by Don Brown
The Hero’s Medal would soon dangle from his neck. And if not the Hero’s Medal, then the Meritorious Service Medal! Perhaps the medal would be awarded by President Tang himself! Ju had always wanted to meet the charismatic and bold new president of the People’s Republic. Perhaps this would be his chance!
“Proceed cautiously. Move in for closer observation,” Wang Ju said as he forced his mind back to the mission. “Watch for small arms on the ground. Eliminate all potential threats.”
He tapped the yoke. The air armada inched forward, hovering over the breaking waves as they headed toward the airspace over the beach.
A figure ran from a burning building.
Suddenly, several figures popped up from behind the sand dunes just beyond the beach. They were carrying rifles and ran away from the approaching choppers toward the burning C-130.
Fools! he thought. What did they hope to accomplish by running? Even if they reached the other side of the island, they would have to swim two hundred miles to the Vietnamese coastline.
As Wang Ju watched the men scamper away from the beach, the one on the far left stopped running and turned around.
Wang Ju squinted his eyes. What was the man doing? He looked down through binoculars and saw the man aim his rifle at the choppers! Wang Ju pulled the trigger on the 30-millimeter cannon. Machine-gun fire cracked the air as a string of flashing tracer bullets shot to the ground. A sand cloud rose around the running men, blocking visibility. When the sand cloud cleared, six bodies were strewn in a zigzag pattern, their rifles scattered around them like harmless toothpicks.
Nothing moved. He waited. Finally, moving slowly, other figures began heading for the beach, their arms up, palms turned to the heavens in the universal symbol of surrender.
Wang Ju switched on the chopper’s loudspeaker system and spoke in Mandarin. “To all Taiwanese personnel on the island. Come onto the beach with your hands in the air. If you keep your hands in the air, you will not be shot. Military personnel of the People’s Republic will land shortly to facilitate your departure.” He switched back to the squadron frequency. “Tiger Leader to all aircraft. Fly to prearranged guard points. Remain on station until further order.”
The choppers broke from their straight line and flew to positions surrounding the island, hanging in the sky above Itu Aba like points on a clock, their cannons and rockets pointed down at anything or anyone that might move.
Wang Ju scanned the horizon. The second wave of helicopters approaching from the northwest were not attack choppers of the People’s Liberation Army-Navy, but rather MI-17-V7 troop transport choppers from the People’s Liberation Naval Air Force. The first of five MI-17s came in two hundred feet over the top of the hovering Z-10s. The transport choppers slowed their approach for landing as first one, then another feathered down in the center of the runway that ran down the middle of the island. Armed Chinese Marines poured from the first chopper as the second MI-17 touched down at the end of the runway.
Marines of the People’s Liberation Army-Navy fanned out over the island, pointing their guns at the vanquished Taiwanese, who fell to their knees in the sand and surf before their captors, their hands behind their heads.
Wang Ju watched as two other Marines rushed to the flagpole bearing the red flag with the blue rectangular corner and the white twelve-point sun and ripped down the banner. One set it afire, then tossed it aside on the sand to burn.
A new flag ascended the pole. At the top, the wind unfurled it, revealing a large yellow star sewn in the upper-left corner of the orangish-red banner. To the right of the yellow star were four smaller stars in the formation of a waxing crescent moon.
As the morning sun lit the banner of the People’s Republic in brilliant splendor, Ju considered it a moment for the ages, an eternal image forever frozen in time. Tears flooded his eyes and dripped onto his flight suit.
Victory!
“All units! Tiger Leader. Mission accomplished! Break formation! Return to base.”
Presidential Palace
Zhongnanhai Compound
Beijing, People’s Republic of China
shortly after sunrise
Years ago, as a hard-charging, mid-level information officer at Communist Party headquarters in Beijing, the new occupant of the office of the president of the People’s Republic had been struck by an offhand comment by Barack Obama, then president of the United States.
In a difficult moment after his inauguration, President Obama lamented to the American press that “it would be easier to be president of China.”
Perhaps there was more truth in that statement than Barack Obama had at the time realized, President Tang Qhichen now knew. For unlike the president of the United States, who, at least in theory, had to worry about constitutional checks and balances imposed on the executive by the legislative and judicial branches of the US government, the president of the People’s Republic of China had no such “constitutional” roadblocks with which to be concerned.
Years before the Obama statement, before Tang started his meteoric ascendency up the party ladder as one of the brightest young minds of his generation, he had been studying at Harvard, as had so many other young Chinese and Russian revolutionaries. His concentration there was on the structure of the American government with the intention, even then, to compare and contrast the presidencies of each nation in order to focus on the strengths and weaknesses of each system.
Even at Harvard, as a foreign doctoral candidate, Tang had already set as his life’s goal to bolster the power of the Chinese presidency in the event that he ever fulfilled the hot ambitions running through his veins and his soul.
Being “president” in China wasn’t the same as being president of the United States. For the Chinese presidency was and is a necessary dictatorship or, at the very mildest, as American political analyst Bill Kristol once said, “the strongest position in an autocratic and thoroughly entrenched and unaccountable political system.”
Privately, Tang embraced the notion of dictatorship and had agreed with Kristol’s comparison. He even quoted him in his dissertation comparing the two presidencies.
Dictatorship, Tang believed, not only best served the interests of the masses but was also the most efficient means in the operations of government.
But there remained one major inadequacy in the structure of the Chinese presidency, and it had to do with command and control over the huge three-million-member People’s Liberation Army-Navy. Despite the enhanced power given to the Chinese president, in one very important area, the president of the United States wielded more power. And that area had to do with control of the nation’s military. For while the American Constitution gave the American president very clear command-and-control authority as commander in chief of all United States military forces, the loose conglomeration of the Communist bureaucracy that ran China had led sometimes to ambiguity in how the country was run and about just who ran its military.
Tang’s final doctoral thesis at Harvard, published in both English and Mandarin, touched on this very topic and would have been considered boring in most non-academic circles.
He titled it “The Presidency of the United States versus the Presidency of the People’s Republic of China: A Comparison of the Strengths and Weaknesses in Command and Control of the Military Under the Constitutional Structure of Each Nation.”
The thesis presented a contrasting study of command-and-control power of the US and Chinese presidents over their respective militaries. In it, Tang hypothesized that China, despite her economic potential, could never become a world superpower unless and until a Chinese president wielded efficient and uncontested control over all Chinese fighting forces.
He also hypothesized that the US presidency had assumed increasing control over the American military because of the use of American presidential power in the many wars and conflicts that America has been involved in after World War II. Branding the US presidency as an “imperial” presidency, he cited a long list of non-dec
lared wars that America had been involved in since 1945.
The list of postwar military action was long and revealing, starting with the Berlin Airlift in 1948, the Korean War in 1950, all the way through America’s involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan through 2012 and beyond.
The thesis created an international uproar, at least within the international think-tank community. It was praised by American liberals as a brilliant denunciation of the long list of US military interventions and for its conclusion that the US presidency had become “imperial.” His supporters at Harvard had said, “Nations must share equal power on a true global stage.”
Tang concluded that “America had been a warmonger,” and a number of American columnists at the Washington Post, the New York Times, and the San Francisco Chronicle penned glowing analyses agreeing with him.
Tang had been blasted by conservatives, who criticized Harvard for allowing Communists to study there. Conservatives condemned Tang’s conclusion that the only way to strengthen the Chinese presidency and to strengthen the Chinese president’s command and control over the Chinese military was to use Chinese military force more often, with a tempo resembling the American pattern since 1945.
The Washington Times branded Tang’s thesis as “more dangerous than the original Communist Manifesto.” The Manchester Union Leader was more blunt and less diplomatic than the Times, claiming that “this dissertation is Mein Kampf and Karl Marx all wrapped into the mind of a dangerous madman.”
The Wall Street Journal, in an editorial entitled “The Rise of the Raging Dragon,” suggested that Tang “proposed setting Communist China on a course of military aggression patterned on the Soviet Cold War model.” From this editorial, headline writers had branded Tang as the young Raging Dragon, a name that stuck and a name that Tang, frankly, embraced as a badge of honor.
But to Tang, his ideas were neither liberal nor conservative. Instead, they were practical. More military power for the Chinese president was a practical solution and, in fact, the only means of achieving Sino superpower status. His vision was to transform China into a military superpower. His doctoral thesis advocating this solution got him noticed not only in America but also within the highest echelons of power in Beijing. The thesis was the solid-rocket booster that had launched his amazing climb through the party ranks.
In the fifteen years since he left Harvard, the uproar created when the document was first published seemed to have been forgotten in the West—until a year ago.
One year ago, when Tang became president of the People’s Republic, the same groups in America, both liberal and conservative, reawoke in a loud swell of cacophonous voices of both lavish praise and venomous howling, with conservatives broadcasting bloodcurdling warnings about him. The names of the columnists and talking heads had changed over the years, but the sound of their voices had remained the same.
Despite their cries, despite choruses of both praise and prophecies of doom, the Raging Dragon’s time had come.
He had laid out his blueprint for his presidency fifteen years ago. That blueprint included his master vision for energy. His actual plan started with the assault he had ordered against a place called Itu Aba Island.
Once married, now divorced, Tang was a very trim and fit forty-eight. The People’s Republic was Tang’s playground. The Communist Party of the immortal Mao Zedong was his lover. A million-plus soldiers and sailors of the People’s Liberation Army-Navy were his children.
This very day, he thought, was the beginning of his grand opportunity to make the greatest contribution to the People’s Republic since Chairman Mao! For China had never had a leader who would spread her political and military influence beyond the sphere of Southeast Asia—until now!
Carpe diem! He had learned the phrase at Harvard. “Carpe diem!” And now, indeed, was his time to seize the day!
Tang looked in the mirror in the bathroom adjoining the presidential bedroom and tightened the knot on the bright red tie against the buttoned collar of his white starched shirt.
His military briefing was six minutes away. Anxious to hear the words of his generals, he donned his navy blue pinstripe suit jacket and buttoned the four buttons down the front.
The “presidential pinstripe,” it had been called by fashion writers, first in Hong Kong, then in Shanghai, because of his personal preference for Western-style pinstripes that fit well over his muscular torso.
Tang stepped from the bathroom, then walked out of the presidential bedroom into the hallway, where two captains of the People’s Liberation Army-Navy jumped to attention.
“Are we ready, Captain Lo?”
“Yes, Mister President.” The officer shot a quick salute to his commander in chief. “General Shang and Admiral Zou are awaiting you downstairs in the secure conference room.”
“Good.” The president again checked his watch. “Very well, Captain, let us proceed.”
They walked thirty paces down the hallway of white marble to an elevator. Captain Lo pushed a button and stainless-steel double doors opened.
They stepped into the elevator, where a soldier had been waiting for them. A few seconds later, the elevator doors opened onto a broad marble-laden hallway. Tang himself had selected the ornate Chinese art, much of it from the Ming Dynasty, that now hung on both sides of the hallway.
At the entrance to the military conference room, Captain Lo pushed open the double doors. Morning sunlight streamed in from the four bay windows that opened onto the inner courtyard of the compound. Four chandeliers hung from the ceiling.
Two men sat side by side at the long conference table. One wore the green full-dress uniform of a general in the People’s Liberation Army. The other wore the blue full-dress uniform of the People’s Liberation Navy. They stood up, shooting salutes at their commander in chief. Tang thought that perhaps their smiles signaled good news.
“Sit, gentlemen,” the president said.
Tang looked first at Admiral Zou Kai, then at General Shang Xiang, the minister of national defense, who was second only to the president in command of all the armed forces.
“General Shang,” Tang said, “do you have a report on Operation Lightning Bolt?”
Shang, in his mid-sixties, sported a broad girth that reflected his propensity for whiskey and wonton noodles. He broke into a wide smile. “Mister President, I am pleased to report that Operation Lightning Bolt has been a smashing success! Thirty minutes ago, attack helicopters, with swift and deadly precision, executed the assault that you ordered, sir.
“The traitors on the island were caught by surprise. Two dozen were shot by our choppers on the beach as they attempted to fire their weapons at us. The rest tried to flee like scared rats! Admiral Zou’s helicopter pilots were brilliant in the execution of their duties!”
Goose bumps crawled up the president’s arms and neck, the sudden realization of total success overwhelming his body in electric excitement.
“After our pilots shot up the traitors like Swiss cheese, troop transport choppers arrived, and our Marines secured the ground. We are in total control.
“At this time, one of our civilian freighters, the M/V Shemnong, a freighter which I believe you may be familiar with, is steaming to Itu Aba with weapons and reinforcements for our forces to defend the island.”
“Aah, yes. The Shemnong.” Tang allowed himself a broad smile.
“And may I make a recommendation, Mister President?”
Tang leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Yes, of course, General Shang.”
“Thank you, Mister President. Yes, I was about to say that none of this would have been possible without the brilliant work of the PLA Navy, and not only of our Navy assault helicopters but also the crew and commander of the Shi Lang.” The defense minister glanced at the admiral, who gave a dutiful nod of appreciation. “I recommend, Mister President, that in addition to commending the lead chopper pilot, we should also commend the captain and crew of the Shi Lang.”
“Ah, yes, the
Shi Lang. … Bring me a cup of hot tea, will you, Captain?”
“Yes, Mister President,” the aide-de-camp said.
Tang smiled as he thought of the ship, of what it would mean in the days and years ahead. “The Shi Lang. The great equalizer to the American Navy.”
He picked up the white porcelain cup of steaming oolong tea and took a sip. Mmmm … just as he liked it. “Gentlemen, if there is one thing we should have learned from Napoleon and from the Japanese imperialists at Pearl Harbor, it is this.” Another vivifying sip. “That the element of surprise is our best friend.” He looked over at the blue-jacketed admiral. “Admiral Zou.”
“Yes, sir, Mister President.” The admiral’s face perked up.
“There will be plenty of time to honor the crew of the Shi Lang. But something tells me that the Shi Lang may see action again very soon. Particularly if the traitorous pigs in Taipei try something in response to our victory. I think we should reserve that ceremony until another date in the future.”
“Yes, of course, Mister President.”
“However”—Tang put the cup down and wagged his index finger—”I think we should honor some of the Navy helicopter pilots at a nationally televised ceremony at Tiananmen Square in the next two days. Who is the squadron commander who led this attack?”
“Let me check, Mister President.” The admiral flipped through some papers. “Aah, yes. Lieutenant Wang Ju, sir.”
“Excellent!” Tang turned his eyes back to the minister of national defense. “General Shang, contact the minister of information and propaganda. I want a national ceremony, full of pageantry, celebrating China’s restoration of this territory to its rightful origin. Our people must appreciate our military, and our military needs to know that our people are behind them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I must address the nation from Tiananmen Square. Let’s decorate this Lieutenant … What was his name?”
“Wang, sir. Lieutenant Wang Ju.”