China Attacks

by Chuck DeVore

  Donna saw Fu’s paper was hand written in large Chinese characters. She also noted an abrasion under Fu’s left eye that was partially covered with makeup. Donna began to worry that she would have to translate, and thus be virtually cut-off from the negotiations. The captain behind Fu took a step forward and repeated Fu’s words in very good English.

  General Taylor’s ears flushed, but otherwise he held fast. Taylor cleared his throat, “We need safe passage into Taipei to visit the United States soldiers before we can act on your first two demands.”

  The captain leaned over and translated Taylor’s comments. Fu cocked his head to listen. He nodded, started to speak, then stopped. Fu turned to Taylor and said in Mandarin, “Why only Taipei?”

  Donna said under her breath, “They don’t know about the Marine evac.”

  Taylor nodded and waited for the translation a second later. “We have personnel in Taipei who were stranded there when their aircraft sustained mid-flight damage during your surprise attack. We have no one else in Taiwan.”

  “He’s not going to like this,” Donna said between her teeth.

  The translator finished Taylor’s statement.

  Fu spat sharply.

  Donna said, “He called you a liar.”

  She finished just as the translator enthusiastically yelled, “Liar!”

  Taylor paused to let the room calm down a notch, “Our personnel who sought refuge from your unprovoked attack in international waters in the vicinity of Kaohsiung were evacuated several days ago. The United States has no military presence in southern Taiwan.”

  Fu intently listened to his translator. His forehead wrinkled with thought. He said, almost smiling, “Ah, you mean the Marines retreated from the field before the face of a superior enemy?”

  Taylor bridled at the translation and retorted, “I mean what I said: the United States has no military presence in southern Taiwan. We evacuated.”

  After the translation, Fu snorted, “I’d say you abandoned your ally just like you did in 1975 in Vietnam after your defeat.”

  “Touché,” Donna said softly, “He’s playing for the Asian audience and history and I’d say we’ve given him most of what he wanted.”

  Donna’s comment overlapped the translator’s statement and Taylor took a moment to process both messages. Donna turned from Taylor and said in English, “We are authorized to act on your first two conditions. Your last condition will require consultations with our government. We also have concerns regarding the several thousand United States citizens in Taiwan. What do you wish to do?”

  Fu listened, thought for a moment, then spoke through his translator, “You will act immediately on items one and two. After you have successfully executed these items, we will return to issue number three. Citizens of the United States engaged in lawful business activities will be unharmed and allowed to continue operations. We view this as nothing more than a civil disturbance. Business disruption is unfortunate, but should be minimized for the benefit of all sides. You will be contacted when we have arranged for your safe passage. You are dismissed.”

  All the way back upstairs Donna unsuccessfully tried to think of ways to snatch victory from the dragon’s maw. The difficult part of her mission was only beginning.

  * * *

  Three neutron bombs and a crushing PLA armored assault on the dazed ROC survivors eliminated any threat of a Taiwanese counterattack on Saturday. By Sunday the PLA had complete freedom to maneuver on Taiwan. Instead of simply seizing terrain, they concentrated on annihilating their enemy’s army one unit at a time. This effort naturally carried them south, but at a speed dependent on the tactical requirement to find and overwhelm their foe.

  Another benefit accrued to the PLA as well: both Keelung and Deng Xiaoping International Airport were now free from enemy shelling. In addition to the increased flow of supplies, the Mainlanders shuttled in another 5,000 PAP paramilitaries from Fujian province as well as an additional mechanized infantry battalion from Guangdong.

  The PLA’s supreme commander on Taiwan, General First Class Deng, was confident that hostilities would cease within ten days—two weeks at the most. The battle was won (as it was even before the fighting started according to the precepts of Sun Tzu), all that was left to do was to formally act out the pre-assigned roles of victor and vanquished.

  Deng fully briefed Fu on the situation. In turn, Fu shared his own good news with Deng: the Americans had already begun their ignominious retreat from Taiwan.

  Deng was only partially saddened that he would not soon have a chance to inflict the sting of defeat on the Americans. Fortunately, Deng was a strategic thinker, like Fu, he too understood the value to China of America’s retreat. Besides, he knew that, in time, he would again meet the Americans in battle.

  * * *

  The odd-shaped black bat winged jet taxied down the runway at the American air base on Okinawa. An impressive feat of Yankee engineering, the F-117A Stealth Fighter had its limitations. While it was nearly invisible to radar, it had to be operated at night to avoid visual detection; if spotted, it was very vulnerable, especially to enemy fighter aircraft. The F-117A was also poorly labeled. It was far from a fighter. Its primary purpose was as a tactical bomber and it was well suited for this role. The F-117A’s usual mission was to fly over heavily defended areas at night, dropping 2,000-pound laser-guided bombs on key targets. Tonight, however, this Stealth Fighter had a more unconventional mission to perform.

  Since China’s invasion of Taiwan, there had been no communications between the de facto U.S. Embassy in Taipei and Washington. This fact, coupled with the Chinese demands for surrender of all U.S. forces on the island, meant that it was imperative to establish reliable communications with the Ambassador—especially since the Ambassador’s residence was now home to 67 tired American citizen-soldiers, many of whom were wounded.

  Staff Sergeant Michael Heinzleman began his military career as a member of the Army’s elite Golden Knights parachute team. Enjoying military life far more than he anticipated, and wanting an even bigger challenge, Heinzleman signed up for a special opportunity to train with the Navy’s SEALs. Within a year, Heinzleman was on the Army’s secretive Delta Force. He was at Ft. Bragg, North Carolina when he received orders to assemble a HALO (High Altitude, Low Opening—a technique used to clandestinely insert parachutists, usually at night) kit and meet an aircraft at Pope Air Force Base next door. That was 24 hours ago.

  Heinzleman now found himself doing something so classified and unusual, that he himself had only heard rumors about it. He was strapped into a special pod inside the bomb bay of a Stealth Fighter.

  Deep inside of China’s South Central Air Defense Region bunker a yellow blip began flashing on a monitor. Moments before, China’s Passive Coherent Location system detected minute variations in civilian radio and television signals caused by the passage of a solid object through the sky. This information was automatically compared with regular radar data from China’s fixed ground and airborne systems. Within seconds, the system flagged the location of a probable stealth aircraft. When the Passive Coherent Location system saw something that radar didn’t see, it was an indication that American Stealth aircraft were lurking about. Only two minutes later the South Central Air Defense Region radioed an air interceptor division covering north Taiwan and told them to vector fighters to intercept the probable inbound Stealth.

  Heinzleman checked his watch, barely readable from behind the protective goggles he wore as part of his completely black, rubberized ensemble. According to the time he ought to be getting close to Taipei. As he looked away from his watch to adjust a strap, the pilot came over the intercom and announced, “Sergeant, I’ve got 20 seconds to the release point. Everything is nominal. We’re at 10,150 feet. Barometric pressure is at 29.95. Temperature is 49 degrees. Humidity is 100%. Wind is at 110 degrees, speed is 15 knots.”

  Ten thousand feet, won’t even need oxygen, the Sergeant thought. “Roger, all my systems check as nominal.�
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  “Opening bomb bay doors.”

  A kilometer away and just above the cloud deck a pilot in a Russian-made Chinese Su-30 fighter intently scanned his instrument panel and heads up display. He grunted—Nothing, probably just a spirit in the machine.

  He was about to call for instructions when a flight controller in the nearby ETA Phalcon AWACS broke squelch, “Sea Wind 42, we have a radar return!”

  “Go ahead, over.”

  “I have a return fixed at about a kilometer to your direct front. No altitude reading yet. Doctrinally, he’d fly in the clouds. You better slow-down, you’re going to pass him in a few seconds. I have his airspeed at 280 KPH.”

  “Affirmative. I’m deploying flaps. I still don’t see him on radar.”

  “You may be too close, widen your search beam. Maybe we’re getting a return from a different part of the aircraft than you can see.”

  “Right...” the pilot thought about his situation. He could be the first pilot in history to shoot down an American Stealth aircraft in air-to-air combat. He might even be the first pilot to down an American aircraft since the Korean War. He took a cleansing breath and called the AWACS, “Am I clear to fire a missile? I have an idea.”

  “We have no friendly traffic in the sky to your front.” There was hesitation in the controller’s voice, “What’s your plan?”

  “No time to explain, the target’s almost over Taipei. I’ll call you after I succeed!”

  The pilot was confident in his position as an elite fighter in China’s best air regiment—he knew he had some leeway for creativity in combat. He burned up his airspeed and dropped into the cloudbank.

  Heinzleman looked down. He could see nothing. The wind tugged a bit at his clothing. He knew that within a few seconds he’d have to leap out into the abyss—every moment that the stealthy aircraft had its bomb doors open was a moment that its famed radar invisibility was virtually worthless.

  “Jump on my mark,” the pilot warned, “Five, four, three...” A bright yellow glow lit up the clouds under Heinzleman. “What the... Shit!”

  The glow was immediately followed by a series of orange flashes, ruining the night vision in the sergeant’s left eye (he kept the right eye closed) “We got a heat seeker launch! Decoy flares auto-deployed. Jump now, ride’s over soldier!”

  Heinzleman decoupled the intercom then hit the quick release buckle. He was free. Within a few seconds he was falling at 110 mph. Using his right eye, he looked down at the softly illuminated face of the GPS receiver strapped to his left forearm. He was falling a little too far to the south. Using his arms and legs as wings, the champion parachutist corrected his path and wondered what was to become of his ride.

  The Chinese pilot’s hunch paid off handsomely. The launch of his heat-seeking missile caused his prey’s decoy system to kick in, automatically dispensing flares to entice his missile off course. The flares backlit the target cruising in the thinning cloud layer, making it stand out as an inky black hole in a bank of orange fog. He pushed his nose down and lined up for the kill—cannon no less, how poetic. Tonight he would become a hero among heroes.

  Above him, only seconds after he jumped, Heinzleman’s remaining night vision was sorely tested by flashes of tracer light followed by an explosion. A flaming arc of debris rained down a mile away. No one will ever know I made it out unless I land on target.

  Heinzleman deployed his black parasail at 900 feet. He flipped down his thermal sight (already warmed up and on) and searched for the distinctive roof of the American Ambassador’s residence.

  Less than ten seconds later he touched down, right on the money. Heinzleman released the parachute harness. The chute slowly began to drift off the roof before he could get control of it. He knew the Ambassador’s residence was still within Taiwanese-controlled territory but that it was very likely the residence was under continuous observation by PLA forces. His arrival was supposed to remain a secret.

  Heinzleman almost finished gathering his chute together when he heard the crunch of roof gravel behind him. He wheeled about, meeting a rifle butt as it smashed into face, robbing him of consciousness.

  * * *

  The Republic of China’s army was crushed before the gates of Taipei, yet, the ROC commander on Quemoy had five divisions reinforced with some armor, artillery and air defense artillery. Other than a handful of minor injuries during the initial PLA bombardment, his garrison had suffered none of the horrific setbacks that had befallen Taiwan. Without Taiwan, however, his position was untenable. Within three months his soldiers would run out of food (the civilians on the two islands were already complaining of rationing).

  On Sunday morning the garrison commander put out the word for all of his generals to assemble on the main island of Quemoy by Monday morning to consider their courses of action. The commander wanted to reach a consensus on when and how to surrender with dignity.

  Brigadier General Mao, the commander of the garrison on the smaller of the two islands Quemoy, took a small fishing boat over to the main island on Sunday night for Monday’s war council. On his way over Mao’s grimness was multiplied by a heaving case of seasickness. Curiously, he slept soundly in one of Quemoy’s barracks bunkers and awoke refreshed and committed to whatever purpose he was assigned in these, the last days of his Republic.

  The meeting started at 0700 hours Monday morning. The 22 generals, along with an admiral and an air force general, snapped to attention as the Lieutenant General briskly walked into the large underground meeting room.

  The general wasted no time in explaining the hopelessness of the situation and the honorable defense the garrison had thus far offered. Mao looked around the room. He saw one general, a classmate of his at the academy, crying silently. Mao shook his head and returned his attention to the garrison commander just as the leader was preparing to seek a consensus. Mao cleared his throat and began to stand, saying, “Pardon me, sir, but I feel compelled to speak to this issue.”

  Normally, such a statement would have been frowned upon. These were not normal times, and, since there were only flag officers in the room, an air of congeniality was possible which would not be the case were lower ranking personnel present. “Yes, General Mao, please continue,” the three star said.

  “Sir, we have enough food and water for three months—a little less than two if we share it with the civilians. What’s the harm in waiting? Even if we are defeated, won’t our stand here improve the treatment our countrymen get at the hands of the Communists?”

  A murmur coursed through the two-dozen senior leaders. The garrison commander, not expecting a double defiance (to himself and the Chinese), backed off a notch. “Fine, gentlemen. General Mao has a valid point. Still, I see little to be gained by sacrificing ourselves for a lost cause. I suggest we eat, meet amongst ourselves, and reconvene this afternoon at 1500 hours to make our final decision.”

  Mao grunted to himself—So the general was going to politick. Taiwan dies and we talk.

  * * *

  Chu Ling prayed harder than she ever had before in her life. She didn’t pray that her life would be spared, but rather the life of her son, Dugen, and the lives of her 59 friends, relatives and the 41 children from the village. She also prayed for the soul of Lee Bensui, the late Fu Mingjie’s Party deputy. This evil shadow of a man came by the jail every day to gloat over his captives, until, on the fifth day, he came by no more. Ling decided that the man could no longer handle the prisoners’ quiet prayers and singing—too bad, she thought, still, perhaps he now had a seed within his heart that God could work with.

  The jail in Lipu City held 60 of the mountain villagers since the late night raid almost two weeks ago. Ling’s facial wounds were slowly healing. Her heart was healing more slowly. She still held the image of her doomed and injured husband Kwok being led off to face his destiny—a destiny without God. This terribly saddened her, although she clung to the slimmest hope that her loving example may have led him to God before he was executed for �
�crimes” against the state.

  Chao Yongmin, Amoy’s Falun Gong “Master”, Brother Wang Ouyang, three other house church leaders and more than 300 followers and believers piled into six large old charter buses and headed out of Amoy for Lipu City. They got only five kilometers before they hit the first roadblock. One bus at a time, two soldiers boarded, then randomly inspected the papers of the occupants. Satisfied that there was nothing out of order with the travelers, the soldiers waved them on. Of course, it didn’t hurt that the lieutenant in charge of the checkpoint was a Falun Gong practitioner.

  The leaders had only a rough idea of what they were going to do when they got to Lipu where they knew some 60 Christians were being held in the local jail, collectively charged with subversion. From Brother Wang’s understanding of the situation, the jailed villagers were quite popular in the region, being known for producing the county’s best oranges and for their kindness and generosity. Wang shared his thoughts with Chao that this particular situation might be one that they could win—a small group of popular people jailed by a weak and minor Party official just far enough from the beaten path that the official would not have immediate recourse to excessive amounts of force. “Master” Chao agreed and the two of them arranged the trip. In the meantime the Christians viewed the adventure as a nice Sunday outing with the added advantage of having the opportunity to witness to their Falun Gong bus-mates. Likewise, the believers in Falun Gong listened politely and intently to the Christians (as would be expected since most Chinese like to hedge their religious bets, paying homage to a multitude of faiths—just in case).