Larry Bond - Shattered Trident

By the time the aides had begun to straggle back in, Myles had finished his speech and the delegates were listening to a replay, some making notes, others just holding their heads in their hands. Not a word was spoken until Myles’s speech ended again.

Lieutenant Commander Xang was the aide to Admiral Han, the Taiwanese military representative, and the most senior aide. He stood in front of the admiral, quickly bowed, and reported, “Both of our submarines currently on patrol report their sonars are completely blind. The time coincides with the Americans’ announcement. On his authority, Commander Submarines has ordered both subs back to port, and forbidden any other sailings until better sonar conditions develop.”

The other aides all followed in order, and their messages were similar. Ships and subs at sea were all heading for the nearest friendly port at their best speed. Some had asked the working group for their concurrence. Numbly, and by a simple show of hands, the offensive campaign at sea was unanimously “suspended, until acoustic conditions improve.” Myles was right. In one stroke, they had been hobbled.

The military confirmations were hardly needed. Within minutes of Myles’s broadcast, scientific stations, civilian observers, even weather satellites had posted information about the detonations on the Internet. Wild speculation about the physical effects would reverberate long after the acoustic pulse had faded.

Minister Jan Ignacio, the Filipino civilian representative, chaired the working group this week, and called them to order.

“Mister Chairman, I have a motion,” cried a Taiwanese representative.

“Mister Chairman, I demand an immediate release condemning the American action,” urged the representative from Singapore.

“Mister Chairman…”

By the time Ignacio sorted out the immediate and most emotional demands from the delegates, the anti-American release was tabled, as was a motion for an immediate cease-fire. Trying to buy time, Ignacio asked Lieutenant Commander Xang to brief them on the blue-out phenomenon. Was Myles correct? Would this last for days?

Xang deferred to a different officer, with a degree in acoustics. He expanded on the president’s description. High-frequency sonars, used by torpedoes and mine-hunters, would return first, maybe in twelve hours or so, but the low-frequency bands, used for long-range search by subs and surface ships alike, were blocked for at least two days. The only thing to do was head for port and hope for the best.

The Korean minister was incensed. “The Americans have taken away our best weapon. Our aircraft can’t match the Chinese Air Force’s numbers, and we can only hope for a handful of ballistic missiles.”

“That’s why we should offer terms for a cease-fire,” the Taiwanese delegate insisted. “If we continue to use cruise missiles…” He didn’t complete his sentence, but saw several heads nodding agreement.

“We must continue,” the Indian delegate argued. “We’ve already inflicted terrible damage on the Chinese economy. They are already deep into their strategic reserves. If we keep them on a war footing, and at the same time continue choking off their imports, they’ll be faced with complete collapse soon. Then we won’t have to offer terms. We can dictate them.”

Minister Hisagi disagreed. “We should think carefully before we back the Chinese leadership into a corner. Desperate men use different rules. Also, Dr. Komamura has always insisted that the Chinese themselves may not know where the edge is. By then, it might be too late.”

“Then perhaps the professor can give us an update. We’d all welcome his counsel.”

But Komamura’s chair was empty. Hisagi sent his aide to find the doctor and ask him to rejoin the meeting. But in the end, Hisagi and Orihara were the ones who went to the doctor.

They’d found him on the floor of his small quarters, Miyazaki collapsed on top of him, sobbing. They tried to help her up, but she clung to Komamura, crying, “It’s too late. It doesn’t matter. He’s gone. He’s gone.”

Dr. Ono had arrived by this point, and his simple check and solemn nod confirmed their worst fears. As Ono stepped back from the body, the news passed from person to person, and a silence spread out from his room and through the halls.

Captain Madarame, in charge of security, hustled the onlookers away. Even Hisagi and Orihara had to stand outside. After asking Miyazaki a few questions, he stepped out into the hall and spoke to the two representatives.

He showed them a vial of prescription medicine. DO NOT TAKE WITH ALCOHOL was printed in red along the top of the label. The vial was empty. “There was an empty flask of sake next to him as well. Dr. Ono says that even a third of the vial would have been fatal, and there must have been at least that much in there.” Madarame sighed. “It was quick. He didn’t even have time to lie down on the bed.”

Attendants appeared with a litter, and another confrontation with Miyazaki began. Her coworkers on Komamura’s staff, fellow graduate students, interceded and gently separated her from the professor, promising that she could see him to the ambulance. They escorted her out, promising she would not be left alone.

“You should see this,” Madarame said, ushering the two representatives into his room and pointing to the screen of his personal laptop computer. “He left a message. Don’t touch anything. This is a crime scene until the examiner declares it a suicide.”

Careful to stay back, Hisagi and Orihara bent over, squinting to read the display at that distance. After several moments, Hisagi asked, “May I print this page? It’s very important.”

Madarame reluctantly nodded. “Let me record which keys you press.”

Word of the note spread ahead of them, so that by the time they arrived back in the meeting room, it was full, with staff crowding the sides and back until it was impossible to move. Miyazaki, red-faced after her sad good-bye, had been given a chair near the front.

Hisagi didn’t bother with explanations. “This is what he wrote.”

My good friends and dear colleagues, I can no longer bear the sadness and shame of this war. Even if my economic theories are correct, I was wrong to think that they must inevitably lead to conflict. We were too quick to take the path of violence, and I must take responsibility for my poor judgment. With my death, I ask that the delegates of Littoral Alliance pursue peace with the same energy that they applied to war.

Half an hour later, the Littoral Alliance declared a unilateral cease-fire, beginning at 1200 GMT, and offered to send representatives to a neutral country of China’s choice to begin peace negotiations.

18 September 2016

1400 Local Time

August 1st Building, Ministry of National Defense Compound

Beijing, People’s Republic of China

President Chen Dao read the communiqué from the secretary general of the United Nations. Would the Chinese accept the cease-fire? Bangkok, Thailand, and Wellington, New Zealand, had both offered to host the peace negotiations. Were either of these acceptable, or did the Chinese have a different location in mind?

Every member of the CMC had his own copy, not that it took that long to read. None of them spoke. A tomb would be noisier.

“They’ve put us in a very small box, Comrades. If we refuse such an offer, the world will impose more sanctions. If we continue to fight, we will quickly exhaust our store of conventional missiles, and eventually our oil reserves.”

“The ‘blue-out’ will only last a few days,” General Shi of the political department argued. “We can use the time to rest and reposition our naval forces.”