Tiger's Claw: A Novel (13 page)

Brad shrugged. “That sounds okay with me. Doing what?”

“Whatever Colonel Hoffman tells you to do,” Patrick said. “I imagine it’ll be a lot of the stuff you do around here—parking planes, assisting the techs, being a gofer, odd jobs, sweeping floors, fueling planes. After you get your commercial certificate, you could do flying chores for his business, like picking up other students, picking up parts, and so on. If you got your instructor’s license, you’d build hours flying students and build your hours even faster. You’ll get paid a regular salary based on your hours, but you’ll only receive about half the money—the rest will go toward reimbursing Warbirds Forever for your flying training.”

“That’s cool.”

“But remember, you’ll also be a full-time aviation student as well as a full-time worker,” Patrick warned him. “That means a regular job on top of a lot of studying and flying.”

“I can do it,” Brad said. “I had part-time jobs on top of football and high school. No sweat.”

“I think there will be a lot of sweat, son.”

“I can handle it, Dad. What other issues?”

“Warbirds Forever is an accredited school, but it doesn’t have dorms—most of Colonel Hoffman’s flight school clients are pretty wealthy and stay in hotels or apartments and rent cars, and there’s no money for any of that for you,” Patrick said. “He also doesn’t have dining halls, gyms, or recreation facilities.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“Colonel Hoffman has offered to let you bunk in a storeroom in one of his hangars, rent free,” Patrick said. “I have no idea what it’s like. I’m sure you won’t have TV or much of anything else in your room, but I don’t think you’ll have much time for TV either.”

Brad was a little more reserved this time, but after a few moments, he still nodded. “I can handle it,” he said. “Just a few weeks ago I was crawling in mud over my head at Second Beast—I think I can live in a storeroom for a little while.”

“That’s the spirit,” Patrick said.

“Anything else?”

“One more thing.” Patrick paused for a moment, then said: “This is strictly between you and me, okay?”

Brad narrowed his eyes in concern, but nodded. “Sure, Dad. What?”

“Colonel Hoffman can be . . . a real Doctor Jekyll–Mister Hyde character sometimes,” Patrick said. “He’s a good guy and a great pilot and instructor, but if he thinks you’re not working hard enough, he’ll turn on you like a rabid werewolf. You do things his way, or
else.
You said you had some tough cadet instructors at the Air Force Academy? Tom Hoffman will be a hundred times tougher. He demands excellence in everything he gets involved with. You will train to nothing less than ATP flight standards the moment you step into any one of his planes, from a piston single to a twin jet. The minimum passing score on all his written tests is
ninety percent,
and on the emergency procedures bold-print items and reference speeds that have to be committed to memory his passing score is
one hundred
percent. Three failed written or flight test is cause for dismissal. The only reason he still works with me and lets me fly the jets is that I’m the boss and I pay the bills—he would have dismissed me from flying the Excaliburs months ago because I couldn’t hand-fly it within fifty feet of an assigned altitude. His cadres of instructors are just as tough.” Brad was silent again, and Patrick even thought he saw his son swallow nervously. “But we all work with him almost on a daily basis, and no one has tried to strangle the other, so we know it can work. You just do what you’ve been doing around here: work hard, keep your mouth shut and your ears open, pitch in, and strive for perfection.”

O
FFICE OF THE
P
RESIDENT
, Z
HONGNANHAI
, B
EIJING
, P
EOPLE’S
R
EPUBLIC OF
C
HINA

T
HAT SAME TIME

Foreign Minister Tang Ji entered President Zhou Qiang’s office to find the chief of the general staff of the People’s Liberation Army,
Shàng Jiàng
(Colonel General) Zu Kai, already waiting on him. Tang, a longtime foreign affairs official who had served three previous administrations, knew very well how great General Zu’s influence was with the president, and he was dismayed but not surprised to see him here before he was allowed to brief and speak with the president first. The feeling he immediately had was that the next decision had already been made. “Good evening, Comrade President, General,” he said, bowing to Zhou.

“You spoke with the American secretary of state, Kevich, Comrade Tang?” Zhou asked without preamble or without offering his foreign minister a seat.

“Yes, Comrade President,” Tang said, still standing. “The Americans are requesting that we not interfere with search-and-rescue operations for their surveillance plane in the South Sea, what they call the South China Sea.”

“I know what they call it, Tang,” Zhou spat. A longtime Chinese Communist Party Central Committee member and former president of a shipping company in Shanghai, Zhou Qiang was well educated in business but even more familiar with down-and-dirty Party politics. He wore dark business suits, Western-style shoes shined to a high polish, and preferred silk ties, gold wristwatches, and French cigarettes. He kept his hair dyed black despite being well over sixty years of age, and he even invested in contact lenses to avoid wearing glasses. “They would
like
to call it the ‘American Ignores China Once Again Sea.’ ” General Zu smiled at the remark. “You told Kevich that movement of Chinese forces in the South Sea is not subject to any foreign powers’ authority, yes?”

“I told Mr. Kevich that I would pass along his request to my superiors and return with their reply,” Tang said. “Kevich thanked me, reminded me that the lost aircraft contained classified information important to American national security, and asked if I understood the importance of cooperation in this matter. Kevich said that a ship or aircraft lost due to unknown circumstances is a highly grave and important matter for any nation and since America had search forces in the area that we should understand and respect their wishes.”

“He said all that, did he?” Zhou asked acidly. “They send a spy plane to snoop on us over the South Sea, which they know to be extremely vital to our national security and closely guarded by China, and then we should be cooperative when their spy plane goes down? Why were they not so cooperative when we ordered them not to continue eavesdropping over China’s eastern coast?”

“I told you, sir, the Americans do not care about cooperation or mutual respect—they want us to heel and do as ordered,” General Zu said. “No matter if they are a few mere hundred kilometers from our soil, they continue to order China around. Even now, they are sending an aircraft carrier battle group northward, and we believe they will send a second one soon.”

“They lost an important aircraft and a valuable crew, General,” Tang said. Tang appeared to be Zu’s complete opposite: he was tall and thin, almost fragile-looking. “They are understandably concerned. I know Secretary Kevich very well, and I believe him to be sincere, straightforward, and unthreatening. As is customary in maritime accidents involving foreign powers, China should offer assistance before approaching the crash site.”

“Is that so, Tang?” President Zhou asked. “You do not seem to be too offended that the Americans freely send their spy planes, ships, and submarines near our shores day after day. We lose more and more control over our own affairs every day. For all we know, the Americans staged this entire episode simply to give themselves justification to move their warships into the South Sea and harass our commercial shipping and monitor our military activities!”

“Down their own aircraft and kill their own soldiers?” Tang asked, disbelief thick in his voice. He glanced at Zu, who was watching Tang closely. “That is not credible, Comrade.”

“How do we know it was a spy plane?” Zhou asked. “General Zu says the Americans build their spy planes from civilian airliners and purposely do not use military markings on them so they cannot be differentiated from unarmed civilian planes.”

“I do not know about such things,” Tang said. “If it is true, we should condemn such practices in the strongest possible terms. But again, sir, why would the Americans bring down one of their own planes and kill their own sailors? They are free to send their warships through the South Sea at any . . .”

“
That
is the attitude I want terminated here, Comrade Tang,
right now
and
forever
!” Zhou interjected, jabbing a finger at Tang and then angrily rising to his feet. “The South Sea belongs to
China,
do you understand? It is not an international body of water that any nation, friend or foe, can traverse on a whim! Free navigation of the South Sea is possible only because China allows it!”

“Excuse me, Comrade President, but that is simply not the case,” Tang said. “Seven other nations have borders on the South Sea. Almost half the world’s shipping transits the South Sea every year. No nation can claim ownership of the South Sea.”

“There is over a thousand years of historical fact and scores of international agreements to back up China’s legitimate claims,” Zhou said. “Most of the countries that claim parts or islands in the South Sea did not even
exist
a thousand years ago—how can they claim ownership of something when they were not even there? And the Americans have absolutely
no
claim to expect free navigation through the South Sea, especially by spy planes, submarines armed with nuclear weapons, and warships carrying cruise missiles that can devastate our country from long distance.”

“Sir . . .”

“Tang, I am not saying China wishes to prevent any
friendly
nation from transiting the South Sea,” Zhou said. “But if any nation seeks to threaten China in any way via the South Sea, militarily or economically, we
will
take action.” He turned directly to Tang. “Kevich wants a reply from me, does he?” he snapped. “Tell him this: We may not have the military might of America—yet—but we will not be frightened away from our ancestral territories. You consider the South Sea international waters and free to do whatever you wish? I am telling you, America is wrong. The South Sea belongs to China—it has for millennia, and it always will.

“China wants nothing but peaceful commerce on the high seas and unfettered access to all the world’s oceans and ports,” Zhou went on. “We shall continue to allow free transit of the South Sea to all peaceful commerce. But warships and spy planes are another matter entirely. You fly your spy planes and sail your warships through our territory at your own peril. China will employ whatever weapons systems we feel necessary to match or exceed the military might of any interloping foreign power. That is all, Comrade Tang.” Tang bowed, keeping his eyes averted, and departed the president’s office.

“It is about time someone utters those words and takes that arrogant bastard Tang down a peg, Comrade Zhou,” General Zu said after Tang had departed.

“The bureaucrats and foreign industrialists are getting drunk on foreign money and the power they can buy with it, Colonel General Zu,” Zhou said angrily, finding a cigarette and lighting up. “And the Communist Party Central Committee and the People’s Committee are doing nothing to rein in these fat cats. The foreign industrialists, bankers, and the bureaucrats who support them want nothing more than accommodation with a resurgent American military presence in the Pacific so they can keep on churning out goods and making themselves rich. The industrialists do not want to confront the Americans. They value their balance of trade figures and profits over sovereignty, and they forget basic Communist ideals. The Party is confused about what to do—side with the industrialists who are stripping China of its sovereignty in the name of profit, or repel the outsiders.”

“Then nationalize the foreign companies and banks and make the Party toe the line, Comrade President,” Zu said. “You have the power to do so. The military will stand beside you. You have shown your commitment to a strong air force and blue-water navy, and the general staff and corps commanders agree with you that we need to get rid of this rampant capitalism and return to our revolutionary roots before yet another generation is corrupted.”

President Zhou took a deep drag of his cigarette and stared off into space. “It is not that simple, Comrade General,” he said. “The people want jobs, and they are moving more and more to the east where the jobs are. If we do not have jobs, the peasants will rise up against the government. The industrialists guarantee to the bureaucrats that the jobs will be there. The Party committees in each province get payouts in exchange for more factories. It is the infection of capitalism, General.”

“Then take command of the situation, Comrade President,” Zu said. “The Party and the military have always been successful in controlling both the countryside and the cities by working together. We can retake control of the people and our basic Communist tenets by removing all the corrupt bureaucrats and nationalizing the foreign companies and banks. Take the next step, sir—the military will stand with you, I guarantee it.”

“Tread carefully here, General,” Zhou said. “If foreign investment dries up, the economy could collapse.”

“The world wants Chinese labor, they want us to buy their raw materials, and they want us to supply inexpensive goods from our factories,” Zu said. “We will still supply all those things . . . except the Party should control how our resources are managed, not the foreigners and the greedy bureaucrats.”

Zhou nodded, staring into nothingness. “Thank you for your candor and insights, Comrade General,” he said finally. “It is good to know others share my concerns about the direction our country is heading.” He paused again, then asked: “Is there any evidence about what happened to that American patrol plane, General?”

“No, sir,” Zu lied. “The P-8 Poseidon is a relatively new system, although the aircraft itself, based on a popular commercial airliner, is very reliable. They chose to mount a great deal of new equipment in a smaller aircraft than the previous P-3 Orion. I would suspect a massive electrical fault crippled the aircraft.”

“I am not inclined to pull our own search helicopters away from the area,” Zhou said. “I think it is important for China to show a large and dedicated presence when major incidents like this happen in the South Sea. We should offer full and complete assistance in conducting a search and rescue.”

“I agree completely, sir,” Zu said. “The intelligence value of this incident must not be overlooked. America chose to take the risk by flying one of its spy planes close to our warships, and it lost. We owe it to ourselves to gather as much intelligence information as we can before the American Navy pushes us aside, which they can and will do. If we can recover the fuselage intact, we could gather a great deal of information about the Americans’ latest signals-gathering systems. That is the reason they want us out of there, sir, not because they are afraid of a collision. We should make all efforts to gather as much of the wreckage as possible before the Americans move an aircraft carrier battle group in position.”

“Then that is how we shall have it, Comrade General,” Zhou said. “I do not want a shooting war, but I will not be pushed around by the American secretary of state. Recover as much as you can before the American aircraft carrier arrives. Avoid hostilities unless your forces must defend themselves. Withdraw your forces after the American warships arrive.”

“Yes, sir,” Zu said. He saluted and departed.

Zu was met by his deputy chief of staff, Major General Sun Ji. Both men said nothing until they were back in Zu’s staff car and were on their way to army headquarters, then Sun spoke: “Sir, we received yet another message from the American naval attaché.” He handed over a message form. “They are asking us to withdraw our search helicopters from the crash site. They are sending a Coast Guard vessel with its helicopters to start the search, and they fear a collision.”

“Foreign Minister Tang spoke with the American secretary of state, stating the same thing,” Zu said. “Zhou authorized us to proceed with our own search until the American searchers arrive, and then back off.”

“That will be in just a few hours, sir,” Sun said. “An American Coast Guard aircraft is already approaching the area, and they have a Global Hawk aircraft overhead. The Coast Guard vessel will be on station in a few hours.”

“I want to talk with Admiral Zhen.” General Sun activated the car’s on-board secure satellite telephone, waited for a secure connection and a reply, then handed the receiver to Zu.

“Admiral Zhen here, sir,”
Hai Jun Zhong Jiang
(Vice Admiral) Zhen Peng, commander of the South Sea Fleet based in Zhanjiang, Guangdong Province, responded.

“Status of the search.”

“We have collected a few artifacts, sir, and a few items such as antennae that may have some intelligence or technology value,” Zhen said. “Nothing yet of any personnel, the fuselage, or the engines.”

“I want to delay the Americans finding out about Silent Thunder or the air attack on the P-8 patrol plane as long as possible,” Zu said. “Increase the number of search helicopters.”