China Attacks

by Chuck DeVore

  The second compound used on the assault was BZ. Experimented with by the Americans in their war in Southeast Asia, BZ was quickly discarded as militarily useless by the U.S. Army. The Chinese tested it and thought otherwise. BZ acts on acetylcholine in the nerve endings. It disrupts the high integrative functions of memory, problem solving, attention, and comprehension. At high doses, it produces delirium, destroying a soldier’s ability to perform any military task. It also is more difficult to treat, requiring sustained medical attention with a drip IV or several shots over a period of hours. Because of this, the Chinese planned to use BZ in large doses on the invasion beaches and in areas where reserve forces were known to be.

  The last agent used in quantity during the assault was d-lysergic acid diethylamide or LSD. Extremely effective at very small doses, absorbed through both inhalation and on contact with the skin, this agent was a stimulant of the central nervous system. LSD causes excessive nervous system activity. It floods the cortex and other higher regulatory centers with too much information. This flooding makes concentration difficult and causes indecisiveness and an inability to act in a sustained, purposeful manner. For this reason, and because there was no known way to counteract the agent (other than time) LSD was chosen as the agent for the assault on Taipei. While the EMP attack was probably more than enough to take away the eyes, ears and voice of the leadership in Taipei, the LSD follow-on assault also took away the mind, destroying the enemy’s ability to think rationally.

  Overall, the Chinese were very pleased with their unconventional warfare planning efforts. They estimated that the actual civilian fatalities caused by a combined EMP/incapacitating agent assault would be less than 2,000. The EMP attack would decapitate a modern, information-age society. It would also make it very difficult for the Taiwanese to wire large sums of money out of their nation’s banks to overseas locations. The use of incapacitating agents could easily be spun by Beijing’s propagandists as simply a variation on tear gas and other routine civil disturbance control measures. Non-lethal in principle, these agents would preserve as much of the Taiwanese people and economic engine as possible while simultaneously adding to Beijing’s “internal matter” cover story. They also hoped the minimal amount of deaths would lower the response from Washington, Tokyo, and Seoul.

  Dugen heard some faint “pops” overhead. He knew these would be the chemical warheads exploding over the airport. Delivered by the solid fueled M-9 rocket, each warhead was filled with 800 pounds of phenothiazine compound packaged into hundreds of small aerosol cans. As the warhead reached the target area, it split open and dispersed the cans, which immediately began spraying the agent as they fell to earth on streamers. If inhaled, the compound would begin to work in minutes.

  The M-9 missile, known as the Dong Feng (East Wind)-15 employed a Western manufactured GPS-based terminal guidance system. This commercially based system improved the missile’s accuracy by greater than a factor of three, giving it a circular error probable of less than 300 feet (CEP is defined as a 50% likelihood of a missile or bomb landing within a given circular or oval area).

  With an intact Taiwanese early warning defense system, the follow-on attack by the M-9 missiles might have faced some opposition. But the E-bomb strike destroyed Taiwan’s missile early warning radar that was to give the defenders a 90 second reaction time. Unfortunately, even with a 90 second warning, the American-supplied Patriot PAC-2+ would only achieve a four in ten chance of intercepting the missile’s warhead—and by then, the missile would be close enough to the target that its load of chemical agent would still disperse over much of the target area.

  Dugen looked at his watch again. By now the entire airport area should have been blanketed by the incapacitating agent. He went on the 747’s intercom system, his voice muffled and tinny from the voice meter of the protective mask, “Attention men of Jia Battalion, we are about to begin the reintegration of the renegade province of Taiwan into China. You know your assignments. You have trained and rehearsed very hard. You are the best soldiers China has ever produced.” Dugen’s enthusiasm was buoyed by his finding out, only an hour before, that his mission was not to be a diversion, but the lead assault in a massive air landing effort.

  Dugen paused, took a large gulp of filtered air and exhorted, “On my signal now, ten seconds, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, go, go, go!”

  At each emergency exit, Dugen’s troops pulled open the hatches and triggered the automatic inflatable slides. Because sharp-edged military equipment would quickly snag and deflate the slides, the soldiers were equipped with thin plastic sleds to protect the slides.

  The visual image of tough, heavily armed commandos sledding down plastic ramps as if they were at a water park was too much for the intoxicated ramp workers. The one with the fire extinguisher stumbled away, sensing danger and feebly reacting to it. The other three pointed at the soldiers and giggled uncontrollably.

  Dugen’s soldiers hit the ground running. Dugen had devised a special tactic for the initial phase of his operation. He had 19 commando teams of ten men each in the first wave of the assault. Each team had a specific objective. Some teams also had one or more follow-on missions. The other 19 teams each trailed a lead team, having the same mission as the first if the first was unable to complete its mission. As a secondary role, the follow-on teams used plastic zip lock tabs to bind the arms and feet of any military, police, security or official personnel they encountered. Dugen held four teams in reserve to meet unforeseen challenges. The remaining eight soldiers were part of Lieutenant Colonel Chu Dugen’s command group.

  By the time Dugen hit the tarmac, about half of his soldiers were already in operation. Because wearing a protective mask hides one’s identity and distorts the voice, Dugen had every commando wear a coded number on the mask’s front and on the back of the rubberized hood. Dugen’s number was 0001. His Executive officer was 0002. The squad leader of commando team two was 0201, etc. In this fashion, his entire team knew exactly who was in charge on the scene—and who everyone was—key hurdles when fighting in a chemical weapons environment.

  Not one shot had been fired yet. Dugen was encouraged. They might even run ahead of schedule.

  Dugen looked out from underneath the jumbo jet’s massive cluster of center landing gear at the runway. He immediately saw a huge problem, rather, five huge problems that dozens of rehearsals hadn’t taken into account: scattered about on CKS International’s runways were five commercial jets. These aircraft, if not moved, would effectively deny the army the use of the airfield he had worked so hard to get. Dugen had to think quickly.

  He decided to commit his reserve early. He called for his reserve leaders—men instructed not to leave earshot until assigned a mission, “Reserve squad leaders!” Four men ran to Dugen’s position under the aircraft. Dugen suddenly felt very vulnerable, having a tactical conference under the belly of a fuel and ammunition-laden 747 in the middle of an invasion. Another oversight from the rehearsals.

  “I need you to tow those aircraft off the runways. Cluster them near the terminal. The tow vehicles ought to work (Dugen remembered the short technical briefing on the effects of the E-bomb they gave him just before takeoff). If you need technical help, grab some of the airport workers. They should still be able to talk. Treat them nicely. Tell them you’re from the army and you’re here to help. Any questions? Go!”

  For some reason, Dugen was more at ease. He had encountered a problem and believed he had the means to solve it. A challenge-free operation meant he was missing something. He set to work clearing the airport for the Chinese army forces that were due to fly in within the hour.

  * * *

  The inside of the dry bulk container ship in Kaohsiung Harbor held more than 4,000 Chinese infantry—an entire regiment and some divisional support elements of the 97th Infantry Division, 14th Group Army. Every weapon they had was man-portable. Vehicles and larger crew-served weapons such as medium and heavy artillery would have to wait
for the follow-on forces.

  The noise in the ship was an echoing madness. The private was ready to throw up the water he had consumed so quickly a few minutes before. Three days in this hell hole had left him fatigued. Now, adding insult, the platoon sergeant ordered the platoon to don their protective masks.

  The air inside the mask was thankfully free of the odor of the overflowing toilets, but the mask offered little else in the way of consolation.

  The private and his fellow soldiers were crammed into a ship that normally carried ore. To increase its human cargo capacity, the PLAN secretly and hurriedly added an inexpensive network of metal shelving within the ship’s hold. As an afterthought (and for general hygienic reasons) portable toilets had been brought into the hold as well. To complete the deception, a layer of shelving was added to the top of the ship upon which a thin layer of ore was placed. From the air, the ship looked loaded. To facilitate easy ingress and egress, several hatches were carefully cut into the side of the ship, allowing the troops the leave rapidly from the hull, rather then climbing up through the top and back down the sides again.

  Due to the pursuit of normalized relations and lucrative trade and investment opportunities, there had been direct cargo connections between the Mainland and Taiwan for a few years now. It was this routine activity the Chinese sought to exploit for military gain. A cargo vessel is not the most ideal platform for launching a seaborne invasion. However, with total surprise, somewhat akin to the Trojan Horse, a ship could get into a harbor and might successfully get its troops into battle as was done by the Germans in 1940 in Norway.

  The Chinese plan called for the use of three such outfitted cargo ships, docking, from north to south, at: Taichung Harbor, Tainan and Kaohsiung. Each ship carried about 4,000 men. In addition, the Chinese pressed one of COSCO’s luxury cruise ships into service to take the port of Keelung in the far north, only 20 miles northeast of Taipei. This ship carried an entire infantry division, less its heavy equipment. Thus, without a shot being fired, the Chinese landed 22,000 troops—the better part of two divisions—on Taiwan. (China possessed a traditional amphibious assault force capability of only 20,000.)

  In the meantime, the soldiers in Kaohsiung had the element of surprise and the force multiplying effects of the E-bomb and the incapacitating agent. The former had just detonated when the cargo ship began to spew the latter out of its smoke stacks.

  The wind was stiffening to the west, carrying much of the agent harmlessly out to sea. Some of it did affect the dockworkers and Customs agents down the length of Penglai Road astride the main dockyards, the rest intoxicated the upscale residents of Chichin Island. The city center was untouched until six M-9 missiles rained down their canisters of aerosol phenothiazine agent.

  A feeling of claustrophobia was about to overtake the private when a brilliant shaft of light shown through into the dusty chamber. The platoon sergeant roared a muffled command through his mask. All he could say that his troops could understand was, “Go! Go! Go!” The sergeant kicked, shoved and pushed his men towards the open hatch.

  The private stumbled out into the sunlight with wobbly legs. The gangplank to the dock was only a meter wide and about eight meters long. He almost lost his balance and fell ten meters into the oily harbor waters below. He was surprised to see that he was the first soldier on the narrow, bouncing ramp. Obviously allies had positioned the walkway there, but they were nowhere to be seen.

  A mass of soldiers began piling up behind the private and pushed him forward. He stumbled down the ramp and came face-to-face with a uniformed Customs officer of the Republic of China. He held out his hand to stop the Mainlander private, “Stop. Who are you? Where are your papers?” He yelled. Accustomed to obeying authority in uniform, the private skidded to a halt, forcing two soldiers to jump off the ramp and onto the quay, while a third lost his balance and fell into the water below, his mask stifling the cry on the way down.

  The Customs officer began to laugh. The private was confused. His tremendous fatigue and dehydration were compounded by the protective mask’s confinement. He heard yelling behind him. It sounded like the platoon sergeant. He was yelling, “Shoot him! Shoot! Shoot him!”

  The private brought his assault rifle to his hip and pulled back the charging handle to chamber a round. The Customs officer, stood there, giggling uncontrollably, “Ha! You’re going to shoot me?” In a brief moment, mirth turned to fear, but the officer didn’t move.

  The private fired once into the officer’s stomach. The officer doubled over as if punched in the midsection. He staggered back, tripped and landed on his back, pain slowly clouding his eyes. He reached for his pistol. At that instant, the other two conscripts on the dock saw the danger and fired on full automatic at the Customs officer. The officer was killed by the second round—a shot to the head—but the excited and marginally trained young soldiers wasted another 25 rounds on the corpse.

  The private was pushed aside by a rush of soldiers trying to get to the dock, then make their way down Penglai Road to the port’s main Customs office. The platoon sergeant stomped by and grabbed him roughly by the wrist, “Come on, ‘Hero of all China,’ let’s move it!”

  * * *

  The ROC submarine captain was making his way to one of his pre-arranged attack positions in deeper water. The Dutch submarine was designed to function quite well in the shallow waters off a river’s delta—but, when given a choice, it was always better to have more room to maneuver and hide. Of course, the Taiwanese surface fleet knew where he might be lurking and would avoid attacking that area (no sense in being sunk by your friends).

  The tactical display showed the six ROC Navy vessels due north about two nautical miles. They formed an air defense cluster just inside the territorial waters surrounding Quemoy Island. To the east-northeast, about five enemy vessels had broken away from the main group of 25 remaining ships and were pressing in towards the defenders.

  With careful maneuvering, he knew he could get into position to attack the southernmost part of what was probably the main amphibious invasion force. He thought of the satisfaction of sinking a landing ship filled with troops and tanks from the Communist Mainland. “Tactical officer!” the statement was an exclamation, the volume, however, was tightly measured—like controlled thunder. “Give me a read on the ship types in the enemy flotilla as soon as possible.”

  “Yes sir, already working the problem,” the tactical officer was supervising the chief sonar technician who was running a comparative analysis of the propeller and engine sounds from the Mainlander fleet.

  “Sir, so far we see none of the ‘A’ list ships. There are two Jiangwei-type frigates here and here,” the tactical officer said, pointing at the sonar scope. He knew his captain loved to see the data live right off the screen, rather than looking pretty on the tactical display. “We see only one amphibious ship, a Shan-Class LST (Landing Ship Tank). Other than one Haiqing ASW patrol craft, the other 25 ships are small patrol and fast attack craft.”

  The skipper was visibly disappointed. The Shan-class displaced 4,080 tons and could only carry 150 troops and 16 tanks—and it was the largest ship in the enemy flotilla out there this morning. Clearly, this was not the vanguard of an invasion fleet. Still. . . If the enemy crossed the line today, he had orders to make them pay a price.

  Suddenly, the chief sonar operator jumped in his seat and placed both hands on his earphones. The tactical officer, who was holding an earphone over one ear said, “Sir, someone’s been hit by a missile or torpedo! Wait, there’s three more. Oh shit! Multiple detonations! Sir, the war has started!”

  “Steady now, Lieutenant,” the captain was calm and reassuring. “Target the Shan with two torpedoes. Target the Jiangweis with one each. Target the Haiqing with one. Let’s keep one ready in case we get unexpected company. Prepare to fire.”

  The boat’s torpedo tubes flooded with water in preparation for launch.

  “Sir, I’m picking up more explosions. Sir, this isn’t good, t
wo of our ships are no longer under way, we’ve lost contact.” When using passive sonar, the submarine relied on the noise produced by a vessel to make an identification of the ship’s type and location. While not perfect, especially in shallow coastal waters with the layers of salt and fresh, warm and cold water, modern tracking and processing equipment made the job much easier and more reliable.

  “Transient to our rear! 1,500 meters!” The tactical officer was almost beside himself.

  “Retarget four torpedoes on the new target area and fire when ready, then fire on the Shan after the first four torps are gone!” Hsaing directly addressed the enlisted weapons technician. Now the boat’s captain was excited. He wasn’t thinking of death, only of doing the job he was trained for as quickly and expertly as possible. “Go active at 750 meters and cut the wires!”

  The boat softly trembled with the launching of the torpedoes. “Set the torpedoes for the Shan wake home at 2,500 meters. As soon as all torpedoes clear, launch three decoys and come about to 100 degrees, then slow to two knots and let’s find bottom.”