Warshot (The Hunter Killer Series Book 6) by Don Keith (dark books to read TXT) 📕

course, I just gave the vice deputy minister a golden bridge that will not only allow him to retreat, it will ultimately lead him to his defeat.”

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The New China News, the CCP’s official mouthpiece, broke the news on its nightly Asian round-up. In a short, low-key piece, the news anchor, with a full-color map of the South China Sea as a backdrop, stated that an American warship had entered Chinese territorial waters near a scientific and military base on Dong Doa Island. When challenged about their illegal act, the American ship had initiated hostilities by opening fire on the island’s Coast Guard base.

The backdrop zoomed in to show the Spratly Islands with a large red star marking the location of Dong Doa.

Though only a very small garrison with limited defensive weaponry, the Chinese had bravely and rightfully defended themselves against this unprovoked attack. The American vessel, identified as the USS Tarbox, was defeated and nearly sunk. After the crew surrendered and pleaded for mercy, the ship had been quickly stabilized and salvaged by the efficient, well-trained crew of the People’s Liberation Army Navy tug Nan-Tuo Pennant 185 and towed to safety in Dong Doa harbor. The surviving crew were being held there until they could be tried for their crimes before the People’s Court.

The screen shifted to show the aggressor ship’s burnt and battered gray hull, the number—72—just visible through smoke-blackened paint.

The news anchor shifted to a story about a state visit from the president of Azerbaijan, including an official trip to a cellular telephone manufacturing plant and a tour of a new robotic soybean-processing facility.

Ψ

Stanley Smitherman, the president of the United States, sat behind the Resolute Desk, his elbows resting on its glossy oak surface, idly chewing on a huge bite of beef jerky. Two of his cabinet members awaited his questions. Secretary of State Sandra Dosetti and Secretary of Defense Harold Osterman were the only other people in the Oval Office at the moment. Each sat, as if at attention, in relatively new straight-back chairs, directly across the ancient desk from the president. They had both watched carefully to be sure he had not switched on his recording device.

The late-afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow through the thick bulletproof windows behind Smitherman. The effect, however, belied the tense mood permeating the big room.

“Okay, what do we do about this Tarbox fiasco?” Smitherman finally asked, his thick Texas drawl almost as pronounced as the Saturday Night Live characterizations of him. “Sandy, what in hell do those experts of yours say?”

Sandra Dosetti, a major player in her political party, hailed from the northeast corridors of power and academia. She had unofficially been dubbed by some in the media as the “Secretary of State for Wall Street.” She hesitated for a moment before answering, a trait often mimicked by members of her staff. Behind her back, of course. Then she cleared her throat and spoke.

“Well, Mr. President, our ambassador in Beijing advises me that the Chinese military is now on heightened alert. And our China desk warns that everything they are seeing points to an unprecedented belligerency from both the government and the Party. They are recommending we deal with this with a very delicate touch diplomatically so as not to play into whatever scheme they are carrying out. They believe overreacting would be a costly mistake.”

“Scheme?” The president was biting off another big piece of jerky.

Ever the astute politician, Secretary Dosetti ignored the question, referring to a sheet of paper on her lap. “Our polling is showing a very mixed voter response to media reports about tensions with China and our administration. Sixteen percent favor a show of military strength. Forty-two percent want to go to the United Nations for a resolution. Almost forty percent of the respondents were undecided. The rest is statistical noise.”

“Soccer moms.” Smitherman snorted. “That’s the ones where we’re lagging. Where do the damn soccer moms fall? I figger that’s always the best road sign on which way to turn.”

“Mr. President,” Dosetti replied. “I am afraid I don’t have an answer for you there. That particular demographic made up most of the undecided sample.”

“Well, that sure as hell ain’t much help,” President Smitherman grunted. He turned to the Secretary of Defense. “Help me here, Harold. What does the military make of all this struttin’ and spittin’?”

Harold Osterman, newly confirmed as Secretary of Defense, represented the West Coast power structure in the Smitherman regime, specifically Silicon Valley and Hollywood. He was still finding his way around the labyrinthine corridors of the Pentagon.

“Mr. President, the Joint Chiefs are doing their usual little noncommittal routine, but the best I can tell, they don’t think we are in a position to go head-to-head against the Chinese right now. Especially way out there. Our supply chains are very vulnerable. We depend on Chinese sources for many vital materials, not the least of which are high-performance computer chips and the primary ingredients for solar panels, which your administration is pushing very hard.”

Smitherman muttered a decided, “Harrumph,” in response to Secretary Osterman’s last statement.

The SECDEF ignored him and continued. “Military intelligence informs us that they would expect a strong military response to any action we take, claiming they are only defending their historic territories in the South China Sea. You know they’ve put a flag on every rock, reef, and turtle in that ungodly pool of water. You saw that silly twelve-segment, dotted-line map they just released. It shows them claiming everything from just off Vietnam all the way around the South China and Philippine Seas to northeast of Taiwan. Including Taiwan. Any miscalculated armed response and things could easily spiral into something very damaging. Maybe even World War III, and the Joint Chiefs have no assurance that we would win such a conflict.”

President Smitherman leaned way back in his leather desk chair and clutched his hands behind his head.

“Well, that kinda decides things, then, don’t it? We hem and haw for a bit, and just let everything play out with