Fourth Crisis: The Battle for Taiwan (11 page)

Among Taiwan’s northern island chain was Tungyin the site of
a Long White early warning radar, planted into one of the island’s weathered
hillsides.
 
The radar spotted the massive
Chinese missile launch.
 
Command in
Taipei alerted, Taiwan’s ‘Plan Monastery’ initiated.

Military police deployed into Taiwan’s major cities.
 
Radio and television stations broadcast the
locations of shelters, and reiterated the recall of all reserves and military
personnel, and cancellation of all leave.
 
Carrying last-minute shopping as they dashed home, civilians scurried
about the cities, and stranded foreign tourists huddled in their hotels or at
embassies.
 
The Chinese missiles advanced.
 
Taiwanese civilian and military air traffic
control isolated over 272 radar tracks.
 
Commercial airliners landed or diverted.
 
Military planners calculated impact points.
 
Taiwan’s combat aircraft came off ground
alert and scrambled for the sky.
 
Horns
bellowed at Taiwan’s air force bases.
 
At
Chiayi, the bawl of the horns was followed by the base klaxon that wound up to
a continuous shrill.

“Air raid,” blared from the base PA.
 
Major Han and the other pilots lowered their
Fighting Falcons’ bubble canopies.
 
Han
initiated the jet fuel starter, and the single afterburning turbofan reached
self-accelerating revolutions and ignited.
 
Cockpit screens energized and flight instruments appeared as avionics
booted up.
 
Han flipped several
configuration switches between his legs.
 
He checked oil and turbine pressures; both within limits.
 
The radio crackled as the group started
checking in.
 
With the base klaxon just
reaching its crescendo, the order for a scramble departure was broadcast by the
base’s tower.

Han advanced the Fighting Falcon’s throttles and accelerated
his aircraft toward Chiayi’s wide runway.
 
The rest of the squadron’s nine fighter-bombers fell in and followed.
 
Han turned onto the runway threshold.
 
He swung the Fighting Falcon’s sharp beak and
pointed it down the black runway’s centerline.
 
The airplane curtsied with brakes.
 
Two other Fighting Falcons lined up either side of Han.
 
The helmeted pilots saluted.
 
Han pointed to the sky and spun his
hand.
 
Exhaust nozzles opened as
turbofans throttled-up.
 
Han made a fist
and held it high.
 
Then he unclenched and
flattened his hand.
 
The first of
Chiayi’s Fighting Falcons started a unified take-off.
 
Three more warplanes immediately took
position at the line and started to roll.
 
Han’s three-ship launch rotated and powered out on afterburner.
 
Barely off the ground, surface-to-air missile
warnings blared and flashed in the cockpits as Chinese radar painted the
Taiwanese warplanes.

“We have SAM activity.
 
Probably S-300 and 400s; Favorits and Triumfs,” Han transmitted.
 
The Russian-made surface-to-air missiles had
engagement envelopes that extended well into Taiwan.
 
All too aware of the omnipresent threat, Han
and the rest of Taiwan’s air force would use geography and tactics to mitigate the
threats.
 
Ground controllers coordinated
a mass movement of aircraft to assembly areas off the east coast of
Taiwan.
 
Like a flock of migrating
starlings that reeled and wheeled to avoid the predator, most of Taiwan’s
combat aircraft headed for the Philippine Sea.
 
Han and the rest of the 21
^st
did the same, turning their
Fighting Falcons east.

Taiwan’s central mountains grew larger and closer.
 
Han lined-up with the summit of Jade
Mountain, pulled back on the stick, cleared the craggy peak, and then dropped
the Fighting Falcon down the mount’s eastern face.
 
The cockpit threat receiver stuttered and ended
its chorus as Chinese radar beams were stymied dead by the highlands.
 
Once behind the island’s rocky carapace,
Taiwanese aircraft planned to refuel and reorganize to counter raiders.
 
Han wondered if the Chinese had gotten an air
defense ship to this side of his island, though he concluded this was a matter
for their navy.
 
Dots filled his radar
screen in neat clusters.
 
In the upper
right of the display, Han saw the orbiting tankers that would refuel him and
his friends.
 
Han looked left to his
wingman, a captain and dear friend.
 
They
leveled out, booked over Taiwan’s east coast, and went ‘feet wet’ as the
Americans say, when leaving land for sea.

◊◊◊◊

A black limousine with diplomatic plates sped down
Washington’s C Street.
 
It turned into
the State Department’s porte-cochere and stopped abruptly, with a squeaky
lurch.
 
Two Chinese soldiers in smart
suits got out and scanned the area, taking in potential threats.
 
With a rap on the limo’s tinted glass, an
older, balding man with thick black glasses was assisted from the car.
 
He scampered into the Truman Building with
his heavily, though discretely, armed bodyguards in tow.

“Good morning, Mr. Ambassador,” the State Department doorman
welcomed Ambassador Fan Wei, showing the entourage into the foyer.
 
The diplomat’s own security could go no farther.
 
Expecting to be greeted by the secretary of
state herself, the ambassador hesitated to proceed.
 
Looking around, Ambassador Fan gave a
disapproving grunt and looked to an American security guard.

“Third floor,” was all the guard would say to the ruffled
dignitary.

Secretary Pierce sat by her office window, warming her face
in beaming sunshine.
 
She closed her
eyes.
 
Why go meet him
? She asked herself, though it was more a statement
than a question.
 
The cultural and diplomatic faux pas will make clear my disdain for the
circumstances
, Pierce schemed.
 
She
chuckled and absorbed more rays.
 
She had
sent Richard to wait by the third floor elevators.
 
The ambassador
would take a lonely and unceremonious walk and elevator ride, and be met by one
of my subordinates
, Pierce hatched.
 
She smiled wide, her closed eyes twitched as though blinking.

Richard watched the elevator indicator, which rang and lit
up with every floor the ambassador passed.
 
He ruffled his hair and loosened his tie.
 
A nice
touch
, he thought.
 
The secretary would approve
.
 
A final ding and the elevator doors slid
open.
 
Richard greeted the fuming
ambassador, and extended his hand in welcome, though it was left hanging.

“Take me to Ms. Pierce at once,” the ambassador growled.
 
Richard’s hand went from shake-ready to
pointing the way.
 
The ambassador stomped
off, and Richard shadowed him.
 
When he
reached the secretary’s office, the ambassador turned to Richard and told him
to wait as if an obedient hound.
 
Richard
obeyed, but stayed within earshot.

With fingers interlaced and eyes locked on her oak desk,
Secretary Pierce did not stand as the ambassador entered.
 
She refused to speak first.
 
After a moment of silence, the ambassador
yielded.

“Good day, Madam Secretary,” he uttered.

Her eyes finally came up to meet his.
 
“No. Not a good day, Mr. Ambassador.” She
gestured for him to sit.

“I regret the circumstances of my visit,” he pronounced, and
dropped into the chair.
 
“My purpose is
to give a message to your president.”

“I would be happy to deliver it,” Secretary Pierce said, her
hands still clasped as though in prayer.
 
Ambassador Fan took out an envelope.
 
He held it out to the American secretary of state, who did not
budge.
 
“As I said, I would be happy to
deliver it.”
 
The ambassador sat up and
cleared his throat.
 
He has practiced this
, Pierce concluded.
 
And
here it comes
…

“Madame Secretary, the People’s Republic of China has been
attacked by one of its own renegade provinces.
 
In measured and legal retaliation, China has begun reunification of its
lands.
 
I have been instructed to make
absolutely clear that my government views this matter as an internal security
matter and will tolerate no intrusion.
 
The United States has persisted in arming, emboldening, and defending
the Nationalists, and, with this continued arrogant interference, China has now
been given no other recourse than to defend itself by eliminating the tools of
this interference.
 
The People’s Republic
also reserves the right to resist should the United States escalate the
affair…”

“Affair?” Secretary Pierce scoffed.
 
“Ambassador Fan, this is not a lover’s spat.
 
This is a very dangerous game your government
is playing.
 
Over 700 Americans are dead
with hundreds more injured.
 
Two of our
aircraft carriers have been knocked out and you have attacked us without
provocation.”
 
Smiling smugly, the
ambassador opened his mouth to speak.
 
Pierce stood, leaned across her desk, and continued: “The president has
authorized me to deliver a message to your government: A de facto state of war
exists between our two countries.
 
Tonight, he will formally recognize the Taipei government-in-exile and
the independence of Taiwan.
 
You and your
staff are hereby ordered to leave the country.
 
All further communication must be by red phone.
 
Good day, Mr. Ambassador.”
 
The secretary sat again, lowered her head,
and stared at the desktop.
 
The insulted
ambassador stood and exited.
 
Richard
offered to escort him out of the building.

“Stay, mutt. I know the way,” the ambassador snarled.
 
Richard shrugged and entered his boss’s
office.

◊◊◊◊

Taipei’s sky crackled with manmade thunder.
 
Peering up warily, Senior Master Sergeant Li
reasoned that the sound was that of sonic booms.
 
Dull thuds of distant explosions echoed
through neighborhoods and rebounded off Hill 112.
 
Masts of black smoke rose from the southeast
and northwest.
 
A blaze flared where the
capital’s telephone exchange and an electrical substation once stood.
 
Li raised binoculars and focused on the
airport he was tasked with protecting.
 
Songshan was quiet.
 
Its air force
jets were already aloft and remaining commercial airliners were stowed in
hangars.
 
Li panned toward Jhongjheng
District—the civic soul of the Taiwanese capital and nation—and fixed his
magnified view on the legislative Yuan, Taiwan’s parliament.

The parliament was housed in a brick building draped in red,
white, and blue bunting.
 
A portrait of
Chiang Kai Shek dangled from its tall central tower.
 
A sandbag wall snaked through the surrounding
street.
 
Soldiers and armored vehicles
loitered beneath swaying palm trees.
 
Li
focused his binoculars and wondered what had become of his government.
 
Before the missile raid had muzzled radio and
television broadcasts, journalists were reporting targeted assassinations and
kidnappings, though the parliament was still able to meet and approve a
declaration of war against Communist China, as well as formal independence for
the island nation.
 
Remaining
legislators, along with the president and other members of Taiwan’s executive
branch, reportedly have fled southeast, escaping the island to establish a
government-in-exile.

A breeze licked Hill 112.
 
Li lowered the binoculars to savor it.
 
Air raid sirens belatedly sounded around Taipei.
 
Firehouse and police station bells joined the
frightening cacophony.
 
The city was
sobbing, Li reflected, and then thought of his little girl.
 
One of Hill 112’s airmen ran from the bunker
and saluted.
 
He reported to Li that
several targets had entered radar range.

“They appear to be tracking on the airport.”
 
The two men ran together, swallowed by the
hillside bunker.

Inside, it was cool and dark.
 
Several airmen sat at terminals, their dour faces
lit green by radar screens.
 
They monitored
Hill 112’s tranche of sky, controlling the site’s anti-aircraft guns and
surface-to-air missiles.
 
Li strode to a
flatscreen that displayed strategic air, land, and sea domains.
 
The picture it presented was fearsome:
hundreds of Chinese missile tracks reached for Taiwan like skeletal fingers
seeking a deadly embrace.
 
Li shifted his
concerned gaze to a tactical screen.