Twelve jet fighters had taken off from Naha base in Okinawa heading west and, minutes later, had begun to patrol the East China Sea between Okinawa and China. Their sweeps were concentrated around a small group of uninhabited islands and rocks called the Diaoyu Islands. These were six hundred miles from Japan but only two hundred miles from China, yet the Japanese claimed sovereignty and called them the Senkaku Islands.
Chinese jets were also in the sky over the East China Sea, and Kai monitored their video feed. He saw the islands, sticking up out of the water as if scattered there carelessly by the ancient gods. As soon as the Japanese planes were in place, two Soryu-class attack submarines surfaced near the islands.
Were the Japanese really choosing this moment to make a point about a bunch of worthless rocks in the sea?
Kai watched as sailors from the Japanese submarines boarded inflatable dinghies and landed on a narrow beach, where they unloaded what might have been hand-held surface-to-air missile launchers. They made their way to one of the few patches of level ground and planted a Japanese flag.
Over the next few minutes they began to erect tents and assemble a field kitchen.
The head of the Japan desk called from the floor below to tell Kai that the Japanese military had announced that ‘as a precaution’ they had set up a forward base on the Senkaku Islands – which, they emphasized, were part of Japan.
A minute later Kai was summoned to Zhongnanhai.
On the way in the car he continued to read the reports and study the video footage. At the same time he had one eye on the radar tracks, which he could watch on his phone. There was no fighting. Right now they were all shadow-boxing.
In the Situation Room the atmosphere was sombre. Kai took his place at the table quietly.
When everyone had arrived, Chen asked Chang Jianjun for an update. Kai noticed that his father was looking old: his hair was thin, his skin seemed loose and grey, and he had not shaved well. He was not yet seventy, but he had been smoking for half a century, as his yellow teeth witnessed. Kai hoped he was all right.
After summarizing the current situation, Jianjun said: ‘The last two months have seen an escalating series of attacks on China. First of all, the US tightened sanctions on North Korea, leading to the economic crisis and the rebellion of the ultras. Then more than one hundred of our citizens were slaughtered by an American drone in Port Sudan. Next, we caught American geologists – ineffectively concealed aboard a Vietnamese ship – prospecting for oil within our maritime territory. Finally, our close ally North Korea was attacked by South Korean missiles, attacked again by American planes, ships and missiles, and then invaded last night. And today the Diaoyu Islands – Chinese territory by any fair-minded judgement – have been invaded and occupied by Japanese soldiers.’
It was a formidable list, undeniably, and Kai himself felt for a moment that perhaps he had failed to note the pattern.
‘And in all that time,’ Jianjun said with slow emphasis, ‘what has China done? With the sole exception of the sinking of the Vu Trong Phung, we have not fired a single weapon. I put it to you, comrades, that we have encouraged this mounting aggression by our feeble retaliation.’
Defence Minister Kong Zhao replied. ‘You don’t kill a man for stealing your bicycle,’ he began. ‘Yes, we must respond to this outrageous Japanese invasion – but our response must be proportionate. US officials have repeatedly confirmed that the Diaoyu Islands are covered by the US–Japan military treaty, so that the Americans are obliged to defend the islands. And let’s be honest: the occupation presents no threat to us. There is nothing that Japanese soldiers can do there that they could not do better aboard their submarines – except plant a flag. Flags are symbolic, of course – that is their only purpose – and the Japanese action is symbolic, no more. Our response must be calibrated appropriately.’
I couldn’t have put it better myself, thought Kai. Kong had turned the mood of the meeting right around.
At that point General Huang said: ‘We have video of the occupied islands, taken by a Chinese drone. It’s a couple of minutes. Do comrades wish to see it?’
They did, of course.
Huang spoke to an aide and pointed to a screen.
They saw a small island: just a rocky peak, a patch of level ground covered with sparse shrubbery and coarse grass, and a narrow beach. Two submarines floated in the bay, each displaying the red-and-white sunburst of the Japanese naval ensign. There were about thirty men on the island, mostly young and cheerful-looking. A closer shot showed them chatting and smiling as they erected tents. One of them waved at the aircraft that was filming them. Another jabbed a pointing finger at it – a gesture of contempt and antagonism that was highly offensive in Japan and China – and the rest laughed. The film ended.
There were angry mutters around the table. The behaviour of the troops was insulting. The normally urbane Foreign Minister Wu Bai said: ‘Those young fools are mocking us.’
President Chen said: ‘What do you think we should do, Wu Bai?’
Wu clearly felt offended by the video, and he spoke with uncharacteristic rancour. ‘Comrade Chang Jianjun pointed out that we have borne a series of humiliations for the sake of peace.’ The word humiliation was loaded: it brought back thoughts of the country’s years under the heel of Western colonialism, and never failed to raise hackles. ‘We have to take a stand some time, somewhere, and in my view this is the time and the place. It is the first occasion on which Chinese territory has been invaded.’ He paused and drew breath. ‘Comrades, we should make it clear to our enemies that this is where we draw the line.’
President Chen surprised Kai by supporting Wu immediately. ‘I agree,’ he said. ‘My basic duty is to protect the territorial integrity of the country. If I fail in that, I fail as a president.’
It was a strong statement – and all because a few high-spirited lads had shown disrespect! Kai was dismayed, but he said nothing. He could not possibly prevail against the hardliners when they were backed by the president and the foreign minister. He had learned long ago to fight only those battles that he could win.
Chen then backtracked slightly. ‘All the same, our reaction should be measured.’
That was a spark of hope.
Chen went on: ‘One bomb will destroy the little camp the Japanese have built, and probably kill most of the sailors there too. Admiral Liu, what ships do we have in the neighbourhood?’
Liu was already consulting his laptop, and he replied immediately. ‘The aircraft carrier Fujian is fifty miles away. The ship has forty-four aircraft including thirty-two Flying Shark fighter jets. The Flying Shark carries four laser-guided bombs, each of a thousand pounds. I suggest we send two planes, one to drop the bomb and one to film the attack.’
‘Give the ship the exact target co-ordinates and tell them to prepare to launch, please, admiral.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Kai spoke up at last, but he did not argue directly against the bombing. Instead he said: ‘We should consider the likely American reaction to this. We don’t want to be taken by surprise.’
Kong Zhao backed him immediately. ‘The Americans will not stand aside and do nothing. That would make their defence treaty with Japan look meaningless. They have to do something.’
Wu Bai adjusted the display handkerchief in his breast pocket and said: ‘President Green will avoid aggressive action if she possibly can. She was weak about the GIs killed with Norinco rifles in Chad; weak about the American geologists who went down with the Vu Trong Phung; and, at first, weak about the deaths of Americans in South Korea, until our comrades in Pyongyang were so foolish as to use chemical weapons. I don’t think she’ll go to war over a few Japanese sailors. There will be some token retaliation, even perhaps a purely diplomatic response.’
Wishful thinking, thought Kai, but there was no point in saying it.
Admiral Liu said: ‘Mr President, jets are ready.’
Chen said: ‘Order them to take off.’