Chimera

Well lit and with large red ornaments galore, the large conference room epitomized to him the distance that existed between the leaders of this country running an empire and living like emperors while the common soldiers were dying at that very moment thousands of kilometers away. He found himself momentarily disgusted.

He saw his peers from the army sitting around him, listening to the Admiral as he outlined where the fleet was and what the plans were. Chen knew the credentials of these men. Few had reached here on the basis of their skills as combat leaders and competent field commanders. Most had thicker files on personal corruption than their career-service-vitae. Most had amassed vast wealth as a result of the military-industrial empire that each ran in his domain. But every single one of them had that one thing in common that allowed them to be in this room. They were all loyal party followers to the core.

Of course. How could they have come here otherwise?

For that matter, why am I here?

I should have been shot! Stripped of my command in the middle of war: was there anything more disgraceful? Perhaps it might indeed have been better to be shot! And yet I find myself in the company of these men with a ringside view as the war spirals out of control. At least if I have to die, I will have one last pleasure of seeing many in this room accompany me…

And many indeed had.

Chen noticed the replacement army Generals who had taken place in this room in the last few days. The disastrous war with India had an unexpected cleansing effect on the CMC.

Most of the peacetime money-launderers and party dogs had been tested in combat, had invariably failed and had paid for it with their lives.

The ungrateful party leaders had not shed a tear for them either.

It was simple logic. The ones who failed had to go and the party had to survive. The fate of so many in this room now depended on professionals like Wencang, Chen and others to ensure that they still held on to power when this war ended.

But the problem was that such replacements during war came at a price. Losing battles to weed out incompetent commanders was about as expensive a way to do so as possible. And China could not afford such lost battles. Chen understood the sentiment of the party leaders on this. His own air war had been pulled from under his feet by his subordinate commander at Kashgar, Zhigao, during the first two days. He had been typical of the senior officers in the military who had never fought a war in their lifetime and had more experience dealing with milking the military-industrial moneymaking machine than sharpening the edge of the military assets in their command.

So Zhigao had been relieved.

And shot! Chen reminded himself.

Zhigao had been executed on personal recommendation of Chen to Wencang, Jinping and the senior political officer in Sinkiang.

Later, General Jinping had found himself in a similar boat once the Indians had defeated the PLAAF over Tibet. The only difference was that Jinping was a close relative of the former CMC chairman and a far senior military officer than Zhigao. So even though Chairman Peng held him responsible for the devastating reversal of the air war, he couldn’t have the man summarily executed without word getting out and affecting public morale. So he had been relieved and had met with an unfortunate accident. And so Wencang, the deputy commander under Jinping, had taken over command of the PLAAF.

Chen swiveled in his chair and wondered whether the reason Wencang had brought him here was because he needed actual combat leaders advising him or whether he needed someone who would show him the loyalty he might need. What better way to ask for loyalty than to save the man’s life? When he had pulled his old comrade away from a firing squad, Chen had been grateful. Now he wondered what price Wencang expected.

Certainly in the current atmosphere of reversals on the battlefields, it would not take much for Wencang to find himself facing an execution squad on the same bloody floor tiles where his predecessor’s blood had drained just a little while ago.

The party leaders were turning to their real selves under these trying times, and the outlet for their frustration lay on anyone in uniform who delivered anything less than perfection…

But how were they expected to make right decisions under such stressful conditions?