Amidst the noise and the lights of the Swedish ambassador’s reception, the delegates to the United Nations still found time to conduct business.
“And again,” T’ing said, barely raising his voice above an icy whisper, “once was not enough.”
“Sir, the United States had no part in the attack on your — on Mischief Reef Island,” Ambassador Wexler said, catching herself just in time. She was under instructions to avoid any positive acknowledgment of China’s ownership of the South China Sea rocks. She saw Ngyugen, the ambassador from Vietnam, nod ever so slightly at her correction.
T’ing sighed. “No other military forces were in the area, madam. As it was last time — an American jet circles an isolated Chinese oceanographic research station, and then the island mysteriously explodes. Perhaps a fishing boat attacked the scientific camp?”
“An oceanographic research station? With tanks and fighter aircraft? And Stingers and submarines on patrol? Forgive me, but I doubt that the ambassador from China is being entirely candid.”
“With unprovoked attacks by the United States on our land, what nation would not make some self-defense preparations?” T’ing replied. He knew it would be impossible to hide the presence of military forces on the islands from the circling satellites.
“The United States has attacked no one, the ambassador insisted, struggling to keep her temper under control. “It was China who attacked us! Your submarine, sir, fired on one of our aircraft operating in international airspace.”
“Following,” T’ing said, “the American destruction of an undefended research station, an attempt to provide a radar lock-up on one of our patrol aircraft for firing an Aegis cruiser missile, and the continued presence of American forces in a legally declared exclusion zone. Only the United States could have the audacity to claim status as a victim while simultaneously attacking our forces herself!”
“We are prepared to make our tactical logs and crews available to an impartial investigating committee. Whatever is causing these incidents in the South China Sea, I believe that the ambassador from China knows more about it than we do.”
“A very generous offer,” T’ing broke in. “Very generous indeed — if the United States had not had sufficient time already to completely fabricate records pertaining to that time. The gentle art of manipulating electrons — who better than the Americans at it?” T’ing shrugged. “Fortunately, we will not need to rely on electronic memories and fabrications. We have something far more reliable.”
“What, a confession?” Sarah Wexler asked sarcastically, immediately regretting her words.
T’ing locked her with a cold stare and let the seconds tick by while all eyes in the room turned to him.
“Something better than that, I believe. And far more reliable. Late this morning, a Chinese naval vessel initiated a search for survivors. Three members of the Spratly base camp survived. One, Shih Tan, was standing outside when the attack occurred and observed the overflight of an American military aircraft, followed minutes later by the explosion. The force of the blast tossed him off the island and into the sea. Shih Tan almost drowned trying to avoid the rain of fiery debris. Only his will to live and superb training, plus his determination to tell of American perfidy, enabled him to survive.”
“And a very interesting story it will be, I’m sure,” she said tartly. “Excuse me, but I believe I need to greet our hostess.”
Battle-ax! How well that suits you, madam, T’ing thought. But no matter how skilled you are in this arena, too many preparations have already been made in other theaters for your words to make the slightest bit of difference in the outcome. You’ve missed the battle, and the war is almost over. For without the cooperation of the sniveling mongrels’ countries that yap at your heels, you have no future in our seas — and you lack the will to make it otherwise!
“She seems quite annoyed,” Ngyugen said, slipping smoothly into the gap in the conversation. “Defensive, almost. They are behind these incidents — you are sure?”
“We have our sources,” T’ing snapped. “As you well should know. And should you be the least bit confused about this, let me remind you of the landing rights we assert within your own country. Do you really wish to enter into this political discourse? Oh, yes, we’re aware that normalization of relations is the watchword in your country now. But remember who you will have to live with when the Americans are gone!”
“And you believe that they will leave this theater of operations? Still, with all the increases in trade and travel?” Ngyugen pressed.
“I have no doubt about it! And it will be sooner than you ever dreamed!” T’ing turned and stalked away. It was one thing to tolerate the arrogance of the American ambassador. While that might be required in the short term, it would eventually come to an end. Impudence from Vietnamese politicians was another matter entirely.
Lab Rat swore silently and shivered as a particularly cold gust from the overhead air conditioning vent blasted down his neck. Only when the carrier was deployed to the brutally hot Persian Gulf did the temperature in CVIC ever approach habitable. In the South China Sea, the temperature in the room packed with electronics gear hovered between fifty and sixty degrees. No amount of pleading with the ship’s engineers could get it stabilized at an almost livable sixty-five degrees. It was an article of faith with every engineer he’d ever met that electrons worked better when frozen.
He looked up from the debriefing form and stared at the pilot and RIO across the table. To them, just coming off the hot flight deck, the temperature must seem refreshing. In a few minutes, when the sweat dried and their damp flight suits chilled, they’d change their minds. Lab Rat hoped he could keep them from dashing back to their staterooms for flight jackets or warmer clothes. Once they were out of CVIC, the details of their flight, along with their willingness to cooperate in the debrief, would evaporate just as quickly as the sweat.
He tried again. “It just blew up? That’s all? No I&W indications and warnings? What about those four contacts you were tracking?” he asked.
“Sir, you saw the same picture we did. We were up in the LINK the entire time, except when we got too low and lost the signal. According to the Aegis, those contacts were ghosts. Something strange about the atmospheric conditions, maybe. You know how it is out there. I wish I could give you a better answer, but I just don’t know whether there was one Flanker or four,” Tomboy replied wearily.
“What about when you were down on the deck and dropped out of the LINK? Anything then?” Lab Rat pressed.
“She said she didn’t see anything, Commander,” Batman said sharply.
Lab Rat leaned back in his chair and stared thoughtfully at the aviator captain. It was a good thing, he decided, that he’d taken on debriefing the flight crew himself. While mission debriefs were normally done by lieutenants or more junior officers, the rank and importance of this particular crew seemed to warrant his personal attention, even apart from the strange events that had occurred.
Captain Wayne, he reflected, was just as impressively intimidating as he’d been led to believe. At the same time, he was certain that Batman understood the reason for the repeated questions, the cross-examination that he and his RIO were undergoing. It wasn’t that anyone doubted their account, but lives were at stake. The simplest detail overlooked in the initial debrief that surfaced in more intensive sessions might save another aviator’s life. And the captain’s protective attitude toward his RIO was hindering that investigation.
“I understand what she said, Captain,” Lab Rat said politely, but firmly. “Sometimes new details surface when we go over something several times.”
“There are no details to surface! Look, we’ve spent the last six hours in these flight suits, and I for one could use food and coffee. I don’t know what the hell made that island explode, and neither does she,” Batman said, pointing at his RIO. “We can’t come up with explanations for everything. Now, if you need anything else, we’ll be forward in the dirty shirt mess, grabbing a couple of sliders.” Batman motioned to Tomboy, who followed him out of the CVIC.
And that’s the difference between your job and mine, Lab Rat thought. You didn’t see it, you don’t have to explain it. Intell officers, on the other hand, are expected to have an answer for everything that happens, and an accurate prediction of everything that will happen. Doesn’t matter whether or not there’s good data, bad data, or
