Piranha: Firing Point

There was no solution, not in the near term, Yang thought. And he was old now, feeling his age as his bones grew weak and his body infirm. His father and his father’s father lay in their graves, and both would be deeply disappointed and saddened by his yielding of land to the rebels. He had consoled himself with the knowledge that White China was temporary, but now he was beginning to doubt himself. Could it really be that he would go down in history as the chairman who had allowed China to be partitioned and violated?

Two steps behind and to his left walked Lieutenant Mai Sheng, his personal aide, an intelligence officer of the People’s Liberation Army. Mai had been with him since her first assignment on the Suchow front during the civil war. She had been deployed on the front lines as the White Army tank battalions had forced the PLA back. Mai had been in intelligence even then, and had been captured and injured during the battle. She had proved herself a vicious and resourceful fighter, full of high spirits and fresh ideas. Yet she was much more than that. Yang had known Mai’s beautiful and lonely mother, Xu Meng, over twenty-five years ago. Though no one but he and Xu knew of their relationship, gossips had noticed that Mai Sheng looked much like her mother and eerily like Yang himself.

Yang had sworn a dual oath. First, that he would protect Mai’s life and her career, and second, that no one would ever know that he was protecting her. But his caution had seemed scarcely necessary, because Mai was at once icily competent and fiercely independent. Protection of her career had never been a problem, but protection of her life had. He had insisted that her orders be cut to be his personal aide, and for the first year she had accepted it, but lately she had shown a desire to return to a combat company. He would not be able to keep her much longer, and perhaps it was time to let her fly with her own wings. But Mai’s problems would now have to take a backseat to the matter at hand, the briefing being given by Commander Chu Huafeng.

Yang had decided to allow the briefing on his schedule, not because of its importance but because Mai had insisted.

On Yang’s right was PLA General Feng Xuk, commander in chief of the People’s Liberation Army. On his left was Admiral Loen Dun, the supreme commander of the People’s Liberation Army Navy, or what was left of it. When the White Army had taken control of the east coast, there had been only one port to return to— Lushun, the old Port Arthur in the north of Go Hai Bay. That had effectively bottled up the fleet behind the Lushun-Penglai Gap. Since then few of the ships had been used or maintained. The frontline destroyers, frigates, and helicopter carriers had lain tied up, rusting and decayed. There was no longer any point in even thinking there was any form of PLA Navy.

At the door to the briefing theater, the two Red Guard troops came to rigid attention, both saluting, then one opening the door. Yang and the others walked into the dimness of the theater, the temperature some ten degrees below that of the corridor. As the door shut behind him, Yang found himself in complete darkness.

At first he blamed the darkness on the infirmity of his aging eyes, but then he realized that he truly was standing in a blacked-out room.

Suddenly a single spotlight burst to life, shining down on a huge machine towering over his head. It was some kind of boat or submarine. Then Yang realized what the briefing was about — the submersible that the young navy officer Chu had once briefed him on long ago.

A second spotlight flared up on a smaller form of the submersible, but this one cut in half to reveal the interior.

As a musical fanfare trumpeted in the back of the room, both spotlights dimmed and the screen came to life, the only view on the screen a photo of the deep blue sea. The view backed up to reveal that the sea was seen through the front view screen of a large airplane.

Yang was led by the elbow to a large armchair, sinking deeply into the upholstery while mesmerized by the vision of the seaplane landing. The camera and microphone must have been mounted on the mission commander’s head, since all the views seemed to come from the commander’s viewpoint.

Yang stared open-mouthed as the movie showed the submersible nearing the deck of the submarine. Men dived down the open hatch, their automatic pistols dropping the crewmen of the Korean submarine as if they were cardboard targets. Then the final minutes as the commander set the ship to begin sinking, rushing to get out of the hull. When the screen showed the submersible hatch popping open to a panorama of the sea, Yang started clapping and cheering. Feng and Loen followed suit, all three bursting into wide smiles of approval.