“You’re suggesting we move the battle group somewhere else, then?” Batman said. He sounded only vaguely interested.
“Young man, I know naval vessels are very seaworthy, and that they can move fast when they have to. But this storm I’m talking about is going to develop in less than a two-day period, and it’s going to be
Again Batman exchanged glances with Lab Rat, and caught the intelligence officer’s suppressed amusement. It reflected his own. Few civilians understood the capabilities of modern naval vessels; every ship in the battle group could be sealed up so tightly that virtually nothing shy of capsizing could flood or sink them.
“We appreciate your warning, Doctor,” Batman said. “I promise we’ll keep an eye out for conditions to change.”
George shook his head. “That’s what they all say. But by the time you notice anything, it’s already too late.”
Most people within range of his voice cheered; a few booed. Personally, Sung would prefer to bite his lips off than to utter these reactionary, hollow words. But he was part of a larger plan. Could he do any less?
There was no denying the mounting frenzy of the mob, nor its increasing division into pro-Beijing and pro- Western factions. This schism had widened with the air battle that had taken place not a hundred miles off the main shipping lanes. People in Hong Kong felt threatened in a way only the older ones, those who had endured the Japanese invasion of Hong Kong in the 1940s, could recall. In the United Nations, the People’s Republic and the United States were growing more and more vocal in accusing one another of aggression, with no end in sight.
Sung Fei glanced around at the sea of bodies, the spume of waving banners and signs. He never ceased to marvel at the incredible crush of bodies that characterized Hong Kong. In a nation as vast as China, this was unnatural. The small village, the community farm, the egalitarian life of fresh air, hard, honest work and simple food… that was the way things
Still talking, he raised his eyes to the periphery of the mob, where Hong Kong Police officers mingled uncomfortably with the green uniforms of the PLA. It was the PLA that Sung had been waiting for. Under the provisions of the so-called New Rule, the PLA could interfere in “civil affairs” only when activities were deemed to threaten national security. That was, of course, a very flexible term.
He lowered his gaze again, and nodded at a young woman standing not far from the foot of the platform. She nodded back, then pulled a red-and-white bundle of cloth from beneath her jacket. “Free Hong Kong!” she shouted. “Beijing out!” The people nearest her, all fellow students, took up the chant. “Free Hong Kong! Beijing out! Free Hong Kong! Beijing out!” The chant, in English, rolled across the square, lifting from voice to voice, growing louder and louder. Sung joined in the chant as well, adding his amplified voice until the crowd was in such an uproar he couldn’t even hear himself.
Then he lowered the loudhailer, which was a signal. The girl raised her bundle of cloth over her head and let it unfurl — the bloodred flag of the People’s Republic of China. Other hands grasped its edge, pulling it tight, holding it high. Cigarette lighters flared.
Flames rose on the sound of the chanting. At the edge of the crowd, the PLA soldiers began to push inward, using their AK-47s to clear the way. It was not legal to deface the PRC flag, even in liberal Hong Kong. Even under the New Rule.
The flag was now a sheet of flame, which was released. It sailed into the air, billowing, dropping hot ashes back onto the crowd, onto their pumping fists as they chanted,
The soldiers were having trouble moving through the sheer bulk of the crowd. Yet one soldier had miraculousy arrived, appearing suddenly from behind the platform. He was a small, wiry man with the flattened nose of a gorilla. Actually, he’d been waiting underneath the platform all day. Sung knew that whether he was a real PLA soldier or not, his true commander was Mr. Blossom. Other men like him were scattered through the crowd, all wearing PLA uniforms and carrying standard-issue AK-47 assault rifles.
Sung didn’t know exactly what was going to happen next, only that it was something Mr. Blossom had orchestrated carefully; something that, along with the pro-democracy chanting, would work to end the ridiculous idea of “Hong Kong self-rule” and bring the SAR back into the arms of the PRC, the real China.
The soldier with the flattened nose continued to shove toward the students who had burned the flag. So did the real PLA soldiers. Meanwhile the students themselves jumped up and down, chanting, pumping their fists. No doubt they hoped that the television cameras all around the square were catching the action. Other students scrambled onto the platform with Sung, shouting incoherently, waving their arms in the air. Sung was irritated. This was not in the plan. These idiots were not even politically motivated; to them, this was a party.
The flat-nosed soldier and three of the PLA soldiers were about to converge on the students below. As Sung watched, there was a sudden, deafening
Sung felt hands close hard around his right hand and arm. Something cold and heavy slapped into his hand, and his fingers closed around it reflexively. His arm was dragged up. He stared in amazement at what was in his hand: a large black pistol, smoke wafting from its barrel. “Here!” the student beside him shouted, waving Sung’s arm wildly, as if fighting with it. “He did it! Help me!”
Sung wanted to say something, wanted to point out that he didn’t even know what was going on, but his attention was caught by the flat-nosed soldier. Flat-nose was turning toward him, raising his AK-47. The small black eye of the assault rifle’s barrel was staring at Sung. Farther back, so was the non-soldier’s cold eye. Sung started to say, “You don’t understand.”
The first round caught him in his open mouth.
“So far, the death toll stands at seventeen.” Navy Captain Joe Tacstrom, Singapore’s U.S. Naval base commander, held out the latest sitrep, or situation report. “Some reports have the PLA starting the shooting; others claim it was one of the pro-democracy students. Either way, both civilians and PLA soldiers ended up dead. If this happened anywhere but Hong Kong, the PRC would have already declared martial law and parked tanks in the streets.”
“Are you sure I’ll even be able to fly into Hong Kong?” Tombstone asked. He and Tomboy were sitting in Tacstrom’s office. Tomboy was wearing her khakis preparatory to flying out to
He felt ridiculous.
“So far, most non-American airlines are still flying into Kai Tak,” Tacstrom said. “Remember, Hong Kong fuels the economies of most of the countries on this side of the Pacific Rim. None of their neighbors can afford to slam the door on them if they can help it.”
Tombstone nodded. “What about my American passport? Is that going to be a problem?”
“No. There’s still no official restriction on Americans entering or leaving Hong Kong. It’s just that it’s an at- your-own-risk sort of thing. When you think about it, it’s probably better that you’re going into the civilian airport,
