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Authors: Fatal Terrain (v1.1)
Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 06 (2 page)
“Where if your enemy
fights with intensity he will
survive but if not he will
perish, it is called
‘fatal terrain.’
On fatal terrain,
always engage in battle.”
—SUN-TZU, Chinese military
theoretician, from his essays
The Art of
War
Contents
NATIONAL ASSEMBLY HALL,
GOVERNMENT HOUSE,
TAIPEI
,
REPUBLIC OF
CHINA
SUNDAY, 18 MAY 1997
,
1900 HOURS LOCAL (
17
MAY, 0700
HOURS ET)
The
fistfight broke out as suddenly as a thunderclap. Several men and women leaped
over seats to clutch at those who dared disagree with them or support another
side over theirs. Railings and seats were used as ladders to try to get at one
another, and the entire crowd seemed to surge forward like a pack of wolves on
the attack.
The
scene resembled an unruly crowd at a World Cup soccer match, or a riot in South
Central—but this was a special session of the National Assembly of the
government of the Republic of China on
Taiwan
.
The
president
pro tem
of the National
Assembly hammered his gavel, trying to restore order. He glanced over at the
national guard troops peeking through the window in the back of the chamber,
ready to burst in if necessary. He heard breaking glass and almost hit the
panic button, but stayed calm and watched nervously as the noisy politicians
surged forward. It took nearly thirty minutes to restore some level of calm,
and another ten minutes for the legislators to clear the aisles enough so the National
Police could escort the president of the Republic of China, Lee Teng-hui, to
the podium.
“My
fellow citizens, your attention, please. I am pleased to announce the results
of the ratification vote of the Legislative Branch, which was taken just a few
hours ago,” President Lee began. “By a vote of two hundred seventy-one for,
thirty against, three abstaining, Mr. Huang Chou- ming is hereby approved by
the people of the
Republic
of
Taiwan
to serve as vice president and premier. Mr.
Huang, step forward, please.”
Amid
renewed cheering and yelling, mostly from the left side of the hall, the new
premier of the Republic of China stepped up to the dais and accepted the
green-and-gold sash of office. Huang was a major figure in the Democratic
Progressive Party (DPP), and his election to the number-two position in the
Taiwanese government was significant—it was the first major advance of a
non-Kuomintang (KMT) Party member in the country’s short history. Although the
Kuomintang still held a solid majority in all branches of the Taiwanese
government, the advancement of the DPP was a major shift from nearly fifty
years of KMT philosophy and control.
The
shouting, cheering, celebrations, and accusations suddenly and violently turned
into another brawl on the floor of the National Assembly. While bodyguards
surrounded the president and vice president, members of Taiwan’s National
Assembly ran up and down the aisles, stood on desks, and screamed at each
other; several members were up on the dais near the president, fighting with
one another to decide who would speak with the president first. Members of the
National Police Administration, charged with the protection of government
buildings and property and who acted as security guards in the National
Assembly chamber, had moved into the chamber itself and stood stock-still along
the outer aisles of the Assembly chamber, long cane batons nearly invisible at
their sides and tear-gas canisters safely tucked away inside their tunics. They
did nothing but watch with stone-expressionless faces while the fights and
bedlam raged all around them.
“My
fellow citizens,” President Lee tried. His voice, even amplified, was barely
heard. He waited patiently for any sign that the near-riot was subsiding. He
heard clothing rip just a few paces away from him—the fight had somehow moved
up to the dais, where police were trying to keep Assembly members from reaching
the president and new premier— and decided that he needed to wait a few moments
longer. He had a pistol tucked away in a holster inside his pants at the small
of his back, and Lee considered firing a shot in the air to get everyone’s
attention, but quickly decided that a gunshot might just make this place
explode.
The
Taiwanese National Assembly was composed of members elected for life. Since
most of the membership had been elected to their post in 1948, prior to the
Communist overthrow of the Nationalist Party on the mainland, there were some
very old gentlemen here in the Assembly Hall. But the old goats, Lee noticed,
were arguing and fighting just as hard as the more newly elected members—they
just had less endurance. The hall was splitting into two distinct sections, a
normal and common occurrence here in the National Assembly. The largest group
was the Kuomintang, along with their nominal allies the New Party, the Young
China Party, and the Chinese Democratic Socialist Party. On the other side were
the members of the Democratic Progressive Party, a more liberal and
modern-thinking political party filled with young, energetic, rather idealistic
members. Although the right side of the hall, filled with KMT members and
supporters, was much larger, both sides were equally boisterous.
“My
fellow citizens, please,” Lee tried again. When he realized there was no
response to his pleas, Lee finally ordered the police to step in. Order was
quickly restored. “Thank you. We will now proceed with the main piece of
business on tonight’s agenda.” Huang respectfully stepped behind and to Lee’s
right; this simple action got the Assembly’s attention right away, and the
chamber quieted. Lee quickly continued: “This election also signals a unity of
purpose and policy within our government, my friends, a union between rival
patriotic groups that has been much too long in the making. Our newfound
coalition between the KMT and DPP forms the basis of our pride in our
accomplishments and our standing in the world community. It is time for our
unity, our pride, to be brought forth upon the world for all to see.”
President
Lee let the loud applause continue for a few long moments; then: “With humble
pride and great joy, Premier Huang and I hereby bring to the floor of the
National Assembly a bill, drafted by the Central Standing Committee of the
Kuomintang, amended by the Legislative Yuan Major Constitutional Committee, and
passed this date unanimously by the Legislative Branch, to amend the
constitution of the Republic of China. It is now up to us to ratify this
constitutional amendment.
“The
bill amends the constitution by proclaiming that the Republic of China,
including the island archipelagoes of
Formosa
,
Quemoy
,
Matsu
, Makung, Taiping, and Tiaoyutai, is now and
forever shall be a separate, sovereign, and independent nation, subordinate or
component to none. The people of the Republic of China hereby renounce all
allegiance and ties to land, title, property, legal claims, and jurisdiction to
the mainland. Our prayers will always be that we are someday reunited with our
motherland, but until that day comes, we hereby proclaim that the Republic of
China is a separate nation, with all the rights and responsibilities of free
and sovereign nations anywhere in the world. The bill is hereby submitted for a
vote. May I please have a second?”
“I
proudly second the motion,” the new premier, Huang Chou-ming, shouted, which
lifted the applause to a new, outrageous level. Huang and the DPP had been
fighting for such a declaration of independence for many years, and their
victory in getting this legislation passed and onto the Assembly floor was the
most significant event in the history of the Nationalist Chinese.
The
introduction of this bill meant that the Kuomintang s basic philosophy of one
China, introduced by Dr. Sun Yat-sen as he and Nationalist General Chiang
Kai-shek fought to liberate China from the grasp of the Japanese empire after
World Wars I and II, and proclaimed ever since the Nationalists were pushed off
the mainland to the island of Taiwan by the Communists in 1949, was effectively
dead. There had always been a hope that the Nationalists could somehow liberate
the mainland from the dark clutches of communism, now the government and the
people were saying that hope was moot. Mainland
China
could someday join in the prosperity and
power of the Republic of China—but until then,
Taiwan
was in control of its own destiny.
The
cheering in the Assembly hall was deafening; the applause and demonstrations in
the aisles lasted for nearly ten minutes. There was still a small group of KMT
members opposed to the amendment, and they tried to start another fight on the
Assembly floor, but their anger and outrage could not undo years of Lee’s
gentle persuasiveness and coalitionbuilding efforts.
But
it was more than releasing an improbable dream. It was an assertion, a
declaration to the world, and especially to the gargantuan presence known as
the
Peoples
Republic
of
China
, that the Republic of China on
Taiwan
was taking its rightful place on the world
stage.
Taiwan
was no longer a breakaway republic of
China
; the ROC was no longer a rebel government.
It had the strongest economy in
Asia
, the
ninth-largest economy on the planet, and the largest deposits of foreign
currencies in the world. Now it was a sovereign nation. No one was going to
take any of that away from them.
It
took an entire hour for the votes to be cast, but the results were finally
tallied and the announcement was made, soon for all the world to hear:
independence.
SOUTHBEACH
,
OREGON
SATURDAY,
17 MAY 1997, 0415 HOURS PT (0715
HOURS ET)
As
he had done for the past thirty-two years of his life, the retired U.S. Air
Force general was up at
four
A.M.
,
without the assistance of an aide, an
operator, or even an alarm clock. He was a man who had always
set
the agenda, not followed those of
others. He was accustomed to having everyone else get moving on
his
timetable.
But
now no one in a base command center was waiting for him, there were no “dawn
patrol” missions to fly, no world crisis that had to be analyzed so a response
could be planned. His uniform now was not a green Nomex flight suit or freshly
pressed blue wool class As, but a flannel shirt, thermal underwear—one of
innumerable pairs he had used in his flying days, in aircraft where keeping the
electronics warm was more important than keeping the humans warm—hunting socks,
hip waders, an old olive- drab nylon flying jacket, and an old Vietnam-era
camouflage floppy “boonie hat” with spinners and lures stuck in it. He didn’t
know that all those things in his hat had nothing to do with open-sea fishing,
but it didn’t matter—it was part of the “uniform.”
By
force of habit, he put the hardened polycarbonate Timex aviator’s watch on his
left wrist, although his own internal body clock was all he needed now; and he
plucked the cellular phone from its recharging cradle, turned it on, and stuck
it in his fanny pack, although no one ever called him and he had no one to
call. For a long, long time, since assuming his first command more than twenty
years before, leaving his quarters without a portable radio or a cell phone and
pager had been unthinkable, and such habits die hard. The cell phone was something
of a link to his old life, his old base of power. The old life had been
stripped away from him, but he would not let it go completely.
The weather in Oregon’s central
coast matched the man’s mood— gray, cloudy, and a little depressing. The man
had spent many years in the Southwest, especially southern
Nevada
, where they had more than three hundred
clear, sunny days a year. Many times he cursed the sun and the oppressive heat
it brought—one-hundred-degree days in April, lots of ninety-degree
midnights
, terrible jet performance especially in the
high deserts—but right now a little sun and warmth would be very welcome. It
was not looking good—typical low overcast, drizzle with occasional light rain,
winds out of the southwest fairly light at ten knots but threatening to
increase, as they usually did, to thirty to forty knots by afternoon.