She glanced around the room. Only years of experience allowed her to read the turmoil bubbling within the other delegations. Not an ambassador flinched, nor were there any guarded whispers to their respective staffs. Instead, each one adopted the same expression as T’ing wore on his face, an air of calm knowingness.
She wiped the smile off her face. Be damned hard for them to know anything about it — since it never happened.
“I’m advised by our military staff that at 0600, during joint operations off the coast of Brunei, the People’s Republic of China suffered a tragic accident. While all peace-loving nations of the world understand that such incidents are an unavoidable part of the price of freedom, we nonetheless extend our deepest sympathies to the families of those injured and killed during the incident. The ambassador from China, no doubt not wishing to slow down the work of this important body, will not mention the incident. But I feel compelled to publicly recognize the bravery of the military forces involved.”
She glanced at the faces again. Still no reaction.
“This morning in the South China Sea, operational forces from Vietnam and China were performing joint maneuvers off the coast of Vietnam. According to the Master of the Kawashi Maru, a commercial vessel in the area,” she continued, holding up a message, “winds and seas reached typhoon strength in a matter of hours, completely without warning. Fifty aircraft engaged in training exercises were lost. The United States carrier group on hand in international waters attempted to offer aid in locating the downed airmen and the sailors from the ship. Working together with our allies, a few men were recovered. As soon as practical, they will be repatriated to their respective homelands. In the meantime, the United States regrets that a tragedy of this proportion could occur, and offers its condolences to the families of the men involved.”
T’ing cleared his throat and looked down, as though overcome by emotion. A staffer reached around from behind him, placing a piece of paper before him. T’ing slapped the hand away, glanced at the paper, and then shoved it aside.
“Does the ambassador from China wish to respond?” the chairman asked uncertainly.
She intercepted a keen look of distrust and anger from T’ing, a millisecond-long flash of belligerence. It was gone as quickly as it had come. Then T’ing stood.
“On behalf of my government, we thank the ambassador for her condolences. The events of this morning …” T’ing stopped, feigning momentary emotion, and thought furiously. If he disputed the ambassador’s version of that morning, it would inevitably follow that word of China’s defeat would be circulated immediately. It was intolerable — the loss of face in front of the Pacific Rim tiger nations would set China’s plan for regional leadership back generations. On the other hand, her proffered explanation would buy China time, time to rebuild and rearm, time to further insinuate itself into the countries bordering the South China Sea.
He glanced at Vietnam and saw Ngyugen’s almost imperceptible shrug. Whatever China decided, the Vietnamese ambassador would support. Brunei didn’t even matter, and Malaysia had no proof. In that instant, pitted one-on-one against the American devil, he decided.
“… are indeed a tragedy,” he continued. “We thank the United States for her assistance and look forward to the immediate return of our airmen and seamen.”
The ambassador from the United States rose again. “Those events only point out the ever more pressing need for a regional plan for the South China Sea. We must be prepared to move swiftly, to act in concert, to prevent further loss of life in future storms.”
T’ing gritted his teeth and nodded. It would do no harm to agree now. Sun Tzu would have understood using the tactical advantage of peace to buy time to prepare for the next conflict.
CHAPTER 31
“Attention on deck!” the Chief of Staff snapped.
The ranks of officers and enlisted personnel stiffened slightly, but made no other appreciable movement. Even the Navy Band detachment seemed immobilized as they struck up “Ruffles and Flourishes,” only the conductor’s right hand beating out the tempo.
Vice Admiral Thomas Magruder strode up the steps to the platform and returned his nephew’s salute. The band finished with its final bars, and Tombstone dropped his hand. His uncle greeted old friends on the dais, then took a seat in the chair slightly to the right of the podium. The colors were posted, the national anthem played, and the chaplain offered an opening prayer.
Tombstone stepped behind the podium and adjusted the microphone. There was no need for it — his staff had checked and double-checked every detail thoroughly, rehearsing the change of command ceremony until even the most junior ensign on the Jefferson could have recited every line by heart. The only part that would be new would be Tombstone’s farewell speech.
He looked out over the ranks of men and women — almost two thousand of them, the remainder on watch, liberty, or leave — arrayed around the two hundred metal chairs on the flight deck of Jefferson. Civilians and military guests from other commands packed the space encircled by the ranks, rustling their programs and catching up with old friends. His eyes sought out Tomboy and found her standing in ranks with her squadron. A small smile passed between them.
It had been his decision to hold the ceremony on the flight deck, although they’d kept the cavernous hangar bay spotlessly ready in case it rained. The weather in Alameda, Jefferson’s home port, could be unpredictable in the spring.
During his early days as a junior officer, Tombstone would have tried to find some way to get out of attending any ceremony. It had seemed boring beyond endurance, standing in ranks, listening to the dinosaurs drone endlessly on about honor, duty, and courage. What possible justification, he’d wondered, could there be for wasting so much time over a ceremony? Get the new admiral on board, brief him, and get back to the routine. The constant demands of training and repairing aircraft never ceased.
It was, he realized suddenly, the final perquisite of command. No doubt his transfer from the Jefferson meant far more to him than it did to his staff and the crew. His relief, Rear Admiral Edward Everett Wayne, would make his own mark on the ship and staff. Even if he proved to be an impossibly idiotic flag officer — which Tombstone sincerely doubted Batman would — he would only be there for eighteen months. The staff could do that standing on their heads.
These last few moments were advertised as essential to letting the crew know who was in command. But more than that, it was a starkly poignant moment for the officer leaving command. It was the last moment he would gaze over his people — his people — before he would turn responsibility for their lives and well-being over to another. It was the time in which he severed the umbilical cord that bound him to each man and each woman, a point in life clearly delineated when he could finally put down the burden of their safety.
And it was a time to say his second good-bye of the day. He wasn’t sure which was the more difficult, leaving his command or finally admitting that his relationship with Pamela was over.
He suddenly realized that the crowd was murmuring politely. He cleared his throat and heard the sound reverberate from the huge speakers set at either end of the dais.
“Vice Admiral Magruder, distinguished visitors, officers and crew of CARGRU 14, USS Jefferson, and Air Wing Nine. I thank you for your presence here today at this change of command ceremony.”
He paused for a moment. He’d thought long and hard for the last week about his speech, and had finally resuscitated a number of old naval aphorisms, pasted them together with his best wishes, and committed them to memory. Now, understanding the true purpose of the ceremony, he slid his cheater notes into his pants pocket.
“I want to leave you with one thought. Duty, ladies and gentlemen. That is the essential ingredient that distinguishes military service from any other career in the world. It is an obligation to always be prepared, to learn how to practice your skills and arts for the day that they will once again be needed. It is especially difficult when your country seems not to appreciate you. But there it is. When all else fails, when you’re tired, exhausted, and far
