Drone Command (27 page)

WILL'S HOUSE

PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA

MAY 1999

W
ill grilled thick steaks on the backyard barbecue and broke out the best whiskey in the house. Troy and his friends danced on the polished hardwood floors and toasted his success. Three of the young women in attendance made plans to sleep with Troy that night. Troy made plans to sleep with just two of them, preferably at the same time.

After feasting on succulent T-bones and corn on the cob slathered in butter, Will finally got Troy off to the side for a quiet moment. He pulled out two Cuban Cohibas, and they lit them up over snifters of Hennessy cognac.

“So, Mr. Chips, what's next? Staying at Stanford? Or is Yale still a possibility?”

Troy puffed thoughtfully for a few moments. “Neither.”

“What other school do you have in mind?”

“I'm done with academics.”

Will frowned. “I don't understand. You've worked like a dog these last six years. You're talented. A hundred doors are open to you. Money's not an issue—you'll get a free ride wherever you go with your academic record.”

Troy blew out a billowing blue cloud. “I need to get out of the ivory tower. I want to stretch my legs, see the world. Work up a sweat, you know?”

Will's eyes narrowed. He swirled the cognac in his glass.

Troy was afraid he'd disappointed him. “Not that I don't appreciate everything you've done, Will. It's been an amazing ride and, God knows, I've learned a helluva lot, in and out of the classroom. And thanks to you, I'm civilized now, or at least some of the sharper edges have been knocked off.”

Will took a sip. “It's your life, sport. You do what you've got to do.”

“You understand, don't you? I grew up with chain saws and deer rifles in the Rockies, not laptops and lawn mowers in the 'burbs. I don't know if I'm cut out for the academic life. Especially if I'm not allowed to smash anyone in the mouth.” Troy was still sore about Dr. Fagan's no vote. A petty, petulant stab in the back by a petty, petulant department chair.

Will chuckled. “I understand on all counts. Believe me. So what are your plans? Working on an Alaska crab boat? Backpacking across Europe? That sort of thing?”

“What I need is a challenge. An adventure. Something physical, but something important. I don't know exactly.”

Will's green eyes twinkled. “I've been waiting for six years for you to say something like that.”

Troy's eyes widened, shocked. “Really? I thought you wanted me to be an academic like you.”

“No. All I ever wanted for you was to become truly and fully yourself. You're a really smart kid, but you're not exactly cut out for the campus lifestyle.”

“Then what?”

Will laid an arm across Troy's broad back. Pulled him in close. His breath stank of cigars and sweet liquor. A smile stole beneath the neatly trimmed mustache. He whispered.

“You need to go to the Farm.”

PRESIDENT SUN'S PRIVATE RESIDENCE

ZHONGNANHAI

BEIJING, CHINA

18 MAY 2017

P
resident Sun rose well before dawn to begin a ritual he'd practiced for forty years. After finishing a simple breakfast of Earl Grey tea and two
baozi
filled with spicy ground pork, he shuffled in his slippers and silk pajamas to his den. For the next thirty minutes, he sat in his chair and played his beloved cello.

His parents were both high-ranking Party members and accomplished musicians who were tragically purged and reeducated during Mao's Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution. That ended their dream for their only child to follow in their artistic footsteps, but Sun never lost the love of music they had instilled in him from an early age. Sun was a gifted musician, a prodigy, really. But musicians and other artists—particularly those favoring Western “bourgeois” forms and instruments like his parents had—were held in some suspicion during Mao's sadistic reign, so he was guided into a career in chemistry by his grandfather that led, ultimately, to politics. He still worshipped his long-deceased mother and father; the time with his cello was time spent with their memories and the most pleasant moments of his idyllic childhood. It was also an opportunity to process the events of the coming day.

This morning, Sun took up the bow and played from memory the famous
Adagio in G minor,
improvising the part written for the first violin, his mother's orchestral seat and preferred instrument. The familiar
neo-Baroque composition was a passionate, maudlin affair, but it was his mother's favorite and thus his. He needed his parents' encouragement to face the day. Today's secret meeting with select members of the Standing Committee was fraught with peril—and promise.

They would question his decision to allow Admirals Ji and Deng to embark on this reckless adventure. But he would tell them that even if he were inclined to stop them, an attack on the base or on the fleet once at sea was simply not feasible. Admiral Ji's popularity within the Party was greater than his own, and the Mao Island campaign was enthusiastically embraced by the officer corps. Besides, nothing would please China's enemies at home and abroad more than to see the PLA and PLAN turn on themselves.

But Sun understood the Standing Committee's concerns. By any measure, this truly was a reckless action, but he was of the opinion that Ji would actually pull it off. The United States would avoid war with China at all costs, if for no other reason than the fact that the Americans had been engaged in the Global War on Terrorism for more than a decade and they were exhausted. Even their armed forces were reaching a breaking point, and the budget freeze had slowed American defense spending while China's increased by double digits every year. But Sun was confident of American appeasement for another reason.

The Americans were idiots.

China's trade surplus with the U.S. was on the order of hundreds of billions of dollars annually. China used those billions to buy American CEOs. Nothing mattered more to American executives than profits. They were more than happy to sacrifice American national interests in the name of stock prices, market share, and bonuses—all of which were tied to privileges awarded them by the Chinese government, privileges based on compliance with Chinese national interests.

American congressmen, in turn, were in the CEOs' pockets, groveling for campaign dollars and lucrative postretirement board memberships. Sun marveled at America's blindness. How could they not see that they themselves held all the cards? China was the one who had the weakest hand. Shutting down trade with China would collapse China's economy,
not theirs. But the spirit of globalism and “free markets” had so infected the American political establishment that a bloodless trade war was more feared than an actual war in graveyards like Afghanistan. Capitalists would, indeed, sell him the rope to hang them with. And, apparently, they were willing to tie the noose and even pull on the other end if it meant an increase to the bottom line.

In Sun's mind, the worst-case scenario could actually prove to be a bonus. It would be a national tragedy, certainly, if Admiral Ji and his fleet were attacked by the Americans or Japanese and sunk, but in reality, the death of Admirals Ji and Deng would eliminate his two greatest uniformed opponents and permanently discredit the adventurism of the so-called patriotic militarists. Discrediting military adventurism would also allow him to push forward with his military reforms. China was spending far too much money on defense that could otherwise be spent on economic development and education for the tens of millions of Chinese still trapped in rural poverty.

Better yet, a defeat at Mao Island would end Vice Chairman Feng's political career. Feng was the greatest civilian threat to his presidency and the strongest opponent of his anticorruption reforms. Sun and his allies believed that failure to end corruption would result in the collapse of the political and economic legitimacy of the state. Revolution, civil war, or dissolution would be the only possible outcomes. But Feng was still too strong to openly oppose.

However, if Admiral Ji and the others pulled off the Mao adventure and successfully captured the Diaoyu Islands, Sun would claim victory for himself by running to the head of the parade. By not opposing Ji, he appeared to be supporting Ji's actions, and if Ji succeeded, it would only strengthen Sun's position with him, and Ji was as fervent about anticorruption as he was. The two of them would pose a formidable alliance against Feng and his cronies. It might yet cost him the presidency, but at least China would be saved.

Sun found his fingers playing out the last high, hopeful notes of the adagio. He felt his mother's smile. He could face anything now. A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes?”

An aide entered. “I'm sorry, sir, but there's phone call for you. It's quite urgent.”

Sun thanked him, told him he'd be in his office presently, and waived him away with his bow. The caller could wait. He wanted to play the last fifteen bars again.

ON BOARD THE
TAI SHAN

EAST CHINA SEA

ONE HUNDRED MILES SSE OF NINGBO NAVAL BASE

18 MAY 2017

A
dmiral Ji stood on the flying bridge of the
Tai Shan
, his flagship. He greeted his old friend, the rising sun, as it crested the wine-dark ocean. The cold, salty breeze stung his face, but he was warm beneath his thick woolen greatcoat. He was as happy as he could remember. Ji was a man at the peak of his powers, the admiral of China's largest invasion fleet since the days of the great emperors. Today he would make history. China would assume its rightful place under heaven, and the world would never be the same again.

The newly built
Tai Shan
was a giant 210-meter-long amphibious transport dock ship carrying a battalion of PLAN marines, two French SA 321 Super Frelon transport helicopters, and four Russian Zubr-class troop transports, the world's largest military hovercraft.

The
Tai Shan
was well guarded by its escort of Type 056 corvettes and Type 052 guided-missile destroyers, including the
Kunming.
Both classes of vessels possessed powerful long-range antiship, antiair, and antisubmarine systems. Two diesel-powered Kilo-class submarines shadowed the
Tai Shan
as well. The task force wouldn't be complete until Admiral Deng arrived with the aircraft carrier
Liaoning
and a full complement of conventional jet fighter-bombers along with six of the Lijian UCAVs. Once the
Liaoning
and its support ships rendezvoused, Ji would transfer his command via helicopter to the
Liaoning.
Per their battle plan, they
would proceed toward Mao Island and the Diaoyus, careful to not accidentally signal that the task force was intent on the long-awaited invasion of Taiwan. It wasn't.

In Ji's mind, the Taiwan campaign would be his crowning achievement and the first goal of the PLA Navy once he was installed as president of the People's Republic. Shaming the Americans into backing down over the Diaoyus would finally convince the rest of the world that the United States was no longer a reliable ally, and the rebellious Taiwanese would either capitulate or suffer the mainland's wrath in a lightning-swift war of reunification. The Mao Island campaign was the key to China's rise and dominance in the East. It was as bold as it was necessary, which was why Ji was able to convince a significant number of PLA and PLAN flag officers to support the adventure, including Admiral Deng, commander of the South Sea Fleet. Neither he nor Deng were under any delusions that the Mao task force could withstand a direct confrontation with the U.S. Navy's vastly more powerful Sixth Fleet—but the Wu-14 virtually guaranteed that such a confrontation would never occur.

Ji believed the greatest threat to the expeditionary force at the moment was President Sun. As a precaution, the admiral had deployed a second battalion of marines to guard Ningbo from a possible PLA attack that Sun might mount to stop the small fleet while it was still at base replenishing for the mission, but no such attack occurred. Ji wondered if Sun's inaction was a tacit endorsement of his efforts. But Vice Chairman Feng argued that President Sun was more afraid of the blowback he would suffer for an attack on a Chinese naval facility led by China's greatest and most admired military commander. Feng also assured his allies in and out of uniform that Admiral Ji's task force was preparing for a mission to secure China's future and glory, and squashed the ugly rumor that the PLAN was preparing some sort of military junta against Sun and his reformist cronies.

A junior officer approached Ji with a cup of steaming hot tea. The young man's eyes radiated with hero worship. Ji took the tea with a grateful nod and dismissed him, cherishing the last few moments of solitude he would enjoy before he transferred his combat command to the
Liaoning
.

THE KANTEI

TOKYO, JAPAN

18 MAY 2017

10:01 A.M. (JST)

T
he cabinet room on the fourth floor was much larger than the prime minister's circular private conference room, matching the shape and scope of the enormous blond birchwood table in the center. The walls were a combination of birchwood and diatomaceous earth, and a window afforded a view of yet another tranquil rock garden. For Myers, the intention of the design was to induce a kind of natural serenity, but the mood in the room this morning was just the opposite.

Prime Minister Ito's entire cabinet was seated around the table in supple white leather chairs, while their assistants and secretaries stood anxiously behind them, clutching file folders, tablets, and smartphones.

Myers sat to Ito's right, a position of high honor. She wore an earpiece linked to an official government interpreter in an adjoining room. Lane had informed her about the Chinese fleet setting sail and the latest Chinese demands. The crisis was escalating, yet Lane's calm voice reassured her. For a president on the verge of war, he was amazingly composed. Another advantage of having a commander in chief with combat experience.

Lane asked her to attend Ito's emergency cabinet meeting. She agreed, of course. Anything to help. They discussed his agenda. Under no circumstances could she allow the Japanese to undertake unilateral action. She concurred, silently wondering how in the world she could possibly prevent them from doing so. Lane wished her luck.

Ito called the meeting to order.

“Today's session will be recorded for posterity, but the information discussed is top secret. Under no conditions are any of the matters we discuss in this room today to be released to the general public.”

Heads nodded around the table.

“What is she doing here?” Tanaka asked, glowering at Myers.

The translator's voice echoed with Tanaka's anger.
The emphasis was hardly necessary
, Myers thought. His eyes were enough.

Ito stiffened. “President Myers is here today as my guest and as a personal envoy of President Lane. As many of you know, President Myers and I have been friends for many years. I trust her as I trust my own sister. She also enjoys the complete confidence of President Lane. We may speak freely and candidly in front of her, and I encourage her to speak frankly as well. Her role is to convey the substance of today's meeting to President Lane and his cabinet, which will be meeting shortly as well. Does anybody object?”

As both the prime minister and party leader, Ito's authority in the room was unquestioned. But anti-American sentiments were escalating around the country—it appeared as if the United States were abandoning the Japanese to their fate. The elected officials and representatives seated in the room reflected those public sentiments.

Several shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but no one objected publicly. Tanaka already had by inference.

Ito nodded at his minister of defense. The MOD reported that the Chinese fleet was twenty-two hours away from breaching the territorial waters around the Senkakus. He briefed everyone on the extent of the Chinese ship, aircraft, and troop complement, as well as Japanese and American forces in the area.

The foreign minister then read the letter hand delivered to her office personally by Ambassador Pang and signed by Vice Chairman Feng. The letter began with a virulent protest against the “war-era suicide assault” on the
Tiger II
oil-drilling ship before launching into a reassertion of China's historical and legal claims to the disputed islands. Feng's letter then announced the arrival of Chinese PLAN marines who would
occupy the two largest islands in the chain “in order to protect Chinese lives and property in Chinese territorial waters against future Japanese aggression.”

The letter also demanded unobstructed passage of their ships to Mao Island and no armed resistance to Chinese landing forces, and ordered the Japanese government to turn over all of the islands in question to Chinese authority and further demanded immediate recognition of the them as sovereign Chinese territory in perpetuity.

The letter concluded ominously. “Failure to comply with our demands or violating the terms set forth herein shall constitute an act of war against the People's Republic of China.” The foreign minister practically hissed as she read the last sentence. So did the translator.

“So there we have it,” Ito said. “The Chinese fleet is on its way to seize the Senkakus, daring us to oppose them. We've discussed our options at length. Do nothing, wait for the Americans to dispatch the Sixth Fleet, or dispatch our own fleet to fight them.”

“If we do nothing, we'll only encourage the Chinese to seize other disputed territories throughout the region,” the defense minister said. “Our inaction puts several of our regional allies at risk.”

The foreign minister nodded vigorously. “If we do nothing, we declare ourselves to be vassals of both the Chinese and the Americans.” She waved a hand for emphasis. “Completely unacceptable for a sovereign nation.”

“Our conference with President Lane yesterday made it clear that he will not dispatch the Sixth Fleet to block the Chinese,” Tanaka said. He turned to Myers, switched to English. “Do you agree with my assessment?”

Myers shook her head. “Not necessarily. President Lane has personally contacted President Sun, strongly opposing the current Chinese actions. He reaffirmed our treaty commitments to Japan and reminded him that any attack on Japan was tantamount to an attack on the United States.”

The aides of the few cabinet members who didn't speak English whispered translations into their bosses' ears.

“And what was President Sun's response?” Ito asked.

Myers sighed. “He thanked the president for his concerns and promised to look further into the matter.”

The room exploded in a flurry of outrage. The translator did her best to keep up, but it was impossible to translate everything. It didn't matter. Myers got the gist of it. They were mad as hornets, both at China and the U.S. She would be, too, if she were in their seats. She folded her hands politely in front of her and tried to calm the room with her disarming smile. “What matters is that President Sun has been formally warned about the consequences. I promise you those consequences were heard. President Lane also reminded President Sun that the
George Washington
carrier battle group was deployed to Okinawa two days ago for a training exercise.”

“President Sun is a liar if he is saying he has no idea about what's going on,” Tanaka insisted.

“What would you expect him to do? Immediately apologize and promise to withdraw his fleet? If he's behind all of this, he's not going to back down with a phone call. But if other forces are at play, he might be helpless to act immediately,” Myers said.

“Other forces at play? It's Communist China. He's a dictator!” one of the ministers shouted.

The foreign minister leaned forward on her elbows. “But President Myers makes an interesting point. The letter was signed by Minister Feng, not President Sun.”

“He's only covering himself in case something goes wrong,” Tanaka said. “Feng will suffer the consequences of failure, but Sun can seize the credit if they succeed.”

“That suggests some kind of schism within the leadership. A gap that perhaps we can exploit,” Myers said.

The room buzzed again as heads leaned in close for private conferences among themselves.
That was a good sign,
Myers thought.
They're thinking about the possibilities.

Everyone except Tanaka, who only glared at her. “Politburo politics are irrelevant. A fleet of Chinese ships loaded with missiles and marines
is the reality we must address. Doing nothing is out of the question, in my opinion, and I still believe the Americans are hoping the Chinese will change their minds without the U.S. deploying the Sixth Fleet. Prime Minister Ito, I ask for a vote right now. I believe in the third option. I believe that Japan must act on its own. We should send our fleet now and dispatch our air force. We have a long and glorious history of defeating the Chinese dragon.”

Ito turned to the minister of defense. “What hope do we have of defeating the Chinese fleet?”

Like many of his counterparts in the West, the defense minister was a lawyer by training and a bureaucrat with no prior military service. His background had been entirely in government, working his way up the chain of security subcommittees and chairmanships in the legislature until he was appointed by Ito to head the defense ministry. He removed his glasses and set them on the table. “The commanders of the naval and air services assure me we can mount an effective attack on the Chinese fleet, but only with a high casualty rate of ships and aircraft and only if the Chinese don't commit further air or naval assets. If the Chinese deploy long-range bombers or missiles, we risk a catastrophic defeat.”

“Sakai-
san
showed us the way! Death is not defeat!” The shouting cabinet minister was a former chairman of the Izokukai, one of the most conservative public-interest groups in Japan, responsible for the care of the controversial Yasukuni Shrine honoring Japan's war dead.

“Hai!”
Tanaka grunted. “I would rather suffer a catastrophic defeat in defense of our homeland than suffer the living humiliation of cowardice.”

Half the room shouted agreement. Several others nodded. Tanaka was running the room now. Ito turned to Myers, his eyes questioning her. Myers feared the worst.

“Mr. Tanaka, if Japanese forces cross the red line, China will consider it an act of war,” Myers said. “Do you want to bear the personal guilt of starting a war before Japan is even attacked?”

Tanaka laughed. “Guilt? That's a strange word coming from an American. When did Afghanistan attack your country? Iraq? Libya? Syria? Yemen? How many others? You Americans have waged war all over the
planet against countries that never attacked you. If you can bear the guilt, so can I.”

Myers flushed with anger. Probably the reaction Tanaka was looking for, she realized. Her job today wasn't to defend American foreign policy, right or wrong. It was to prevent a war.

“My country is able to wage war all over the planet because it has the means to do so. We have the means to defend Japan as well, and we have been committed to doing so for more than seventy years. We will do everything in our power to prevent anything from happening to Japan now during this time of crisis.”

Tanaka sneered at her. “The same way your country protected the Syrian people when they were gassed by Assad? Defended Ukraine against the Russians? South Vietnam from North Vietnam? I could list a dozen examples of you Americans sacrificing your weaker allies on the altar of your own ambitions.”

“Tens of thousands of Americans have shed their blood in defense of her allies for no material gain whatsoever. When has Japan ever done that?” As soon as the words left Myers's mouth, her heart sank. It was a huge insult and a terrible mistake. Her face stung with embarrassment.

The room quieted as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of it. All eyes turned to her. She lowered her gaze. She wanted to apologize, but couldn't. What she said was hurtful, but it was true nonetheless.

The long, awkward silence was finally broken by Ito's humble voice. “I thank President Myers for her frank and forthright opinions today. I have no doubt of her sincerity and integrity. She has presented the views of her nation, and I believe she wants the best for her country as well as ours. But our security, ultimately, depends on our own actions. We have relied on the United States far too long. This only proves to me once again it's time to change the Constitution and begin our rearmament program as quickly as possible, even if this crisis should end peacefully.”

“Agreed,” Tanaka said. Other heads nodded.

“But the crisis is still upon us. We must decide what we shall do next.”

Myers was still stinging with embarrassment. She had offended everybody in the room, and in so doing had jeopardized everything,
including the security of the United States. If Japan acted foolishly now, it might be because of her, and if they did, the Chinese would respond, and the United States would be at war. She took a deep breath.

“Mr. Prime Minister, please allow me to say one last thing if I may,” Myers said, softening her voice to nearly a whisper.

Ito's mouth flattened. She was taking advantage of their friendship. But she was a former president of the United States, and she was here at his invitation.

“Yes?”

“The Chinese fleet is still twenty-two hours away, and as we discussed earlier, there seems to be some disconnect between President Sun and Mr. Feng regarding the deployment of that fleet. You're right to say that you and your government are ultimately responsible for the security of your nation, and I agree with you wholeheartedly that you must do what you think is right. But as a friend of Japan, I would suggest that your government refrain from any provocative action for the next twenty-two hours. At least give us that much time to continue direct negotiations with the Chinese and pursue other avenues. If we have failed to stop the Chinese from violating Japanese territorial waters, then you should act according to your own best interests.”

Ito nodded, considering her words. He cleared his throat.

“In my opinion, if the Americans aren't able to persuade the Chinese to turn around or if the Sixth Fleet isn't willing to act decisively to stop them, then we should dispatch our armed forces into the region to defend the Senkakus. But we will wait for twenty-two hours before doing so.” He turned to the defense minister. “I assume the service chiefs have battle plans to defend the islands?”

“Hai.”

“Then I want those plans on my desk within the hour. And make all preparations necessary as if we are going to war twenty-two hours from now.”