Shock of War - [Red Dragon Rising 03] Read online

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  Shock of War

  [Red Dragon Rising 03]

  Larry Bond & Jim DeFelice

  No copyright 2012 by MadMaxAU eBooks

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  The term “global warming” is as misleading as it is inaccurate. True, the overall temperature of the earth as measured by annual average readings will rise. But averages tell us next to nothing. A shortening of a rainy season by two weeks in a given area might be reflected by an increase in the average annual temperature of only a third of a degree. But the impact on the water supply—and thus the growing season— would be considerably higher.

  Paradoxically, rapid climate change may bring much lower temperatures in many places. It should also be noted that some changes may well benefit people in the affected areas, at least temporarily, by extending growing seasons, negating weather extremes, or having some other unpredictable effect.

  Unfortunately, the sensationalistic term, combined with the slow evolution of the effects prior to the crisis point, will make it hard to convince the general population of the true danger.

  —Int. Soc. of Environmental Scientists report

  ~ * ~

  Major Characters

  United States

  Josh MacArthur, scientist

  Mara Duncan, CIA officer

  Peter Lucas, CIA station chief, Bangkok/Southeast Asia

  Major Zeus Murphy, former SF captain, adviser to Vietnam People’s Army

  Lieutenant Ric Kerfer, SEAL team platoon commander

  President George Chester Greene

  CIA Director Peter Frost

  National Security Adviser Walter Jackson

  China

  Lieutenant Jing Yo, commander, First Commando Detachment

  Colonel Sun Li, commando regiment commander, executive officer

  Task Force #1

  Premier Cho Lai

  Vietnam

  Premier Lein Thap

  General Minh Trung, head of the Vietnam People’s Army

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  Personal Chronicle: looking Back to 2014.

  Markus:

  In the late winter of2014, your uncle Josh had stunned the world by appearing at the United Nations in New York City, telling the world how he had seen Chinese soldiers slaughter his scientific team and dozens of Vietnamese peasants. He brought back video and pictures. They were horrible images—little children dead, a nursing mother... I feel sick when I think of them. The images are burned into my brain.

  But even with this evidence, the people of the world were not convinced that the Chinese were a great threat that had to be stopped. Their leader, Premier Cho Lai, was an evil man, but he was very clever. He plotted to undermine the evidence that your uncle had brought back. And to kill him and the people who helped him escape.

  But that was just our own personal tragedy.

  The whole world teetered on the brink of war. Far away in Southeast Asia, Vietnam was about to be overrun. A few ships from the American Navy, and a handful of advisers from the Army, were all that stood in the way. . . .

  ~ * ~

  ~ * ~

  1

  Beijing

  Premier Cho Lai watched the American on the video screen dispassionately, willing himself to study the man and what he said with the mind of a scientist and observer. The American’s message was one of venom, directed at Cho and his people, the Chinese country, and especially the Chinese army. It made Cho boil with anger and lust for vengeance. He wanted with all his heart to punch his hand through the video screen, to smash it—or better, to punch through the screen and somehow take this Josh MacArthur by his skinny, blotchy neck and strangle him. Cho could almost feel the boy’s thorax collapsing beneath his hands.

  Boy.

  That was what he was. Not a scientist, not a man—a boy. A rodent. Scum.

  No one would take him seriously if not for the images he’d brought back. They flashed on the screen as the scum’s voice continued to speak. The Chinese translation played across the bottom of the screen, but Cho had no need for it; he spoke English reasonably well, and in any event the images themselves told the story.

  All of his careful planning to make the invasion look as if the Vietnamese had instigated the war was threatened by this scum. It mattered nothing to Vietnam—Vietnam would be crushed no matter what the world thought. China needed its rice and oil, and it would have it.

  But this threatened the next step. For Cho knew that his country’s appetite was insatiable. The people who thronged the streets of Beijing not far from his compound were desperately short of food. Keeping them satisfied was an impossible task.

  Impossible for anyone but him. The last two governments had toppled in rapid succession, each lasting less than two short months thanks to food riots and dissension. Cho had used the unrest to maneuver himself to power, promising to end the disturbances. He would remain in power only as long as he could keep that promise. It was not that he had any enemies—the most prominent had met unfortunate accidents over the past few months, or else been exposed in corruption trials, or, in a few cases, bought off with timely appointments outside the country. But as his own rise had shown, it was not the prominent one who had to fear in the chaos of the moment; it was the obscure. Cho had risen from a job as lieutenant governor for agriculture in the parched western provinces. Two years before, no one in Beijing would even have known his name. Now they bowed to him.

  As the world would.

  But first, this danger must be dealt with. America, the world, must not be brought into the conflict. The giant must not be wakened, until it was too late for it to stop the inevitable momentum of Chinese conquest.

  Cho snapped off the video. He had seen enough.

  ~ * ~

  2

  Hainan Island, China

  Major Zeus Murphy tried not to look too conspicuous as he walked down the concourse toward his flight. In theory, he had nothing to fear: the United States and China were not at war, and while his U.S. passport had caused a few seconds of hesitation at the security gate, the check of his baggage had been perfunctory at best. But theory and reality did not always mesh, especially in this case: the war between China and Vietnam had greatly strained relations between the two countries, and even in the best times Chinese customs officials and local police were not exactly known for being evenhanded when dealing with citizens from other countries.

  And in this case, Zeus had a little extra to fear: he had just led a guerilla operation against the Chinese naval fleet gathered in the harbor, hopefully preventing it from launching an attack against the Vietnamese.

  He could see the red glow of distant flames reflecting in the dark glass of the passageway as he walked toward the gate. Too much time had passed for the fire to be on one of the boats they had blown up; Zeus suspected instead it was due to friendly fire, panic set off by the supposed attack of Vietnamese submarines on the landing ships that were gathered in the port.

  All for the better.

  A television screen hung on the wall near the gate ahead. Zeus slowed down to get a look. In the U.S., it would be set to a local or allnews station; by now it would be carrying live feeds from the attack, breathless correspondents warning of the coming apocalypse. Here it showed some sort of Chinese soap opera, or maybe a reality show; he couldn’t quite tell and didn’t want to make himself too conspicuous by stopping.

  He passed two more screens as he walked. Both were set to Chinese financial news stations. Though it was night here, it was still daytime in the U.S., and tickers showed stock prices across the bottom.

  A lot of red letters and do
wn arrows, Zeus noticed. War wasn’t good for anyone’s economy.

  “I thought you’d never get here,” said Win Christian, who rose from a seat across from the television.

  Christian was also a major, was also in the U.S. Army, and had also just helped blow up part of the invasion fleet. The two men had snuck ashore with the help of a Vietnamese agent, assumed identities as businessmen, and headed for the easiest way out—a Chinese flight to Hong Kong, and from there to Japan.

  Zeus nodded. They’d gotten into different lines at the security checkpoint, splitting up in case they were stopped.

  “Where’s the girl?” Christian asked, referring to the Vietnamese agent, Solt Jan.

  “I thought she was with you,” answered Zeus.

  Christian seemed even more nervous than he had earlier. Fidgeting, his eyes shifted continually, glancing in every direction. “I hope she didn’t bail.”

  “We got our tickets. Relax.”

  Christian glanced around. There were about forty people at the gate, waiting for the 11 p.m. flight to Hong Kong. The destination was written in English as well as Chinese on a whiteboard that sat on an easel next to the podium in front of the door to the plane tunnel. The door was closed, and the podium itself was roped off by a velvet-covered chain. There were no attendants nearby.

  Zeus glanced at his watch.

  “Half hour before boarding,” he told Christian. “Let’s get something to eat.”

  “You think that’s wise?”

  Zeus started toward a kiosk about ten meters away in the center of the gate area. Maybe some food would calm Christian down.

  “Guess it can’t be any worse than Vietnamese food,” said Christian, catching up.

  Zeus closed his eyes at the word Vietnamese. He glanced at Christian, who’d turned beet red.

  “I know,” muttered Christian almost inaudibly. “Sorry.”

  Zeus didn’t reply At least Christian realized he’d been an idiot; they were making progress.

  The vendor was a few years younger than Zeus, twenty-one or twenty-two at most. Zeus pointed at a bag of American-style potato chips.

  “Ten yuan,” said the young man in English.

  Zeus dug into his pocket. Solt had given him some Chinese money on the way over. He had some American money in his wallet as well— fifty dollars, barely enough to bribe the passport control people in Hong Kong, which would be necessary to get to Tokyo since his passport lacked the proper visa stamps.

  “Here are your crisps,” said the man, using the British term for the snack as he handed them over.

  “I’ll have a bag, too,” said Christian.

  The man kept his eyes locked on Zeus’s. It was a menacing stare, a dare.

  Why?

  “My change,” said Zeus.

  The man’s mouth twisted into a smile. Zeus held out his hand. The man looked down at it, and for a moment Zeus thought he was going to spit. Instead, he reached into the cash register. He took a bill and some coins, then dropped them into Zeus’s outstretched palm.

  Zeus locked his eyes on the man, not even bothering to count the change.

  “All of it,” he said.

  The clerk’s smile broadened. He reached into the register and fished out the right change, placing it into Zeus’s hand.

  “What the hell was that about?” Christian asked as they walked back to the gate.

  “Got me,” said Zeus.

  “He spoke English pretty well.”

  “Yeah,” said Zeus. “Good enough.”

  An airline employee had appeared at the podium and was fiddling with a microphone. She began to speak as Zeus and Christian approached. A few passengers got up from their seats; the rest looked anxiously toward her as she continued.

  “What’s she saying?” Christian asked.

  “I didn’t learn to speak Chinese in the last twenty minutes,” snapped Zeus. “Did you?”

  He reached into his pocket for his ticket, expecting she was trying to organize the boarding—probably asking for people with small children first. But no one moved forward.

  A short, balding man near the gate began speaking to the woman, haranguing her in slightly angry Chinese. Zeus turned around, looking for Solt. She should have met them by now.

  Admittedly, she hadn’t told him that she’d been on the flight; he’d just assumed that when she pressed the ticket into his hand in the lobby before disappearing in the crowd.

  “They’re not moving,” said Christian. “What’s going on?”

  “Flight cancel,” said a grim-faced man nearby. He added something in Chinese.

  “Excuse me,” said Zeus. “The flight’s canceled? Why?”

  The man shook his head.

  Zeus tried repeating the question, phrasing it more simply and speaking slower. “Why is the flight canceled?”

  “Flight cancel,” said the man. “Problem at airport. All flight.”

  “Shit,” said Christian.

  “Is it temporary?” asked Zeus.

  Again, the man shook his head, not understanding. The passengers at the podium moved closer to the woman, apparently asking questions.

  “Do you know . . . the next flight? When?” asked Zeus, trying to simplify what he wanted to know. “Is there another flight?”

  The man said something in Chinese. Zeus didn’t understand the words, but the meaning itself was clear: He had no idea.

  Most of the people at the gate remained in their seats. Zeus guessed that the airline was making other arrangements, and they had been told to wait.

  Or maybe not. Maybe the entire airport was closed. Maybe they thought they were under attack.

  He told himself to calm down, to relax and think it through. He was a businessman, not a saboteur—be aggravated, annoyed, not alarmed.

  “What are we going to do?” Christian asked.

  “I’ll ask what the story is,” said Zeus. “Maybe some of the airline people speak English. Come on.”

  “Right behind you,” hissed Christian.

  They joined the small knot of people near the attendant. Zeus stood patiently, hoping to hear someone speaking English. He didn’t.

  The people around him were mostly men, speaking quickly and not very politely. The woman fended them off with short bursts, giving as good as she got. It struck him that she was speaking the universal language of airline gate attendants: Sorry, you’re shit out of luck.

  “Excuse me,” said Zeus as the cacophony around him hit a lull. “Do you speak English?”

  “Flight cancel,” said the woman.

  “Why?”

  She turned to another passenger, who was saying something else. By the time she turned back in Zeus’s direction, it was obvious she had forgotten what he had said.

  “Is there another flight?” asked Zeus. “Will there be another flight? To Hong Kong.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “When is the flight?”

  Again she started to turn away to answer a different passenger. Zeus reached forward and touched her arm. The woman jerked back.

  “I’m sorry,” said Zeus. “When is the flight?”

  “No flight,” said the woman. She added something in Chinese, then began answering a man to Zeus’s right.

  Deciding he wasn’t going to get any more information from her, Zeus took a few steps back.

  The first order of business was to look for Solt Jan. Zeus turned to his left and faced the large aisle at the center of the gate area. He began scanning the faces of the crowd, examining each one in turn. The Vietnamese agent was a small woman, thin and petite. Pretty and petite. Dark hair, exotic looks: Asian and something else as well, probably Western, French maybe, or even Scandinavian.

  Zeus turned almost completely around without spotting her.

  “What do you think?” Christian’s voice trembled.

  “She must have gone back into the city,” said Zeus. “It’s just as well; they might suspect her. Let’s just play this through. We find an airline person who
speaks English. We’re businessmen, stranded because of our flight. Just play it through.”

  “What if we can’t get to Hong Kong?”

  Zeus shook his head. There were plenty of alternatives.

  “I don’t like this,” said Christian.

  “Here. Have some crisps.”

  Zeus held the top of the bag in his two hands and began pulling the sides apart slowly, trying to keep the bag intact as he ripped it. It required a certain amount of finesse, strength, and restraint at the same time.