World war iii not how yo.., p.18
World War III: Not How you Imagined, page 18
As soon as the three had left the room, Laurent and Dole behaved almost identically. They shook their upper bodies as if trying to throw off something distasteful, something dirty. They were trying to rid themselves of the temporary connection that had just transpired between them and the North Korean psychopath.
“Well… the hits just keep comin’,” Laurent said sardonically.
“I’ve got to ask. Why did you need us here in order for her to tell that crazy-assed story?” Dole asked Laurent’s new distraction.
“I read your debrief about Operation Bridget, and the point about them reverse engineering the wingsuit instantaneously struck home with me when she spoke of the thousands of re-educated North Koreans who now live in America,” said Connery.
“Yeah, I see your point. I didn’t know that Yang-do was a suicide bomber factory, but it’s now obvious to me that given the history of the Asian mindset, when it comes to waging war, wingsuits, even with the learning curve of using one factored in, makes for deadly accurate kamikazes. But wingsuits or not, if she was truthful, America’s cities and towns are going to get turned inside out,” Dole said.
“What’s your level of confidence that what she’s telling us is the truth and not some ruse to divert our time and energies? I mean, she’s a warped personality and may try to sell some fantastic story for no other reason than she’s a twisted sadistic bitch. Wasting our time at least prevents us from focusing on something significant,” said Laurent.
“It’s possible, but do you really want to ignore the possibility that there are thousands of sleeper kamikazes in this country? Any number of whom can become suicide bombers… wing suited or otherwise?” asked Connery.
“No… no, of course not,” Dole chimed in.
“Of course we’re going to give it serious study, but she also intimated a timeline. If she’s playing, she’s playing a smart game,” said Laurent.
“That’s her playing me. But I’ve played this game before also; she’ll tell us all we want to know.” Connery was confident.
“Yes, but will she be telling us what we need to know?” Laurent asked, raising an eyebrow to remind that players play players playing players.
“I hear you Sergeant,” she said.
“Well, let us know if you need us again,” Laurent said, indicating that he considered their time at The Institute complete.
Directing her statement more toward Laurent than Dole, she said, “Well, actually, I was hoping that you’d want to stick around.” Connery said.
Both soldiers wrinkled their brows at the statement, but Laurent less so than Dole.
“You’re both in a unique position to gain insight into how a specific and unique potential enemy thinks. Her actions have been extreme, but she’s just one in a culture of tens, maybe hundreds, of thousands of North Koreans who have been born into and raised to think in her terms. She’s not an aberration in the North Korean population; she’s the gold standard for ideal North Korean racist superiority. In many ways, North Korea is nineteen thirties Germany—only worse,” shared Connery.
Laurent and Dole were so in tune with one another from years of each having the other’s back, that they arrived at the same conclusion and answered in harmony. Both soldiers simultaneously nodded their heads in the affirmative.
Pleased by their response and impressed by the common train of thought, even down to the head nods, Connery was enjoying a perfect day of professional psychiatric service to her country. “Excellent,” She said with sincere enthusiasm.
“How long do you envision us being here?” Dole asked.
“You’re, of course, going to determine that,” said Connery. “Why don’t you just tell me when you think it’s time?”
“Perfect,” said Laurent.
“I’ll be tied up with the Kim un do for the rest of the day. You two should get some rest, some sun, a movie—whatever you want to do. But remember, The Institute is an underground facility. Night and day become blurred down here, so you’ll need to go topside just as you would on a normal day, in order to keep your rhythms right,” Connery warned.
“Normal day? What’s a ‘normal’ day?” lamented Dole.
Everyone laughed… but only briefly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“Like showing a dark room to a blind man” . . . President Timothy Barton
PRESIDENT BARTON
Vice President Dawson asked General Johnson to join her for coffee at her residence prior to their meeting with the president. She didn’t yet know what Johnson knew about Bob Lewis’ belief that the North Koreans had developed an Aural Array, but she was chair of the Congressional Subcommittee on Emerging Threats and Capabilities and she needed the most up-to-date information in order that she guide her people toward the right programs. And while she didn’t know what General Johnson knew, she did know that he was holding something new close to the vest.
Johnson walked up to the vice president’s front door thirty minutes prior to his meeting with the president. The VPs official home in the nations capital was located five minutes northwest of the White House and, was one of the General’s favorite governmental buildings. The VP came to the front door and welcomed him like a long-lost friend. “General, so good to see you, please come in,” Dawson said with genuine warmth.
“Nice to see you again, too, Madame Vice President,” Johnson said with equal friendliness. He liked Dawson, but had no clear idea as to why he was there in her private residence.
“General, you know that I’m the chair on a committee that makes decisions about emerging technologies. I’m always trying to find the best information in order that we make the right decisions about giving you and yours all the tools you need to deal with existing and future threats,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am, I pay close attention to your committee’s proceedings,” parried the seasoned general.
“Well, with this new North Korean thing going on, I just wanted to know if there was any specific direction that you think we should go relative to the plethora of technological breakthroughs that cross our desks?”
“Ma’am, there are so many threats and new technologies… but yes, I do have some ideas. But I also have a meeting with our boss in about fifteen minutes, and I’d be doing a disservice to you and the process if I only shared in part… and God help me if I’m late to that meeting,” General Johnson deflected.
“Of course, I understand. Actually, I have a meeting with the president just after yours. Maybe I’ll tag along,” Dawson said, mating his check.
Unbothered by her end-around play, the general said, “Of course, ma’am. It would be my pleasure to transport and escort you over to the White House.”
“I just love military men—always the gentlemen,” Dawson said, smiling broadly.
Vice President Dawson and General Johnson arrived two minutes early, which, in the general’s mind, was three minutes late. He’d learned early on in his career that being late can cost lives, plus it was straight up disrespectful to arrive late. Thus he was always on time—always!
At exactly 9a.m., the President came out of the Oval Office and handed his scheduling secretary a note to remind him to buy a certain congressperson a birthday present. She’d done him a favor during his run for election and he wanted to show her that favors were not forgotten. After he handed off the note, he looked to General Johnson and VP Dawson.
“General, glad to see you… and Jen, glad you’re here, too; you should hear this,” said the president.
He turned and walked back into the Oval Office and General Dawson extended his arm toward the open door, offering the VP the opportunity to go first. As Jennifer Dawson walked past the general, he looked her in the eye and said softly, “Well played.” The VP smiled and entered the Oval Office and waited for the president to indicate where they should sit.
“Let’s all sit on the sofas,” Barton said.
The president went to the sofa on the west side of the Oval Office and, the general automatically stood in front of the opposite sofa. They both waited for the VP to take her seat alongside the president and then both men took their seats also. The president always preferred the sofa nearest the western wall of the Oval Office—no one knew why, and no one asked.
“Jen, a few days ago I asked General Johnson to look into what technology the North Koreans may have that allowed them to shoot down our B-2, and then later shoot at our free-falling soldiers. As I’d hoped and expected, he’s back to report on what technology they have that we don’t,” explained President Barton.
“Well, I’m all ears, gentlemen.”
“General, the floor is yours,” said the President.
The general went on to relate the same explanation to the first and second-string leaders of the free world almost verbatim as it had been explained to him. Both were surprised that such a simple principle could be behind all of the carnage of late.
“So… how certain is your friend that they are literally hearing us coming?” asked the president.
“He’s one hundred percent certain Mr. President. Bob knows what he’s talking about, and if he thinks that’s their edge, then I’d bet my house on it,” said Johnson.
“Unfortunately, General, we’re betting not only your house, but hundreds of thousands of other houses also,” said the president.
The general nodded agreement.
“Your friend has a solid theory. Does he have a solution? A counter?” asked the president.
“He does, and it’s equally simple. He thinks that if we can flood the sky with enough noise, it will overwhelm their system. Essentially giving it so many new targets that they’d have to shoot at all of them—and I’m betting that North Korea doesn’t have that many surface-to-air missiles. They’re using missiles from the nineteen eighties as it is now,” explained Johnson.
“I understand the theory, but how do we actually flood an entire sky with that much noise? And what are the ripple effects?” asked the president.
“It would be a monumental task to flood the entire atmosphere—impossible with present technology. But it may be possible to overwhelm a slice of sky the size of the Sea of Japan, the Korea Strait, or the Yellow Sea,” said the general.
“Well, at least you have the right bodies of water as your frame-of-reference,” noticed the president. “What do you think Jen?” asked her boss.
“I’m thinking I need to present my committee with a proposal to produce a great big noisemaker,” said the VP.
Both President Barton and General Johnson smiled.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“Take time to deliberate; but when the time for action arrives, stop thinking and go in” . . . Napoleon Bonaparte
PEP TALK
It had been seventy-one hours since Dae Jung Jung had delivered his ultimatum to the President of the United States, yet he’d not heard a word on any global news source about the potential for conflict between his country and the United States. Nor had he heard so much as a squeak through diplomatic channels. Even his thousands of sleeping US residency psychopaths had not reported hearing a word of worry about North Korea.
Who the hell does this capitalist pig think he is? Who does he think we are? Dae Jung Jung thought. Angered beyond reason, he summoned his generals to a conference call. It was time to inspire his military.
“My brave generals, the Americans doubt our resolve. It is time to march our proud people into the glorious history that honors our heritage. With a righteous victory over those who unjustly isolate the North Korean people from a world that so very badly needs our presence, we will bring the pride back to our nation as we rule from our rightful position as global leader. I’m directing each of you to prepare to execute your plans for the invasion of South Korea. Our actions must be swift, ruthless, and total. They will feel our wrath and see that the energy of the cosmos is swollen with anger, and that the sword of righteousness from the great unknown will funnel through our mighty forces and defeat our soiled enemies where they stand.”
Having issued his deranged directive, the emotionally stunted premier of North Korea severed the line and checked the time on his clock. There were still thirty-five minutes left before the seventy-two-hour line in the sand expired, but he knew that the US President did not have the courage to call Dae Jung Jung and do the smart thing. The capitalist user of people was a coward—of that he was sure.
Dae Jung Jung sat in his desk chair—actually a mini-throne—and fantasized about American aircraft crashing into the Sea of Japan, the Korea Strait, the Yellow Sea—of impacting into North Korean soil and exploding into millions of meaningless pieces. The glorious missile batteries of the North Korean Peoples Army would swat the imperialists from the skies like flies. The United States thought they owned the skies, but, no, it was the North Korean people who controlled the skies. He sat with eyes glazed, lost in a lethal fantasy that, in part would prove true. But not the way he envisioned.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“The only people more inscrutable than the Koreans are the Chinese” . . . Unknown
BEJING CHINA
The border between North Korea and China was no less tense than the DMZ along the 38th Parallel some 250 miles south. However, China’s border is over three times as long; thus, it requires a great number of resources to prevent humans and materials from moving back and forth in a way that doesn’t flatter either government.
North Korea had established Aural Array listening posts every fifty miles along the border with their northern neighbor. The listening posts were offset from the actual geographic border by at least ten miles, and the architecture of the system provided listening overlap. In case one post failed, the two neighboring posts provided enough redundancy to cover the hole in the sky where an aircraft could have sneaked through. After the B-2 incident, they had absolute faith in the early warning system, and the Koreans were drunk on self-confidence.
China was in extreme financial trouble: a country filled with brand-new ghost cities, an air pollution problem that would kill as many of their population as a civil or declared war, and import regulations that were beginning to strangle their main source of income—shipping slave labor goods to western countries. China was on the ragged edge.
On the surface, it seemed as if China had little to lose by becoming involved in a war against the west, but their leader, a surprisingly open-minded moderate, had another vision should the west become embroiled in a conflict with North Korea. Even though he measured North Korea to have the military potential to quickly overrun South Korea, in the end, they’d lose any war of significance due to inevitable alliances between rational countries that would not tolerate, a stronger North Korea. The moment in hand offered an opportunity to ally with the west, which could ultimately bring about new and profitable political and commercial relationships in a post-war environment. It would also conveniently rid China of a stifling southern neighbor.
After meeting little resistance in his climb to the top slot, Yi Wang had become the Central Committee Chair of the Communist Party of China. He was a communist through-and-through, but he had studied the west all of his life. He spoke English, German, and French fluently, and he understood the advantages of the free market system. He’d pushed hard to limit the number of tariffs leveled against China’s exports, but in the end, the west favored their own needs, and China was now in an even more vulnerable position. Their economy was in ruins.
When President Barton was told by his scheduling secretary that the Central Committee Chair of the CPC was on the phone, he was caught flat-footed. He’d never spoken to the man, had no idea if he spoke English, and had not paid close attention to the daily intelligence brief because it never contained any changes. Other than their relentless efforts to hack into every computer system in the United States, China had been flat-lined for months. Before he was ready to accept the call, he told his secretary to summon Vetters into the Oval Office ASAP.
He didn’t want to keep China’s top communist waiting, so he accepted the call while hoping for Vetters’ prompt arrival. President Barton selected speakerphone.
“Hello, Mr. Chairman. How are you?” Barton asked politely.
To Barton’s surprise, the voice on the other end sounded more like John Wayne than Charlie Chan. In fact, he was almost envious of the chairman’s verbal precision.
“Hello, Mr. President. So kind of you to accept my unanticipated call,” said Yi Wang.
“Not at all. I’m very happy that you’ve called. We should have talked long before now… I accept the guilt for our not speaking sooner. How can I help you?”
“Your words are too kind, and I must also accept half the blame for our delayed interaction. As you know, my country is facing many challenges, but this is not the time or method of speaking to discuss ways that we may help each other with our most visible problems. I wanted to talk to you personally about a matter that has lived beneath the global media’s radar,” Yi Wang said.
Barton suddenly felt the short hairs on the back of his neck bristle. He knew what was coming, and he wondered how Wang knew. Did he know only a little—had he heard a whisper and was now fishing? Or did he know much more than Barton would like to think and was setting him up for a fall? Regardless, the president began to ramp up his rate of thought.
“There are many issues in all countries that live hidden from the media—at least for some period of time. Can you be more specific? Maybe I can speak to the topic,” Barton inquired guardedly.
“Yes, Mr. President, of course. We know that you’ve recently been involved in a high-priority rescue mission on Yang-do Island. We also know that the tensions between the United States and North Korea are at the boiling point. I’m a student of the west, an admirer of your country, and though we have different mechanisms for governing our countries, we both want what is best for the future of our homelands and for the world in general,” said the Chinese chairman.
