“Do you think China has a major single objective in all of this, Arnie?” Bob MacPherson looked pensive.
“I think it’s pure expansion, Bob. For so many years they’ve restricted themselves to their own area of the world, which ought to be big enough for anyone. But they increasingly see themselves as powerful global players. They are envious of us, and see themselves as our equals. They covet our influence, our allies and, above all, our muscle.
“But what they really covet is the world’s oil supplies. Because as China gets rich, it’s going to require more and more fuel. And most of that fuel is in the Middle East and south central Asia. Of course there’s a ton of it in Siberia, but that means negotiating with Russia, which is not about to trade away one of its very few natural resources.
“Which brings us back to the Malacca Strait, the single great throughway of all oil to the Far East. If we allow China to dominate the Malacca, we give them the power to force some tankers right around Indonesia, and that’s going to cost the Japanese a vast amount of money. All their fuel costs will rocket upward, natural gas, propane, jet fuel and gasoline.
“And the key to China’s domination of that strait is their new base in Burma. Without it, they’re damn near helpless, because they simply live too far away. And, gentlemen, right now we have world opinion on our side. We can force them right out of the Bassein River Delta, and no one would support any of their claims of U.S. bullying. That’s what we’re going to do.”
“Anyway, who’s to know what happened if the SEALs pull it off?” asked the CNO.
“China will know, because we’ll fucking tell ’em. But they have made the mistake of striking the first blow against the West with that minefield in Hormuz. And then literally conquering Taiwan. Everyone knows they deserve whatever the hell’s coming to them. And my guess is that if we hit Haing Gyi, the ole Chinks are going to go real quiet for several years.”
“Meanwhile how the hell do we get in there to hit it?” asked Bob MacPherson. “And since we’re going to tell them what we’ve done, what’s wrong with just bombing the sonofabitches?”
“The USA does not bomb people, without a drastic and just reason,” replied Admiral Morgan. “However we may justify an attack on China’s Indian Ocean east base, it is no more than a power play — the superpower bangs the pretender into his rightful place. Second place.
“But it’s so much better that the guy with the busted nose is the only one aware of who’s whacked him. That way it goes quiet. Some accident, on some remote island, in the Bay of Bengal. That’s the way to run the world these days. Keep it quiet, keep it tight, but make it count.”
“Well, you were right about the refinery in Hormuz,” said Admiral Dixon. “We’ve heard nothing from China by way of complaint.”
“That’s because they know,” said Admiral Morgan. “They know and they understand. And quite honestly, I don’t think they care. Their objective was Taiwan, and they were prepared to pay the price for it. I doubt they’ll ever bother to rebuild that refinery. But in the next several months you’re gonna see the start of a trans-Sino pipeline, all the way from Kazakhstan to their eastern seaboard. It’s the Chinese way. They’ll build the world’s longest ditch, containing the world’s longest pipe, just the way they built the world’s longest brick wall, and the world’s greatest dam at Three Gorges. They have the labor, and they’re not afraid to use it. A lot of it, one suspects, slave labor.”
“Meanwhile,” said Admiral Dixon, “how the hell are we going to get the guys into Haing Gyi, and what are they going to do when they get there?”
“First question, how to get in.” Admiral Morgan moved closer to the chart, zooming back a little to show the water depths out in the bay.
“And that’s a problem,” he said. “You can all see the fifty-meter line out here, fifteen miles from the central seaway into the estuary. I’m not completely crazy about this chart, but they have the fifty-meter line well defined. It follows the coastline very accurately, all the way down from the narrow border with Bangladesh. Anywhere you look it’s showing depths of around one hundred sixty-five feet to the left and one hundred twenty feet to the right. So we gotta assume it’s more or less correct. So our submarine is going to have to make a rendezvous point somewhere right there on that line, where she can still hide in one hundred fifty feet of water.
“But that’s up to the SEALs and to
“My conclusion, therefore, is that we bring the guys into the estuary, which will take two and a half hours, and then creep up the new channel as far as Rocky Point, right here on the southeastern headland of the island, and let ’em swim in. We then have the ASDV return to the
“Leaving the guys alone in there?”
“For a short while. Because I think we have to get ’em out with fast, rigid inflatables. The possibility of pursuit by the Chinese is high, and they may have fast patrol boats out searching. If they locate the ASDV crawling through the mud, in a channel less than forty feet deep, with nowhere to maneuver right or left, we could be light one boatload of very precious guys. And that would not be good.”
“You mean we set up a rendezvous point somewhere right along the island beaches?” asked General Scannell. “Then get ’em out fast, running all the way back to the submarine at high speed on the surface?”
“No alternative. ASDV in, for maximum stealth, when we’re not expected. Top speed run out, when the Chinese Navy is searching around in the dark, but may not catch us. Those fast inflatables make twenty-five knots. The guys will obviously get a good start…maybe fifteen minutes…and that way they have a real shot no one’s gonna locate ’em.”
“Okay, Arnie. Sounds good, so long as they don’t get caught in the base. We got a contingency to rescue if the crap hits the fan while they’re still working?”
“No, Alan. No I’m afraid we don’t.”
“Nothing?”
“How can we? We wouldn’t know if they were in trouble. The only thing we can do is have an accurate rendezvous point on the island, with fast boats waiting to evacuate. The ASDV cannot fight, and the submarine is too far away.”
“Jesus, that’s a tough call for the guys. Who’s in charge?” asked Tim Scannell.
“Commander Rick Hunter.”
“That makes me feel better. But it’s still tough. I hate to send the guys in with no backup.”
“So do I. But they will be armed to the teeth, and very thoroughly prepared. Chinese guards wouldn’t have a prayer against them if push came to shove.”
“They didn’t have one against Ray Schaeffer, either,” replied Admiral Dixon. “But shit happens.”
The four men were thoughtful for a few moments. And as they each contemplated the horror of discovery while the SEALs were ashore, plying their devastating craft, the door swung open and the beautiful Kathy O’Brien came in bearing a brown envelope addressed personally to Admiral Arnold Morgan, delivered by hand from Fort Meade to the White House.
“Just a moment,” said the Admiral. “This might be just what we need. If it is, it should have been here two hours ago. But if Borden’s taken my advice, the newest observations are gonna be real thorough.”
And thorough they were. Fort Meade had apparently solved the mystery of the power source of the sprawling Naval complex on Haing Gyi Island.
