The previous government.
He would claim his troops moved in to try and protect the protesters from the police and army forces attacking them, and with his helicopters having taken out the People’s Armed Police rapid response team, the proof of his intended target was clear. Were innocents killed by his men? Yes, but only by accident, in their zeal to protect the many.
That would be the story.
“Sir, look at CNN International!”
Bo looked at one of the screens, a red Breaking News banner emblazoned across the monitor with YouTube video playing, showing the massacre, and a talking head commenting as if he were an expert on everything.
Bo smiled to himself. He knew it would take at least half an hour for any PLA units to respond. His units were supposed to be the very PLA forces used in a situation like this, and they were already rolling into position for his purposes. If everything went according to plan, if he could just get that thirty minutes, he would have the city bottled up, with complete control by the morning.
General Liang scanned a report handed to him by an underling, then turned to Bo.
“Sir, every major news network in the world is carrying the story. And they are all reporting it as PLA firing on its own citizens!”
Half a smile climbed Bo’s cheek.
“Any response from our leadership?” The last word dripped with sarcasm.
General Liang shook his head. “There’s been no response.”
Of course not. In their arrogance, they sleep through their downfall.
North-East Corner, Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China
Laura cried, her chest heaving, her shoulders sagging as she sat on her knees, watching the carnage unfold. She was helpless, she didn’t know what to do. The horror of it all was just too much. She felt someone shove her shoulder and push her back to the ground.
“Keep down!” yelled Dawson.
She felt like asking, “What’s the point?” but thought better of it. She could honestly say she had never seen anything like this before, but she had been in situations that had seemed hopeless at the time, and survived. But as the tanks rushed into the crowd, Dawson had pointed out that their escape route to the north was being blocked off by armor, and when the helicopters had opened fire, a wall of flame and burning flesh blocked their escape to the east.
She could see no way out.
Dawson looked at her. They had cleared two of the concrete planters without being shot. There was one more, the very one her beloved James had been pinned down behind earlier, yellow maintenance tape surrounding it, the mess and blood all washed away as if the events had never happened.
Dawson pushed himself to his feet, the Ambassador still over his shoulder, and rushed to the final bit of cover between them and the tanks surging to close the gap. She looked across the square, then ran. Another volley erupted from the helicopters overhead, and she dove for the ground, rolling in behind the planter, and beside Dawson.
The tanks were tearing forward, the lead one hung up on a car it had decided to crush rather than go around, but they would have the road, their escape route, blocked in moments.
“We have to go, now!” yelled Dawson, who stood and rushed toward the street, exposed. She jumped up and chased after him, her mind no longer controlling her actions with reason, instead going on instinct in an effort to just survive the next few minutes. She focused on Dawson’s back, her arms pumping at her sides, her legs pushing hard against the concrete as she quickly caught up to him, the warrior slowed by the burden he carried.
An explosion erupted from her right, a round from a tank landing not thirty feet away. Dawson was blown off his feet first, he and the Ambassador tossed half a dozen yards to the left as she felt herself lifted in the air and thrown like a marionette, its owner tired of pulling the strings.
Instinctively she rolled, and was in a crouching position within seconds, the training she and James had been receiving paying off. She rushed toward Dawson, noticing he was holding his leg, and gasped as she saw a large piece of shrapnel protruding from his calf.
The screech of metal and the roar of a diesel engine caused her to spin around as the lead tank barreled down on their position.
And she did the only thing she could do.
She stood up and turned to face the oncoming metal beast, her stance wide, her shoulders squared, her arms held high in the air, not in surrender, but outward in defiance, as if she could physically stop the tank herself through sheer willpower. She knew if it didn’t stop, there was no way she could move Dawson and the Ambassador herself, and had already decided her life was forfeit, there being no way she would be able to escape the carnage unfolding around her.
She was already dead.
And she wasn’t going to spend her last few moments cowering in fear. She was going to face them as she had faced life. In control, and in defiance of the odds.
She only wished she had a chance to say goodbye to the man she loved.
And the fact he wasn’t here with her, by her side, facing his death with her, was the only thing she was grateful for this night.
For the tank didn’t stop, it didn’t slow down. It continued to surge toward her, and her visions of stopping a column of tanks like the brave soul dubbed ‘Tank Man’ in 1989, were about to be crushed under the treads of a juggernaut with no scruples, no compassion, no concern.
An automaton obeying its orders to the letter.
Crush all those who oppose you.
Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China
Li pushed through the crowd, his phone in hand, desperately trying to locate his daughter through the thousands of panicking youth. He had long since abandoned ducking with each volley of gunfire, or each clap of thunder from a tank. He knew he’d be dead regardless.
The phone vibrated in his hand and he immediately hit the button to read the message.
Daddy, help me!
His heart slammed against his ribcage, his chest tight as he typed a reply.
Where are you?
It only took a few seconds.
In the square. I don’t know where.
His thumbs flew as fast as they could, which was far slower than his younger partner might have accomplished.
Are you closer to the tanks, or the police?
Police.
He sighed.
Keep moving toward police and toward the forbidden city road. Meet me at corner.
He pushed through the crowds, racing toward a rendezvous he prayed he could keep, as another shell exploded amongst the crowd. Reaching the corner, he took cover near a tourist kiosk, his own comrades, cowering behind the burnt out hulks of their troop transports, or worse, dead, their bodies or body parts strewn across the concrete, those that could were beginning to retreat.
And leaving a crowd, in hysterics, not sure where to go. Glancing at the street, where he hoped to cross in the next few minutes, he saw a column of tanks race from their positions, pushing their way down the boulevard, and any escape to the north.
“Daddy!”
He spun as he heard the cry of his daughter slice through the crowd. He couldn’t see her, but definitely had heard her, a father always knowing the sound of his baby’s cry even if amongst a thousand others.
“Over here!” he yelled, hoping his voice might guide her.
He heard her call again, then two forms burst through the confusion, rushing directly toward him. He jumped up and waved at them. His daughter rushed into his arms, her tear streaked face flushed, her friend equally terrified. He took them each by the hand and turned toward the boulevard.
He gasped as he recognized the British professor standing in front of a tank that barreled down on her, her companions lying on the ground behind her. But there was nothing he could do for her, and for now, his priority was his child and her friend.
He ran toward the street, knowing full well he had to cross it and get to his car before the tanks arrived, otherwise all hope was lost. His eyes fixated on the squad
car across the road, then his jaw dropped as all hope drained from him, the car erupting in a ball of flame as it was taken out by one of the choppers overhead.
He came to a halt, wondering what to do, his eyes returning to the professor as she stood defiantly, his mind drifting back to his own actions over twenty years ago, when he had stood down a column of tanks exactly as she was doing.
But he feared today’s outcome would be different than it had been for him.
Forbidden City, South-East Bridge, North-East of Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China
“Laura, no!” screamed Acton, breaking from the grip Spock and Niner had him in. When he saw Laura, his immediate instinct was to run to her, but they had held him back as she had stood to face down the tank, to sacrifice herself in one final, insane act, hoping those operating the tank would have heart enough to not run over a woman standing in front of them.
But these men had no morals, not if they could participate in something like this. This slaughter, senseless in its intensity, could only be ordered by an insane man, and could only be followed by those either too scared of the insanity, or those devoid of emotion or caring, those who thought in ‘us and them’ terms, where only ‘us’ were humans deserving of compassion, and ‘they’ were mere animals meant to be slaughtered.
All he knew as he raced across the footbridge toward the boulevard was he wanted to kill them all, to see the horror in their eyes as he tore their throats out. Anger and hate filled his heart as the tank continued roaring toward his beloved, promising her last moments in life to be ones of fear and terror, but even from here he could see her eyes were wide, defiant. She was going to reach those inside with her bravery and self-sacrifice, or die with dignity, displaying the ideals he had learned were dear to her heart.
Protect the innocent.
And teach by example.
She had taken him in, a desperate man, on the run from the most powerful and determined authorities in the world, when she could have called the police. Because she had recognized he was innocent. Then she had helped him, nearly at the expense of her own life, and they had fallen in love.
And that love was still as intense now as it was then. More so. As his legs pumped, pushing him closer to her, the several dozen lanes seeming endless, their relationship flashed before his eyes as his heart cried out to God to save the one he loved, and to take him instead.
A thunderclap from behind him barely registered, but the tank, almost on top of Laura, suddenly jerked to the side, away from him, away from her, the turret erupting in flames, the shockwave from the blast sending Laura flying backward. As he rushed forward the wave hit him, causing him to lose balance slightly, then the turret erupted with a massive explosion that finally sent him tumbling to the ground, rolling several times before coming to a stop.
Pushing to his hands and knees, he looked across the street to where Laura had been, but saw only smoke and flame as a column of tanks advanced from behind the Forbidden City, and engaged the hostiles.
West Chang’an Street, North Edge of Tiananmen Square
Laura’s head throbbed, her ears pulsed with white noise, her eyes, shut, burned orange through the eyelids, her nose, filled with an acrid smell, the air so hot it threatened to singe her lungs with each breath. But all this went almost unnoticed as her entire body seemed to be getting cooked from an intense heat. Her mind tried to cut through the fog, to try and remember what had happened, then was suddenly snapped back to reality as she felt hands grabbing her, pulling her upper body off of whatever surface she had been on, then arms enveloping her and hugging her tight. She still couldn’t hear beyond the roar in her ears, but she recognized the feeling of his arms, his chest, his lips on hers.
James!
She opened her eyes and saw his tear streaked face looking down at her. His lips were moving, saying something to her, but it was a dull murmur on the other side of a wall of noise that was only now beginning to ebb. She looked around and saw several members of Delta Team Bravo grabbing Dawson and the Ambassador, then motioning for James to get moving.
As she pushed herself to her feet, she saw the inspector race past them, two young girls in his grip, and she felt her chest tighten with relief as she assumed one of the girls was his daughter. James pulled her up and she began to walk, then jog, across the street as her senses slowly came back.
Her hearing came back with a pop, and she looked up to see the choppers overhead banking and raining fire down on a column of newly arriving tanks.
Will this ever end?
Bo Yang’s Mobile Headquarters, Beijing, China
“We’ve taken the television station!” yelled one of Bo’s underlings, pointing at one of the screens as it flashed to a standby message.
“Excellent,” said General Liang, smiling at Bo. “When we’re ready, we’ll broadcast your message, and the people will be on our side.”
Bo nodded, watching the carnage unfold on CNN and the BBC, almost all television stations across the world running live broadcasts showing cellphone footage being posted by those inside the massacre. How these teenagers managed to not only record, but post video, while running for their lives, was beyond him.
Today’s children are too obsessed with gaining Facebook friends and Twitter followers.
Even in China, where everything was strictly controlled, children were posting video while running for their lives, more concerned with making it known they were in the thick of it, so they’d be the center of attention at school tomorrow, all the while forgetting the most important thing.
You need to be alive to enjoy your new found fame.
Suddenly several of the monitors went blank, and several showing streaming YouTube feeds flashed to a standard firewall message.
“What’s going on?” he asked as he stood.
“They’ve shutdown the Internet!” answered one of his men, furiously typing on his keyboard. “Cellular network is down as well!”
Bo slammed his fist on the desk, causing its contents to rattle.
General Liang approached, his voice low. “That’s almost thirty minutes ahead of schedule.”
Bo frowned, dropping back into his seat, as his plan played out in his head with this new wrinkle. They needed the Internet and the cellular network for the message to be spread, but as he looked at the monitors still showing the international stations, it was clear the message was already out.
China was in chaos, and the international community was already demanding somebody take control.
“Broadcast our message.”
East of the Forbidden City, Beijing, China
Missiles erupted from weapons pods overhead as Acton, still holding Laura by the hand, raced after Niner, who had Dawson over his shoulder, and Spock, who had the Ambassador. Both were making good time with Jimmy out front, taking point, one of the commandeered weapons held surreptitiously at his side so as to not attract attention. Inspector Li and the children were behind him, and all had eyes on the tanks to their right, and the helicopters overhead, engaging the armored column.
He quietly cheered on the army units responding to the chaos, but it quickly became evident they were losing. With no air support, they didn’t stand a chance against the attack helicopters hovering overhead. He glanced over his shoulder and saw one good thing that had come of their arrival—the tanks in the square had stopped their advance on the crowd, and had turned their attention to the bigger threat.
Which meant their fire was now concentrated in the direction Acton and his companions were fleeing.
A tank erupted into a fireball to their right, the screams of the crew inside heart wrenching. Machineguns mounted on the turrets were turning their attention to the helicopters overhead, but if things didn’t change quickly, the column sent to engage the hostiles would be eliminated.
Screeching of metal from behind caused Acton to look back and see the only functional tank in the front of the column pushing the two lead tanks out of the way, trying to end the bottleneck
they were caught up in. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw a hole punched through allowing the tank to break from the road they were trapped on and out onto the large boulevard they had just run across. The entire column surged forward, pushing the burning hulks of their companions along with them if necessary, and as the breakout continued, a new sound filled the air causing them all to look up.
Fighter jets streaked overhead, their contrails reflected against the night sky by the lights of the city. This battle was about to be ratcheted up a notch, and if they were hostiles, they’d be firing missiles right where Acton and the others were running.
He tightened his grip on Laura’s hand as he exchanged a glance with her. The fear in her eyes matched his own, but there was nowhere else to go but forward. They were hemmed in by the moat surrounding the Forbidden City on their left, and the column of tanks to their right. They had to reach the end of the ancient fortification before they stood any chance of surviving what Acton feared would be an aerial bombardment of the armor only feet away.
Bo Yang’s Mobile Headquarters, Beijing, China
“—many of you are aware, a massacre of unprecedented proportions is being undertaken by your government in Tiananmen Square at this very moment. These actions are unacceptable, an overreaction of unheard magnitude to a gathering of young people participating in an impromptu party, a ‘flash mob’ as they call it.
“Early reports are that hundreds, if not thousands, are dead. This cannot continue, and as such, I have ordered the troops under my command to take any and all action necessary to stop this atrocity. This includes directly engaging these renegade forces, and seizing the command and control infrastructure that has permitted this outrage to take place.
“Your leadership has failed you. Your country is at risk. I am Bo Yang. You know me. You know what I stand for. It is time to fight back. It is time to take China back. It is time once again for the Chinese people to stand up, and demand what is right. So I call on all those who love their country, who love the progress we have made, and who want it to continue, to unite under my banner, and to fight back against those who would oppress us, and slaughter our children. Rise up, and take back your country, resist those who would threaten our future and our prosperity. Rise up and protect your children. Take to the streets and support those troops under the gold flags. Take—”
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