“The GR-3R ‘Drevnik’ units have revolutionized Russian industrial capacity,” the report stated in the bloodless prose of intelligence analysis. “Current estimates suggest 400,000 units operational across mining, construction, and manufacturing sectors. While these humanoid platforms demonstrate remarkable capability in civilian applications, assessment indicates they remain unsuitable for military deployment. Susceptibility to jamming, vulnerability to high-powered microwave systems, and limited autonomous decision-making restrict combat applications.”
Batista set the report aside, massaging his temples. At least that was something. Bad enough that Russia and China had formed the largest military alliance since the Warsaw Pact. If they’d managed to create an army of combat robots too…
A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts.
“Come in.”
Secretary of Defense Thomas “T. J.” Varnell entered, bringing a gust of cold air from the hallway. Snow still dusted his shoulders, a sign he’d likely come in via the West Wing basement instead of the covered entry his motorcade would typically use. If Batista had to guess, whatever Varnell’s reason for stopping over, he didn’t want it to show up in the official logs.
“Mr. Secretary.” Batista stood. Despite their long friendship, protocol mattered. Varnell outranked him in the chain of command, even if they both reported directly to the President.
“Jim.” Varnell didn’t take the offered chair. Instead, he moved to the window, watching snowflakes swirl like ash outside the West Wing office. His voice was low, edged with something Batista rarely heard from him — unease. “Did you read the President’s Daily Brief this morning?”
Batista nodded slowly, already dreading where this was going. “I take it you’re referring to the cable from the Beijing Station?”
“That’s the one.” Varnell turned, arms crossed. “The Station Chief at the embassy flagged the preliminary agenda for this year’s National People’s Congress. Buried deep in the proposed resolutions were two items — subtle, but loaded.”
Batista raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess, Taiwan?”
“Bingo. But it’s worse than usual.” Varnell walked over and dropped a red-striped folder on Batista’s desk. “The details are inside. They’re reaffirming the ‘One China’ line, but they’ve taken it a step further and rewritten the language entirely. Now they’re referring to the President of Taiwan as the ‘Provincial Governor of Chinese Taiwan.’ The entire ROC government’s been downgraded to provincial officials under Beijing’s authority. It’s legal fiction — but designed for maximum humiliation.”
Batista exhaled through his nose, cold fury flashing across his face. “Damn, talk about throwing gas on a fire.”
“Yeah, and that’s not the worst of it,” Varnell continued. “The agenda includes a sweeping counter-narcotics initiative. You know that synthetic drug called
Batista nodded. “Yeah, it’s their version of our fentanyl crisis. Let me guess; they’re still blaming
“And more. They’re now accusing us of engineering a new Opium War.”
Batista frowned. “I’ve seen the MSS statements… I figured it was just propaganda fodder for domestic consumption.”
“It is and it isn’t. The draft enforcement plan for countering it now includes maritime inspections — targeting inbound cargo vessels from ‘non-compliant jurisdictions,’” Varnell said, quoting directly. “You want to guess which island got named.”
Batista’s gaze sharpened. “Taiwan, of course.”
Varnell nodded. “The civilian coast guard gets the lead. But the fine print authorizes the PLA Navy to support inspection operations. Refuse inspection, and the vessel is presumed complicit in narcotics smuggling. That’s the legal trick — they’re not calling it a blockade. It’s a civilian-led anti-drug enforcement effort. But we both know it’ll be used as a pretext for more.”
“Great, just what we need on top of everything else,” Batista muttered, grabbing the folder, reading it quickly. “This reads like a war plan dressed in a narcotics policy.”
“That’s what the Beijing Station Chief thinks,” Varnell replied grimly. “He believes it might be tied it to a cryptic tip we got from Seoul before their man went dark. Remember that South Korean operative — Pan Min-jae? He caught wind of a backroom meeting in Blagoveshchensk. The operative mentioned something called
Batista’s spine stiffened as the pieces began to fall into place. “You’re saying this might be more than some anti-drug operation?”
“I’m saying it’s a slow-rolling operation masked by lawfare and op-ed outrage. And if we’re not ready for whatever it is, come April fifteenth, the PLA Navy will be inspecting commercial vessels in the Taiwan Strait under color of law — and daring us to stop them.”
