Shock of War (26 page)

“Why?” said Zeus.

“Trung needs us right away. The Chinese have launched their attack.”

“I don't know—”

“Jesus, Zeus.”

Zeus glanced at Anna. Her eyes were wide, searching him.

“Zeus! I have a driver. We'll pick you up.”

“Do you know the hospital where they took me?” Zeus said finally. “Meet me there in an hour.”

“An hour! No—right now.”

“Ten minutes, then,” said Zeus. “I need ten minutes to get there.”

17

The Gulf of Tonkin

Commander Silas put the night glasses
to his eyes. The ocean was already heavy, even with the storm front some hours away. The waves had white crusts; the bow of the
McLane
crashed hard against them.

The Chinese cruiser
Wen Jiabao
loomed on his starboard side, pushing through the waves in a blatant attempt to cut the
McLane
off. She had her lights blazing, spotlights playing across the American destroyer.

Silas was strongly tempted to shoot them out.

“Steady as she goes,” Silas told the helm. “We've played this game before.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Bearing long, classic lines, the
Wen
extended some six hundred and ten feet, a good hundred longer than the
McLane
. When she'd sailed in the Russian navy, her decks were littered with unsightly ash-can tubes for missiles. The Chinese had replaced those with modern four-pack YJ-83s. The deck was still crowded, but the newer, more potent missiles added an ominous beauty.

She was a pretty ship, Silas thought. The
Wen
displaced in excess of 11,500 tons—again, a good deal more than the
McLane
or her sister Arleigh Burkes. The additional bulk did not slow her down; on the contrary, she was capable of mustering a knot or two more than the American destroyer, at least on paper.

At the moment, she had an angle on the
McLane
. One of the ships was going to have to turn off soon, or there would be a collision.

These weren't a pair of canoes. Even a glancing blow would do considerable damage to both vessels.

“So, tell me, Captain,” Silas muttered to himself, as if speaking to the master of the Chinese vessel. “What will happen to you if your beautiful ship comes back to port with a big gash in her bow? Do they still hang captains in the Chinese navy?”

The only answer was a howl in the wind. Silas could see across to the ship's lighted bridge, though he couldn't quite make out the captain.

He couldn't afford a collision, either. Not only was the
McLane
likely to sustain more damage, but any damage would undoubtedly mean that he wouldn't reach the merchant ships before they got into Hai Phong, if that's where they were going.

The
Wen
closed in.

“Hard right rudder,” said Silas suddenly.

“Starboard, Captain?”

“Aye, into the bastard,” he told helm. “Don't worry. We're cutting inside him.”

The destroyer began to pivot. As she turned in the choppy water, Silas gave another order to cut their power. The heavy waves quickly tugged at their momentum. The big Chinese ship continued past. The
McLane
's bow came within a few yards of clipping the cruiser's stern. If the Chinese had been towing an array, it would be Silas's now.

Advantage mine, Captain,
Silas thought.
Your move
.

The
McLane
turned smartly, straightening her course back to its original mark. The
Wen
, meanwhile, slowed. Silas watched for another few minutes—she drew to a parallel course aft, unnerved perhaps by the close call.

“Helm, if you need relief, holler,” said Silas.

“I can do this all day and all night,” said the man at the wheel.

“You may have to.”

18

Hanoi

Zeus walked from Anna's
apartment
in a hollow, silent fugue, everything outside him numb and his own mind blank. He was not so much smitten as consumed, absorbed in what he felt for her.

Under ordinary circumstances, such a sensation would have shocked, if not repelled him. Zeus had always compartmentalized his life, carefully separating his feelings into easily handled boxes, partitioning love affairs far from his everyday life.

And certainly from work.

But this was not an ordinary time.

He found the street. He was about halfway to the hospital when a yellow light swept up across the pavement behind him. He turned and saw a large, black Hyundai sedan approaching, using only its running lights to illuminate the roadway. Christian opened the rear window.

“Hey, lover boy—sorry to interrupt your date.”

Anger snapped Zeus out of his fog. He jerked open the door and grabbed Christian by the neck of his open-collar shirt. He pulled him from the car, holding him close to his face.

“I'll break every fucking bone in your body,” growled Zeus.

“Major!”

It was Perry: he was in the back, on the other side.

Zeus released Christian, who tumbled down out of the car and onto the sidewalk. Zeus ignored him. He pulled open the front door and got in. He could feel the heat rising to his head. He knew his face would be beet-red.

They drove in silence to the bunker.

*   *   *

The Chinese advance had begun
an hour and a half after midnight, along exactly the lines the Americans had predicted.

Which was not surprising. The night attack was a page directly out of the American Army playbook, doctrine the Chinese had thoroughly dissected and learned following the famous Shock and Awe campaign during the Second Gulf War. The advances during that war, using a force much smaller than the enemy's but highly leveraged by technology, had shocked the Chinese. Until that point, Chinese military doctrine had been based on the idea of numbers: vast numbers of soldiers, using relatively simple but dependable weapons, could defeat any enemy. It was an idea not all that much different from Soviet doctrine during World War II, or Chinese doctrine during the Korean War. In both contests, the superior technology (and, at least arguably, superior soldiers and leadership) of the enemy had been overcome by the sheer size of the victorious army. While there were contradictions—the American counteroffensive in Korea, for example—by and large the philosophy behind the doctrine had seemed stable throughout the postwar period.

But the ease of the American advance during the Second Gulf War showed that the time had passed for that strategy. An overwhelming attack leveraging technology could produce such destruction in the opening phase of a campaign that numbers became meaningless.

So the Chinese went to school. The most obvious lesson they had learned was that their technology had to be improved. They didn't necessarily have to exceed the U.S., but they had to close the gap to an acceptable level, at least close enough so that numbers could once more make the difference.

There were many other lessons. One was that certain “environments” enhanced the power of technology. That was what fighting at night was all about. Nighttime gave a technologically superior army a clear advantage over a poorer one, since it had sensors (and extensive training) that turned the night into day. The Chinese had installed infrared sensors in their tanks, and had trained to attack in darkness.

In that context, waiting an extra twenty-four hours to launch the tank attack made sense. Though they had lost strategic surprise, the Chinese still hoped to press their technological advantage. Choosing the exact timing of the attack preserved, to some slight degree, a narrow tactical advantage. And since the attack on the fuel depot would have taken several hours to compensate for under the best of circumstances, waiting a full twenty-four hours to attack would make sense.

And yet, the slavishness of the original plan—or what Zeus interpreted as the original plan—spoke volumes as well. If you had such little regard for the Vietnamese, why not simply launch the attack as soon you were ready? What was it that the darkness gave you, really?

“The beauty of waiting twenty-four hours is, you don't change anything, just the calendar,” said Zeus when Perry remarked that the timing seemed to coincide with what had been planned the night before. “D + 1 is now D. All the times, etc., are the same.”

The mood inside the command complex was glum. Perry left them, presumably to talk personally to Trung. Zeus sat next to Christian, but made sure to keep his eyes fixed in the other direction.

Perry and Trung weren't there for the start of the staff briefing. A Vietnamese colonel gave a situation report with only a large map for a reference. In Zeus's experience, intelligence briefings of outsiders fell into one of two categories:

1. The superoptimistic kind, like the one telling Custer there were a few Indians ahead, and

2. The seriously pessimistic kind, where Sitting Bull's ancestors' failure to make the proper prayer to a minor god several eons ago would hang heavy over the battlefield.

This briefing was a fine example of category one. The forces under General Tri, said the briefer, were resisting fiercely. No inch was being given freely. The Chinese were stalling all along the roads they had taken.

That was the strategy? Fight for every inch? They were just making it easier to be annihilated.

Zeus walked over to the side of the room as the officer continued. There was a large steel pot of tea there. He would have greatly preferred coffee, but at this point any caffeine would do.

“Do you agree with this interpretation?” asked the interpreter.

Zeus looked over and realized that everyone was looking at him. “I'm sorry?”

“The assessment,” said the interpreter.

“The Chinese are attacking as we predicted,” said Zeus. “They'll be at Tien Yen by morning.”

“We will stop them beforehand,” answered the briefing officer, using English and not bothering to wait for the interpreter. “The attack will wither and die.”

There was no sense arguing with the man. He seemed genuinely to believe what he was saying.

Christian asked a few questions, trying to get some information about the Chinese infantry units that were accompanying the armor. The Vietnamese couldn't give detailed answers, another bad sign.

Zeus blew on his tea to cool it. He thought of Anna, then pushed the image away.

Briefing over, the Vietnamese officers left.

“You still mad?” said Christian when the room was empty.

Zeus just stared at him.

“Look, I was out of line,” said Christian. “I apologize.”

God, he really
has
changed, thought Zeus.

“It's all right,” he told him.

Christian got up and went to get himself some tea.

“Thanks for getting us out of China,” he said.

“Yeah.”

Christian grimaced. “That … I screwed up. I lost my head. I was tired; I felt like I was possessed or something. I'm sorry … I just about got us killed.”

“Yeah.”

“I'm glad we got through it. Thanks.”

Zeus nodded.

“This tea sucks,” said Christian. “We should find some coffee.”

“I'm for that.”

They sat silently until General Perry came in a few minutes later.

“Lost in thought, gentlemen?” said the general.

“Trying to figure out where we can get some coffee,” said Christian.

“Well at least you're not fighting,” said Perry with a sour face. “We're making progress.”

“Sir, that was my fault,” said Christian. “I was an idiot.”

“It wasn't anything,” said Zeus softly. “I was a jerk, too.”

“Vietnam may be lost, but there's hope for the U.S. Army,” said Perry. His tone remained stern, sour even. “Zeus, General Trung would like to speak to you. I think he wants to apologize for yesterday.”

“He doesn't have to apologize.”

“He knows that. Be gracious.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What's our next move, General?” asked Christian.

“Watch and wait,” said Perry. “If they want our advice, they'll ask.”

“How about the A-10As?” asked Zeus.

“Even if they were coming, which they're not, it may be too late,” said Perry.

*   *   *

General Trung met Zeus in a small office
on the lowest level of the complex. It was bare, even by Vietnamese standards. There was nothing on the cement walls, and the only furniture was a solitary wooden chair. Trung stood behind it as Zeus entered. His eyes had deep rings below them, circular welts that seemed to penetrate far into his face.

“General Tri was in error,” Trung told Zeus. “I deeply apologize.” He bent forward.

“General, there's no need to apologize,” said Zeus. “I wasn't offended. I understand the stress very well.”

Trung straightened.

“We're guests here,” continued Zeus. “Some people may not want our help. It's not a problem.”

“Thank you, Major, for your understanding.”

“General, I have a question,” said Zeus. “Do you believe the Chinese are aiming at Hai Phong?”

“It would seem a logical conclusion.”

“Why did you put your forces in Son Duong then?”

“Do you have a better suggestion?” asked the general.

“I certainly don't know the tactical situation of your forces and bases as you do,” said Zeus. “I was just curious. You have a large force there, and it's going to waste.”

A faint smile appeared on Trung's lips, but it slipped away quickly.

“Curiosity in a commander is always a good thing,” said Trung. “I wonder, Major, would you like to tour the battlefield? By plane, I mean.”

“I'd like to, yes.”