correct?” asked Myles hesitantly.

McHenry looked downward, disheartened. “Yes, Mr. President, I’m afraid so,” she answered.

“I see.” The president paused, absorbing the dreadful news. Myles removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then clearing his throat said, “All right, Joyce, just skip to the bottom line.”

“Yes, sir. If this war continues for another two or three weeks, the economy will very likely drop into a major recession, with unemployment rates exceeding the historical norms for the last seventy-five years. If the fighting goes on for more than a month, two months at the outside, the possibility of a depression becomes… unpleasantly high.”

“Two months?” cried Geisler in disbelief. “How can our economy be ruined in such a short period of time?”

“As with mechanical systems, Malcolm, economic trends also experience inertia,” explained McHenry. “Even if we could stop this war right now, its aftereffects would still be felt for months, perhaps years. The longer the fighting goes on, the steeper the downturn in our economy becomes, which means a deeper bottoming out further down the road—one that could take us a decade to crawl out of.”

The cabinet meeting abruptly went quiet; everyone’s morale was in shambles, crushed by McHenry’s devastating projection. Uneasy with the depressing silence, Kirkpatrick moved on to the next topic; there was still more ground to cover.

“Mr. President,” he began. “We’ve confirmed that the PLAN was able to secure Spratly Island, and the airfield is largely intact. China did lose a Yuzhao-class amphibious assault ship, an old Jiangwei II-class frigate, and a container ship carrying the garrison’s equipment, so their hold is a bit tenuous.”

Myles nodded. “Casualties?” he asked.

“High, Mr. President. The Chinese probably lost more men because of the amphibious assault ship, but the Vietnamese squadron was all but annihilated. Only a single damaged patrol boat returned to port this morning.” Kirkpatrick saw the pained expression on Myles’s face. “They did stop the Chinese southern thrust,” added the national security advisor.

“I gathered that, Ray,” exclaimed Myles testily. “But the cost in territory and blood is making it even harder for either side to see the folly of this war. Both sides are blind to the fact that there can be no winners in this conflict, only losers.” Kirkpatrick’s jaw tightened slightly, as he struggled for words. The president saw his advisor’s reaction and realized the man was just as frustrated as he was.

Sighing deeply, Myles said, “I’m sorry, Ray. I know you’re just trying to do your job.”

Kirkpatrick bowed slightly, silently accepting the president’s apology.

“How is our submarine spoiler campaign coming along?” inquired Myles, changing the subject.

Kirkpatrick turned to Joanna, and gestured for her to address the question.

“Not as well as we would like, Mr. President,” she began. “It’s getting more difficult for our subs to break up an attack.”

“They’re getting acclimated to our presence,” Myles observed.

“Yes, Mr. President. I spoke with Captain Simonis this morning and he said their effectiveness had dropped considerably in the last couple of days. On average, they were only able to interrupt Littoral Alliance submarine attacks about one-third of the time. And there has been a noticeable increase in aggressive behavior as well.”

Myles’s forehead wrinkled. “Aggressive behavior? Explain, Joanna.”

“Littoral Alliance submarines now typically use active sonar to track and harass our submarines while they carry out their attacks against Chinese merchant ships. Extensive use of active sonar is very atypical submariner behavior; they are making it clear that they know we are there, and they aren’t being shy about it.

“Captain Simonis has also seen a disturbing new tactic involving Littoral Alliance submarines maneuvering very close to our boats. There was a close pass this morning by a Japanese submarine with USS Santa Fe, a ‘near collision,’ as the commanding officer called it. When combined with the deliberate ramming of one of Commander Mitchell’s UUVs by the Indian Akula, the squadron commodore believes that a new, and more dangerous phase of the spoiler campaign has begun.”

“I’m probably going to regret asking this next question, but does Captain Simonis have any recommendations?”

“Yes, Mr. President. He strongly recommends getting our boats out of the war zone,” Joanna replied quickly. Then, taking a deep breath, added more slowly, “And I, reluctantly, agree with him.”

Myles was surprised by Patterson’s admission, and it showed. “I must say, I’m a bit astonished, Joanna. I thought you were supportive of the spoiler strategy. What changed your mind?”

Joanna was torn, emotionally. She desperately wanted to be a loyal subordinate, and supportive of the president’s policy. But now, she felt another equally strong force pulling at her, placing her loyalties in tension. Her bonds to the submarine community ran deep, and she had many friends who still served on the black boats. Subconsciously, she was very protective of the men and women who made up their crews, and she had difficulty putting them in harm’s way, especially when the military or political gain was so meager. It didn’t help that her husband and Charles Simonis, both former submarine commanding officers, had such diverse views on the matter.

Lowell Hardy, on the one hand, had counseled her to work hard to advance the president’s goals even when she had nagging doubts. The officers and crews on the submarines served at the pleasure of the president; he had the moral authority to place them at risk if he felt it was necessary. Simonis, on the other hand, objected to putting his people on the line with rules of engagement so restrictive that the loss of one of his boats was a very distinct possibility. He’d salute and carry out his orders when told, but until then he’d fight like a rabid dog for his people’s well-being. Patterson respected both men’s views, and it didn’t help that both men were right.

And then there was Jerry Mitchell. Jerry’s boat was up against the best submarine in the Littoral Alliance. Normally, his advanced Virginia-class submarine would be the hands-down winner in any fight against an Improved Akula. But the spoiler campaign required Jerry to give up many of his advantages, thus significantly leveling the playing field. The thought of Jerry’s boat being sunk because she blindly supported the president’s strategy left her cold. And tucked away in the back of her mind was the memory of another run-in with an Akula-class submarine, one that nearly killed Memphis and everyone on board, including her. More than once in the past week she had awakened from a troubled sleep, sweating, after reliving that nightmare.

“Mr. President, I begrudgingly supported your policy because there was a legitimate political benefit to the United States, and the risk to our people was fairly low. I no longer believe that is the case. The risk has grown significantly, while the benefit has all but disappeared. And to be frank, I have a very good friend who is putting his life, and those of his crew, on the line, for what I see as little to no gain.” Patterson swallowed hard after she finished her explanation.

Myles nodded soberly. “Thank you, Joanna. I appreciate your candor. But as hard as that decision was, I still think putting some brakes, however small, on this conflict is in our best interests.”

“Mr. President,” Alexander interrupted. “As much as I hate to argue with you, how can you say we’re having a slowing effect on this war? From where I sit, it’s accelerating away from us. The Philippines’ decision to join the Littoral Alliance was a very rude surprise. And now there is evidence that their ‘prophet,’ Dr. Komamura, went to Indonesia, and possibly Malaysia, to convince them to join as well. If both countries do sign on, China will be completely surrounded along her maritime border by a hostile alliance.”

Andy Lloyd picked up right after Alexander. “The demarches we received yesterday accused us of being rather one-sided in our execution, as the vast majority of the attacks we’ve interfered with are those by the Littoral Alliance. If we continue with the spoiler strategy, we are risking alienating countries who have been our allies for decades.”

“Ones whose economies, when combined, rival China’s and will probably recover faster once this is all over and done with,” added McHenry.

Myles grimaced unhappily, his voice loaded with frustration. “Andy, I know you and Joyce have presented arguments that we should join this alliance and help rein in China’s aggressive behavior. But do you really want to go to war with another nuclear power?”

Before Lloyd could respond, Kirkpatrick barged in. “I don’t think that’s a viable option, Mr. President, for the simple reason that I don’t believe the Littoral Alliance wants us to join.”

“Ray, what do you base that on?” cried Lloyd, clearly miffed.

“Andy, everything this new alliance has done is in complete conformity with Dr. Komamura’s book. If he is their guiding light, their ‘prophet’ as Greg put it, then he will be strongly advising the alliance leadership to not include us. The chapter in his book that addresses relationships with the United States, ‘Sailing Alone,’ is a strident argument for Asian countries to distance themselves from our ‘overbearing’ policies. Have you had a chance to read it yet?”

Irritated and embarrassed, Lloyd replied, “No, no, not in its entirety. I’ve only skimmed some of it.”

“I strongly recommend it to all of you,” Kirkpatrick insisted firmly, as he looked around the conference room table. “This book provides considerable insight on the beliefs and goals of this new alliance. Sun Tzu put it best—know your enemy, people.”

“All right, Ray, you’ve made your point,” admonished Myles while gesturing for Lloyd to calm down. “So why don’t we just cut to the chase and have you provide your recommendation. Not that you have a strong opinion on the matter.”

Kirkpatrick chuckled; the president’s light humor successfully dispatched the growing tension amongst his key advisors.

“My apologies, Mr. President. I didn’t mean to preach. But there is one point of agreement between the People’s Republic of China and the Littoral Alliance—neither side wants the United States to become involved in this conflict. Therefore, I recommend we comply with their mutual desire and withdraw our forces from the South and East China Seas. Regardless of which side ultimately prevails, it is in our best interests, long-term interests, to be perceived as neutral.”

Myles leaned back in his chair as he considered Kirkpatrick’s suggestion. The president knew that his national security advisor never took a strong position on anything without first dissecting every fact. And yet, Lloyd and McHenry also had strong arguments. The president loathed situations such as this when he had a diametrically opposed cabinet. It made the job of making a decision far more difficult, as he respected the views and opinions of each of his closest advisors. This time, Myles chose to do something he hated almost as much—he’d kick the can down the road.

“Okay, Ray, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll postpone a final decision on the spoiler campaign until after Andy and I meet with the Japanese ambassador this evening. After I hear the alliance’s position from the horse’s mouth, then we’ll sit down and hammer it out.”

Kirkpatrick nodded his head, disappointed. But a delay did make some sense, particularly if the Japanese ambassador confirmed his understanding of Komamura’s writings.

Lloyd was equally unhappy, but more vocal. “Mr. President, this will reinforce your opponent’s view that you are a fence-sitter. You’re taking a beating in the polls. The perception is that you are too weak to take a strong stand, or that you don’t know what to do. The election is only two months away; this perception has to be changed, and soon.”

“Andy, I’m being pilloried by both parties for not articulating a firm position—they want me to choose sides,” Myles remarked. “Regardless of what I do, someone will be unhappy with it. If both my own party and the Republicans are upset with my actions, then maybe, just maybe, it’s the right one. I’m going to go with my instinct on this one, Andy. We’ll wait till after our meeting tonight. Then we’ll know where we stand.”