range. Pentagon and Israeli intelligence figure the missiles were originally situated there because Moscow was well within striking distance. They still don’t trust one another. Especially now. With the breakup of the old Soviet Union, Beijing’s afraid the disease’ll spread.”
“Maybe,” Freeman replied, “but the point is, Dick, their three-thousand-mile radius means they could easily reach us.”
“That’s what the report concludes, General. Washington and Tel Aviv are agreed on that. Only need to hit us with two or three in the first salvo and that’d be it for Second Army.”
Freeman was tapping his teeth with his bifocals, a habit that annoyed Norton intensely.
“By God, Dick, what we need is a preemptive strike. Apart from anything else those missiles are so close to the border they’re a gift to Yesov if he wanted to use them against us — if he and the Chinese are in cahoots. Remember in Siberia, Novosibirsk doesn’t like Moscow any more than Beijing.” The general saw Norton’s unease about a preemptive strike.
“I know, I know.” Freeman waved his hand impatiently. “Fairies’ll have a fit. Hopefully the White House will back us this time. I think that’s why MOSSAD sent their report straight to Washington.”
“But if we move anything in there, General, we’d be in a much wider war with China. Sixty-eight divisions against our forty-four, and these’re only the divisions on the Sino-Siberian border.”
Freeman didn’t need the figures. He already knew that China’s full-time army alone stood at over one hundred divisions — a million and a half men — and this ignored the two million men they had in the reserves. And Freeman knew the Chinese weren’t Iraqis. It wouldn’t be simply a mass of poorly led conscripts he’d have to face if it hit the fan. To a man, the Chinese were volunteers, and long-term volunteers at that. Like the German Wehrmacht, the PLA had taken pains to make sure that the members of any unit came from not only the same province, but wherever possible from the same village. It seemed like a small enough detail, but Freeman pointed out it was enormously important in terms of morale. You might bug out in front of strangers, but it’d be a long time before you’d let your own village down. Everyone in the village knew you and your parents. The disgrace would be total. It went a long way to making up for lack of sophisticated weaponry — the United States had learned that in ‘Nam.
And, as they’d shown in Korea, the ChiCom commanders knew a few more tricks than the Iraqis, like slipping a division or two — over twenty thousand men — right under your damn nose. They’d wait for a thunderstorm to trip off all the ground-movement sensors, then move. And PLA officers, while paid more, were much closer to their men than the Iraqi officers had been to theirs. In this respect the Chinese were more like their traditional enemies, the Vietnamese. Still, Freeman was confronted by the brutal reality of the missiles. A massive attack on Second Army could take out its heart. The problem would be to get permission for a bombing mission to try to take out the missiles. It was so deep into China—2,300 miles — that if the bombers were to stand a chance of getting through to the target, the flight, given the fractures found in more Stealths, would have to consist of B-52s originating out of western Europe.
But most likely France wouldn’t allow it — just as she’d refused permission for the U.S. to overfly French soil in the raid against Qaddafi in Libya. There was nothing for it but to ask the White House to ask the Brits. Still, Maggie Thatcher was long gone, and elements of the leftist Labour party opposition were bound to oppose such a flight as they had in the case of Libya.
In Beijing, meanwhile, the extent of General Beatty’s unexpected response had made it clear that China was now de facto in a war with the United States. Both Premier Nie’s and General Cheng’s forcefully stated determination to defend China’s borders “against imperialist U.S. aggression” immediately gave way to reawakening Asian memories of the humiliating defeat inflicted upon the Americans in Vietnam.
The Chinese hated the Vietnamese, who were continually arguing over border areas and the resource-rich islands in the South China Sea, but nevertheless Nie and Cheng had no qualms about invoking the Vietnamese victory over the Americans to remind the PLA that a much smaller Asian country had defeated the mighty U.S.A. Besides, the PLA was many times the size of the North Vietnamese army, and for the PLA to be victorious over the Americans along the Black Dragon River in the north would enhance China’s reputation in all Asia, particularly given the vacuum left by the demise of the USSR.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The minister for defense, Stanley Wright-Attersley, was sitting at the long cabinet room table at 10 Downing Street, a battered-looking red box of ministerial documents in front of him on the green baize-covered table. When the P.M. entered, Wright-Attersley rose. “Prime Minister.”
“Is my information correct, Stanley — the French won’t come on side?”
“Afraid so, sir. Elysee Palace issued a secret memo earlier this morning that the French cabinet deem it ‘an inappropriate response to the misunderstanding along the Black Dragon River.’ “
“Is that what they actually said — a misunderstanding along the Black Dragon, not the Amur?”
“Yes, Prime Minister. They’re afraid that an American bombing mission would, to quote their president, ‘inflame the situation further.’ “
“Misunderstanding?” the prime minister huffed. “My God, the Chinese attacked the U.N. line. Any schoolboy could understand it.”
Wright-Attersley nodded. “Quite so, Prime Minister. But we’re dealing with the French.”
The P.M. grunted, pulled out a chair, and his aide knew it would be a pot-of-tea decision.
“Darjeeling, Prime Minister, or Earl Grey?”
“Darjeeling,” the P.M. said without turning, putting on his pince-nez to read the remainder of the French communique. “They’re a fractious lot, the frogs. Sometimes I think it’s against their principle to say yes to anything. They simply cannot tolerate any idea that doesn’t originate with them.”
“They no doubt feel,” Wright-Attersley said, “that French-Chinese trade would be damaged if they allowed bombers to use French airspace.”
“And do they think,” the prime minister asked rhetorically, “that
The defense minister said nothing. There was nothing more he could say about the French. In the world of self-interest theirs was the most self-interested. The French had always had a love-hate relationship with America — a love of Hollywood and a contempt for everything else.
The P.M.’s private secretary entered as tea was being poured. He had the latest poll results — the government was fifteen points behind Labour. He said nothing but merely laid the message slip alongside the secret French communique refusing to assist the Americans.
“Does Labour know?” the P.M. inquired. “I mean, has the U.S. request leaked?”
“No, Prime Minister,” the private secretary answered. “Though I can’t answer for the next twenty-four hours.” Wright-Attersley sipped the Darjeeling and placed the cup down without a sound. “Be that as it may,” he said, looking over at the prime minister, “I feel obliged to tell you that this kind of thing is extremely difficult to keep under wraps. Bound to get out sooner or later, Prime Minister.”
There was a long silence. It was a trying decision for the British P.M. — already down in the polls and shortly to face a general election. A decision to assist the Americans could cost the prime minister not only personal popularity. He could well lose the entire election to Labour — a prospect infinitely more worrying to the government than French displeasure.
The P.M. took tea and thought upon the matter. His mind went back to the time during the Falklands War when he was but a junior in Whitehall. He remembered the clandestine operations made necessary by the Americans Haig, Secretary of Navy Lehmann, and U.N. envoy Jeane Kirkpatrick— especially by Kirkpatrick’s hostility toward Britain and her support, along with that of Assistant Secretary for Latin American Affairs Thomas Enders, for Argentina against the British. The American who had saved the day was Caspar Weinberger, the U.S. secretary of
