Invasion: Alaska (8 page)

“These things are known to us,” Deng said. “Sir—”

“Let him speak,” the Chairman said. “You have laid the charge. Now let him defend himself—if he can.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jian said. “My point is that these barbarians have long conspired against China. In our days of weakness, they carved our glorious nation into separate spheres of influence. It was you, sir, who finally brought the last of our stolen lands home. We are strong again, the strongest nation on Earth. Can any of us truly believe that the Anglo nations will accept this and roll onto their backs for us?”

“You are deluded,” Deng said. “The Western powers gave up their chauvinism long ago. This is the nuclear age—”

“China needs fear no nuclear attack!” Jian said forcefully, banging his fist on the table. “We have the most modern anti-ballistic missile and laser defense system in the world. If the Americans dare launch their ballistic missiles, our defensive systems will knock them down. Then they would lie supine before us, dreading our missiles that could rain upon them with impunity.”

“How does destroying the American breadbasket help China?” Deng asked.

“It doesn’t,” admitted Jian. “I merely point out the ludicrous idea that America, or any other nation, can threaten China with nuclear weapons.” He pointedly glanced at Admiral Qingshan and the Police Minister, yearning for their verbal support.

Xiaodan Yang, the Police Minister, was lean. He wore thick glasses and possessed strangely staring eyes. He gave Jian a nearly imperceptible nod of encouragement. The man’s eyes seemed to shine behind the thick glasses, but he didn’t say anything. Admiral Qingshan seemed lost in thought, perhaps not even listening to the argument.

“You viper,” Deng said. “You mouth war when peace can serve us better. The Americans were about to increase their grain exports as we ship them more oil.”

“Do you trust these Americans?” Jian asked. “Aren’t you aware of their new space program? They aren’t foolishly attempting to land men on Mars or return to the Moon. Instead, they are building a laser launch-site. They are on the cusp of building a system to put items into space at a cheap cost per ton. With it, they will build a Solar Powered Satellite that collects the sun’s rays and micro-beams the free energy to Earth. It is the next step in industrial power.”

“It already changes our weather patterns,” Police Minister Xiaodan said.

Deng glanced at the Police Minister before he said, “You both spout folly.”

“Do you deny the fact of their space program?” asked Jian. He hoped Xiaodan didn’t say anything about Henry Wu, the supposed CIA agent. It had helped sway Admiral Qingshan earlier, but it wouldn’t help here.

“Our technologists are hard at work on a similar space system,” Deng said. “This is all beside the point.”

“If the Americans build enough of these satellites,” Jian said, “they will no longer need our oil. What then shall we trade for their badly needed grain?”

Deng stared at Jian before he turned to the Chairman. “He confuses the issue, a tactic he has perfected as Agricultural Minister.”

The Chairman nodded slowly. “Make your point, Jian Shihong.”

Even as the small hairs prickled on the back of Jian’s neck, he spoke out strongly. “Now is the moment to strike, sir. Now is the time to fix the American food market in our favor—forever.”

“By destroying oil platforms?” the Chairman asked sarcastically.

The old man’s eyes seemed like twin lasers stabbing into Jian’s heart. He took a deep breath. This was coming on much faster than he had planned. Jian wished Admiral Qingshan or Xiaodan would speak up in his defense. Unfortunately, like everyone else, they were afraid of the Chairman. Maybe they were also afraid of Deng Fong. In that moment, Jian realized that he must lead the other two. To lead them, he would have to persuade the old man in the wheelchair.

“Sir, if I may,” Jian said, “I’d like to point out the example of Cheng Ho.” He knew the Chairman loved the history of Cheng Ho. The dictator kept a large model of one of the medieval sailing ships on the bottom floor of the Politburo Building.

Cheng Ho had been an admiral in Chinese history. He had explored the Indian Ocean and the eastern coast of Africa several decades before the Europeans crawled down the African coast in the other direction. Cheng Ho’s ships and fleet had been huge, especially when compared to the Portuguese ships of the day. Due to Chinese inwardness and other political factors, the emperor recalled Cheng Ho and forbade further marine exploration. Thus, the Europeans had “discovered” and eventually conquered the East instead of the East discovering the West.

Deng laughed. It was a triumphant sound. He glanced at the Chairman. “I believe that our Agricultural Minister has become unhinged. What does medieval history have to do with blowing up oil wells, hoping to start a nuclear war?”

“You are incorrect,” Jian said. “The oilrig was destroyed in order to strengthen China’s hand.”

“Do you believe we are fools?” Deng said. “You did it to sabotage my talks. Can you truly think the Americans will back down as we destroy their oil industry? If you want historical examples, I will give you one from the last century. Japan attacked Pearl Harbor and thereby brought about their empire’s destruction.”

“Are you so afraid of the Americans that you fear they will destroy China?” Jian asked.

Xiaodan gave another of his nearly imperceptible nods of encouragement. If only the Police Minister would speak openly, leaving out any of his fantastical nonsense.

“Once the Americans discover we destroyed the platform,” Deng said, “they may begin destroying our offshore wells in turn.”

“Our navy is superior to the deteriorated American Fleet,” Jian said. “If they dared such attacks, we would hunt down their ships and sink them on sight.”

“You are quite wrong,” Deng said. “Study history. No English-speaking nation has lost a naval war in five hundred years.”

Admiral Qingshan frowned as he began to shake his head.

Xiaodan’s nostrils flared.

Seeing these things, Jian asked in seeming disbelief, “Do you truly pour such contempt upon the Chinese Navy?”

“It is not a matter of contempt,” Deng said. “Reality must guide us. American submarines are still better than ours. Yes, the Debt Depression and secessionist unrest has hurt them. Their defense expenditures are but a ghost of their former outlays. But their navy is still formidable, quite possibly a match for ours.”

“Then why didn’t the Americans face us off the shores of Taiwan?” asked Jian. “During the reunification, their vaunted Pacific Fleet sailed to Hawaii, afraid of our massed fleet.”

“They were afraid of our land-based attack craft and Yuan ship-killers,” Deng said. “Our air armada dwarfed anything they could muster near Taiwan.”

“I would have silence,” whispered the Chairman.

Jian had been about to retort. Now he closed his mouth as he felt his heart hammering. Deng glanced at the old man before nodding.

The Chairman leaned forward, with his elbows on the table. He breathed heavily, and there was anger in his eyes.

“Agricultural Minister,” the Chairman asked, “have you been speaking with Admiral Qingshan?”

“Sir?” asked Jian.

“Do not practice your evasiveness with me, young man. Have you plotted with the admiral?”

“I have spoken with him concerning our mutual distrust of the Americans, sir.”

“You are testing my patience, Jian Shihong.”

Jian reached for his water glass and noticed that his fingers shook. He quickly put his hand back on the table.

“Did you suggest to the admiral that he launch the attack on the American oil facility?” the Chairman asked.

Jian’s mouth opened, but no words issued.

“He did, sir,” Admiral Qingshan said in his gravely voice.

Deng slammed a fist on the table. “I knew it!” In the growing silence, Deng’s head swayed back as he glanced at the watching Chairman. “Please forgive me my outburst, sir,” Deng said. “It was ill considered.”

The Chairman’s head swiveled so he stared once more at Jian. “Tell me why you would do such a thing, Agricultural Minister. Why step so far out of your bounds?”

Jian bowed his head. Here was the moment. Now he was on the edge of life and death. Choosing his words with care, he said, “I am convinced that the Energy Minister has taken China on a false path, sir.”

“A path that I sanctioned,” the Chairman whispered angrily.

Knowing that he could find himself hustled out of the room in the next few minutes, frog-marched by killers and possibly placed before a firing squad, Jian still forced himself to argue. He had little to lose now. “Sir, we cannot feed ourselves. I know this better than anyone.”

“You have failed to improve the agricultural industry,” Deng sneered. “That’s all you are saying. For that, you should be shot.”

Jian caught the Chairman’s angry glance at Deng. It was tactless to interrupt the old man. In former days, it would have brought terrible punishment. Clearly, the Chairman was beginning to resent these interruptions.

“Sir,” Jian said, making his voice contrite. “If you would allow me to answer that baseless charge…?”

“…speak,” whispered the Chairman.

Deng’s surprise at the permission emboldened Jian. “You are a clever man, Energy Minister. You slyly maneuvered me into accepting my present post. You promised to aid me and stand by my side if I would only attack the food problem with my customary zeal. I use your own words, not my own. Now I wonder if you secretly feared me and encouraged me to tackle a problem that no one can solve. China needs the Grain Union, or it needs the foodstuffs they so treacherously horde for their own use. You counsel us to go to them hat in hand, hoping to gain their good will. But life does not progress in that manner. The truth of history is that the strong survive and the weak fade away. We must cripple America and force them to trade to our benefit and at our call. That is the only long-term solution worthy of the greatest power on Earth.”

“War?” asked Deng.

“You make it sound as if I counsel a nuclear exchange, which is madness. I’m speaking about a limited war with limited goals as the Chairman achieved in Siberia and Taiwan.”

“War against America?” asked Deng. “Do you think us so superior to them that we can land in California and take their best farmlands through swift armor assaults?”

“You are adept at building a straw man and easily knocking him down,” Jian said. “No one here suggests what you just said. I spoke about a limited war. Our marshal and admiral are quite familiar with the subject. They have practiced war-games concerning it many times. I suggest a swift invasion of Alaska, the last great oil-bearing region of America. Once we own it, we will possess the Arctic Ocean oil basin and control the great Prudhoe Bay fields. With Alaska in our possession, the Americans will be at our mercy in energy terms. We will then ship them their own oil for massive imports of grain. The food rationing here will end and our Party’s power will rest secure for another generation at least. There will be no more rice riots and no more ugly executions in police basements.”

The people in the rich cities on the coast had already become accustomed to bread, to foodstuffs made by grain. Those in the interior still primarily ate rice. It would take time to accustom them to bread. But it was inevitable that they learn because the rice harvests were smaller each year.

“I’ve heard enough,” Deng said. “You spout madness. Invade Alaska? The Americans aren’t Siberians. They own a continent, not a tiny island like Taiwan. You cannot simply rip Alaska out of their grasp and hope the conflict ends there. World Wars have started on lesser pretexts.”

“No one thinks Americans are Siberians or Taiwanese,” Jian said. “But I don’t think you’ve studied their present force levels with a critical eye.”

“And you as Agricultural Minister have?” Deng sneered.

“The Debt Depression badly weakened their navy,” Jian said. “They’ve decommissioned countless vessels and hardly purchased any new hardware. Added to the continuing secessionist trouble, along with the Mexico Situation, means they dare not commit their army units elsewhere in any force.” Jian nodded in the admiral’s direction. “I have spoken with Admiral Qingshan and we’ve talked about his strategists’ plan to cripple the American Fleet before the start of hostilities.”

“What plan?” the Chairman asked, swiveling his gaze onto the admiral.

Reluctantly, it seemed, Admiral Qingshan explained the plan.

“An interesting concept,” the Chairman whispered, after Admiral Qingshan had fallen silent.

“Sir,” Deng said. “This all sounds like unadvised adventurism. The admiral’s so-called bold plan is nothing more than a terrorist assault on a large scale. If it fails—”

“Why should it fail?” asked Jian. “The White Tigers are the foremost Special Forces in the world. Their record of success is spotless.”

“Sir,” Deng said.

Everyone in the room turned to the Chairman. He had a far-off look as he stared at some distant point. He blinked slowly as he regarded the others. “On the cusp of the Siberian Invasion years ago, there were those who told me I was too adventuresome,” he told Deng.

Jian closed his eyes as his stomach continued to seethe. His profilers had told him the Chairman still dreamt of military glory. It was something that always seemed to draw on conquerors for one more roll of fate’s dice. The Chairman’s name was intimately linked with the victories in Siberia and Taiwan. Surely, the idea of matching strength and wits against the formerly mighty Americans appealed to the Chairman’s vanity. Jian’s plan had counted on it.