Liu surveyed the room from the front podium. The divider between main conference rooms 4A and 4B had been removed, turning it into a massive 80,000 square foot room. That room was filled with over 3,000 conference attendees, sponsors, and a variety of other support and staff people, all of which had come at this time to hear the keynote address. In an effort to make certain of the maximum attendance possible, Liu had ensured that the conference’s program specified that all of the exhibitors and vendors would have to close their displays and shops at 1345, and had sent around security to make sure that they had.
Looking at the first couple of rows, he saw the chief executive officers of several foreign automakers, and both the CEO and chief financial officer of the Ford Motor Company and the CEO of General Motors. Ford had recently been trying very hard to expand its market share in China (with over a billion citizens, it was a huge market that American automobile manufacturers still had not made any gains into), and all of the Ford brass had come to the conference to try to score as many points as possible with not only his company, but the rest of the Chinese automakers that were represented there.
Tapping on the microphone to get everyone’s attention, Liu said, “It appears that power has been restored, so if everyone will please take your seats, we will get started.” He waited a couple of moments until the room quieted and then stared pointedly at the Ford CEO who was talking loudly and animatedly with a representative in the row behind him. Eventually, someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around and focused on Liu. If he felt in any way chastised for holding up the other 2,999 people, he did not give any indication of it.
Looking out at the audience, Liu began, “I would like to thank you very much for coming. More effort than you know has been put into the preparations for this conference.” He looked to the back of the room and saw the members of the orchestra coming out of their changing rooms, now dressed in camouflage uniforms and holding Chinese assault rifles. “Unfortunately,” he continued, “it is time for the conference to come to an end. While many of you know me as Mr. Liu Fang, my real name is Captain Liu Fang, of the Special Forces of the People’s Republic of China.” A confused babble broke out in the audience. He allowed it to go on for several seconds and then pulled out his pistol from under the podium and fired a round into the ceiling. Complete silence ensued.
Having regained everyone’s attention, Liu continued. “Now, you will notice some members of my unit have taken positions at the doorways. Their orders are to do nothing, as long as you stay in your seats.” As the attendees looked around the room, they could see at least two soldiers in every doorway, with rifles pointed at the crowd. The soldiers looked serious and intent on their jobs. “Anyone that gets up and tries to approach the doors will be shot without warning,” Liu continued. “Anyone that does not do what they are told or causes a commotion will be shot without warning. Do not test my soldiers or you will die.”
“I am sure many of you are wondering what is going to happen to you,” Liu said, “and I am happy to tell you that the answer is nothing, assuming that you do as you are told. Right now, soldiers from the People’s Republic of China are securing the cities of both Seattle and Tacoma. We neither want these cities, nor do we intend to stay here. What we do want, however, is to reunify the breakaway province of Taiwan with the rest of our country. Right now, our military forces are currently reincorporating that province. We are here today, not to hold you as hostages, but to ensure the goodwill of your nation in allowing our efforts to proceed unopposed.”
“If we’re not hostages, then let us go!” shouted the CEO of Ford.
Captain Liu frowned. “It is rude to speak when someone else is talking. The next person that interrupts me, or speaks without being spoken to, will be subject to discipline.” He paused to ensure he was understood. “Now, if everyone does as they are told,” he continued, “you will be released at 2300 tonight. Until that time, you should stay in your seats and follow instructions. I know that it is legal for some people in this country to carry concealed handguns. Your first instruction is, if you are in possession of a concealed weapon, you are to pass it down to the end of the row, where one of my troops will take it. This will keep anyone from trying to be a hero and getting his friends and neighbors killed. Believe me when I say that all of my troops have been told to shoot anyone that looks like he is resisting. While you may kill one or two of us, the rest will return fire on full automatic, killing not only you, but many other innocent people around you, as well. There is no reason to do this, as you will all be released, unharmed, in less than nine hours.”
He saw one pistol make its way down to the end of a row. He frowned again. “Really? Only one? I highly doubt that. This is your one chance to turn in any weapons you have. If you are later found with one, you will be shot as an enemy combatant. Please be aware that you will have to go through a metal detector in order to go to the bathroom. If you cannot hold it for nine hours, you better turn them in now.” Several more pistols started making their ways to the ends of their rows. The Ford CEO motioned to one of his group, a large man wearing an ill-fitting suit, who pulled out a pistol and passed it down to the end of the front row.
“I hope that is all, for your sakes,” Liu said. “Now, sit back and get comfortable, because we are going to be here a while. You may talk quietly with your neighbors, if you would like, but everyone needs to remain seated. We will start bathroom breaks shortly, but until then, stay seated and stay calm, and everything will be all right.”
Terminal 91, Port of Seattle, Seattle, WA, 1401 Pacific Daylight Time
The Chinese troops poured like water from the transport onto the unsuspecting Washington town. Although the transport looked like any other bulk carrier, the inside had been gutted during its last overhaul and replaced with living space for troops. From the outside, it maintained the image of a somewhat sloppy, long-haul freighter (right down to the rust spots along its sides, which had been encouraged to grow during that same overhaul); it was, however, the transport for a battalion of Chinese troops.
Having been stacked like cordwood for the majority of the two-week trip, the soldiers’ joy to be free of the confines of the ship was apparent in the way that they sprinted down the ramp of the ship and began setting up a rapidly increasing perimeter. Major Chin Haung inspected the deployment with watchful eyes and liked what he saw. The heavens above knew they had practiced this enough; he expected nothing different.
Although the Major spoke perfect English, as his grades from Stanford would attest, most of his soldiers were less fluent. All of them, however, knew the rudiments of the language, especially words like ‘down on your stomachs,’ which they used to secure the longshoremen who had been waiting on the pier to unload the ‘freighter.’ Although they spoke in English, one woman watching was neither mentally nor emotionally prepared to have dozens of armed men in uniform come running toward her, and she stared blankly at the tide of men as they swarmed past her. Her ears heard the commands of “Get down!” but her mind stalwartly refused to process the information. She never saw the butt of the rifle which hit her in the head, knocking her to the ground unconscious. Unfortunately for the private wielding the rifle, the jarring of it hitting the woman’s head caused his finger to slip inside the trigger guard. In spite of orders to keep the safety of his rifle ‘on,’ he had taken it off in his excitement, and the trigger pulled, firing off a round. Although it didn’t hit anyone or anything important, it did serve notice that something was going on.
Major Chin frowned as he heard the report of a QBZ-95 rifle firing. The success of the operation required speed and surprise, and he did not want to alert the Americans to their presence before he had to. Looking up the pier to the M.V. Xin Qing Dao, he could see the side and stern ramps coming down as planned. Quickly scanning the rest of the pier, he could see that his troops had secured the length of Pier 91, including the capture of the M.V. Oosterdam, a cruise ship of the Holland America Line. As one of the
‘higher-end’ cruise lines, he was sure that there would be some excellent hostages aboard. He grinned at the thought of the fun they might have with them.
Whidbey Island Naval Air Station, WA, 1403 Pacific Daylight Time
Whidbey Island Naval Air Station was the Navy’s biggest air base in the Pacific Northwest and home to all of the tactical electronic attack squadrons (the aircraft that jammed enemy radars and communications). In addition to the EA-6B Prowler and EF-18G Growler electronic attack squadrons, NAS Whidbey Island was also home to four maritime patrol squadrons and two reconnaissance squadrons. It was generally a fairly busy base, although it appeared quiet to the pilot of Air China 306 flying over it at an altitude of 10,000 feet.
Having reached the turning point, the pilot transmitted the word, “Now!” over the radio and banked his aircraft to fly parallel down the length of the taxiway that he could see below him. As Air China 306 reached the drop zone, he pushed the button in the cockpit that turned the green light on in the back of the aircraft. Seeing the light illuminate, the jumpmaster began waving to the troops lined up in the open doorway. “Go!” he yelled, and the soldiers began throwing themselves out of the airplane. All of the aircraft’s 158 troops came down along the ramp area in front of the airfield’s hangars, putting them in a perfect position to secure the base operations building and control tower, as well as to form a guard over the aircraft on the ramp. The aircraft on the ramp would have been very valuable to the U.S. Navy’s efforts to counter the Chinese attacks, both at home and abroad; it was important to take control of them early on in the hostilities.
The wingman waited a few moments longer after 306 made his turn and then made a 90 degree turn to the left to parallel Ault Field Rd. and dropped his load of 158 troops on an easterly heading. Once on the ground, three of the platoons were responsible for securing the gates to the base on Saratoga Street, Langley Boulevard, and Charles Porter Avenue, while the rest of the troops would advance on the airfield from the south, helping to secure the patrol squadrons’ hangars.
Control Tower, Whidbey Island Naval Air Station, WA, 1403 Pacific Daylight Time
“Do you have your scope back yet?” Chief Air Traffic Controlman Bill Stevens asked his trainee.
“Almost,” replied Air Traffic Controlman Third Class Ed Brown. “Just give me a second more.”
Right at 1400, all of the power had gone out in the tower. Looking out across the base, Chief Stevens couldn’t see any other buildings that looked like they had power, either, so he supposed that the power was out at least base-wide. While the emergency generator had kicked on and they now had power in the tower, getting the scope back and regaining situational awareness was taking a little longer.
Their radar scopes were almost online again when a shadow went across the sun. Looking up, Petty Officer Brown saw a man in a parachute go by the tower window. The chief had his back to the window, though, and didn’t see him. “Umm, Chief…is there supposed to be a parachute drop today? Someone just parachuted past the window, and it looked like he had full combat gear.”
“No, there isn’t,” said Chief Stevens, spinning around. “There isn’t supposed to be anything going on this afternoon.” Looking out the window, he saw a line of men in parachutes running the length of the taxiway, about to touch down. “What the hell?” he asked.
“Is this some sort of drill?” asked Petty Officer Brown.
“There’s no drill scheduled,” said Chief Stevens. He knew there was no way that they would run a surprise drill where people parachuted onto the airfield; it was too dangerous. He had a bad feeling, which was confirmed as some of the men started running toward the tower, holding their rifles at the ready. “Make sure the door is locked,” he instructed.
He picked up the phone. Dead, damn it!
“What do we do?” asked Petty Officer Brown. They had a big binder of procedures to follow in the event of an emergency, but the procedures in the binder were for things like aircraft malfunctions or emergencies with the tower equipment. There weren’t any pages labeled, “What to do in the event of an airborne assault.”
“Stack anything you can find against the door,” said the Chief. “I’ve got a call to make.”
Control Tower, Naval Air Station Fallon, NV, 1403 Pacific Daylight Time
“Damn it!” Chief Air Traffic Controlman Dan Hamilton swore. “Hurry up and get those scopes back up. We have a strike package that will be back in 10 minutes.” He looked down as his cell phone beeped. It was a text from one of his best friends, Bill Stevens, who he had known for a long time. The text from Bill said, “Emergency call. Pick up.” As he finished reading it, the phone rang.
“Hi Bill,” he said. “We’re kind of busy here right now. We just had a major power failure and we’ve got an air wing strike package that will be back in about 9 minutes.”
“I need you to listen to me,” said Bill Stevens. “We also just had a power failure and now we are being invaded! We just had at least 100 men parachute in. They’re now organizing and it looks like they are taking over all of the hangars. I don’t have long—at least 10 are headed this way!”
“WHAT?” asked Chief Hamilton. “Are you sure it isn’t a drill?”
“The power goes out at both our bases at the same time, and now there are armed men here?” reasoned Chief Stevens. “I don’t think so!” There was a loud crash. “I don’t have long,” he said. “They’re breaking down the door!”
“Does anyone else there know?” asked Chief Hamilton.
“No,” said Chief Stevens, “all of our phones are out. Even if they did, there wouldn’t be much they could do. There are hundreds of armed men on the base.” Another crash could be heard, louder than before, followed by several voices shouting in the background. “Holy shit!” Chief Stevens exclaimed. “A fucking Chinese transport just landed on our runway! We need help here right now! You are…” Chief Hamilton would never know what Bill Stevens was going to tell him; having broken through the door and seen him talking on the phone, the first Chinese soldier through the door fired a three round burst at him with his rifle. The first bullet missed, but the second one hit Chief Stevens in the head, ending his life. The third bullet happened to hit his cell phone, ending the call.
Pier 57, The Port of Seattle, Seattle, WA, 1403 Pacific Daylight Time
Captain Hon Ming looked up from his plate of Dungeness crab at Elliot’s Oyster House and looked over to where the cruise liner Henna was tied up. To all intents and purposes, nothing was going on over at the Henna. Looks weren’t deceiving; nothing really was going on—all of the troops that the ship had brought to Seattle had departed earlier that morning, leaving him with nothing better to do than have lunch. The ruse with the broken motor had gone exactly as planned. No one actually expected Chinese maintenance procedures to be 100% effective, so no one was too surprised when the ship had broken down at the pier, just like it had done the previous time he had brought it to Seattle. Captain Hon was a proud man and ran the proverbial ‘tight ship;’ his ship was meticulously maintained, and all of the maintenance procedures were followed to the letter (or better). It had pained him greatly to break the port motor (again) and then to have to tell the Americans that “his” ship was broken down (again) and couldn’t leave port on schedule.
The Dungeness crab made it all worthwhile, though, he thought with a smile.
Terminal 91, Port of Seattle, Seattle, WA, 1404 Pacific Daylight Time
Major Chin watched as the rest of the 1st and 2nd Battalions of the 467th Mechanized Regiment continued to stream off of the Erawan. Companies E and F of the 1st Battalion joined with Companies E and F of the 4th Special Forces Battalion to continue securing the M.V. Oosterdam. Looking toward the M.V. Xin Qing Dao car carrier, he could see that the ramps were down and the first of the ZBD-08 infantry fighting vehicles (IFVs) were rolling off. The rest of the 1st Battalion was securing the port facility and starting to unload both Erawan and the Xin Qing Dao. The 2nd Battalion was waiting for
its IFVs and armored personnel carriers (APCs) to roll off the Xin Qing Dao and were mounting up and heading out as fast as they came off the ship.
The IFVs and APCs had been loaded onto the Xin Qing Dao last, so they were the first off. With many objectives to secure in Seattle, getting the maximum number of troops into position as soon as possible was the highest priority. If the initial objectives could be secured, there wouldn’t be as much need (today, at least) for the heavier armored vehicles and surface-to-air defenses. While the Major had no doubt that those capabilities would be needed, the Americans would not be able to mobilize most of their combat power for at least a couple of days. By then, most of the city should have been secured, and all of the appropriate defenses emplaced. There would be plenty of time to unload the armored brigades as the afternoon wore on.
As he watched, the helicopter onboard the Erawan lifted off, carrying a piece of equipment underneath it. An odd-looking piece of equipment, a civilian might think that the thing dangling from the helicopter was some sort of weird ray gun. Slung beneath the helicopter was a ten foot long trailer that had a generator on its back. On top of the generator was a large, tapered metal object that spanned the length of the trailer and extended two feet beyond the end. The large piece of metal was about eight inches thick at the back, narrowing down to about four inches at the front with wire spiraling up the length, giving it the look of a gun. This war-like appearance was augmented by the three foot-long pieces of metal that stuck off the narrower end. He could see a thin plume of smoke from the generator; it was obviously already in operation.
Red Tide: The Chinese Invasion of Seattle (Occupied Seattle Book 1) Page 11