Warshot (The Hunter Killer Series Book 6) by Don Keith (top ten ebook reader TXT) 📗

upped their belligerent stance considerably with a lot of talk about the Middle Kingdom returning to its rightful place among the world’s nations, to fully revert to center stage after what they termed the “Century of Humiliation.” Ward well knew that the Chinese Communist Party viewed the Middle Kingdom’s rightful place was to be the world’s dominant power economically, but more. Right now, it was clear that they were looking to a military effort to convince the rest of the planet of that fact.

The Tarbox’s mysterious disappearance and the loss of the drone Triton flight PE Six-Zero certainly added to the angst that the Navy’s new top spook was feeling. Was this only the initial steps in a deadly escalation? Were the Chinese looking for some kind of rash retaliation, some overreaction, so they could claim to be in the right and that the United States was the imperialistic aggressor at their doorstep? Jon Ward needed some answers and he needed them now.

He jumped up and stepped to his office door. “Get me General Willoughby on the phone. He’s over at the Australian Embassy,” he told his aide. “Then get me COMSUBPAC. I need a couple of subs and I need them quick.”

Ψ

Yon Ba Deng smiled broadly as he read the message traffic. Those haughty Americans had fallen into his trap, just as he knew they would. Flying the “stars and stripes” as they openly flaunted international law and sailed into Chinese waters to show their muscle and thumb their noses. And using one of their weapon radars was proof that they were hostile.

Then, just as he also knew they would, they flew one of their spy planes over to see where their missing ship might be. The only regret was that they had used one of their new remotely controlled, unmanned contraptions. Otherwise, even more dead Americans would be littering the bottom of the South China Sea, paying the price for violating Chinese air space.

The phone on his desk buzzed.

“Ni xiang yao shenme?” he called out to his assistant, Bing Dou, in the outer room.

“It is your brother calling,” the aide announced. The telephone continued to buzz. “He wants to speak with you.”

Even having a brother was an extreme rarity in modern China. Although the one-child policy had been relaxed over a decade ago, it would be many more years before family dynasties again became common in the country. Except at the very highest levels, of course. The privileged and the favored had always remained exempt from the Party’s political excesses. And a good thing that was. It assured a steady supply of the best and brightest. And those most loyal to the Party.

Yon Ba Deng punched a button on his phone. “Didi, ni hao ma?”

“I am fine, elder brother,” Yon Hun Glo replied. “I have just returned to Yulin from a patrol down to the Riau Archipelago. I suddenly learn that I have jumped from senior captain and commander of a submarine to vice admiral. And that I now command the PLAN Submarine Force. Elder brother, is this your doing?”

Yon Ba Deng chuckled. “I may have had some small part in bringing your talents to the attention of the Party decision makers. As Confucius teaches, ‘No one can find fault with what his parents and brothers have to say about him.’ And I am sure you recall that Sun Tzu told us, ‘The strength of the nation derives from the strength of the family.’ We, together, will now contribute much to the strength of our nation.”

Yon Ba Deng had the remarkable ability to instantly quote from memory the most appropriate phrase from The Art of War by Sun Tzu, regardless of the situation or context. Just then, Bing Dou stuck his head through the massive doors to the outer office.

“Excuse my interruption,” the assistant murmured. “Soo Be Xian is here and demands to see you immediately. He does not appear to be calm.”

Ah, yet another occurrence fully anticipated by Yon Ba Deng. The Vice Deputy to the Minister of National Defense stormed through the door without waiting any longer, shouldering Bing Dou aside. The short, portly bureaucrat, clearly agitated, waved a document in his hand. Then he slammed it down on the desk and, ignoring the fact that Ba Deng still had the telephone to his ear, yelled, “What is the meaning of this? I never authorized using force against the Americans! Are you trying to usurp my authority?”

Yon Ba Deng said a quick goodbye-and-good-luck to his brother, then gently returned the phone to its cradle. He glanced at the report and smiled.

“Worthy Vice Deputy Minister,” he answered, lingering slightly on the “vice” title to give it just the proper amount of emphasis to make his point. “The Party Central Military Commission approved those actions. You must recall that I hold office there, too. If the Party chose not to inform a government official, it is the Party’s way, and I, for one, do not question the Party’s decisions.”

He smiled—proud he had mentioned the word “Party” multiple times—as he politely picked up and handed the offending document back to Soo Be Xian.

“But I...”

“And I might suggest that you take a similar stance. I find that questioning the Party is not profitable. Perhaps in the future, we should work together more closely to avoid these unfortunate misunderstandings. I do not know how the Party might react if they believed you and I were not pulling together to accomplish the Party’s ultimate goals.”

Soo Be Xian closed his eyes, fought to control his breathing, then muttered that perhaps Yon Ba Deng was correct. He nodded, backing his way to the door, then turned and left the office much less dramatically than he had entered it.

As the outer office door closed, Bing Dou frowned, raised an eyebrow, and glanced at his master questioningly.

Yon Ba Deng smiled and rubbed his chin.

“Sun Tzu said something else. ‘We are to build our opponents a golden bridge across which to retreat.’ Of