General Curtis was shaking his head. Thirty-three divisions — over one-half of China’s ground forces and one-third of their total military, and what had the President of the United States given him?
Two aircraft carrier groups and the STRATFOR.
Worse, the President later cut Curtis and the Joint Chiefs out of the loop by insisting that Admiral Stoval, the Commander in Chief of Pacific Command, who was responsible for the carrier task force moving to the South China Sea, report to Thomas Preston, the Defense Secretary, through the National Security Council. That left Curtis not only seething, but in a rather embarrassing position with the other Joint Chiefs, who knew what the President had done.
Rodgers switched her electronic screen to a zoomed-in view of the South China Sea region. Specifically, the Spratly Island chain.
“The Chinese are moving half their fleet into the area,” Curtis observed with some alarm. The other Joint Chiefs murmured in agreement. “Captain, I want to know what ships they’re moving in there and why. I also want a letter from State spelling out precisely what the Philippine government has authorized the Chinese Army Navy to do. This makes me pretty damned uneasy.”
“Well, it should,” Chief of Naval Operations Randolph Cunningham grumbled. “We don’t have diddly in the area and the damn Chinese know it. They set off a nuke, then rush in and claim it’s a major threat to their sovereignty. They’re taking over the South China Sea faster than you can blink — and we’re just sitting here. This is bullshit.”
It certainly was, but what could Curtis do?
He answered his own question thirty minutes later, after the briefing, when he got back to his office. His aide, Colonel Wyatt, entered and said, “Sir, you have a scrambled phone call from CINCSAC — General Tyler. He says it’s a conference call.”
“Conference call? With who?”
“General Brad Elliott and a Doctor Jon Masters…”
Elliott? A smile came across Curtis’ face. He took a sip of the coffee Wyatt had just brought in. He hadn’t seen Elliott in months, even though he was one of his favorites. Elliott had had some up and down times — first as Deputy Commander of SAC, then as Director of HAWC, then as head of the government’s Border Security, only to be fired and bounced back to HAWC, again.
And Masters?… Of Sky Masters, Inc.? The NIRTSats? Curtis took the phone call. After pleasantries were exchanged all around, Elliott and Tyler got right to the point: “General Curtis, we need clearance on something we think we’re going to need down in the Philippines.”
Curtis’ ears picked up. “Go on…”
“We want to deploy the NIRTSat recon system that Doctor Masters has built, with a few of my Megafortress escort bombers that are out at the Strategic Warfare Center. We also want some on a few of the RC-135s that’ll be deployed for STRATFOR. We need your blessing, though.”
Curtis thought about the briefing he’d just come out of. Two carriers in the face of a possible Chinese land-grab. The President had authorized STRATFOR into position on Guam. They’d have to be ready. “Doctor Masters,” Curtis said, “you can really put that reconnaissance system on tactical aircraft?” -
“You bet I can, General,” Masters said over the pop of the scrambled line. “We can make the Megafortress the most high-tech flying machine this side of
“Plus I’ve got a B-2 Black Knight bomber equipped the same way, except with even more surprises,” Elliott said. “They’ve all been tearing up the Air Battle Force in exercises out at Jarrel’s SWC, and if we have to go out against the Chinese in the Philippines, I think you’ll want them out there.”
Curtis smiled. “Do it, you old warhorse. You just made my day.”
Daniel Teguina was ushered into President Mikaso’s residence by a Philippine Presidential Guard, then left alone in front of the door to Mikaso’s office. Teguina straightened his tie and his shoulders, cleared his throat quietly, then knocked on the door. After receiving a curt “Come,” he entered.
Teguina paced before the small desk in the center of the room and stood impatiently as Mikaso continued to work on something. Everything in this room was small, understated, almost peasantlike — Mikaso kept this office spartan, with only a few native wall hangings, simple wood furnishings, and bookcases crammed with every type of book, written in several languages. It was here that Mikaso did his best work, as productive as a monk in solitude.
