The Gotland Deception

Chapter Two: Presidential Finding 32-33

The radiator clanked its familiar rhythm as National Security Advisor Jim Batista hunched over the DNI’s year-end assessment. Outside, snow fell steadily past his window, already accumulating three inches on the South Lawn. Twenty degrees and dropping — a proper D.C. winter.

He’d read the report twice already, but the numbers still seemed impossible. Russia’s GDP had grown forty-seven percent in three years. Unemployment was down from twenty-two percent to three. Infrastructure projects that would have taken decades were now completed in months. All thanks to those damned robots.

“The GR-3R ‘Drevnik’ units have revolutionized Russian industrial capacity,” the report stated in the bloodless prose of intelligence analysis. “Current estimates suggest 400,000 units operational across mining, construction, and manufacturing sectors. While these humanoid platforms demonstrate remarkable capability in civilian applications, assessment indicates they remain unsuitable for military deployment. Susceptibility to jamming, vulnerability to high-powered microwave systems, and limited autonomous decision-making restrict combat applications.”

Batista set the report aside, massaging his temples. At least that was something. Bad enough that Russia and China had formed the largest military alliance since the Warsaw Pact. If they’d managed to create an army of combat robots too…

A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts.

“Come in.”

Secretary of Defense Thomas “T. J.” Varnell entered, bringing a gust of cold air from the hallway. Snow still dusted his shoulders, a sign he’d likely come in via the West Wing basement instead of the covered entry his motorcade would typically use. If Batista had to guess, whatever Varnell’s reason for stopping over, he didn’t want it to show up in the official logs.

“Mr. Secretary.” Batista stood. Despite their long friendship, protocol mattered. Varnell outranked him in the chain of command, even if they both reported directly to the President.

“Jim.” Varnell didn’t take the offered chair. Instead, he moved to the window, watching snowflakes swirl like ash outside the West Wing office. His voice was low, edged with something Batista rarely heard from him — unease. “Did you read the President’s Daily Brief this morning?”

Batista nodded slowly, already dreading where this was going. “I take it you’re referring to the cable from the Beijing Station?”

“That’s the one.” Varnell turned, arms crossed. “The Station Chief at the embassy flagged the preliminary agenda for this year’s National People’s Congress. Buried deep in the proposed resolutions were two items — subtle, but loaded.”

Batista raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess, Taiwan?”

“Bingo. But it’s worse than usual.” Varnell walked over and dropped a red-striped folder on Batista’s desk. “The details are inside. They’re reaffirming the ‘One China’ line, but they’ve taken it a step further and rewritten the language entirely. Now they’re referring to the President of Taiwan as the ‘Provincial Governor of Chinese Taiwan.’ The entire ROC government’s been downgraded to provincial officials under Beijing’s authority. It’s legal fiction — but designed for maximum humiliation.”

Batista exhaled through his nose, cold fury flashing across his face. “Damn, talk about throwing gas on a fire.”

“Yeah, and that’s not the worst of it,” Varnell continued. “The agenda includes a sweeping counter-narcotics initiative. You know that synthetic drug called Vortex — the one that’s already killed three hundred thousand Chinese youths the past six years?”

Batista nodded. “Yeah, it’s their version of our fentanyl crisis. Let me guess; they’re still blaming us for it.”

“And more. They’re now accusing us of engineering a new Opium War.”

Batista frowned. “I’ve seen the MSS statements… I figured it was just propaganda fodder for domestic consumption.”

“It is and it isn’t. The draft enforcement plan for countering it now includes maritime inspections — targeting inbound cargo vessels from ‘non-compliant jurisdictions,’” Varnell said, quoting directly. “You want to guess which island got named.”

Batista’s gaze sharpened. “Taiwan, of course.”

Varnell nodded. “The civilian coast guard gets the lead. But the fine print authorizes the PLA Navy to support inspection operations. Refuse inspection, and the vessel is presumed complicit in narcotics smuggling. That’s the legal trick — they’re not calling it a blockade. It’s a civilian-led anti-drug enforcement effort. But we both know it’ll be used as a pretext for more.”

“Great, just what we need on top of everything else,” Batista muttered, grabbing the folder, reading it quickly. “This reads like a war plan dressed in a narcotics policy.”

“That’s what the Beijing Station Chief thinks,” Varnell replied grimly. “He believes it might be tied it to a cryptic tip we got from Seoul before their man went dark. Remember that South Korean operative — Pan Min-jae? He caught wind of a backroom meeting in Blagoveshchensk. The operative mentioned something called Dragon Bear — Russian and Chinese officials talking about coordinated something and overextending the West.”

Batista’s spine stiffened as the pieces began to fall into place. “You’re saying this might be more than some anti-drug operation?”

“I’m saying it’s a slow-rolling operation masked by lawfare and op-ed outrage. And if we’re not ready for whatever it is, come April fifteenth, the PLA Navy will be inspecting commercial vessels in the Taiwan Strait under color of law — and daring us to stop them.”

Batista looked out the frosted window, his breath fogging the glass. “Four months, huh?”

“Four and a half,” Varnell corrected quietly. “That’s all the time we’ve got to decide. Do we call their bluff, or do we let them redraw the map without firing a shot?”

Batista muttered a curse under his breath. “It’s BS, Mr. Secretary. A blockade in all but name.”

“It’s also a test.” Varnell finally sat, his movements sharp with tension. “We’ve suspected this might happen eventually. If I had to guess, Beijing wants to see if we’ll blink. If we’ll submit and accept this as a new normal,” Varnell said angrily. “Four and a half months, Jim. That’s all the time we’ve got before they start strangling Taiwan’s sea lanes and we have to make a tough choice.”

Batista muttered a curse under his breath. “It’s BS, Mr. Secretary. A blockade in all but name.”

“It’s also a test.” Varnell finally sat, his movements sharp with tension. “We’ve suspected this might happen eventually. If I had to guess, Beijing wants to see if we’ll blink. If we’ll submit and accept this as a new normal,” Varnell said angrily. “Four and a half months, Jim. That’s all the time we’ve got before they start strangling Taiwan’s sea lanes and we have to make a tough choice.”

Batista reached into his desk safe, withdrawing a folder marked with classification stamps and a single code word: AZURE SENTINEL. He slid it across to Varnell.

“Presidential Finding 32–33. Signed this morning at 0900.”

Varnell broke the seal, his eyes tracking rapidly across the authorization. His eyebrows rose. “Jesus. Five billion in black funding? Expedited weapons transfers bypassing ITAR?”

“The Taiwan Working Group gets whatever they need,” Batista confirmed. “No bureaucracy, no delays. Marcus Harrington’s people can have Roadrunners, Barracudas, Seekers — the entire autonomous arsenal fully delivered and operational before April fifteenth.”

“If the Chinese don’t sink the ships carrying them,” muttered Varnell.

“They won’t. Not yet.” Batista pulled up a map on his secure tablet. “Beijing’s not ready for that level of escalation. But come April fifteenth…”

“Yeah, I get it. Meanwhile, two weeks later, we’ve got the start of this EDEP exercise before the May Day celebration.” Varnell set the finding aside. “If these DIA reports are correct, we’re looking at two PLA Group Armies deploying to Western Russia. I’ve got EUCOM screaming for more assets. Poland wants another armored brigade on rotation during the exercise. Then the Baltics are raising hell, convinced Russia’s going to pull another 2022 and steamroll across the border.”

“What’s your gut tell you?” asked Batista, eyeing him closely.

Varnell was quiet for a moment. Outside, the snow intensified, obscuring the Washington Monument. “My gut says we’re looking at a coordinated move. China takes Taiwan while Russia annexes the Baltics, creating their long-sought-after land bridge connecting them to Kaliningrad. It’s a classic two-front dilemma, with NATO pinned down in Europe, and America stuck with a choice of going all in to help Europe or coming to the aid of our Asian partners. It’s a lose-lose situation any way you cut it.”

“Which is why TSG matters.” Batista tapped the folder. “Six hundred operators embedded with Taiwanese forces. Each one can manage twenty autonomous platforms. That’s like having twelve thousand soldiers. It’s a force multiplier that’s going to make a difference.”

“Hmm, the jury in my mind is still out on that one. Contractors, Jim… I’m not so sure about this.” Varnell’s tone carried his ongoing disapproval of the idea. “I don’t like it one bit.”

“Respectfully, you don’t have to like it, sir. You just have to make it work,” Batista replied, keeping his voice respectful but firm. “We both know we can’t put active-duty troops on Taiwan right now. Not without triggering the very war we’re trying to prevent. But PMCs? That gives us deniability. It places the decision in the hands of Taiwan.”

“Sure, until they start dying. These are Americans, nearly all of them are military veterans. If that happens, and we begin to see dead Americans in the streets of Taipei. Congress will want answers,” Varnell countered.

“Probably. But by then, it’ll be too late for hearings. The bullets and missiles will be flying.” Batista stood, moving to his wall display. Satellite imagery showed the Taiwan Strait, with PLA Navy vessels marked in red. “Look at the buildup in the ports opposite Taiwan and within five hundred kilometers of it. They’ve moved three of their four carrier groups to this area. Forty-plus amphibious vessels. This isn’t for an exercise. They’re pre-positioning assets, testing logistics, and planning an invasion.”

Varnell sighed audibly as he stood and joined him at the display. “What about our autonomous naval program? Reeves keeps promising those unmanned surface combatants will even the odds.”

“They will, but they’re still in testing. The Intrepid task group won’t be fully operational until April.” Batista highlighted friendly assets in blue. Pathetically few compared to the red swarm. “It’s our Hail Mary against their shipbuilding capacity, we’ve always known that.”

“Time, it always comes down to time we don’t have.” Varnell checked his watch. “Look, I’m supposed to brief the President in twenty minutes about this Taiwan development. What should I be telling him?”

“The truth. Tell him TSG is moving, but we’re obviously going to have to accelerate its timeline. Assure him we’ll have Taiwan hardened before the shipping inspections start,” explained Batista. “And tell him it might be helpful to pray Beijing doesn’t accelerate their timeline.”

The radiator clanked again, a counterpoint to the gravity of their discussion. Varnell picked up the presidential finding, studying it once more.

“You trust Harrington?”

“I served with him in Iraq. He’s solid.”

“He’d better be.” Varnell moved toward the door, then paused. “Jim, I’ve got the SECNAV and the Joint Chiefs breathing down my neck about force allocation. If this goes sideways, if Congress gets wind of what we’re authorizing…”

“It won’t go sideways.” Batista returned to his desk. “Marcus knows what’s at stake. TSG isn’t just defending Taiwan. They’re defending the first Island chain and our entire Pacific architecture.”

Varnell grunted, nodding slowly. “When do you brief Harrington?”

“Tonight. Crystal City, 2000 hours.” Batista glanced at the snow, now falling in thick sheets. “Weather permitting of course.”

“In this town, my friend, the weather’s the least of our problems.” Varnell buttoned his coat as he prepared to leave. “Keep me updated. And, Jim? No surprises. With another term, I’ve got a chance to fully modernize the entire Defense Department. Last thing I need is a scandal derailing everything we’ve worked toward.”

“I know. Understood, Mr. Secretary.”

After Varnell left, Batista sat alone in his office, the weight of the decision settling on his shoulders. Outside, Washington disappeared behind a curtain of white. But his mind was eight thousand miles away, on an island democracy that didn’t know it had months to prepare for war.

He pulled up the secure comms channel to TSG. Time to set the wheels in motion. Time to see if six hundred contractors and an arsenal of autonomous weapons could deter an empire.

The radiator clanked one more time, like a countdown clock marking time until April.