Shock of War

Chinese?”

“There can be no assurances,” said Matthews. “You’re asking for the impossible.”

“I think it has a reasonable chance,” said Stills.

Greene turned to Gold. “General?”

“Better than fifty-fifty,” she said.

“We can’t commit forces without congressional approval,” insisted Matthews. “Not on this scale.”

“I’ll worry about Congress,” said Greene.

There was a tap on the door. One of Greene’s schedule keepers was prompting him for his next appointment: breakfast with a group of senators currently opposed to his measure to aid Vietnam.

“I know everyone is on a tight schedule,” said Greene, rising. “Thank you for your input. I’ll keep you updated.”

The chiefs and their aides filed out. Greene was feeling optimistic about the meeting; it had gone better than he had imagined.

Until he spotted Walter Jackson’s frown.

“You think you have an agreement, don’t you?” said Jackson after the military people had gone.

“You heard them: they agreed Perry’s plan will work.”

“No, they said if it was politically feasible. If. You don’t have the votes in Congress. Matthews won’t stand by idly if you send the troops on your own authority. It’ll be leaked within an hour of your giving the order. Probably within the minute. The admiral’s probably setting up an anonymous Twitter account to take care of it right now.”

Greene looked over at his chief of staff, Dickson Theodore. Theodore had said nothing during the session. “Walter’s right. All the admiral’s talk about aircraft carriers? It’s code for keep us out of it.”

“The Air Force is gung-ho,” said Greene.

“The Air Force alone isn’t enough,” said Jackson. “And what do you think will happen the first time an airplane is shot down? It’ll be broadcast on the cable networks immediately.”

“Congress will have a fit,” added Theodore. “Troops — even airplanes — violate the neutrality act.”

“We’re not violating it,” said Greene. “We’re working around it. Allies are exempted. If we have a pending treaty with Vietnam, then by executive order they’re an ally.”

“You’re starting to sound like a lawyer,” said Theodore.

“That’s my degree over there,” said Greene.

“We can’t get Congress to approve intervention,” said Jackson. “We took our best shot with Josh MacArthur.”

“Maybe we should push for a vote,” said Theodore. “We do have the child. We could have her talk to the Senate.”

Theodore meant the Vietnamese refugee they had rescued, Ma.

“No. I’m not going to use her,” said Greene. “She’s just a kid. Besides, if Josh’s images don’t do it, nothing will. Senator Grasso’s hearing should swing some votes.”

Theodore’s eyes widened: Don’t count on too many.

“We can’t just let the Chinese roll over the country,” said Greene.

“We can keep working covertly,” said Jackson. “Until we can get public opinion on our side.”

“Covertly isn’t going win the war,” said Greene.

The Chinese might be stopped temporarily by judicious strikes and against-all-odds operations, but eventually their superior firepower would win the day.

Still, what were his other options?

None.

“We can at least ship them some weapons,” said Jackson.

“Granted,” said Greene.

That, too, was a problem — the neutrality act passed a year before forbade any outright sale or gift of weapons to any country in Asia, including allies.

“Has to be Russian weapons,” said Theodore. “Through another country.”

“Russia has been unwilling,” said Jackson. “The Vietnamese don’t have the money. And the Chinese are already giving them some good business. State has already made some backdoor inquiries.”

“They’re just not talking to the right people,” said Greene. He looked over at his appointment sheet for the next two days, then picked up his phone. “Marlene, that reception at the Polish embassy tomorrow night. Could you find out somehow if the Russian ambassador is expected to be there?”

“You’re not going to ask the Russian ambassador to supply the Vietnamese, are you?” asked Jackson when Greene hung up.

“No,” said Greene. “You are.”

16

Off the south China coast, near Vietnam

“Christian! Christian! Wake the fuck up!”

Zeus pushed on the handle of the long oar, aiming the boat in the direction of the shore. There was no question that the patrol boat was coming in their direction — it seemed to have grown twice its size in just a few moments.

“Up, Win, up!”

Christian showed no sign of stirring. Zeus kept pushing with the oar, his muscles straining. Adrenaline flushed through his body. Everything went into the oar, every ounce of energy, every sensation. He could feel the ocean pushing back, trying to tackle him, but he wasn’t giving in — he was a quarterback in high school again, pushing through the line, squeezing for the last inch to make the touchdown.

The patrol boat’s bow was head-on in their direction. Any moment now, he expected the forward gun to fire.

Push, his body told him. Push!

“Win, get your ass up!” Zeus yelled. He pushed harder. The muck gave way as he paddled, dirt and seaweed parting then pushing back.

The vegetation was thick, but not enough to hide them. The thing to do was reach shore and run.

Run!

The word rumbled from his muscles, his legs twitching with it. Zeus pushed the oar until the boat hung up on a cluster of sand-encrusted rocks. Christian still hadn’t stirred in the bow. Zeus leapt forward into the water. He pushed the boat deeper into the weeds, then grabbed Christian’s shoulder. He didn’t try to rouse him; instead, he curled him over his back, hoisted him up, and staggered onto firm land.

“You are damn heavy,” he muttered.

He pumped his legs in the direction of a clump of low shrubs on his left. He ran past, chugging up a small incline to a larger cluster of trees.

Run!

Every muscle, every tendon and ligament in his body strained. But there was no question that he was reaching those trees. There was no question that he was moving away from the warship that was chasing them.

Zeus got about forty yards into the jungle before his legs gave way. Even then, it wasn’t a total collapse or surrender; it was more like a gradual winding down, his strides shortening, his back bending, until he practically crawled. He sank to his knees, then fell flat forward, pushed down by Christian’s weight.

Zeus lay on the ground for the length of one long, deep breath, then pushed up, rose, alert again, strength restored. He pushed Christian to the side and slipped back through the trees to the shore, looking out to sea.

He couldn’t see the warship. He looked down at the ground, took a long breath, then a second — it was as if his eyes needed to be reloaded.

Zeus raised his head. He spotted the patrol boat to his right, maybe a half mile off shore, no more.