Piranha: Firing Point

“I know we’ve kept you downstairs while we went through some things, but believe me, it was all boring stuff.” At that Lido Gaz frowned, as if saying Wamer was going overboard. She sat back, gesturing with a laser pointer to the map. “I’m sure you gentlemen will correct me if I mess up this explanation to Admiral Pacino, and forgive me. Admiral, if I get any of this wrong, but here is how I understand this. You can see on the map, the big board, that our Rapid Deployment Force will be going in with the transport ships of the Naval Pacific Force Fleet. The target, and this is release 24, will be Wangpan Yang, the bay south of Shanghai. The generals think we have a good landing zone there. Our forces will fight their way to Shanghai and take this whole area.

We’ve been discussing that for quite some time, so I’ve spared you about two hours of our deliberations. Once the beachhead is secure, our forces will move farther out to here, while we land more troops by airlift and sealift.

Although the RDF will be striking quickly, our main force will be landed over the next weeks and months.

Meanwhile we are planning to insert the 82nd Airborne Division here, deeper behind the lines, with the Seals and Green Berets here, the Joint Special Forces Brigade.

As you may have suspected. Admiral, the key to this entire operation is the sealift and invasion from the sea.

Our question to you centers on the East China Sea.”

Pacino swallowed. Here it comes, he thought. She’ll want to know if they can be assured that the sealift operation would be safe, even though the East China Sea would be an ideal hunting ground for submarines.

“Our three aircraft carriers of the Navforcepacfleet have two escort nuclear submarines, as I’m sure you’re aware. Admiral,” Wamer continued, smiling slightly at him. “They, and the surface force, will be escorting nearly seventy ships, loaded with the Marines and the RDF. Now, you remember the discussion we had before the Japanese blockade, I assume.”

“Yes, Madam President,” he said, looking her in the eye.

“As I recall during that discussion, you were critical of the employment of our armed forces. And, as I recall, you were completely right.” Wamer eyed the other men in the room. “Which is one reason you see so many new faces at this meeting that weren’t here last time.”

She was warning them, Pacino thought. It was no accident that O’Shaughnessy, Baldini, Pinkenson, and Gaz had come to power over the last eighteen months. Now that the pre-Japan crew had been fired, this group was being told that their decisions here had better work, or these men would also be sent packing. He glanced quickly at the four Pentagon leaders, and saw four poker faces.

“And that is one reason you’re here. Admiral. Consider yourself my rabbit’s foot.” The men laughed shallowly, and Pacino shifted in his seat. He was no Pinkenson, able to schmooze with the president and members of Congress, laughing and drinking with people who pushed the buttons on the future of the world. He could never do for a living what Dick O’Shaughnessy did, commanding the Navy on one hand, on the other glad-handing politicians. All he could do was speak his mind, tell his bosses what he thought. Yet here, he was speaking to a commander-in-chief in the face of three levels of his chain of command, any one capable of putting him in charge of paper clips in the Aleutians. He focused on Warner, waiting for her question.

“Since you were so right last time, this time there is one thing I want to know.” She looked at him, her blue eyes wide, her smile encouraging. “And that is, will this fleet be safe in the East China Sea? Can your two escort submarines keep them out of trouble? From any Red diesel subs, or mobile mines, or robot mines, or manned minisubs, or any other threats that the Reds may have?

Are we doing the right thing here? If we’re putting our force in jeopardy, to hell with what I said to the press, I’ll backpedal like crazy if you tell me to. Is the fleet safe? You spoke up last time, and I should have listened.

Now, please speak your mind, I guarantee I’ll listen.”

So will the rest of the room, he thought.

What did Pacino’s gut tell him? Daniels had proved to him that six Rising Sun submarines had sunk — say, disappeared. The Reds had jumped over the line into White China. They had done so without fear of reinforcements from the East China Sea. A senile old man had said that Pacino would be up against Red subs. For all Pacino really knew, Donchez might have been telling him he’d be standing against the red anti-barnacle paint of his own SSNX. But he was being too cerebral, he told himself. The real question was. What did his gut say?