Typhoon Season

closer look when — ”

“We got called back,” his RIO filled in. Just as Bird Dog’s RIO, Gator, often finished his sentences for him. Annoying as hell.

COS leaned forward. “What about missiles?”

“Missiles?” Hot Rock said.

“Yes, was the helo carrying missiles?”

The men looked at one another. The pilot shrugged. “I couldn’t tell, sir; not from my angle.”

“Lobo? You certainly had the angle.”

“But no time.” She paused, bit her lip, then shook her head. “No, sir, I only took one pass; I can’t say for sure if the helo was carrying missiles.”

COS nodded, made a note and leaned back.

“I have a question for Lobo,” Batman said. “What convinced you that you were justified in making a low- altitude, high-speed pass at another nation’s helicopter with an American fighter plane?”

She started. Her face hardened. “That helo was mincing those people in the water, Admiral. You heard Pitcock; it was a massacre. At the time, politics seemed… irrelevant.”

Batman held her gaze for a long time, then nodded. “Be sure to stress that in your report. I’ll back you up a hundred percent, but I’m warning you all, if the Chinese know something we don’t, this whole affair could turn around and bite us in the butt.”

“Yes, sir.” Lobo stared right at him, uncowed. Bird Dog’s heart stumbled with pride. Go, girl.

“Very well,” Batman said. “If none of you have anything else to add, you pilots and RIOs are dismissed. Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

As the pilots and RIOs filed toward the door, Bird Dog took the opportunity to glance up, as if by accident, and meet Lobo’s eyes. He nodded at her, very cool and professional. To his horror, she gave him a broad, theatrical wink.

After the door closed, Batman said, “All right, I want ideas and I want them now. At the moment I’m not interested in whether or not you think our response was appropriate; I’m only interested in what you think the Chinese might be up to, and what they might try next.”

Lab Rat said, “Their next move is bound to be political. They’ll spin some kind of yarn for public consumption.”

“I agree,” Bird Dog said.

The earned him a quick, unnervingly searching glance from Batman. Bird Dog forced himself to meet it. “While I was at War College, there was a lot of talk about a war game they conducted there a year or two earlier. It was intended to be a complete assessment of the probable outcome of an all-out war with the PRC.” He paused. “We lost.”

Batman frowned. “Lost?”

“Yes, sir. The Chinese ended up controlling all of the Far East, including Japan. It created quite a flap — well, in an underground sort of way — about cuts in American military spending. Because the gap is widening.”

“And you think the Chinese have chosen to start World War Three by blowing the hell out of an American yacht?”

Bird Dog blinked. “I’m just saying — ”

“Coyote?” Batman turned to the COS. “Your assessment?”

“I’m not sure what the PRC’s overall motivation is, but when they started things in the Spratleys, manipulating public opinion was their next trick — so I’d expect that next.”

“Okay, they’re going to make a public stink. Agreed. But what’s their next step here likely to be?”

“The Chinese study their ancient sages,” Lab Rat said. He took a slim book out of his pocket and tossed it on the table. Looking at the title, Bird Dog felt a thrill of recognition. It was Sun Tzu’s The Art of War — the oldest known treatise on organized warfare. They’d studied it in War College. Lab Rat said, “This is what helped me guess what they were up to in the Spratleys. They believe the best general wins without fighting at all. He uses deception, infiltration, undermines his enemy’s alliances — ”

“Political warfare,” Bird Dog blurted. He couldn’t help himself. “They’ll complain about the way we handled this. Try to shift the blame to us.”

“That’s all fine,” Batman said impatiently, “but it doesn’t answer my question. What can we expect them to do next here?”

Since Lab Rat didn’t seem to have anything to say, Bird Dog spoke again. This time he tried to keep his voice mild. “Down in the Spratleys,” he said, “the Chinese blew up their own assets and tried to make it look like we did it. Their goal was to make us look like aggressors so they’d be justified in driving us out of the South China Sea. This time, they’re doing the opposite: They attacked American civilians… so the only possible reason is that they want to make sure we stay in the area.”

A thudding silence ensued.

“Commander,” Batman said, his voice as slow and cold as a glacier, “what have you been taking notes on all night?”

“Sir?” Bird Dog felt the tips of his ears burning.

“The Chinese might be obtuse, but they’re not stupid. First of all — especially if you’re correct about their long-term goals — what possible reason would they have to keep a Carrier Battle Group near their coast?”

“I don’t know,” Bird Dog said. “But — ”

“Good answer,” Batman said. “Now, assuming that was their goal for some reason, wouldn’t they want to do something really public to ensure our attention? Wouldn’t they launch a few missiles our way, or at least attack an American yacht in Victoria Harbor at high noon, rather than in the South China Sea, outside the shipping lanes, at five o’clock in the morning?”

The heat swarmed across Bird Dog’s face and neck. “Not if they intended to leave survivors,” he said — knowing it was a mistake even as he spoke, but once again unable to trap the words. “The automatic SOS signal from the boat was triggered, which suggests — ”

“ ‘Automatic’ means just that, Commander. And the Chinese plainly did not intend to leave any survivors — or even evidence. You heard Pitcock. Only Lobo’s quick action kept anyone alive out there.”

Bird Dog closed his mouth. Why couldn’t he ever seem to do that before he started flossing with his shoelaces?

To his relief, Lab Rat spoke up as if none of the previous discussion had occurred. “Admiral, I hate to sound like Mr. Spock, but we need more information before we can reach any conclusions at all, far less try to predict the next move the Chinese might make. Meanwhile, I suggest we convey as many facts as possible to Seventh Fleet so they can get our version out there before the Chinese make up some kind of PR story.”

“A preemptive publicity strike,” Batman said dryly.

“It’s a media-driven world, Admiral.”

“So it is. I’ll expect a draft of your recommended wording of such a public statement in an hour. Get together with the staff PAO on it.”

Lab Rat sighed. “Yes, sir.”

Batman glanced around the table. “Anything else? COS?”

Coyote shook his head. Bird Dog started to speak, but when he saw the sharp, assessing look in the admiral’s eye, he changed his mind.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Batman got to his feet. “I’m going to go see how the recovery operation is going.” He strode out of the room, COS on his heels.

Bird Dog stood up and began gather his notes. His knees were a little wobbly, but he wasn’t sure whether that was from anger or shame. As he turned toward the door, he heard Lab Rat say, “Bird Dog?” Bird Dog turned.

“With the Chinese,” Lab Rat said, “it’s probably best to keep all lines of thinking open… even those that seem ridiculous. Don’t tell the admiral I said that.” He held something across the table. “Why don’t you keep this