Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan Books 7-12 (572 page)

But Wallace was fighting a defensive war to this point. He was successfully defending Russian airspace. He was not taking out Chinese targets, not even attacking the Chinese troops on the ground in Siberia. So, though his fighters were having a fine, successful war, they just weren’t accomplishing anything important. To that end, he lifted his satellite link to America.

“We ain’t got no bombs, General,” he told Mickey Moore.

“Well, your fellow Air Scouts are maxed out on taskings, and Mary Diggs is screaming to get some trash haulers to get him his chopper brigade moved to where he needs it.”

“Sir, this is real simple. If you want us to kill some Chinese targets, we have to have bombs. I hope I’m not going too fast for you,” Wallace added.

“Go easy, Gus,” Moore warned.

“Well, sir, maybe it just looks a little different in Washington, but where I’m sitting right now, I have missions, but not the tools to carry those missions out. So, you D.C. people can either send me the tools or rescind the missions. Your call, sir.”

“We’re working on it,” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs assured him.

D
o I have any orders?” Mancuso asked the Secretary of Defense.

“Not at this time,” Bretano sold CINCPAC.

“Sir, may I ask why? The TV says we’re in a shooting war with China. Am I supposed to play or not?”

“We are considering the political ramifications,” THUNDER explained.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“You heard me.”

“Mr. Secretary, all I know about politics is voting every couple of years, but I have a lot of gray ships under my command, and they’re technically known as warships, and my country is at war.” The frustration in Mancuso’s voice was plain.

“Admiral, when the President decides what to do, you will find out. Until then, ready your command for action. It’s going to happen. I’m just not sure when.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Mancuso hung up and looked at his subordinates. “Political ramifications,” he said. “I didn’t think Ryan was like that.”

“Sir,” Mike Lahr soothed. “Forget ‘political’ and think ‘psychological,’ okay? Maybe Secretary Bretano just used the wrong word. Maybe the idea is to hit them when it’ll do the most good—because we’re messing with their heads, sir, remember?”

“You think so?”

“Remember who the Vice President is? He’s one of us, Admiral. And President Ryan isn’t a pussy, is he?”

“Well ... no, not that I recall,” CINCPAC said, remembering the first time he’d met the guy, and the shoot-out he’d had aboard
Red October.
No, Jack Ryan wasn’t a pussy. “So, what do you suppose he’s thinking?”

“The Chinese have a land war going on—air and land, anyway. Nothing’s happening at sea. They may not expect anything to happen at sea. But they are surging some ships out, just to establish a defense line for the mainland. If we get orders to hit those ships, the purpose will be to make a psychological impact. So, let’s plan along those lines, shall we? Meanwhile, we keep getting more assets in place.”

“Right.” Mancuso nodded and turned to face the wall. Pacific Fleet was nearly all west of the dateline now, and the Chinese had probably no clue where his ships were, but he knew about them. USS
Tucson
was camped out on 406, the single PRC ballistic-missile submarine. It was known to the west as a “Xia” class SSBN, and his intelligence people disagreed on the sub’s actual name, but “406” was the number painted on its sail, and that was how he thought of it. None of that mattered to Mancuso. The first shoot order he planned to issue would go to
Tucson
—to put that missile-armed sub at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. He remembered that the PRC had nuclear-tipped missiles, and those in his area of responsibility would disappear as soon as he had authorization to deal with them. USS
Tucson
was armed with Mark 48 ADCAP fish, and they’d do the job on
that
target, assuming that he was right and President Ryan wasn’t a pussy after all.

A
nd so, Marshal Luo?” Zhang Han San asked.

“Things go well,” he replied at once. “We crossed the Amur River with trivial losses, captured the Russian positions in a few hours, and are now driving north.”

“Enemy opposition?”

“Light. Very light, in fact. We’re starting to wonder if the Russians have any forces deployed in sector at all. Our intelligence suggests the presence of two mechanized divisions, but if they’re there, they haven’t advanced to establish contact with us. Our forces are racing forward, making better than thirty kilometers per day. I expect to see the gold mine in seven days.”

“Is anything going badly?” Qian asked.

“Only in the air. The Americans have deployed fighters to Siberia, and as we all know, the Americans are very clever with their machines, especially the ones that fly. They have inflicted some losses on our fighter aircraft,” the Defense Minister admitted.

“How large are the losses?”

“Total, over one hundred. We’ve gotten twenty-five or so of theirs in return, but the Americans are masters of aerial combat. Fortunately, their aircraft can do little to hinder the advance of our tanks, and, as you have doubtless noted, they have not attacked into our territory at all.”

“Why is that, Marshal?” Fang asked.

“We are not certain,” Luo answered, turning to the MSS chief. “Tan?”

“Our sources are not certain, either. The most likely explanation is that the Americans have made a political decision not to attack us directly, but merely to defend their Russian ‘ally’ in a pro forma way. I suppose there is also the consideration that they do not wish to take losses from our air defenses, but the main reason for their restraint is undoubtedly political.”

Heads nodded around the table. It was indeed the most likely explanation for the American lack of action, and all of these men understood political considerations.

“Does this mean that they are measuring their action against us in such a way as to cause us minimal injury?” Tong Jie asked. It was so much the better for him, of course, since the Interior Ministry would have to deal with the internal dislocations that systematic attacks might cause.

“Remember what I said before,” Zhang pointed out. “They
will
do business with us once we’ve secured our new territory. So, they already anticipate this. It seems plain that they will support their Russian friends, but only so much. What else are the Americans but mercenaries? This President Ryan, what was he?”

“He was a CIA spy, and by all accounts an effective one,” Tan Deshi reminded them.

“No,” Zhang disagreed. “He was a trader in stocks before he joined CIA, and then he was a stock trader again after he left—and whom does he bring into his cabinet? Winston, another hugely rich capitalist, a trader in stocks and securities, a typical American rich man. I tell you, money is the key to understanding these people. They do business. They have no political ideology, except to fatten their purses. To do that, you try not to make blood enemies, and now, here, with us, they do not try to anger us too greatly. I tell you, I understand these people.”

“Perhaps,” Qian said. “But what if there are objective circumstances which prevent more aggressive action?”

“Then why is their navy not taking action? Their navy is most formidable, but it does nothing, correct, Luo?”

“Not to this point, but we are wary of them,” the marshal warned. He was a soldier, not a sailor, even though the PLAN did come under his command. “We have patrol aircraft looking for them, but so far we have not spotted anything. We know they are not in harbor, but that is all.”

“They do nothing with their navy. They do nothing with their land forces. They sting us slightly with their air forces, but what is that? The buzzing of insects.” Zhang dismissed the issue.

“How many have underestimated America, and this Ryan fellow, and done so to their misfortune?” Qian demanded. “Comrades, I tell you, this is a dangerous situation we are in. Perhaps we can succeed, all well and good if that comes to pass, but overconfidence can be any man’s undoing.”

“And overestimating one’s enemy ensures that you will never do anything,” Zhang Han San countered. “Did we get to where we are, did our country get to where we are, by timidity? The Long March was not made by cowards.” He looked around the table, and no one summoned the character to argue with him.

“So, things go well in Russia?” Xu asked the Defense Minister.

“Better than the plan,” Luo assured them all.

“Then we proceed,” the Premier decided for them all, once others had made the real decisions. The meeting soon adjourned, and the ministers went their separate ways.

“Fang?”

The junior Minister-Without-Portfolio turned to see Qian Kun coming after him in the corridor. “Yes, my friend?”

“The reason the Americans have not taken firmer action is that they act at the end of a single railroad to move them and their supplies. This takes time. They have not dropped bombs on us, probably, because they don’t have any. And where does Zhang get this rubbish about American ideology?”

“He is wise in the ways of international affairs,” Fang replied.

“Is he? Is he really? Is he not the one who tricked the Japanese into commencing a war with America? And why—so that we and they could seize Siberia. And then did he not quietly support Iran and their attempt to seize the Saudi kingdom? And why? So that we could then use the Muslims as a hammer to beat Russia into submission—so that we could seize Siberia. Fang, all he thinks about is Siberia. He wishes to see it under our flag before he dies. Perhaps he wishes to have his ashes buried in a golden urn, like the emperors,” Qian hissed. “He’s an adventurer, and those men come to bad ends.”

“Except those who succeed,” Fang suggested.

“How many of them succeed, and how many die before a stone wall?” Qian shot back. “I say the Americans will strike us, and strike us hard once their forces are assembled. Zhang follows his own political vision, not facts, not reality. He may lead our country to its doom.”

“Are the Americans so formidable as that?”

“If they are not, Fang, why does Tan spend so much of his time trying to steal their inventions? Don’t you remember what America did to Japan and Iran? They are like the wizards of legend. Luo tells us that they’ve savaged our air force. How often has he told us how formidable our fighters are? All the money we spent on those wonderful aircraft, and the Americans slaughter them like hogs fattened for market! Luo claims we’ve gotten twenty-five of theirs. He
claims
only twenty-five. More likely we’ve gotten one or two! Against over a hundred losses, but Zhang tells us the Americans don’t want to challenge us. Oh, really? What held them back from smashing Japan’s military, and then annihilating Iran’s?” Qian paused for breath. “I fear this, Fang. I fear what Zhang and Luo have gotten us into.”

“Even if you are right, what can we do to stop it?” the minister asked.

“Nothing,” Qian admitted. “But
someone
must speak the truth.
Someone
must warn of the danger that lies before us, if we are to have a country left at the end of this misbegotten adventurism.”

“Perhaps so. Qian, you are as ever a voice of reason and prudence. We will speak more,” Fang promised, wondering how much of the man’s words was alarmism, and how much was good sense. He’d been a brilliant administrator of the state railroads, and therefore was a man with a firm grasp on reality.

Fang had known Zhang for most of his adult life. He was a highly skilled player on the political stage, and a brilliantly gifted manipulator of people. But Qian was asking if those talents translated into a correct perception of reality, and did he
really
understand America and Americans—and most of all, this Ryan fellow? Or was he just forcing oddly shaped pegs into the slots he’d engraved in his own mind? Fang admitted that he didn’t know, and more to the point, didn’t know the answers to the implicit questions. He did not know himself whether Zhang was right or not. And he really should. But who might? Tan of the Ministry of State Security? Shen of the Foreign Ministry? Who else? Certainly not Premier Xu. All he did was to confirm the consensus achieved by others, or to repeat the words spoken into his ear by Zhang.

Fang walked to his office thinking about all these things, trying to organize his thoughts. Fortunately, he had a system for achieving that.

I
t started in Memphis, the headquarters of Federal Express. Faxes and telexes arrived simultaneously, telling the company that its wide-body cargo jets were being taken into federal service under the terms of a Phase I call-up of the Civilian Reserve Air Fleet. That meant that all freight-capable aircraft that the federal government had helped to finance (that was nearly all of them, because no commercial bank could compete with Washington when it came to financing things) were now being taken, along with their crews, under the control of the Air Mobility Command. The notice wasn’t welcome, but neither was it much of a surprise. Ten minutes later came follow-up messages telling the aircraft where to go, and soon thereafter they started rolling. The flight crews, the majority of them military-trained, wondered where their ultimate destinations were, sure that they’d be surprising ones. The pilots would not be disappointed in this.

FedEx would have to make do with its older narrow-body aircraft, like the venerable Boeing 727s with which the company had gotten started two decades earlier. That, the dispatchers knew, would be a stretch, but they had assistance agreements with the airlines, which they would now activate in order to try to keep up with the continuing shipment of legal documents and live lobsters all over America.

J
ust how inefficient is it?” Ryan asked.

“Well, we can deliver one day’s worth of bombs in three days’ worth of flying—maybe two if we stretch things a little, but that’s as good as it’s going to get,” Moore told him. “Bombs are heavy things, and getting them around uses up a lot of jet fuel. General Wallace has a nice list of targets to service, but to do that he needs bombs.”