U.S.S. Seawolf

the table in the center of the room awaiting seating instructions. At the end of the room, a four-foot-wide computer screen was showing a navigational chart of a section of the South China Sea, homing in on the forbidden waters of the Canton Roads.

“Gentlemen, good morning.” The tall southwestern Republican President was all business today. His usual smile was missing, and there was no light banter in his greetings to colleagues. Immediately, he laid out his game plan for the meeting.

“I have already decided that we will form a small select committee here, and that my National Security Adviser, Admiral Morgan here, is to take overall charge of the entire operation. I have cleared that with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and the Chief of Naval Operations.

“My reasons are obvious. The situation in which we find ourselves has such inordinately strong political overtones that it ceases to be an entirely military matter. Therefore Admiral Morgan is the natural choice, being the acknowledged expert on the subject, and having a foot firmly in both camps.

“I know Arnie commands the respect of us all; certainly he has mine. And as my National Security Adviser, I have decided he will replace me in the Chair at this and all future meetings that deal with the China situation. I shall sit here, to his right, because, as you all know, I have a strong emotional involvement, and I would not wish to prejudice the intentions and actions of this committee. Decisions made here must be cold-blooded in nature, and I cannot risk placing others in danger because of my determination to save my own son. I thus will accept the plan of action recommended by this Committee. But I do stress the word action. The remainder of the seating will be decided by the Chairman.”

Admiral Morgan moved briskly to the big chair at the head in which the President usually sat. He spoke sharply. “Lemme have Admiral Mulligan to my left. Next to him I would like the Secretary of State…”

Harcourt Travis, a tall, steel-haired ex-Harvard professor, like the President, moved forward into his allotted place.

“I think the Defense Secretary should come next…yup, Bob MacPherson…right there next to Harcourt…that way I have two political heavies opposite the President, and then I can place the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Tim Scannell, to the President’s right. Then, still on that side, lemme have the silken pen of Dick Stafford… then the head of Navy Intelligence, Admiral Schnider. Opposite them I want to place the White House Chief of Staff, Louis Fallon, with any CIA men at the same end, in company with the COMSUBLANT if he can get here in time.

“Okay, now let me call this meeting to order, and in so doing I am assuming you have all read the military brief…just outlining the whereabouts of the submarine and how the hell it got there. Thus far, we do know the crew has been taken off and imprisoned, and we know approximately one hundred of them are in a civilian jail in Canton. We do not know yet what has happened to the senior command of the ship, but we’re on the case. And as you all know, President Clarke’s son, Linus, is among that team. The Chinese naturally do not know who he is, and plainly we intend to keep it that way.”

The President nodded and then asked Admiral Morgan to report on his half-hour meeting with the Chinese ambassador, which had concluded only 15 minutes previously, with the Beijing-born diplomat very nearly being sent out of the White House on the wrong end of Arnold Morgan’s shiny black right shoe.

“That’s easy, sir. He said he hadn’t been briefed, was not in a position to discuss the matter, had total faith in the integrity of the People’s Liberation Army/Navy. He promised to get back to us in the next two days. And I told the lying little sonofabitch that would be precisely two days too late. And he was to be back inside three hours with some real answers about Chinese intentions.

“Otherwise, I told him, we may consider a preemptive strike against Chinese naval hardware, in retaliation. I concluded the meeting by warning him that he could find himself personally with a very special place in the modern history of Who Flung Dung or whatever’s the name of that asshole who writes their political memoirs.”

The admiral glared around the table. “Damned difficult to deal with an out-and-out liar, right? The little bastard knows every last move being made in Canton right now. They have to keep him right up to speed because they know we’ll keep wheeling him in here. Of course he knows what’s happening. But he’s just going to keep stalling.

“And that, gentlemen, is what I believe lies at the heart of the entire Chinese strategy…keeping us at arm’s length with a succession of hollow promises while they wring out the crew and then copy the ship, every electronic system, every computer, every valve, every missile. In my view, we do not have that much time.”

“Arnie,” interjected the President. “Are you about to recommend we consider such a course of action — I mean, a strike against the warships of the People’s Republic?”

“Sir, my answer has to be no. Because to be very frank, I haven’t the first idea what we ought to do. Though I do not think we should risk starting World War Three. I said what I said to the ambassador because I was trying to frighten him into telling his political masters that we really mean business, and they should think carefully about keeping the submarine. It’s no use being soft with ’em. They’ll just construe that as weakness.”

“Well, maybe Joe Mulligan could lay out a few naval strategies for us,” said the President slowly. “Just possibilities, stuff we could mull over.”

“Sir,” replied the CNO, “the Navy could essentially hit anything you want it to hit. Towns, buildings, dockyards, warships, you name it. Give me forty-eight hours and anything you want to specify in this world is strictly past tense. And there’s not a damn thing anyone could do about it…however, my happy task is just to carry out your bidding as a loyal servant of the President and the people. I do not have to live, professionally, with the consequences.”

The President smiled an inward smile and nodded. “What would it require to storm Canton, besiege the dockyard, take the jail, put the town to the torch, rescue the prisoners, and, well, grab back the submarine, then leave?”

“Careful, sir,” said Admiral Morgan. “Your priorities are showing.”

The President grinned, a little ruefully. “I know, Arnie, I know. And I also know I sounded like a strategist from ancient Rome. But I would like to hear if there is any hope of just going in and taking back what’s ours?”

“Tim?” said Admiral Morgan, nodding at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

“Sir, to land a ground force sufficiently powerful to seal off Canton and effectively take the city would take us a month minimum to prepare. If we went in from the ocean, we’d have to fight a battle in the South China Sea, and while we’d certainly win it, you’d be talking serious death. We’d probably have to hit four of their major dockyards preemptive. And I guess we’d need a force of one hundred thousand to go in, and probably fight the Chinese for every yard of ground. You’d be into World War Three in days.”

“Meanwhile the goddamned Chinks would kill all the prisoners,” growled Arnold Morgan. “And probably sink Seawolf, if they could not get her safely away.”

“I guess we just nixed the full frontal assault,” said the President. “No way we can just send in the Marines.”

“Not if we want to achieve our objective, sir,” said General Scannell.

“We could, I suppose, issue some kind of ultimatum,” said the Defense Secretary. “Let them understand that if they do not comply with our wishes by, say, five o’clock this afternoon our time, we’ll start sinking their warships. Even they know they couldn’t stop us.”

“I already gave ’em that ultimatum,” muttered Admiral Morgan. “Except I only gave ’em till midday.”

Harcourt Travis, the Secretary of State and not an unqualified fan of Arnold Morgan’s, spoke next. “It is unlikely in the extreme that they will submit to threats. You know the Chinese…they will bow low and say how deeply regrettable this whole incident is. We were very naughty boys to be prowling about in Chinese waters, but they understand…soon forgive and forget. Meanwhile they do all they can to make big American boat safe for homeward journey, and could they please have many more high-tech secrets in return for their cooperation. Business better than fight, eh? Make money! Ha-ha-ha!”

Everyone laughed at the elegant Harcourt’s superb imitation of Chinese diplomacy. But his words were heeded.

“You got it, Harcourt. Right on the button,” said Arnold Morgan. “That’s what they are going to do. Keep stalling, politely, until they have what they want. Then they play some more hardball, put the crew on trial, jail them for years and years somewhere too remote for us to find, and then announce that the submarine is in no shape to leave their waters, and that they intend to hold on to it until it is.”

“Fuck,” said the President, inelegantly.