Power Curve (20 page)

The Support Group commander’s evaluation matched Martini’s. “Your group,” Martini said, “is responsible for NEO.” NEO was the nonessential personnel evacuation operation. “I want Ryan to get involved. When he’s up to speed, he takes it over.”

The colonel shook his head. “He’s going to love that can of worms.”

The red phone in front of Martini buzzed. It was the senior controller in the Control Cab. “Sir, CINC PAC has declared Condition Scarlet for the western Pacific.”

Martini leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath of relief. His superiors had agreed with him and he was off the hook. If they had returned the base to normal readiness, they would have relieved him of his command, maybe even court-martialed him. “Are there any changes to the standing ROE?” he asked.

“Negative, sir,” the controller answered. “The ROE remains as published.”

Martini broke the connection, and his fingers danced on the communications panel in front of him. He called up
the air defense coordinator and the mission director on the main floor below him for a conference call. “Are we talking to Tac Ops at Naha?” he asked. The Japanese Self-Defense Force had two squadrons of F4Js at Naha that were responsible for the air defense of Okinawa. They were controlled by the Japanese Tactical Operations Center under the command of the Naha base commander.

“The hot line was activated when CINC PAC declared Condition Scarlet,” the air defense coordinator told him.

“Good,” Martini said. He told the mission director to put twelve jets on cockpit alert, twelve on fifteen-minute alert, and the rest on thirty-minute alert. He watched the status boards as twelve lights flicked to green indicating which hardened aircraft shelters had aircraft manned and ready to be airborne in less than five minutes. Twelve more lights changed to yellow; the pilots on fifteen-minute alert were ready to go. Now he could honor the threat.

He buzzed the Intelligence section. “Tell Townly I want an Intelligence update ASAP,” he ordered. He broke that connection and looked down the long console. Ryan was staring at him, his mouth slightly open in surprise. The Support Group commander had just finished telling him what running the nonessential personnel evacuation operation involved.

Two minutes later, Lieutenant Colonel Pete Townly was in the Battle Cab with a briefing board under his arm. “Sir, this is the situation as of thirty minutes ago.” He showed Martini the map that plotted the progress of the Chinese ships. “Our latest radar plot holds them 48 nautical miles due north of Iriomote Jima.” Townly’s face paled, but his voice was measured and calm. “That places them 250 nautical miles away from us, about ten hours steaming time, thirty-five minutes flying time.”

Martini’s red phone buzzed. “Sir,” the air defense coordinator blurted, “Chinese aircraft have penetrated Japanese territory and Naha is launching their F-4s.” From his position, Martini could see the young captain talking into his phone, his eyes wide with fear. He was on the edge of panic.

“Relax, son,” Martini said. “If you panic, I panic, and that’s not good. Just keep the information coming and
we’ll kick ass big time.” The captain turned and looked up at him. Martini gave him an encouraging nod. He called the senior controller in the Control Cab. “Use some of that cosmic gear you got and call CINC PAC,” Martini said. “Tell them the Japanese are launching F-4s from Naha and verify that the ROE is still the same.”

Martini saw the controller’s head bend over the communications panel as his fingers danced on the keyboard in front of him. “Sir,” the controller said, “CINC PAC confirms there is no change to the ROE.”

Martini turned to his Operations Group commander. “Those F-4 drivers are pretty gutsy. It’s for damn sure I wouldn’t want to take on a Flanker in a Phantom.” The Ops Group commander was of the same opinion. “Maybe we can help,” Martini said. “Scramble the alert birds into blocking CAPs. Get them way out there, at least halfway to Iriomote. Bring the next twelve jets up to cockpit status. Then backfill them. Tell Tac Ops at Naha what we’re doing and that we got four tankers available for airborne refueling if their F-4s need gas.”

Ryan felt his heart race as the command post responded to Martini’s commands.
Martini is taking us into a war
, he thought. He fought the urge to run away and hide. But where could he find safety on an island 67 miles long?

Washington, D.C.

O
ut of boredom and with nothing to do, Bender retreated to the White House mess for coffee. He had nowhere else to go since his office was still occupied by the Navy and the halls outside the Situation Room were packed with experts from the Pentagon, the CIA, and the State Department. Everyone was ready to furnish instant information to his or her boss inside with the president and, if need be, label the other experts imbecilic idiots incapable of finding their own backside without enlightened guidance.
What a waste of time
, Bender thought,
playing games like this
. Still, he was all too aware of how the delicate mix of ego and personality drove policy and decisions. The lieutenant colonel who served as General Charles’s aide rushed up to him. “Sir, you’re needed in the Situation Room.”

“What’s the problem?” Bender asked. The lieutenant colonel shook his head—he didn’t know. The two men walked quickly down the stairs to the basement. Charles was waiting for him outside the Situation Room and pulled him aside.

“The chairman is going to self-destruct,” Charles told him. “Can you spread some oil on the waters?”

“Not without knowing what’s going on,” Bender replied.

“Apparently fighting has broken out between the Japa
nese and Chinese, and Martini has launched his jets. The DCI and secretary of state claim the situation is totally out of control.”

“It sounds like Martini has a clue,” Bender said.

Charles shook his head. “According to them, it’s the military’s fault. They want us to immediately disengage and are demanding Martini’s head on a platter to show the Chinese we want to negotiate.”

“Stalwart fellows,” Bender muttered.

“I’m going to justify bringing you in as a tactical expert who can shed some light on the situation. Stall for time until we can get a clearer picture.” Bender nodded. “You’re on.” Charles opened the door and they went in.

Overmeyer was standing beside a TV monitor displaying a situation map. “Madam President,” he said, glancing at Bender, “do not tie General Martini’s hands at this time. Let him defend his base. And I strongly urge you to order the aircraft carriers
Nimitz
and
Reagan
into the East China Sea.” He sat down, his face flushed and his right fist a tight knot. Automatically, he reached for a cigar to worry but reconsidered and dropped the cigar on the table in front of him.

Turner stood up, her face pale and drawn. Bender could sense the tension between them. “How many times have I said that I’m not going to make the situation worse than it is? I will not be drawn into a Gulf of Tonkin incident and overreact.” A hard silence gripped the room. At the Air Force Academy, Bender had studied the August 1964 incident when North Vietnamese patrol boats reportedly attacked two U.S. destroyers in international waters off the coast of North Vietnam. In the confusion, Congress authorized presidential action which escalated the war. But was the lesson still the same? He didn’t think so.

Charles broke the silence. “Madam President, I’d like to hear General Bender’s reaction to the situation.”

“Why him?” the secretary of state asked. The memory of the last time Bender had intervened was still fresh.

“Because he’s one of the best tacticians in the Air Force,” Charles replied. He didn’t wait for a reply. “General Bender.”

Bender had used the few moments since he entered the
room to study the situation map on the TV screen. “This information is twenty-four minutes old,” he began. “In the world of tactical operations, that’s ancient history.” He phoned the communications room for an update and asked for a force disposition on the second screen. The force disposition appeared first. “Oh, no,” he whispered.

He looked at Turner. “The Chinese aircraft carrier, the
Chairman Mao
, is still in international waters off Iriomote Jima but twenty of its fighters have overflown Japanese territory. The Japanese have responded by launching sixteen F-4 fighters from Naha”—he checked his watch—“twenty-six minutes ago.”

“We know all this,” the secretary of state groused. “You’re wasting our time.”

Bender fixed him with a cold stare. “Why did the Chinese put up so many jets?” he asked. A blank look from the secretary. “They’re the bait to draw the Japanese F-4s. But any engagement will take place over international waters.”

“You mean the shooting hasn’t started yet?” the DCI asked.

“If it’s going to happen,” Bender explained, “it will start in three or four minutes. The F-4 is an old aircraft and no match for the Flankers from the
Chairman Mao
. Plus, they will be low on fuel and will have to disengage very quickly.”

“It’s going to be a turkey shoot,” Overmeyer grumbled.

“Not necessarily,” Bender replied. “The Japanese are superb pilots and have an excellent antiship missile, the ASM-1. They’ll go for the
Chairman Mao
, the only place the Flankers can land. It’s going to get very interesting.”

The look on Turner’s face told him he had said the wrong thing. “Interesting?” she murmured. Then, more strongly, “People are going to die, General, and you only find that interesting?”

“Madam President,” Bender replied, “we can help.” When she did not reply, he pressed ahead. “Kadena has twelve F-15s airborne and established in CAP points between Okinawa and the Chinese.” He pointed at the map on the TV. “Allow General Martini to move these CAP points closer to the action. I would suggest over the island
of Miyako Jima,” Miyako Jima was 100 miles east of Iriomote, closer to Okinawa, and had an airfield. “But let him decide where he can best position his fighters.”

“I agree,” the DCI said.

“Why?” Turner said, surprised by the DCI’s sudden agreement.

“The National Security Agency has a listening post on Miyako Jima,” the DCI admitted. “Right now, it’s our primary source of intelligence. NSA has broken the Chinese codes, and thanks to Miyako Jima, we’ve got them wired for sound. We want to protect that source, Madam President.”

Now it was Overmeyer’s turn. “We have a GCI, a ground-controlled intercept site, on Miyako Jima. The GCI site is the cover for the listening post. But it is also giving us good information.”

The situation map on the TV monitor flashed with an update. An air-to-air engagement was taking place twenty miles northeast of Iriomote over international waters as Bender had predicted. The room was silent as each person stared at the TV screen, willing it to change. But they could only wait. The passing minutes seemed like hours. The TV displaying the force disposition scrolled. The
Chairman Mao
was moving to the north, away from Iriomote. Only two F-4s were reported escaping to the east, heading toward Miyako Jima. The chief of Naval Operations finally spoke up. “The
Chairman Mao
is recovering its fighters. The engagement is over.”

“Only two F-4s?” Turner asked. “What happened to the others?” She knew the answer. “Oh, no.”

“Madam President,” Overmeyer said, “we need a show of force. Let Martini move his CAPs further to the west and the
Chairman Mao
will head west, right back to China. The Chinese will not risk losing their only aircraft carrier if we show any backbone.”

Wrong words, General!
Bender raged to himself.
She doesn’t think that way
.

Turner stood up. “Recall our F-15s. I will not make this situation any worse than it is.” She walked out of the room. Shaw and her personal assistant, Jackie Winters,
were waiting for her. “I want to speak to the Chinese ambassador,” she told them. “Immediately.”

“We crumpled,” Overmeyer said, jamming the cigar in his mouth and chomping.

“I don’t think she heard you,” Bender said.

Okinawa, Japan

The red phone in front of Martini buzzed, demanding his attention. He picked it up, his eyes still riveted on the status board. The GCI site at Miyako Jima had reported only two of the Japanese F-4s had survived the engagement. Above all else, Martini was a fighter pilot and he raged with anger. He knew the Japanese pilots who had thrown their obsolete F-4s against a superior foe. He had met their commander, eaten with the pilots, drunk their whisky, and swapped the same old war stories that always started with “There I was…”

He hadn’t joined the Air Force to sit on the sidelines when he could make a difference.

“Sir,” the controller said, “we have been directed to recall all our aircraft. We are not to intervene.”

Martini slammed the phone down into its wire cradle. The hook broke, and the receiver lay on the console, buzzing at him. He punched at the off button, and it went dead. He stifled an obscenity before it escaped. But his anger filled the Battle Cab. Ryan looked up from his end of the console. He had never seen a human being so angry. He jotted down the time and made a mental note to add it to his case study.

“Recall all our aircraft,” Martini told the Operations Group commander. He slammed his fists down on the table, staring at the big status boards. “Get Townly in here. Maybe he’s got a clue.”

Peter Townly was standing in front of Martini two minutes later. He stared at the status boards, astounded that the F-15s were recovering. “Our side just got creamed, and we’re recalling our aircraft? That’s dumber than dirt.”

“Tell me,” Martini growled. “OK, whiz kid, what the hell is the rationale for all this?”

The Intelligence officer pulled into himself. He didn’t have an answer. A sergeant ran out of the Intel vault and skidded to a halt at the glass door of the Battle Cab. He waved a message at Townly, frantic to get his attention. Townly opened the door. “The
Chairman Mao
,” the sergeant blurted. “It’s headed north, away from Iriomote.”

Townly handed the message to Martini. “I think they’re recovering their aircraft. We’re not out of this yet.”

“So you think they’ll be back?” Martini asked.

“It’s called salami tactics,” Townly said. “They slice off a little at a time and then wait for our reaction. If I were advising the Chinese commander, I’d tell him that when the Americans recalled their aircraft, they blinked and may not be willing to defend Japan. Cut another slice and find out.”

“Where the hell are the Navy’s carriers?” Martini growled.

“I have no idea,” Townly admitted. “The last I heard, the
Nimitz
was in Yokohama and the
Reagan
in Singapore. Both are too far away to be a factor if the Chinese move now.”

“Thanks,” Martini muttered. “See if I ask you a question again.” The Operations Group commander snorted in half amusement, and the tension in the Battle Cab eased a notch. “Gentlemen,” Martini said, “it looks like it is going to get very interesting around here. Start bedding down your troops for the long haul and make sure everyone gets a hot breakfast. Major Ryan, we can’t implement NEO until cleared by CINC PAC. But we sure as hell can be ready when he does. As of now, you work for the Support Group commander full-time. Start making things happen.”

“Sir, what about the other services?” Ryan asked. “All told, there must be 25,000 dependents and U.S. civilians on the island.”

“Evacuate them, too,” Martini replied.

Washington, D.C.

Bender was alone in the Situation Room. After the
Chairman Mao
was confirmed still heading north, away
from Iriomote, Turner had taken her advisors, which now included Secretary of Defense Elkins and Overmeyer, back to the Oval Office. The Joint Chiefs had returned to the Pentagon and the basement halls rapidly emptied of the uniforms and suits who hovered like pilot fish around the big sharks. Turner had suggested that Bender stay behind to monitor developments from the Situation Room. In the White House, a president’s suggestion is treated as holy writ and Bender found himself baby-sitting a bank of TV sets and reading messages.

At least it’s something to do
, he told himself. He picked up the hot line to the Communications Room down the hall and started asking questions. In short order, he discovered he had access to every Intelligence source available to the president. Between playing with the remote control and talking over the phone, he scrolled through a wealth of information on the monitors.
There’s too much data here
, he decided.
How can anyone keep it all straight? Focus on basics
, he told himself. For him the key was the
Chairman Mao
.

There’s a lesson here
, he thought.
It shows what one aircraft carrier can do when it is used aggressively. Think objectives. What do the Chinese want out of this? What’s the bottom line? Would I hazard my only carrier against a superior force? No. But I might use it to probe the reactions of a potential adversary
. He spoke into the phone, and a strategic estimate by the Rand Corporation in Santa Monica, California, scrolled onto a screen. There was no doubt in the author’s mind that China wanted to drive a wedge between Japan and the United States and create an economic empire in the Far East.

The more Bender read, the more convinced he became that Okinawa was the key. His head hurt, and he needed to give his brain time to assimilate all that he had been reading. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift. It all snapped into place with a simplicity and clarity that left him reeling in shock.
The Chinese are testing us
, he thought.
They are going to peel us back like an onion until they hit resistance
. He jabbed at the hand control, and the left TV screen scrolled to a situation map. He picked up the phone. “I want to know immediately when
the
Chairman Mao
turns to the east, toward Okinawa. It should happen any minute now.”

Shaw sat in a straight-back chair near the fireplace in the Oval Office, a yellow legal pad on his lap, his pen poised to take notes.
Come on, Maddy
, he thought,
do this one right
. Shaw sensed a deep-seated need in his country’s collective psyche that demanded an enemy to hate. And if the world did not produce one, then the country turned inward and manufactured one. Fortunately, about every twenty years, a thug nation came along and saved the United States from itself. For Shaw, it was history repeating itself, and the president could ride it to reelection.