Shock of War

“Tell me,” said Trung.

Zeus sketched the strategy. As he spoke, he realized that it implicitly assumed that the Vietnamese were overmatched and desperate — a realistic assumption, though certainly not one that the commander of their forces would want to hear. Trung said nothing. He seemed barely to hear what Zeus said at all.

But he did, in fact. When Zeus was finished, Trung turned to the translators and spoke in Vietnamese. Chau nodded.

“Please, Major Murphy, go with Captain Nuhn to General Tri and explain your idea to him,” said Trung. “Tri is in charge of the corps defending the area. Major Christian, if you would proceed with Major Chau, it would be greatly appreciated.”

15

The White House

“I’m ready for my daily dose of bad news, Peter,” said President Greene, spotting CIA director Peter Frost as he walked down the hallway. Frost was standing near the wall where visitors typically queued to go into the Oval Office; it was a little too early in the morning for a line, or Frost would have been at its head.

Greene was on his way to NSC chairman Jackson’s office. He had just come from an early video recording in the Rose Garden for the morning-news programs, with a quick stop in the kitchen for a doughnut and coffee. He’d finished his doughnut; the coffee was about half done.

“Come with me,” he told Frost.

“They say you have a lot of appointments this morning,” said Frost apologetically.

“I do,” said Greene cheerfully. He took a sip of coffee. It was cold, but some days that was the best he could manage. Today was going to be one of those days.

Walter Jackson’s secretary had not yet arrived for work. Jackson was inside, on the phone.

“I think he was born with a phone attached to his ear, don’t you?” asked Greene, winking at Frost as he took a seat.

Jackson’s office was small to begin with, but it was made even tighter by the presence of large bookcases that lined three of its four sides. The shelves overflowed with books, papers, and journals. There was also an old, well-oiled catcher’s mitt, alleged to have belonged to Yogi Berra — an interesting artifact, given that Jackson claimed to be neither a baseball nor a Yankee fan.

“Arghhh,” said Jackson, hanging up the phone. “Mr. President.”

“Problem, Mr. Director?”

Jackson frowned. ‘‘Have you read the morning briefing?”

“Of course.”

“The Chinese are preparing a second offensive down the east coast of Vietnam,” said Jackson.

“I read that,” said Greene. “I also read an assessment that said this was a particularly poor area for them to try to attack through. Very limited road net.”

“General Perry’s assessment is considerably more pessimistic than the Army’s,” said Jackson.

“What do you think?” Greene asked Frost.

“I’d stick with Perry,” said Frost. “The five merchant ships that are mentioned in this morning’s briefing. We’re pretty sure now that they’re heading for Hai Phong. It could be to hook up with the attack down the coast.”

“The Navy is supposed to check them out,” said Greene.

“The destroyer is too far away to reach them in time,” said Frost.

“Why the hell wasn’t I told about that?” said Greene. The coffee shook in his hand — he reached over and put it on the edge of Jackson’s desk.

“Operational detail,” said Jackson drolly.

“Your only option may be to blow them out of the water,” said Frost.

“We can’t do that,” said Greene. “What if we’re wrong?”

Frost nodded. “I’m just saying, it may be too late to get in there.”

“Even if the McLane did get close,” said Jackson, “they’re being shadowed by a cruiser and frigate. They might interfere.”

“I need that damn vote,” said Greene.

He glanced over at Jackson. The national security director was silent, his expression neutral, but Greene had no trouble reading his mind: You’re not going to get it.

16

Northern Vietnam

General Tri was the army commander responsible for the defense of the three northeastern provinces, including Quang Ninh, where the Chinese were expected to make their attack. He had moved his headquarters from Bac Giang city to be closer to the expected fight.

The new command post was in Tien Yen.

Zeus and his guide flew there in a Mi-24 Hind, a Russian-made helicopter that was half-transport, half- gunship. This particular aircraft was somewhere in the area of thirty or forty years old, and it bore a number of scars, including a set of patches in the side and floor that Zeus imagined covered bullet holes older than he was.

The exterior of the helicopter was freshly painted in a jungle camouflage scheme. The interior, however, showed its age. Many of the metal surfaces were worn bare and shiny. A pair of simple metal benches had been welded into the center of the hold. These, too, were worn, with silvery spots showing where passengers typically sat. The aircraft smelled of oil and exhaust.

Captain Nuhn sat next to Zeus for the flight. Outside of headquarters, Nuhn had proved to be a jovial guide, friendly and talkative. His English was as good as his jokes were bad. But the Hind was far too loud for a conversation. Zeus spent most of the flight on the bench staring at the floor.

The helicopter landed in a bulldozed field about three miles south of Tien Yen. Zeus ducked as he stepped out, instinctively flinching as the blades spun overhead. Nuhn came out after him, trotting away from the helicopter with a childish gait, pumping his arms energetically. The Hind’s rotors revved and the helicopter pitched forward, scattering large clods of mud as a farewell.

“This way, Major!” shouted Nuhn, leading him toward a path at the edge of the bulldozed field.

General Tri had established his command post in a copse of trees on a hill above the field. The post was remarkably simple.

Two trucks, both canvas backed and both built before 1960, were parked wedged between the trees at the top of a winding trail. An open-sided tent dominated the small clearing behind them. This was the general’s office, with his staff performing their various functions around a pair of small tables beneath the canopy. A thick set of wires ran across the clearing and up the hill; Zeus guessed there was an antenna or a satellite dish, or more likely both, on the opposite slope. A pair of Honda electric generators were clunking away a few feet from the tent; jerry cans containing their fuel lined the northern edge of the clearing, guarded by a lone soldier. Two other soldiers, both armed with AK-47s, were pulling security duty nearby. A handful of privates, all very young, were standing at the opposite edge of the clearing, near a pile of bicycles.

General Tri was speaking on a field phone as they approached. While Zeus couldn’t understand what he was saying, Tri’s manner made it clear he was giving orders. His right hand tapped the table as he spoke, unconsciously emphasizing what he was saying. He spoke in sharp, hard tones.

Nuhn waited at the edge of the table without speaking. The others continued to work over their maps and papers, taking no notice of them. Zeus wasn’t surprised; they undoubtedly had a great deal to do.