Sky Masters

7

“Man — living in Arkansas, I thought I knew what humidity felt like,” Jon Masters had said. “Guam has Blytheville beat six ways to none.” Those were Masters’ first words when he stepped off his converted DC-10 airliner onto the tarmac at Andersen Air Force Base in Guam. Everything he touched felt clammy — the railing on the portable stairs, the concrete parking apron, everything. Breathing became a conscious activity, and things like long pants and underwear became serious personal liabilities.

General Brad Elliott had to agree. Although he had spent some months in Guam during the Vietnam War, flying B-52D and -G bombers from Guam over twenty-five hundred miles one-way on bombing missions, he never got accustomed to the oppressive humidity on the tiny tropical island, which felt like 100 percent every hour of every day. The daily three P.M. thunderstorms did nothing to improve conditions — in fact, it felt even worse, as if one were drowning in oceans one could not see, only feel.

Guam had been the linchpin of American military presence in the Pacific since the Spanish-American War of 1898. The Japanese invaded Guam on December 7, 1941, at the same time that Pearl Harbor was being bombed, but they were ousted in 1944 after days of heavy American bombing, and the militarization of Guam began.

Of the three B-29, B-36, and B-47 bomber bases built on Guam from 1944 to 1950, the largest, Andersen Air Force Base — first known simply as North Field — remained. Andersen Air Force Base was a vast, stark facility on Guam’s northern shore that, although reduced to a small fraction of its recent size and relatively quiet, still echoed with the ghosts of missions past. Dominating the base were Andersen’s twin two-mile-long runways.

Surrounding the runways, including the “infield” between the parallel runways, were concrete parking stubs big enough for B-52s. During the height of the Vietnam War, during Operation Bullet Shot in 1972, over one hundred and fifty bombers were parked here. The B-52s participated in the massive Arc Light, Young Tiger, and Linebacker bombing missions between 1965 and 1973.

By 1990 the Air Force had removed all the permanently assigned B-52 bombers and KC-135 tankers from Andersen, and the base transitioned to caretaker status of the 633rd Air Base Wing of the Pacific Air Forces.

But Elliott and Masters knew it would become an important base of operations again.

Masters had already launched two ALARM boosters while still over the United States. The young scientist and engineer couldn’t believe his NIRTSats were being used in an actual operation that was part of America’s response to a nuclear explosion. What better endorsement could Sky Masters, Inc., ask for than from the U.S. government in a crisis situation?.

Unfortunately, his other Sky Masters colleagues had been less than enthusiastic. After General Curtis of the Joint Chiefs of Staff had given the go-ahead, the government presented Masters with a request for six satellites and two boosters ASAP — a contract worth $300 million. It was all on a handshake and letter of intent, and Helen Kaddiri, as a board member, was especially vocal about taking satellites contracted for by other buyers and selling them to the government. Masters had had to do some hard lobbying, but the board — even Kaddiri — finally agreed.

Still, it put the ALARM booster program to its most grueling test, but it was the process that Jon Masters had originally devised the system to accomplish: twelve hours from the go-ahead, two space boosters were launched that inserted two completely different satellite constellations into low Earth orbit — not just single satellites, but multiple, interconnected strings of small, highly sophisticated satellites…

Thankfully, both launches went off perfectly, all the satellites’ buses were inserted into the proper orbit, and one by one the skies were “seeded” with tiny Sky Masters, Inc., spacecraft. By the time Masters had landed his DC-10 back at his base in Arkansas, loaded the plane with the equipment he needed for the SAC STRATFOR team, and then flown on to Guam, all of his NIRTSats were in their proper orbits and reporting fully functional. The recon satellites were in nearly circular 415-nautical-mile equatorial orbits; the communications satellites were in lower 200-mile orbits inclined 40 degrees to the equator so they could download their data directly to continental U.S. ground stations as well as to facilities on Guam.

Masters was betting everything on this mission — and he was also betting that while he was away Helen Kaddiri would probably try to position herself for a corporate coup d’etat. He’d been expecting it for some time. He shrugged, realizing he’d have to deal with that later.

Masters’ DC-10, with its distinctive red, white, and blue SKY MASTERS emblem on the sides, was parked just outside the hangar next to the north apron, which was perched atop the five-hundred-foot cliff on Guam’s north shore.

Masters and General Brad Elliott, who’d flown in with Masters on the DC-10, met newly appointed SAC STRATFOR commander Major General Rat Stone, his aide Colonel Michael Krieg, and Colonel Anthony Fusco, who was the commander of the 633rd Air Base Wing. Elliott was there to observe Masters’ gear in action, in person. If they were going to be using it at HAWC, he wanted to see it up close.

Introductions were made all around, and after everyone mentioned the humidity, they were taken by military van — in a sudden downpour no less — to the MAC terminal, where a Guamanian customs officer, assisted by a MAC security guard in full combat rig and carrying an M-16 rifle, checked their customs declaration forms and inspected their hand-carried items.

After that, General Stone turned to Masters. “What I’d like is to get your gear in place as soon as possible,” Stone said. “I’ve got an EC-135 communications plane and the recon planes available, so I can use DSCS to collect reconnaissance data, but I don’t like sending those planes so far over water unless we get a better idea on what the situation is over there. The sooner we can get your system working, the better.” The Defense Satellite Communications System, or DSCS, was the current global voice and data communications system in operation; the system’s drawback was that it could relay signals only from ground station to ground station and could not link aircraft. An EC-135 communications plane could act as a pseudo-ground station and could relay signals from another aircraft via DSCS to a ground station, but that meant orbiting the EC-135 near the first aircraft — which meant sending another important aircraft thousands of miles offshore and exposing it to possible enemy action, which in turn meant assigning additional fighters and tankers to support it.

“That’s what I'm here for, General,” Jon Masters said. “With the NIRTSats in place, we can talk with your AWACS and reconnaissance planes directly. When my computer complex is set up, we can get their radar pictures and they’ll be able to receive our PACER SKY pictures.” Jon grinned. “It’s gonna be awesome. Once we get the rest of the birds tied in, you’ll have dozens of planes tied together and linked to Andersen. You’ll hear a guy on some B-52 sneeze three thousand miles away just as clearly as if he were sitting right beside you, and you can say ‘gesundheit’ a second later — and while he’s wiping his nose, you can lay his crosshairs on a target for him. Too much!”

Stone turned and smiled at Elliott, who returned his amused grin. The officers and the young scientist piled into the heavy air-conditioned blue Air Force van, and they headed back out on Perimeter Road.

Jon asked, “I understand your first reconnaissance sortie will take off in a few hours?”

Stone nodded. “It’s about four hours’ flying time from here to the Philippines for the RC-135 and AWACS planes; about three hours for the EC-135. They arrive on station in the Celebes Sea about midnight. They stay on station for four hours, then head on back. They RTB about eight A.M.”

“So my crew can have the plane about nine A.M.?”

“That’s right. You said installing your PACER SKY gear will take less than five hours, which is good because maintenance needs to get the aircraft ready to go at four P.M. That gives you a little leeway, but not much.”

“It’ll be plenty,” Masters assured him.

“Great.” Stone turned to Fusco and said, “Take a swing past the south apron and let’s see what’s going on, Tony.” They drove south along the flight line road, past an E-3C AWACS radar plane with its distinctive thirty-foot-roto-dome atop its fuselage; another camouflaged Boeing 707 aircraft with no distinctive marking except for two canoeshaped fairings on the underside of the fuselage behind the nose gear and rows of antennae atop the fuselage; and another Boeing 707 aircraft painted white over gray, with a refueling boom on the tail and a large, complex antenna array on the top of the fuselage. There were also two McDonnell-Douglas DC-10 aircraft modified as aerial refueling tankers in dark green and white camouflage nearby, and another two Boeing 707s also modified as tankers in standard light gray livery. Crates and crew members from Sky Masters, Inc., were already congregating around the planes, talking with Air Force maintenance crews.

“Quite a collection of planes out here,” Masters exclaimed. “I recognize the AWACS plane and the KC-10 and KC-135 tankers, but what are the other 707s?”

“The dark gray one is an RC-135X radar reconnaissance plane,” Stone explained. “The fairings you see house the multi-mode radars with the inverse synthetic aperture and pulse-Doppler systems, which we’ll use to map out ship and troop locations; it can also slave its radar to radiation-detection sensors to map out locations of search, acquisition, fire control, and missile uplink transmitters, and in an emergency we can arm it with antiradar missiles. I believe you’ll be installing a PACER SKY set and your communications complex on him so he can receive your PACER SKY data and transmit his data directly here.

“The other is one of SAC’s EC-135L radio relay aircraft. We’ll be using him on the first few missions to make sure we get a good feed from the recon planes.” He paused for a moment, then said, “This is a good way of conducting strategic reconnaissance. Lots of planes, lots of crew dogs, not much sleep. Frankly… I still trust this method. No offense, Doctor Masters.”

“None taken,” Jon said. “I’m sure the crews will enjoy the tropical weather, because they won’t be doing much flying. My NIRTSats’ll work just fine.”

The commander of the Strategic Air Command STRATFOR gave the young scientist an amused nod. This guy’s got confidence, Stone had to admit. He wasn’t afraid to place his trust in this high-tech crap, although none of it had ever been tested in fast-changing, demanding combat conditions. Unfortunately, it was cockiness like this that usually got such operations in big trouble.

“What exactly is the plan for these recon flights?” Elliott asked.

“Simple,” Stone replied. “We’re going to do the southern Philippines first; the Chinese defenses are weaker. RC-135 no less than one hundred miles off the coast, well within radar range but nothing too provocative — I got that word loud and clear from JCS. AWACS close enough to monitor the Philippine coast and all our aircraft. Two hundred miles east, we put the EC-135. Between the AWACS and the carriers, we put a Navy E-2 Hawkeye radar plane to control escort fighters coming from the carriers. The Navy will put up tankers to service their fighters after takeoff; we’ll have a KC-10 nearby to service all aircraft involved in the recon operation.”

“How many fighter escorts will you have up?”

“Not enough,” Stone replied grimly. “JCS asked for eight per aircraft; we’re only getting two. Apparently the White House thought eight fighters per looked too much like an invasion force.”

“So if there’s any trouble…” Elliott said.

“We run like hell,” Stone answered. “The fighters cover the withdrawal; they don’t engage. But we’re not expecting any trouble. We’ll be far enough offshore that we won’t seem like a threat. The Chinese should lay off.”

The sight across the road from the south apron commanded instant attention; it was a huge black B-52, with a tall, pointed tail, glistening polished steel skin, and racks of bombs hanging from hardpoints under each wing. Masters asked, “What’s that? Some sort of memorial?”

“The Arc Light Memorial,” Colonel Fusco replied. “Dedicated to the men who flew the heavy bombing missions over Vietnam. That was one of the B-52s that made the last bomb run over North Vietnam in 1972 — ‘Old 100,’ the one-hundredth B-52, built in 1955. We keep her in tiptop shape — in fact, it’s still considered an operational aircraft. The memorial was dedicated on the first anniversary of the return of the POWs from Vietnam.”

“I’ve crawled all over a B-2,” Masters said, “and I know the avionics system on the Space Shuttle like the back of my hand, but you know, I’ve never seen a B-52 this close before. Weird, huh? That thing is just plain huge.”

The other men nodded. It was a war machine with which they all had had very personal experiences. For all of them who flew it, they recalled times when the B-52, seemingly all at once, had tried to kill them and had saved them — such was the nature of that black monster. It was a killing machine that demanded one hundred percent from every man who touched it. Masters stared at the plane and commented on its size, but it had not taken any part of him yet — these two entities, the young scientist and the metallic black monster, were probably born about the same time. For the others, it had affected their lives forever. The group fell silent as Fusco turned around and headed back to the Sixty-fifth Strategic Squadron building.

On the way back, Stone’s aide, Krieg, turned to Elliott and asked, “Did you fly Arc Light, sir?”

“Two years,” Elliott replied. “Sixty-one sorties. Took an SA-2 missile in the shorts and bailed out over the South China Sea in 1968. I might’ve even flown Old 100 a few times. But I wouldn’t know. I never really saw the machines, you see. Instead, I saw the men — wondering whether the machine was going to let them live… or die. God, this brings back memories.” None of them pleasant, Elliott added to himself. In his opinion, they had had the power to end the Vietnam War five years earlier. By conducting heavy bombing and harbor-mining missions in 1972, they had forced an end to the war, but by then it was too late. The American people had had enough of it, and “Vietnamization” and “withdrawal with honor” — and, ultimately, defeat — were preferable to nightly news reports of mounting casualties.

There was something to be learned here, Elliott thought, and after a few sobering minutes thinking about the men he knew that had died in the Vietnam War, he was glad Fusco had brought them to the Arc Light Memorial before this new Philippine operation started. America had devastating air power back then, Elliott thought — just as now. They controlled the skies over North Vietnam, they controlled the harbors, they neutralized the NVA Air Force and ultimately defeated the dense antiaircraft defenses — but they still lost the war. They lost the Vietnam War because the decision to employ America’s massive air forces was delayed and canceled and “committeed” and “staffed” to death.

Although he did not have a direct role in the Philippine operation, and was not in the operational chain of command, Elliott knew that it was his duty to see that those mistakes did not happen again. They had the power to control the escalation and force their will on the Chinese and anyone else involved in this crisis — they had to take the lead. They had to formulate a clearly defined, obtainable objective in this crisis and do everything in their power to achieve that objective.

And it had to be done quickly.

It was very early in the morning for a White House meeting, but President Lloyd Emerson Taylor had been up for two hours and had been fully briefed on the progress of the military operations in the Philippines. He was receiving his first official visitor of the day: Hao Sun Yougao, Chinese ambassador to the United States. This meeting had been called two days earlier, and there had been several meetings between Hao and Secretary of State Dennis Danahall, but this was Hao’s first appearance with the President of the United States since the nuclear explosion.

Almost everyone in Washington liked Hao Sun Yougao. He was young, energetic, and had an infectious smile that instantly put one at ease. But that smile was dim this day, and the tension was palpable as Paul Cesare showed Hao to a seat and the President took his. They were accompanied by Danahall, Secretary of Defense Thomas Preston, and Attorney General Richard Benson, the President’s brother-in-law; Hao was accompanied by a young woman who was introduced as his secretary and interpreter, should he require one; he did not give her name.

Tea was poured as the meeting began: “Ambassador Hao, the silence from Beijing has us all concerned,” the President said. “Premier Cheung has not contacted me directly, nor has he made any public appearances since the disaster. The nuclear explosion near the Philippines, your rapid mobilization of forces, and your actions in the Philippines are cause for great concern in our country. Do you have a message for this government or an explanation of your government’s plans to deal with the natural disaster and the political upheaval in the Pacific?”

Hao seemed to consider the question for a moment, although all of the Americans in the room knew that he was a professional and had probably rehearsed every conceivable question and every possible response a dozen times in the past few days, preparing for this meeting. With slow deliberateness, Hao replied, “Yes, Mr. President. Comrade Cheung wishes to extend his warmest greetings to you. He is saddened and distraught by the disaster that has occurred. He wishes to express his sincere wish that peace be preserved at all costs.”

“Very noble sentiments, Mr. Ambassador,” the President said noncommittally, “ones that we all share, of course. But… you have significant naval forces in the Philippines, you have mobilized strategic forces, including nuclear-capable forces, throughout Asia, and you seem to be on a wartime footing although the rest of the world is not. Forgive me for being so blunt but, Mr. Ambassador, but what the hell is going on?”

“Mr. President, I’m sure you realize the complicated, confused situation we find ourselves in,” Ambassador Hao said. “The government of China found itself torn between a monstrous event and the resultant threat to our security, and the request for assistance that came because of the incident. Our government had no choice but to act, in the hope that our presence could help restore stability to the area and help calm a destructive political situation.”

“So you’re saying that you have no desire to occupy portions of the Philippines?” Thomas Preston asked the Chinese diplomat. “You will remove your military forces from the Philippines once calm is restored?”

“I cannot say how our military forces will be deployed, Mr. Secretary, now or in the future,” Hao replied sincerely, “simply because I do not know this information.”

“Mr. Ambassador, in my opinion the Chinese military presence in the Philippines is destabilizing and unwarranted,” the President said. “Trade, immigration, free passage, communications, and political stability were all assured before your country’s intervention. Why does your government now feel it so necessary to occupy parts of the Philippines?”

“I assure you, Mr. President, China occupies no part of the Philippines…”

“I have information that states Chinese troops have occupied several military bases in and around Manila and on the islands of Palawan and Cebu. Is my information inaccurate?”

“Mr. President, the Philippine government requested our assistance in controlling an uprising by well-armed fanatical rebel troops,” Hao replied. “Any action we took was at the specific request of the Philippine government, in complete cooperation with that government—”

“With President Mikaso’s permission?” the President interrupted.

Hao paused for a moment; the question obviously took him by surprise. “I have received word, Mr. President, that President Mikaso is no longer in power. I do not know any details of this. I am sorry, but I assumed you had that information as well…”

“I have information that Mikaso is dead.”

Hao’s Adam’s apple bobbed conspicuously, and his eyes grew wider as he said, “I do not know this, Mr. President. Is it true?”

“My sources inform me that Mikaso was killed by Chinese soldiers, Mr. Ambassador. Do you deny this?”

Hao’s face registered true surprise, although it was uncharacteristically understated for the usually animated Chinese liaison. “I cannot confirm nor deny this, Mr. President. I have no wish to doubt your word, but I must be certain of this.”

“I am certain as I need to be, Ambassador Hao,” the President said. “I have a great fear that your government, or your military, is ready to occupy the Philippines for good. Tell me I am mistaken, Mr. Ambassador.”

“I may only offer assurances, Mr. President,” Hao said immediately. “The Chinese are no threat to the United States, and we do not seek any sort of confrontation whatsoever with any power. We are in the Philippines at the request of the Philippine government, and we have the right to offer aid and assistance in any manner consistent with our own national interests. The Americans had troops in the Philippines for nearly a century, as you well know, and no one dared question your right to be there.”

“That’s because no foreign power saw our presence there as a threat,” Thomas Preston said. “We were a force of regional stability—”

“Against the aggression and dominance of the Soviet Union, yes,” Hao said. “But you opposed Chinese trade and national security interests as well, something that hurt our efforts to grow and become part of the global economy.”

“I will not debate the effect of history on the development of China, Mr. Ambassador,” the President said. “I will simply say the American people are very worried about the actions your government is taking in the Philippines, and they and the Congress want action.” He paused to let the import of his words sink in a bit; then: “I believe I can wait no more than thirty days before taking direct action against China, Mr. Ambassador.”

“You already have two aircraft carrier battle groups in the Philippine Sea,” Hao said, “and another approaching the Celebes Sea. The Philippines are surrounded by American warships. Are you not already taking substantial action?”

“The American people want to know when the Chinese will be leaving the Philippines, Mr. Ambassador,” the President emphasized. “I want to know the same thing. Do you have an answer?”

“My government did not inquire of you when you would be leaving Grenada, or Panama, or Saudi Arabia…”

“Listen carefully, Mr. Ambassador…” the President said with growing impatience. “I want to know what your government’s intentions are in the Philippines, and I haven’t heard a straight answer from you yet. Your government’s actions have been hostile and furtive, Ambassador, and I don’t like it. For the past twenty years, we’ve had a policy of openness and trust between our countries. We consulted each other on important world matters. Ever since the Tian’anmen Square massacre, your government has cut off most communications with us. That breeds distrust and caution.”

“Mr. President, I assure you, my government does not seek to disrupt any ties with the Americans…”

“Don’t tell me, show me. Nothing but your actions will prove to me what your country’s intentions are. But let me tell you what I intend to do:

“We will use all our available intelligence resources to discover how many troops you have in the Philippines, and we will begin a program to match, and then exceed, that number. We may not succeed, but with cooperation from the Association of South East Asian Nations and other countries we may come close. In addition we will seek to surpass the number of warships you have in the Philippines, and we’ll sail those ships freely in international waters, as close to your vessels as international law allows. We expect no interference, but let me assure you that our warships will be authorized to defend themselves to the maximum extent should there be any threatening moves made against our forces.

“I want the government of China to make a public announcement clearly outlining your objectives and plans for your actions in the Philippines; but in any case, I want China to reduce the number of troops it has in the Philippines by one-half within thirty days, unless a compelling reason is given why you should remain. I also want Arturo Mikaso to be released from custody or his body turned over to his family and let them as well as his close advisers be released; and if it is found that Mikaso was killed by Chinese soldiers, I want those responsible brought to trial. China does not operate in a vacuum, Mr. Ambassador — you are responsible for your actions. You cannot invent arguments for naked acts of aggression and expect the rest of the world to play along.”.

The rapid-fire flurry of demands put Hao on the defensive. He glanced over at his aide to be sure she was taking notes, then said in a flat voice, “My government will make a full disclosure—”

“I should also advise you that this government views the sharp escalation in offensive strategic forces in China a serious threat to world peace and security; we see it as an unwarranted and belligerent act that is clearly over and above any reasonable response to outside military pressure,” the President interrupted. “I want China to reduce the number of offensive strategic forces it has on alert and return to a less threatening, more defensive posture. Otherwise the United States and our allies will be forced to respond by increasing strategic force postures as well. China will then be responsible for a serious military escalation that will ultimately lead to disaster.

“There should be no doubt in your minds that we consider this Chinese military buildup in the Philippines a threat to American national security interests, and we will respond accordingly. You may take that message to your government.” The President sat back in his seat, paused for a few moments, then said, “Do you have anything further for me, Mr. Ambassador?”

The Chinese ambassador to the United States remained impassive and stone-faced throughout the President’s allocution. “I will take your message to my government immediately,” Hao Sun Yougao replied, “and convey your requests and concerns to Comrade Cheung… personally.”

“Personally?” Secretary of State Dennis Danahall interjected, exchanging a quick glance with the President and his advisers. “You’ve been recalled?”

“I regret to inform you that I have, Mr. Secretary,” Hao said. “The situation obviously requires careful study and discussion, and it was felt that these discussions should take place directly, in Beijing. With your permission, my deputy charge will be available to serve you…”

The Americans looked at each other with some surprise; this move was completely unexpected. “Why is your government pulling you out?” the President asked.

“I’m sure you understand how this will appear in the press, Mr. Ambassador,” Danahall said. “They’ll jump all over this. They’ll see it as a prelude to a major conflict, perhaps war.”

“No one wants war, Mr. Secretary,” Hao said. “We only seek peace, security, and stability for all nations. But China has also been asked for assistance, and in a region of the globe so important to us — and less important to you, I feel — it is vital that we respond. My government feels it is important that interference in our affairs be minimized until the extent of the disruption in the Philippines can be properly assessed.”

The President glared at Hao. “I hope your government understands our side of this matter and responds quickly to our requests,” he said to Hao. “In the meantime you know what we will be doing.”

The President rose to his feet and Hao followed suit. “Joyous wishes to you and to your family, Mr. President,” Hao said. The two men shook hands, Hao bowing deeply from the waist, and he exchanged greetings with the rest of the President’s Cabinet members and departed, escorted out of the Oval Office by Paul Cesare.

When Hao was gone, the Secretary of State turned to the President. “I can schedule teleconferences with the British Foreign Minister immediately, sir…”

“Do it,” the President replied. “Get the ‘leadership’ together for a luncheon meeting if you can; if not, schedule a few hours this afternoon for briefings.” Danahall departed, leaving the President with his brother-in-law and Secretary of Defense Preston.

“What do you think, Thomas?” the President asked. “What’s Cheung up to?”

“I think it is fairly obvious, Mr. President, that he intends to use this episode to fortify his position in the Philippines and fill the void created by our departure,” Preston replied. “He’s created a substantial resupply line from China to the Philippines that we might find impossible to break, and he’s found a way to get the government to offer him basing facilities and local support. We may never be able to shake him loose if he manages to consolidate all his gains.”

“So we have no military options?”

“We have many military options, sir,” Preston replied, “but it’ll mean a serious escalation of our military commitment. Cheung has both the military power and at least the appearance of legitimacy — that’s an unbeatable combination no matter how you look at it. If we want to counteract the advantage he has, we have to risk stepping up to the brink of a superpower war.”

“We’ll wait to hear what the ASEAN has to say,” the President said finally. “If they vote to condemn the Chinese, world opinion will start to turn away from them — we can add our evidence of the Chinese firing that nuclear missile if we can get someone to confirm that Sky Masters data. Cheung won’t have any choice but to back down then.” To the Defense Secretary the President asked, “But in case they won’t back down, Thomas, what can we do then?”

“Mr. President, this may be more of a political decision to make with Dennis Danahall and the Congressional leadership, but I see the Chinese as a serious military threat to our national interests in the region,” Preston replied. “If they take the Philippines, they can militarily and economically threaten every other Pacific Rim nation. We’ll have no choice but to build up our own military forces in the region to counterbalance them. We must act.”

“So what do we do?” the President asked. “Are you considering sending in the Marines or this Air Battle Force thing?”

Preston considered the question for a moment, then replied. “Yes, sir — in limited numbers and in total secrecy. General Curtis mentioned the equipment installed on Brad Elliott’s experimental planes — that may be a good place to start. Sending the entire Air Battle Force would be difficult to keep secret, but sending three or four aircraft would be a simple matter. I recommend approving the STRATFOR’s plan to deploy the PACER SKY-equipped combat aircraft as soon as possible.”

The President’s eyes glanced over to his brother-in-law, Benson, who was enthusiastically nodding his agreement; Secretary of State Danahall looked grim and undecided, but eventually gave a slight nod.

“Approved, Thomas,” the President said. “Keep it quiet. I want those planes kept under wrap until I decide to tell the world they’re there.” He paused, rubbing his eyes wearily, then added, “And I hope to hell we get some good news from Ambassador O’Day in Singapore.”

The emergency meeting of the Association of South East Asian Nations began shortly after the first of five daily prayers for its Moslem members; the crier’s call to prayer was played over the building’s public-address system, and a shining silver and crystal chandelier on the right-hand wall of the conference center indicated the direction of Mecca. Deborah O’Day, the United Nations ambassador from the United States, had been reminded to stay in the ladies’ room until prayers were over — women, even foreign nonbelieving women, were not encouraged to be nearby during prayers.

O’Day was familiar with most aspects of Moslem life; she was especially versed on its feudalistic treatment of women. In many ways ASEAN, where four of the seven member nations were predominantly Islamic, was little more than an exclusive all-male country club, their play interrupted occasionally by short periods of more or less serious work and debate. Women performed the usual secretarial duties and little more — except, of course, for the courtesans who could be seen wandering the halls of the adjacent hotel where most of the delegates and foreign ministers stayed.

It was important for these delegates to not look upon her as a woman, but a representative of the United States government. She even went as far as wearing a very male-cut outfit, with a double-breasted jacket, a long ankle-length skirt that resembled a Muslim robe, and had even cut her hair very short for this meeting. Anything to blend in was fair game.

The meeting got under way with the last series of short speeches concerning the Chinese presence in the Philippines, and one by one the delegates voiced their opposition to China sending so many troops and so many warships to those islands.

As expected, the delegation from the Philippines urged restraint, patience, and understanding through these troubled times. O’Day had not met the new ambassador from the Philippines, knew nothing about him, and had not been granted an appointment with him. The ASEAN executive council had immediately credentialed him, however, so he had full authority to vote and debate during the meeting: “The Philippines are in the process of enacting the first meaningful, productive change in our nation’s history,” the Philippine ambassador said. “Our nation has been dominated by foreigners almost since our inception…”

O’Day cocked an eyebrow. She got the drift — the ambassador was obviously somebody’s parrot. Well, she sure as hell wasn’t buying it. “Mr. Ambassador, let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Where is President Mikaso? Has he been assassinated? Taken captive?”

“Silence, Ambassador O’Day,” the chairman of the executive council, the ambassador from Indonesia, said. “You are not permitted to speak in this forum…”

She ignored him. “I would like proof that it was an American weapon that detonated off your shores, as you claim. This council has been given substantial evidence that it was a Chinese warhead—”

“Lies,” Ambassador Perez spat. “I demand that this woman be removed from our presence and that her government apologize for her insulting behavior…”

“Sit up and take it like a man, Ambassador,” O’Day said evenly. “After all, I’m only a woman…”

That was too much for the ASEAN delegates; even the Brunei Crown Prince, who could not keep his lascivious eyes off her and had nodded approval when she first spoke up, shook his head.

“Ambassador O’Day, you have been granted observer status only,” the chairman said. “You are not permitted to speak. You will not be warned again. Ambassador Perez, continue with your statement.”

“Thank you. My country has been bled by the former regime’s failed economic policies and by American imperialism. The Chinese were victims of rebel aggression as well. When they offered humanitarian aid after the nuclear attack — a gesture that was not made by any other nation until days later, including many nations represented here — we also requested assistance in quelling the well-armed and bloodthirsty rebels…”

“You ought to write techno-thrillers, Mr. Perez,” the Crown Prince from Brunei said with a laugh. “They are very popular in my country. Unfortunately, your lies are not.”

Perez pressed on. “I urge my fellow delegates to vote to disapprove sanctions against my country and to follow continued relief and police efforts by the Chinese government. My people beg for your help and understanding. Thank you.” He turned and gave O’Day a murderous glare, then stared straight ahead, waiting for the Council’s decision.

“The resolution before the council would approve full economic sanctions against the Republic of China and the Philippines,” the chairman summarized, “and would restrict all trade and commerce with China, and would authorize the Association to implement all policies and invoke all measures to urge China to withdraw its military forces from all members’ territorial or disputed waters. We vote by open-voice ballot. Five votes are required to pass the resolution. If all discussion is concluded, please record your vote.”

One by one, they voted.

Indonesia.

Malaysia.

Singapore.

The Kingdom of Brunei.

All in favor of the resolution.

The Philippines voted against it.

As did Thailand, who along with Vietnam — the last two ASEAN countries to vote — had waived any closing arguments to the resolution. That had O’Day worried. She had tried to talk to each ambassador before the meeting, but had no luck. Both were critical countries; both had borders with China, and their huge neighbor was always a major presence in any political and military situation.

But both were members of ASEAN to counter China’s influence, and so far it was working. They finally had the political clout to stand up to their powerful neighbor.

“The kingdom of Thailand,” its ambassador said, “is convinced that such a resolution, made in the heat of passion and without extensive study and debate, would be counterproductive. As much as Thailand seeks an end to violence and fear, we cannot support such a resolution without further study. Thailand abstains.”

O’Day couldn’t believe it. Of all countries, Thailand stood to lose the most if China were allowed to exert a greater influence in the region; she had never expected them to abstain…

That left Vietnam as the deciding vote. They would have to vote yes, O’Day thought. After all, Vietnam and China were all but enemies. True, Vietnam was the only Communist country in ASEAN, and true, Vietnam and China had once been uneasy allies, but…

“Republic of Vietnam.”

“Vietnam abstains.”

Deborah O’Day shot to her feet in absolute shock. “What!” she shouted. “You’re abstaining? Why?”

The chairman was pounding his gavel over the sudden flurry of excited voices. “Ambassador O’Day, your outbursts will not be tolerated! You are ordered to leave. I will have order in this chamber…”

“I want an explanation!” O’Day shouted. Security guards were quickly rushing to her side. “Don’t you understand? You’re handing over the keys to your cities to the Chinese if you don’t stop them now!”

O’Day was still shouting as she was unceremoniously pulled to her feet and half-dragged, half-escorted to the rear of the conference room and outside. Her aide was deposited beside her a few moments later.

“I don’t believe this,” O’Day told her aide as they made their way to the entrance. “What the hell is going on? Vietnam should certainly be opposed to Chinese aggression.

… Something is very odd…”

“We’ve got to notify Washington about this immediately,” her aide said as they made their way to the limousine. “We’ll have to brief the President…”

The Marine Corps driver from the embassy staff, in full dress blues — spotless white gloves, white belt with .45-caliber sidearm, spit-shined boots, and round hat with the brim pulled down so low it almost obscured his racing-style sunglasses — quickly stepped around from the driver’s side to the curbside rear door, opened it, and stood at attention as O’Day and her aide entered the car. “How’s the traffic on Bukit Timah Road, Corporal?” she asked her driver distractedly. He grunted a perfunctory, “Poor, ma’am,” in reply and quickly closed the door.

“Go ahead and take the central avenue to Government House, then,” O’Day’s aide said as the driver re-entered the limousine. “Call ahead and ask Communications to get a line open for us.” The driver pulled out into the traffic and, with usual Marine flair and urgency, roared down the wide central city avenue toward Singapore’s Embassy Row.

“China’s just been given the green light to occupy the Philippines and make a grab for the rest of the Pacific,” O’Day’s aide said. “The President won’t have any choice but to respond militarily.”

“But he won’t like it,” O’Day said. “He wants the endorsement of some Pacific Rim government or organization before he commits troops, and he just lost the most important one. God, is he going to be pissed.”

“This will be one phone call I don’t envy you,” her aide said. He turned to the Marine Corps driver. “Corporal, you didn’t call the embassy communications office like the ambassador asked. Now please do it.”

His order was answered with a clunk! as the locks on all the doors engaged.

O’Day immediately scanned all the windows, looking for pursuing cars or any sign of a threat; there were none. Her aide immediately reached down below the seat to the hidden compartment where a Uzi submachine gun was stored. “Corporal, why’d you lock the doors?” O’Day asked. “What’s going on?”

“The Uzi’s gone,” her aide said. He fingered the door unlock buttons and power window switches — none were operable. “What the hell is going on?” He reached for the cellular phone in the backseat, but the “Ready” lights were all out — the phone too was dead.

A .45-caliber Colt semiautomatic pistol appeared in the hand of the driver; he showed it to O’Day and her aide but then immediately lowered it, out of view. “Please sit still and do not try anything foolish,” the driver said. “You will not be harmed unless you try to resist.”

It was not until O’Day looked at the man through the rearview mirror that she realized he was wearing sunglasses — their Marine driver had not been wearing them before because of the early hour and overcast skies. “Where’s our driver?”

“Safely asleep in the trunk, Ambassador O’Day,” the man replied. “He put up quite a struggle before we could subdue him. He will awaken in a few minutes.” The driver eased off the main avenue toward a hotel parking lot where the car could be partially obscured, but not appear too conspicuously isolated. He parked the car and immediately began removing the uniform.

“What are you going to do with us?”

“Nothing,” the driver said. Underneath the blue uniform, he wore a T-shirt with palm trees on it, khaki shorts, and white tennis socks; he replaced the spit-shined shoes with tennis shoes. He looked like a tourist from any number of Asian or European countries. Gripping the .45 in his right hand, he glanced nervously at his watch, leaned through the dividing window between the compartments, and said, “I know your embassy tracks all its vehicles by microtransmitter, so I will not stay any longer. I have a message from Second Vice President General Samar…”

“Samar!” O’Day exclaimed. “Is he still alive? Is he in hiding…?” Samar had disappeared the day Mikaso had been killed. It had been assumed Samar was dead, too.

“Silence,” the man said; then, realizing he might have sounded too demanding, added, “Please.” Then, “General Samar requests help from your government to relieve Davao on the island of Mindanao. He is resisting the Chinese invaders but cannot hold on for much longer — Puerto Princesa and Zamboanga have fallen, and Cotabato and Davao will be next…”

“If Samar wants help,” O’Day told the man, “he had better stop playing hide-and-seek and take control of the government. The non-Communist citizens will follow him, but everyone thinks he’s dead…”

“He may be dead if you do not help,” the agent said. “We need more than just…”

“Silence. I have stayed too long already. Listen carefully. General Samar says that the Ranger carrier battle group will be attacked by Chinese air forces from Zamboanga if they attempt to enter the Celebes Sea.”

“What? How in hell do you know that…?”

“General Samar is on Mindanao, organizing his people and his resistance forces. He is carefully monitoring the Chinese military’s movements and communications, and he concludes that on the first of October — Revolution Day — Admiral Yin Po L’un’s forces will attack any foreign military forces that attempt to pass near Mindanao.”

“But that’s crazy,” O’Day’s aide said. “The Chinese wouldn’t be stupid enough to attack an American carrier…

“I will not debate you. The General has risked his life to bring this information to you — in exchange, he officially requests military and humanitarian aid from the United States. Please help. Contact him at this number immediately. Do not alert your embassy by radio or telephone; there are spies everywhere.” The man reached down and hit the button to unlock the trunk. “Your guard will awaken in ten to fifteen minutes; he will release you then. Do not attempt to follow me. Please help my people.”

The man raised the dividing glass screen, stepped out of the car, and ran as fast as he could away from the hotel; they saw him throw the gun into a ditch before he ran out of sight.