China Attacks

by Chuck DeVore

  It was eleven o’clock on Saturday. Over the entire length and breadth of the island the ROC forces began to understand they were in a fight for their very existence.

  Communication was almost impossible.

  The incapacitating agents temporarily decapitated the civilian leadership in Taipei. If they survived their 12 hours of LSD hallucinations without being killed or captured, they might make a contribution to the war effort, but for now, they were quite literally, insane. On key landing beaches or in ports, a different chemical agent was used to rob the defenders of their mental initiative. Several sites where Taiwan’s mobile and armored forces were based were hit with a third type of agent designed to maximize confusion.

  China’s genetically engineered influenza attack was having the most severe immediate impact on the armed forces. Fully half of Taiwan’s military was sick with the flu. Almost half of those were confined to bed rest (many should have been in the hospital but the hospitals were filled to capacity with the very old and the very young).

  Lastly, China’s conventional assault was going well (with the sole exception of the attack on Kaohsiung). The E-bombs destroyed half of Taiwan’s air force and now China’s advanced Russian-built fighters ruled the skies over the battlefield. All four of Taiwan’s major ports were under assault and some 50,000 troops were on their way by air and sea within the next 24 hours to reinforce the almost 20,000 troops already on the island.

  In spite of their disadvantages, the ROC Army still had 195,000 troops on Taiwan—even with half of these ill, they would outnumber the PLA for at least another day, maybe two. To be effective, however, a military force must be able to do three things: shoot, move, and communicate. The first two the Chinese made difficult for the Taiwanese, the last wasn’t happening much at all yet.

  Taiwan’s military forces tried as best they could to restore communications. All across Taiwan the military dipped into their extensive underground bunker network to bring carefully stored radios out of their aluminized plastic wrappings. Within two hours, a series of line-of-sight tactical FM radios began to carry a fraction of the needed communications traffic of modern war. Using airborne electronic warfare equipment designed with the help of Russian engineers, the Chinese jammed some signals and eavesdropped on others (their task made all the easier by the fact that so few radios were working). In spite of the PLA’s attempts to shut down Taiwan’s radio traffic, some data did get through. The officers in the bunkers asked and answered questions. They shared information. Gradually, a rough picture emerged of the situation. But there wasn’t much Taiwan could do about it—yet.

  One of the bright spots for the defenders was the sudden and unexpected arrival of the Americans on the scene within minutes of the attack. For the Americans it was fortunate that the Chinese had so severely suppressed Taiwan’s defenses—without the initial damage and confusion, the Americans probably would have suffered heavy casualties from “friendly” fire.

  It was noon. The Curtis Wilbur was now anchored just outside Kaohsiung Harbor’s northern entrance. The Germantown, waited for clearance to go into the harbor and off-load anything of use for the Marines on shore. In the meantime, a steady stream of helicopters shuttled Marines, excess sailors rescued from the other ships, wounded, and supplies on shore. Normally, the safest place in a combat situation would have been on board ship. However, another Chinese missile attack was highly likely so the shore seemed the safer bet.

  With the two Harriers out spotting for the Curtis Wilbur the ship’s captain decided to go back to the CIC. From there he could track the radioed location of the aircraft and direct any missile attack onto hostile shipping. At 1203 hours the “Mark One Marine early warning and targeting system” found its first target.

  “Dragon Two Three to Red Lance, over,” it was First Lieutenant Snake Gilbert the late Captain Hill’s wingman.

  “This is Red Lance,” a petty officer Fire Controlman responded.

  “Red Lance, I see two large ships. They look like commercial ferries. Do you have a good azimuth to my signal? I read yours as two seven degrees. Over.”

  “Roger. Wait one on the azimuth, over.” Electronic warfare technicians locked onto the Harrier’s line-of-sight FM transmission and calculated its azimuth. They reported back to the Fire Controlman.

  The petty officer was grinning ear-to-ear. This was his idea in action. “Dragon Two Three, we confirm. We have you at two zero six degrees. We’ll split the difference. Do you have a distance? Over.”

  “Roger Red Lance, my INS (inertial navigation system) says I’m two three point three nautical miles out. Distance to target is about three miles dead ahead of me. I need to get a closer look to get a positive ID, over.”

  “Roger Dragon Two Three.”

  Commander Meade paced in the muggy CIC. The missile attack also crippled much of the ship’s electrical power and air conditioning capabilities. “Tell Dragon Two Three that we’ll fire on his positive ID.”

  The Fire Controlman radioed back, “Dragon Two Three, as soon as you give the word, we’ll launch, over.”

  High above the Harrier and 11 miles to the west, two squadrons totaling 20 Chinese J-6 fighters were running escort for the invasion fleet. They expected to encounter light resistance from ROC Air Force fighters that may have survived the E-bomb attack nestled deep within their bunkers. They didn’t expect a USMC Harrier acting as a forward observer for a U.S. Guided Missile Destroyer.

  The USS Curtis Wilbur contained 90 Mk 41 VLS (Vertical Launch System) tubes. Of these, 24 held Tomahawk cruise missiles (all designed for land attack) leaving 66 tubes for the SM-2 (MR) (Standard Missile-2 [Medium Range]) anti-aircraft/anti-missile missile. With a range of up to 104 miles, the SM-2 (MR) is what makes it so deadly for hostile air to approach a U.S. task force protected by the Aegis air defense system. The E-bomb burned out the radar receivers on the ship, however, so, except for the small Phalanx radar, all other radar transmitters were turned off. Between the Curtis Wilbur’s lack of radar emissions and the heavy anti-ship missile attack a few hours before, the PLAN admirals figured the American warships were resting peacefully and harmlessly at the bottom of the ocean.

  “Red Lance, Red Lance, this is Dragon Two Three, over!” First Lieutenant Gilbert was checking in.

  “Go ahead Dragon Two Three,” the petty officer on the Curtis Wilbur replied.

  “Red Lance, I’ve got at least 16 inbound bogies six miles off. I haven’t gotten a positive ID on the ships yet. Over.”

  Commander Meade leaned over the Fire Controlman, “We can’t fire on the ships yet, they could be civilian. The bogies are another matter; anytime 16 aircraft fly in a mass, they’re military. I wonder whose?” The skipper smacked his right fist into his hand. “Damn!”

  The young petty officer looked at his commander, “Sir, the Aegis radar receivers are gone but the transmitters work. We could try to illuminate the targets and launch our missiles using the Harrier’s general coordinates. With luck, the missiles will home in on the targets and hit some. We can’t control them individually so a few aircraft might get hit by more than one missile. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best we can do.”

  “Two good ideas in one day! Great job sailor,” Meade was beaming, “Tell the pilot what we’re going to do and tell him to get on the deck when we fire. I’ve just decided those are hostile aircraft.”

  “Dragon Two Three, we’re going to target the bogies. We can illuminate them with the radar and hope the missiles home in on the reflected signal. Give us your best guess of where they are, over.”

  “Roger. . .” replied the lieutenant.

  Within a minute the Curtis Wilbur’s CIC had designated a box some three miles wide by five miles deep by one mile tall some 30 nautical miles away. This was the target box. The captain decided to volley 20 missiles into the box. What the ship’s missiles didn’t kill, the Harrier could. Then, with the enemy aircraft out of the way, the inbound ships might be IDed and attacked if found to be enemy.<
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  Missiles rippled out of the bow section of the destroyer. They shot straight up then rapidly tipped over at almost a 90-degree angle and headed west. By now the Harrier was only 100 feet above the water, shielded from powerful radar’s beam by the curvature of the Earth.

  Overhead and now to the east, Snake Gilbert saw trails of black smoke come falling out of the sky. He grinned, called the Curtis Wilbur, ran a mental calculation on his fuel burn and gunned the Harrier to engage the remnants of the enemy force before he ran so low on fuel that he wouldn’t have time to return and inspect the unknown ships.

  As Lieutenant Gilbert thought might be the case, his radar picked up four aircraft heading towards him. Mothers, I’d run away too if I just got my ass wiped by a blind cripple. Still configured for ground attack, Gilbert only had two Sidewinder air-to-air missiles at his disposal. He always wanted to shoot another aircraft down—something a Harrier pilot wouldn’t be expected to do. Still, there were those ships to check out. “Red Lance, Red Lance. We still have four bandits aloft (since they turned back towards Mainland China, it was now a safe bet they were enemy). They’re about ten miles closer than they were the last time. They’re headed west. I don’t have the missiles or the time to deal with these guys, can you take ‘em down for me? Over.”

  On board the Curtis Wilbur the skipper nodded. The petty officer called back, “That’s a wilco. Missiles on the way.”

  Less than two minutes later Gilbert saw three aircraft going down in flames. The last one won’t be a problem today. He edged higher and flew towards the two ships that were now about five miles away. Only 20 seconds later he was certain these ships were part of an invasion force. His targeting radar picked up five smaller ships operating as a picket for the two larger ones.

  The targeting solution for the anti-ship missiles was easier than it was for the Standard missiles. First, the Americans didn’t have to worry about altitude. Second, the anti-ship missiles had their own radars for terminal guidance and wouldn’t have to rely on the crippled Aegis system. Third, ships make a much slower target than aircraft. Even still, the Strike/Missiles officer on the Curtis Wilbur had to carefully decide how to use his six Harpoons. The Harpoon’s relatively small warhead (488 lbs compared to 1,000 lbs for the anti-ship variety of the Tomahawk) and their small number meant that each missile had to count. (In the bad old days of the Cold War, ships like the Curtis Wilbur carried a mix of land-attack cruise missiles and anti-ship cruise missiles. In the age of hyperactive gunboat diplomacy, however, every last one of the 550 anti-ship Tomahawks had been removed from the fleet—both from ships and submarines—and placed into storage. Because of the heavy use of land attack Tomahawks against Serbia in 1999, 200 anti-ship missiles were taken out of storage and were being converted into land attack models.) The Harpoon’s warhead was designed to penetrate first, then explode. It was really designed to destroy warships. Given their targets appeared to be large civilian ferries and small patrol boats, Commander Meade wished he had the larger Tomahawks to use. He ordered an attack on the ships using three Harpoons apiece. Meade knew in his current state there was no telling when his ship would be rendered ineffective.

  The anti-ship missiles blasted from their canisters on solid rocket motors. The solid rocket motors rapidly accelerated the missiles then burned out, leaving the missiles running at just under the speed of sound on turbo jet engines.

  Gilbert was running low on fuel when he saw the first Harpoon streak under him, hugging the waves. He knew there must have been more, but they were hard to see against the increasingly rough ocean which now had white caps. The pilot turned around and made another pass at a right angle to the ships’ path. This time he made the run at 1,000 feet. He had a perfect view of the ships about three miles off. Snake hoped their air defense systems lacked the means to reach out and touch him.

  The first Harpoon acquired its target, a large ferry dragooned into service from Hong Kong. On board were 5,000 men of the 97th Infantry Division’s 2nd Regiment as well as more than 100 trucks and armored personnel carriers.

  The heavily laden inland ferry was only making nine knots against the stiffening east wind and rolling seas. It had set sail at 1800 hours the night before from Shantou and was now two hours behind schedule. Its mission was to land the 2nd Regiment in Kaohsiung Harbor, if possible. If the 3rd Regiment had failed to secure the harbor on time, its alternate landing beach was the sandy area just south of the southern entrance to the harbor (north of the harbor was too steep and rocky for a landing). The shallow draft ferry with its powerful and maneuverable engines could slide up on the beach and lower a ramp, allowing its passengers a rapid exit.

  The Harpoon went into its terminal dive and hit the ship in the bow. The explosion tore the bow open. This single blow would have been sufficient to sink the over-laden ship within 90 seconds, but the Harpoons weren’t smart enough to recognize a dying ship. The second missile dove into the ferry amidships and hastened its demise. Only a few civilian crewmembers survived.

  The second ship was the same class of commercial ferry as the first and also from Hong Kong. Modern, sleek and efficient, it normally carried up to 200 cars and 1,500 passengers between Hong Kong Island and Kowloon. Today it was carrying the 1st Regiment of the 97th Infantry Division. Three Harpoons crashed into the ferry’s superstructure and set it afire. Fuel and ammunition soon made the ship a very unsafe place to be. The ferry carried only enough life vests and rescue boats for less than a third of the passengers. More than 3,000 soon drowned. Drifting without power, the burning ferry would finally sink about midnight, its huge plume of thick black smoke and intense flames were a half-day reminder to the war’s participants that the enemy gets a vote in the outcome of any conflict.

  At 1245 hours local time in Taiwan, almost midnight in Washington, D.C., Commander Meade finally reestablished communications with PACOM (Pacific Command) in Hawaii via the INMARSAT (International Maritime Satellite) telephone. Due to blind luck, the INMARSAT was down for routine maintenance during the attack and as a result, was not damaged.

  Because INMARSAT calls can be intercepted, Commander Meade didn’t want to be too open via unencrypted voice communications. The initial contact sounded like a routine naval communication. The radioman in Honolulu recognized the voice of a signal school classmate of his on board the Curtis Wilbur. He could barely contain his excitement at hearing from a fellow sailor he thought dead only minutes before.

  Within a few minutes, however, Meade’s signal crewmen established a secure voice link over the SATCOM phone. The signal specialist handed Meade the phone, “Sir, I’ve got PACOM in secure mode. The link may not last as well as with military SATCOM, but it’s the best we can do.”

  Meade smiled at his hard-working sailor and picked up the phone, “This is Commander Meade, captain of the USS Curtis Wilbur reporting in. I need to speak with the watch officer. We have been attacked, I say again, we have been attacked.”

  At the other end of the phone, a four-star admiral let loose a sigh of relief. He had been pacing nervously for almost five hours since two in the afternoon. The news that the Belleau Wood ARG was observing what looked like a huge Chinese cross-channel air assault on Taiwan was bad enough. The ARG’s loss of comms was worse. The constant calls for information from the Pentagon and even the White House itself were nothing short of a nightmare.

  The CINCPAC (Commander-in-Chief, Pacific Command), Admiral Dunbar, measured his voice as best he could as he spoke into the phone (the conversation was routed over a speaker and recorded so the staff would hear everything), “This is Admiral Dunbar. Glad to hear you’re alive. Who attacked you and what’s your status?”

  Commander Meade was relieved to hear the top man himself on the line, maybe now he could get some assistance, “Sir, we have been attacked, probably by the Chinese, judging by the direction of the attack. We have lost the Belleau Wood and the Dubuque with heavy loss of life. At least 500, although we’re still trying to get accountability.”
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  “500 dead!” the Admiral exploded, not only seeing an historic naval catastrophe, but also seeing his career coming to a grinding halt.

  “Yes sir, it could have been worse. Both my ship and the Germantown were struck by large anti-ship missiles. The defensive systems were all knocked off line by the EMP from a nuclear explosion. The missiles hit us less than 15 minutes later. If it weren’t for my crew getting one Phalanx up we probably would have been sunk. . .”

  “Why the hell were you in the Strait? The PRC issued a navigation warning. . .”

  Meade was shocked. Dunbar was looking for a scapegoat. Fortunately, he was missing and presumed dead. On the other hand, Meade wasn’t in the mood for heaping blame on a dead hero and colleague, even if there was an admiral on the end of the phone, “Admiral, we were in international waters. Isn’t it the Navy’s long-standing policy to ignore such short-notice advisories as illegal? Besides, there is a typhoon to the southeast and the Taiwan Strait would provide us some. . .”

  “Damn it Commander, you just lost more sailors in one day than we’ve lost on any day since World War Two! Don’t tell me about typhoons!”

  “Sir, we could use some help here. We have detected and engaged elements of a Chinese invasion fleet heading for Kaohsiung. We think we destroyed the first wave. . .”