Fourth Crisis: The Battle for Taiwan

by Peter von Bleichert

  Weishanhu put her engines into full reverse. Despite this effort, Weishanhu met the submarine’s wreckage amidships, sailed up and over her, and shoved her under to trundle along the oiler’s bottom. The wreckage ripped into Weishanhu’s hull, propellers, and then rudders. Hai Hu finally succumbed and cracked at the weld lines, breaking into barrel sections that sank quickly. Unaware of the severity of her injuries, Weishanhu continued for a distance, before her bridge crew leaned over the gunwale and found their ship riding low in the water. ‘All stop,’ was the order. The Chinese oiler started to list to port, and, menacingly, a slick of aviation fuel and bunker oil began to surround her. Sailors scrambled to lifeboat stations and prepared to abandon ship. One group swung a davit outboard, creating a spark. The cloud of fumes ignited with a whoosh. A square mile of ocean flashed in seconds, and burned. Like the herd abandoning a doomed animal, Liaoning and the battle group left the burning Weishanhu in their wake.

  The sunset glowed across the western horizon. On the flying bridge of the Chinese aircraft carrier, the admiral read a typewritten damage report. Liaoning had suffered only minor hull damage and one rudder and shaft were out of action. However, he nodded happily. Liaoning remained fit for duty.

  ◊◊◊◊

  Meanwhile, General Zhen surveyed the western approaches to Taipei from a hilltop, happy to be far from Beijing and back on the battlefield. He admired the purple and orange sunset that outlined the spiked shadows of the Taiwanese capital’s skyscrapers. Zhen took a deep breath of the fragrant breeze and raised his binoculars. The terrain is perfect, he thought. The hills channel an attacker into the ravine where the #3 Freeway runs and the Linkou mesa isolates the city’s west from the sea. This is where Zhen concentrated his armor and artillery.

  Zhen swung his view to the east where he had reinforced the capital’s eastern approaches with hordes of infantry. He panned the binoculars to where the Danshui River met the mercurial sea. To deter a waterborne attack on the captured city, the People’s Liberation Army Navy had arrayed a force of patrol and torpedo boats, and had at least one attack submarine lurking offshore at all times.

  General Zhen turned to the southwestern coast and the container port at Kaohsiung, safely held tight by Chinese marines. And, the same held true further south at Mailiao. Army reinforcements had poured into these ports and expanded their defensive perimeters. The thorn in Zhen’s side, however, was the slow arrival of heavy armor from the mainland, leaving his forces dangerously light. Reorganized Taiwanese units were already probing, and enemy operators and bands of armed civilians were now hitting patrols and supply convoys A Vigorous Dragon roared over Zhen on its way to prosecute a target. He contemplated the smoky trail the Chinese fighter-bomber left hanging in the sky. The People’s Liberation Army Air Force no longer enjoys air superiority, he pondered. The aerial front was now shifted west as Taiwan’s supposedly defeated air force staged aerial ambushes from eastern redoubts. This translated into less air cover and less close air support for Chinese ground forces. Zhen shook his head at lost opportunities. Then he focused on the task at hand. He signaled to his waiting driver that it was time to go.

  ◊◊◊◊

  Taiwan’s Major General Tek peered at Taipei from his rooftop command post. He looked back to the map he had been studying by flashlight. Tek imagined arrows and avenues of advance overlaid on the map, following streets and terrain. The entire 6th Army had been placed under the major general’s command, and he would soon throw its massive weight against the invaders. As the 8th and 10th Armies prepared to assault the maritime terminals on the west coast, the 6th—with the captured ground across the Toucian River consolidated—would surge northeast to the capital. Both of the 6th’s armored brigades had already assembled on the plateau to the west of the capital, in Jhongli and Pingjhen City, and the 21st Artillery Command was moved up to Dasi. To the south-west, the 269th Mechanized Infantry Brigade marshaled in Yangmei while four infantry brigades from the Armed Force Reserve Command united on the coast at Guanyin, with two more brigades held in reserve further south. Tek shone his light on the map. He illuminated Jhubei City’s airfield, located beside the Toucian River. Taiwan’s 862nd Special Ops Group and the 601st Air Cavalry staged here.

  The low thump of the 862nd’s and 601st’s helicopters drew Tek’s eyes to the west, where he focused his binoculars. In the magnified view, he found Super Cobra gunships, armed with TOW missiles and rotary cannons. They led several Black Hawk transports and a Chinook heavy transport, with its double rotor chopping at the air. Tek panned his view toward the freeways and watched his tanks and men assemble at a key intersection along Route 66. He traced the line of fuel bowsers and supply trucks that stretched back in the direction of Jhubei City. Tek lowered the spyglasses and checked his watch. As the second hand ticked down to 0400—X-Hour—the first reports from the artillery echoed among the hills and mountains.

  The artillery had now opened up on Taoyuan International Airport. They would soften the way, using airburst anti-personnel, fragmentation, and illumination rounds to keep the Chinese in their foxholes while damaging the enemy combat aircraft parked there. Fire would then shift to the beach north of the airport to pave the way for the marines. The barrage would lift as the air cavalry began its assault on the runways and terminal. While this transpired, Artillery Command would focus its lethal cannons on enemy positions in Taoyuan City and Lujhu and Yingge Townships. All the while, armor, mechanized infantry, and regular infantry would charge east by coastal routes and freeway, thrusting toward their objective: the #2 Freeway that ran north/south along the mesa. Meanwhile, special operators had been tasked with eliminating enemy command and control nodes across the battlefield, as well as to create general confusion in the enemy rear. Tek looked at his map and shifted the circle of light. He shone it on Chiang Kai Shek International Airport, where the navy’s 66th Marine Brigade would go ashore and retake the airport from the Chinese invaders. It is time, Tek thought. The Taiwanese major general ran to the building’s helipad and the machine that awaited him. Saluted as he jumped in, he would be airborne in moments.

  ◊◊◊◊

  As usual, Union Station was a tapestry of people. From this terminal, they arrived at and departed the American capital, to among others, Boston, Chicago, Philadelphia, and New York. Beneath the station’s barrel-vaulted, coffered ceiling, travelers scurried to and from trains, and connected with buses, taxis, and DC’s subway, the Metro. Jade and Richard hid themselves among the tide of people. She had cut her hair and dyed it a dark shade of red, and dressed in her version of casual: a leather jacket, NY Mets cap, and worn blue jeans. Even incognito, she’s a beauty, Richard thought. He took and tugged her hand. They had to move faster to their track.

  They passed through the doorway and emerged on the platform where a silvery, streamlined locomotive sat at the head of several passenger coaches. On adjacent tracks, local trains from Maryland and Virginia came and went, and Amtrak’s Capitol Limited had just arrived from Chicago. A uniformed cart attendant stocked their train’s diner car as another man monitored a hose pumping fresh water into a carriage’s holding tank. Jade and Richard noticed an armed guard, watching boxes and suitcases being loaded into the train’s baggage cart. Richard scanned the platform crowd. His paranoia made him assume that the hot blonde touching up her lipstick was CIA, and the gentleman reading the day’s paper was FBI. Although wrong in both cases, what his sixth sense could not suspect was that a Chinese sniper had been situated high in the structure of the station’s iron train shed, and had a telescopic sight centered on Richard’s chest.

  As Jade texted on her phone, the Chinese operator shifted the rifle’s crosshairs to her center-of-mass.

  “That’s not a good idea; using that thing,” Richard said, pointing at the phone.

  As he eavesdropped on Jade’s cellphone microphone, FBI Special Agent Jackson smiled at Richard’s statement and silently agreed.

  The sniper gently began to squeeze the trigger
of the high-powered, suppressed rifle. When other passengers rushing to board the train blocked his shot, he backed off on the pressure. The Chinese intelligence operator muttered curses, and the pigeons that shared his roost blinked blankly. The sniper focused again through the sight. The woman—his target—was now blocked by the porter. Then Richard moved into the sight’s view.

  “Fen,” he silently cursed.

  Although the American would be acceptable collateral damage, having Richard’s bleeding dead body sprawled across the platform was not this operator’s primary goal.

  Unaware Richard had now inadvertently saved her life by blocking the shot, Jade handed tickets to the train’s conductor, and she and Richard climbed into the silver coach. The capped porter smiled and welcomed them aboard. With all his passengers on the train, the conductor, too, climbed the steps as he checked his pocket watch.

  Jade and Richard grew more relaxed with every mile they put between themselves and downtown DC. They arrived at Dulles International Airport station, hopped a bus to the terminal, were felt up by security, and boarded a cramped jet. Despite the wafer-thin seat cushions, they both fell fast asleep. Later, a bump of turbulence woke them.

  The seatbelt sign was on. Richard raised the blind of the oval window and squinted through sleepy eyes, pressing his face against the cold pane. The jet’s extended flaps and low altitude told them they were on final approach. The marine layer of fog cleared and San Jose were evident below. Green and red salt-ponds, and the lush marshes that outlined the southern half of San Francisco Bay, glistened in rays of sunlight that stabbed through the murk. The long viaduct of the San Mateo Bridge passed beneath them as the landing gear came down with a bump and sucking sound. The surface of the bay drew closer. Seeming about to land on water, the airplane finally settled onto the runway that jutted out into the muddy shallows. Spoilers on the wing deployed, and with the roar of reverse thrust, the jet slowed and turned off toward its waiting gate.

  With ‘California Dreamin’ playing on the PA, the cabin attendant cited the local time and weather before welcoming the travelers to San Francisco. Richard peered out at the collection of foreign airlines assembled on the tarmac and at the terminals. He suddenly realized: This is my first time in San Francisco. Then, sadly, he concluded, there could be no Fisherman’s Wharf, Golden Gate Bridge, or Palace of Fine Arts on this visit. He was, after all, just passing through. A run-of-the-mill traitor and his foreign spy girlfriend, he realized. Despite increased anxiety and disbelief at the course they had embarked upon, Richard forced a smile for Jade. He looked back through the taxiing aircraft’s window. Just passing through, he pondered again. Never to return. The airplane slowed next to another before it stopped at the gate. The cabin chime sounded and a jetway extended and bumped the fuselage at the forward cabin door. Everyone else raced to get up, to stake a claim in the aisle. Richard watched as they elbowed each other. Overhead compartments yawned open and regurgitated carry-ons that did not quite fit the space within which they had been crammed. Swimming in doubt for the first time in his life, Richard was unable to picture the future. He looked to Jade for strength. He thought of the baby that grew within her womb. He gently touched Jade’s belly, and leaned in for a long, reassuring kiss.

  They deplaned and walked down the jetway, their footsteps reverberating on the carpeted aluminum, emerging into the terminal where every face that turned their way seemed to threaten: The Asian couples were Communist agents, Jade thought. The young guy with the crew cut was an American assassin, he concluded. Of course, the cop by the coffee stand had to be clutching their mug shot. Richard pretended to admire a gauntlet of art pieces arrayed along the terminal’s moving walkway and breathed deeply to calm himself. He looked at Jade. She was a rock. They followed the tide to baggage claim.

  Richard swiped his credit card to rent a Smarte Carte bag trolley. He then realized he should have used cash instead of a card that registered his exact location and the time of the transaction. He looked at the plastic rectangle with the Visa symbol on it. I am a slave, you are my shackle, he pondered, before tucking it back in his wallet. As he did so, he realized that he might be in way over his head. They silently collected their bags from the carousel, and then boarded an elevated train driven by computers. God help us, Richard thought. Machines are in control. Watching the white headlights that streamed along CA-101, the train headed for the airport’s international departures terminal. The robot engineer pulled them into the airport station. They stepped across the platform threshold and realized things were about to get more serious.

  Security at the international terminal was far heavier than they had considered. A Transportation Security Agency worker towered over and scanned the mob. Although Richard arrogantly thought that the person would be cleaning his apartment if they were not checking identification and boarding passes, he avoided the man’s gaze nonetheless, and occupied himself by pawing at the contents of his carry-on. Richard’s American diplomatic passport was reddish-brown, and Jade’s—one of many provided her by Chinese intelligence—had been ‘issued’ by the Republic of the Philippines. They both took out the small books and wielded them like shields in battle.

  Richard’s diplomatic credentials triggered politeness from the woman who clacked away on her keyboard, and happily, no US agents swarmed them in an enveloping maneuver. Despite beating hearts and rapid, shallow breaths, Jade and Richard received their half cardboard/half paper boarding passes, and saw their baggage labeled and chucked onto the conveyor.

  They shared a look of relief. As they strolled away from the counter, they began to feel home free. Then Richard reminded himself his home was here—the US—and that, leaving it, he would never be free again. Suppressing this voice of reason, he remembered duty to Jade and the unborn child tucked in the sack of her belly. No longer encumbered by luggage, they quickly navigated the crowded terminal, and then ducked into their airline’s first class lounge.

  Inside the privileged oasis, Richard led Jade to a large vase behind which the couple landed on a corner sofa. Killing anxious minutes with small talk, they heard their flight number and destination finally announced. Soon the speaker said first class was ready to board and they stood, anxious and ready. They both collected carry-on bags and headed for the lounge’s door. There were several uniformed police officers when they exited. One of them noticed Richard’s strange reaction, but went back to scanning for their own fugitive. Jade nudged Richard along to their gate.

  Gate 12 served as a simple portal; a door to the airplane that would carry them away. Jade hooked her arm through Richard’s. They handed over boarding passes to the woman in uniform who held a hand out at the jet-way entrance. Then, they strolled through the gate’s door.

  7: THE LAST DAY

  “The opportunity to secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.”—Sun Tzu

  A People’s Liberation soldier, one of many now on Taiwan, lay in his foxhole. Although he was loyal and had believed all he had been told and absorbed all the films and lectures, he now entertained other thoughts. Now, on a foreign island fighting other Chinese, with explosions that lifted earth all around him, he cocked his rifle again and centered on a man’s shadow in the sight before he pulled the trigger and terminated a life. However, before he did so one more time, he asked himself: Why?

  He looked to the next man in the hole, a man caked in mud and blood who screamed as he emptied his assault rifle. The scream that emanated from his mouth made his lips a square shape beneath the slits of squinted eyes. Fire licked from the barrel of his weapon and illuminated everything in a yellow strobe.

  Such hatred, the soldier thought. Such blind hatred. Then he looked through the iron sight of his own rifle. A parachute flare caught a shape in its cone of light. A shadowed face showed. He could be a colleague; a friend; or, even, a brother, the Chinese soldier thought, although he aimed his rifle anyway, ready to fire. Then
, fighting indoctrination and training, he stayed his trigger figure and let his heart decide.

  “You are my brother,” he whispered to the Taiwanese soldier who charged his position. “I love you.” He dropped his weapon and looked for a means of escape from the hellish fire, flying mud, and whistling shrapnel, and, most of all, from the murder. That is when he saw General Zhen.

  Zhen had pushed his way to the front. For several minutes, he ran from foxhole to foxhole, shouting inspiration to those he led. But then, when the enemy’s determined faces had appeared too near, and explosions blossomed around him, Zhen dashed for his command vehicle. Tripping on the way, he tripped atop a mangled comrade, and received a gash on his forehead from the pavement. The unfortunate’s bloody exposed entrails soaked his uniform. When Zhen reached his vehicle, he scurried inside its steel cocoon, opened the compartment meant to hold maps or other paraphernalia, and found his small flask of whiskey.

  He drew a deep gulp from it; a gulp that was meant to be one of relief, but with every swallow, every rise and fall of his Adam’s Apple, it told him ‘You are weak. You are defeated.’ As if to reinforce the sentiment, a Taiwanese rocket destroyed another vehicle, and the shockwave shook his old bones. Soldiers of Taiwan’s 6th Army poured over the line. They shot and bayoneted anything that still moved. When a nearby Dragon Turtle light tank received a missile and popped like an overcooked sausage, Zhen’s vehicle sped off in retreat.

  Four hours after Taiwan’s armies launched their counterattack, a dented and scorched infantry fighting vehicle pulled up outside Songshan airport’s terminal. The rear hatch squeaked open and General Zhen stumbled forth. A soldier ran to assist, while signaling for a medic. Crackles of gunfire could still be heard in the near distance, and the thud of artillery drew closer.