Edge of War

Jing Yo sat in the chair closest to the door. It was one he’d always sat in. If he closed his eyes, he might wake up and find out that everything that had happened since he had been here eighteen months before was a dream.

Hyuen Bo came back with a cup of tea.

“China has invaded Vietnam,” she said accusingly as she gave him the cup. “Why?”

Jing Yo shook his head.

“They are claiming Vietnam started the war,” added Hyuen Bo.

Jing Yo said nothing. There was no way to justify the actions of the government, and even if there were, he would not have expected Hyuen Bo to understand or accept the logic.

She knelt down at his feet, putting her head on his right knee. “Why have you returned now?”

“I have a mission,’’ he said softly. He leaned down, covering his face with his hands. They were barely inches away, their breaths intertwined. Yet he suddenly felt the separation of time and distance as an immense, uncrossable border. “There is an American agent.”

“Where?”

“He has come to Hanoi. I’m not yet sure where.”

“And you want my help?”

“Yes,” answered Jing Yo, though at that moment his mission was the furthest thing from his mind.

It was a moment of temptation — weakness. But what he wanted was not duty, not even adherence to the Way. He wanted her.

“My superiors would want to know why I was asking questions,” said Hyuen Bo.

Jing Yo steeled himself.

“A friend might be looking for him,” he said. “It’s not a lie.”

A tear slid from the corner of Hyuen Bo’s eye. A second and then a third followed.

“Why are you crying?” Jing Yo asked.

“Chinese bombs killed my mother at the theater the other night,” she told him, raising her face to gaze into his eyes.

Jing Yo didn’t know what to say. The woman had always been kind to him. She lived around the corner, with Hyuen Bo’s sister and brother-in-law and their children.

“I’ll help,” said Hyuen Bo. She collapsed onto his lap, shaking.

Jing Yo put his hand on her back.

“Tell me what to do,” she said between her sobs.

9

Washington, D.C.

President Greene hated videoconferences, especially when he took them downstairs in the National Security Council facilities. The larger-than-life screens made them feel like television talk shows, and there was always a certain amount of preening for the camera. Even one-on-one they seemed fake, promising intimacy and subtlety but ultimately failing to deliver.

But he couldn’t very well fly to Vietnam to hear what General Harland Perry had to say. Nor did he want Perry to leave Hanoi just then. So this would have to do.

“The attack on the reservoir stalled them, temporarily at least,” said Perry, speaking from the secure communications room of the U.S. embassy. “They didn’t anticipate it. They’ve sent some units on probing attacks to the east. So far, the Vietnamese have turned everything back.”

Greene leaned his chin on his hand, his elbow resting on the large table that dominated the conference room. Besides the president and the communications specialist handling the gear, the only other person in the room was the national security adviser, Walter Jackson. Washington and Vietnam were twelve hours apart — when it was 11 a.m. in Vietnam, as it was now, it was eleven at night in Washington.

“How long do you think they can continue to hold the Chinese back?” asked the president.

“Yes, sir, good question.”

Which was Perry’s way of saying he had no way of knowing.

“The Vietnamese are shelling them from across the reservoir,” continued the general. “The Chinese haven’t dug in. That means they’re going to move again. If I had to guess, I’d say there’ll be a new push in a few days.”

“Which way?”

“If they’re planning an invasion from the coast, they’ll try to come east,” said Perry. “They’ve got to. Going into Laos now will slow them down. That’s what Major Murphy thinks.”

“His track record is pretty good,” said the president. He remembered Zeus — the major had correctly predicted the route of China’s surprise charge into Vietnam. “So how do we stop them from going east?”

“Short of deploying the Twenty-fifth Infantry in the highlands north of Da Bac, I don’t know that we can.”

The Twenty-fifth was an American light infantry unit stationed in Japan. There was no chance it was going to be thrown into the battle, even if it were able to get there.

“What’s your wonder boy say?” Greene asked.

“Zeus is looking to punt.” Perry grinned. “I think he’d like to see the Twenty-fifth Infantry here, too.”

“Not going to happen, General. The Vietnamese are going to have to hold them themselves.”

“We’re working on it, Mr. President. We are. But if there’s an invasion along the coast, the Vietnamese are going to have to withdraw some of the forces in front of the Chinese to deal with it. Once that happens, their line will be so thin a breakthrough will be inevitable. Frankly, sir, I don’t know how long they can hold out.”

“Understood. Keep doing your best. My best wishes to all your men.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

The screen went blank. Greene turned to Jackson.

“What do you think, Walt?”

“‘The Chinese have a lot of troops there. If they land near Hue they’ll cut the country in half. They can skip Hanoi if they want. They’ll go down the coast, take the oil fields, then get the rice. Hanoi will have to surrender. Then, as soon as they’ve got Vietnam under control, they go into Thailand. After that, maybe they show their teeth in Malaysia.”

“I would look at Japan,” said Greene.

“No food in Japan,” said Jackson. “Besides, Russia will have something to say about that.”

“Russia will say go ahead.”

Greene walked back and forth in the room, his energy getting the better of him. He was overdue for his evening workout, but it was too late for it now. He still had to call the education secretary to discuss strategy on the new education bill.

“Russia and China will clash eventually,” said Jackson. “They’re natural enemies. Maybe we can encourage that. Maybe the Russians will go along with us in the UN.”

“The first thing we have to do is stop the landing,” said Greene. “We need ships there.”

Jackson’s silence spoke volumes. The national security adviser was hardly a dove, but clearly he thought the situation was hopeless. There were only two American ships in the general vicinity. Both were too far south to confront the Chinese aircraft carrier and destroyers that had steamed into the Gulf of Bac Bo and the waters off northern Vietnam. USS Kitty Hawk and her battle group were nearly two thousand miles away. And the Joint Chiefs of Staff were arguing vociferously that the carrier be kept there.

“I know, I don’t ask for small miracles,” said the president finally. He turned to the communications specialist. “See if you can get General Perry back on the line.”

“What are you thinking?” asked Jackson.

“If I’m going to ask for a miracle, I ought to talk to the miracle man, right?”