Fourth Crisis: The Battle for Taiwan (16 page)

The leading infantry fighting vehicles pushed aside parked
cars while blasting Taiwanese Military Police Command roadblocks with cannon
fire. Infantry and tanks turned east, splitting into two columns: one headed
for the Ministry of National Defense and the Presidential Building, and the
other for the train station and parliament.
 
Intelligence said that elements of Taiwan’s 6
^th
Army—including
the feared 152
^nd
Dragons and 178
^th
Tigers infantry
brigades—guarded these strategic objectives.
 
A last minute update showed infantry fighting vehicles from the 351
^st
Armored Infantry Brigade among the Taiwanese defenders.

Zhen’s Chariot pulled into an alley between low
buildings.
 
A Dragon Turtle, with its
thicker steel shell, lingered to shield the general and his infantry fighting
vehicle.
 
Nestled between the alley’s
sheer walls, Zhen choreographed by radio the final push on Taipei’s civic
center.
 
When his colonels reported they were
in position, Zhen uttered the single code word that would invoke The Chinese
God of War and unleash his force on the government buildings: “
Kuan Ti
.”
 
And the attack commenced.

Three Vigorous Dragon fighter-bombers rolled in and dove on
Taiwan’s Ministry of National Defense, breathing fire from their cannons,
spraying the ministry’s windows and wavy concrete roof with explosive
bullets.
 
Several such softening runs
preceded the Chinese vehicles that then moved in on the fortress.
 
The Taiwanese shook off the air strike and
opened fire from the building, claiming a Chinese light tank and two infantry
fighting vehicles with TOW anti-tank missiles.
 
Explosions rocked the ministry grounds as Chinese engineers blew the
tunnels that linked the building to sewers and the subway.
 
Taiwan’s Ministry of National Defense was now
surrounded and cut off from reinforcement and supply.

Chinese Chariots peppered the ministry building with heavy
machineguns, as Dragon Turtles blasted holes in its sides with their cannons.
 
With smoke belching from windows, the Taiwanese
return fire waned.
 
General Zhen lowered
the ramp of his command vehicle and stepped from its confines.
 
Crushing a cigarette under his boot, he looked
to the battered, pockmarked building.

“Seize it,” Zhen ordered a colonel, who saluted and ran off
to supervise the final attack on the ministry.
 
Breach teams stacked up at doorways, and Dragon Turtles fired tear gas
rounds through torn building openings.
 
Chariots opened up with their machineguns and hosed the upper floors
with deadly fire.
 
Explosives detonated
and blasted steel doors from hinges.
 
The
breach teams rushed in.

Several muffled explosions ensued, accompanied by small arms
fire.
 
Soon thereafter, the colonel reported
to Zhen that the building had been taken.
 
Happy with progress so far, Zhen watched two Cub transports fly overhead,
dropping more paratroopers over key sites in the city; mainly bridges and
intersections.
 
Zhen climbed back into
his command vehicle and ripped paper from a printer.
 
It said the 44
^th
Airborne Division
had seized Chiang Kai Shek International Airport, and the 45
^th
was
mopping up the last resistance at Hsinchu City’s airfield to the
southwest.
 
It added that the Republic of
the Philippines had offered to host the Taiwanese government-in-exile, though
the former president of Taiwan, his cabinet, and remaining legislators reportedly
remained on the island, operating out of the southeastern city of Manjhou.
 
General Zhen ordered the Chariot driver to
take him back to Songshan Airport.

◊◊◊◊

With Beijing and Taipei 13 hours ahead of Washington DC,
 
Secretary Pierce and most of the Executive
Branch had taken to spending noon to midnight, local time, at work.
 
Richard and the secretary’s staff also
adhered to the new schedule.
 
Obviously tired,
Richard appeared in the secretary’s doorway.
 
He clutched a mug of coffee and looked at the school supply clock that
hung in the secretary’s office, set to Beijing/Taipei time.
 
It is high noon in the Middle Kingdom,
Richard pondered.
 
He rapped lightly on
Pierce’s open door.
 
Although he tried to
speak coherently, and despite the infusion of caffeine, he made little
sense.
 
The stream of briefs, reports,
updates, dispatches to ambassadors, and calls to allies on behalf of the
secretary had taken their toll.

“Get some sleep,” the secretary ordered him.
 
“I need you crisp.”

Too tired to deal with the train, Richard decided on a cab
ride home.
 
Alighting across the street
from his brownstone, he noticed a shadowed figure leaned against the gnarled trunk
of an old maple tree. “Richard,” the shadow spoke in an ominous, but familiar
tone.
 
Richard smiled.

“I was just thinking about you,” he confessed.

Jade jumped out with a giggle and hugged him tightly.
 
With her tantalizingly devious smile, she asked
if she could come in.

“You live here too,” he reminded her.

“I still want you to invite me in.”

“Well, my lady, please do come in.” Richard swept his hand
toward the door with exaggerated graciousness.
 
Jade batted her eyes, raised her chin, and walked in.

They stole a kiss in the brownstone’s foyer.
 
Richard grabbed her ass and whispered, “I
want you.”
 
She smiled as though she
already knew it.
 
They began to climb the
long stairs to the first landing.

Richard’s landlady was at their apartment door, scrubbing
the raised wooden panels.
 
She stopped
her frantic cleaning when she noticed the staring couple.

“What are you doing?” Richard asked.
 
He signaled her to lower the towel that she was
using to block their view of the door.
 
She
lowered it and mumbled apologies about not getting it done in time.
 
Across the door, emblazoned in red
spray-paint, was the word: ‘CHINK.’
 
The
landlord made promises of security cameras and the installation of new
locks.
 
Richard fished his keys out and
paused to read the graffito one more time.
 
He nudged Jade into the apartment and the door slammed behind them.
 
He did not notice the red paint staining
Jade’s thumb.
 
As the landlady was about
to go, Richard re-emerged to pin a small American flag over the epithet.
 
The door slammed again and latched with a
resounding click.

“Sorry,” the landlady said to the empty hall before slinking
back to her own apartment.

Richard approached his computer and sat down.
 
The screen woke up when he tapped the
keyboard.
 
Prompted for a password, he
typed it in and clicked [Enter].
 
However,
the password box popped up again.
 
He
typed harder and faster, and then mashed his fists on the keys.
 
Soon he picked up the keyboard and banged it
on the desk.

“Richard,” Jade said.
 
“Give it a rest.”
 
Richard huffed,
and then forced a smile.
 
He watched as
she slid off her shirt and sprawled across the bed.
 
He relaxed with a giant sigh and went to his girl.
 
She reached for him.
 
He took a deep breath of her natural perfume
and put his mouth to one of her dark, hard nipples.
 
She arched her back and moaned.
 
His hand pushed against her toned stomach and
slid down, where he found her soft, wet place, and he eased two fingers inside.

Physically and psychologically exhausted from the unwanted welcome
at his door, he soon fell fast asleep.
 
Richard
slipped into a dream: a mushroom cloud rising over a burning city.

◊◊◊◊

A debate raged in the command bunkers of the American
capital.
 
Civilian and military leaders argued
various measured and total responses to the Chinese attack.
 
The president absorbed the recommendations
and, with substantial Chinese nuclear forces to consider, decided on a response
that respected the escalation ladder.
 
Conventional strikes will destroy the Shaoguan
missile base that had launched against the
George
Washington
.

Shaoguan’s bunkers contained a huge store of
 
China’s DF-21D East Winds.
 
American leadership concurred that these specialized
anti-ship intermediate-range ballistic missiles had to be taken out, and such a
plan made crystal clear American willingness to hit the Chinese homeland.
 
With the course of action set, US military
leaders turned their attention to making the president’s order happen.

A stealth bomber raid was the first proposal.
 
The B-2 stealth bombers could destroy a
dispersed and forested base in exceedingly hostile air space.
 
However, the military and political cost of
losing an aircraft and its crew made that choice less than acceptable, and,
with the nuclear option off the table, they settled upon a cruise missile
strike.
 
An admiral proposed the nuclear
guided-missile submarine
Ohio
as the
perfect instrument of destruction.

◊◊◊◊

Steaming out of Washington State,
Ohio
had already sped to the western Pacific.
 
After three days of high-speed transit under
the protection of a nuclear attack submarine,
Ohio
now held steady on station 100 miles south of the Korean
Peninsula.
 
A gargantuan hole in the
water, the 560-foot submarine hovered just beneath the swelling surface.

Aft of
Ohio
’s tall
sail was a swimmer delivery vehicle—a midget submersible attached like a
lamprey to her steel casing—obviously not necessary to this mission. However,
the sub also featured there, a field of missile tube hatch covers.
 
A former ‘boomer’ on doomsday watch,
Ohio
no longer carried Trident nuclear
missiles. She had instead been converted and loaded out with conventional
Tomahawk land-attack cruise missiles.
 
Trailing her extremely low frequency antenna,
Ohio
pulled in an encrypted message from command that was
deciphered and delivered to the officers in the control room.

The emergency action message raised eyebrows, but also brought
satisfied grins to
Ohio
’s
submariners.
 
By whispers and mumbled
conversation, the crew learned the mission before the captain could make his
formal announcement:
Ohio
was going
to fire on China.

“Battle stations, missile,” the captain barked.
 
The periscope raised,
Ohio
’s commanding officer leaned into its eyepiece.
 
He did a quick scan of the horizon. “It’s
raining topside, he muttered.

The mast receivers also assessed the electronic environment.
 
“Multiple transmitters.
 
Lots of radar.
 
Nothing localized,” the executive officer announced.
 
The captain then ordered the scope lowered,
and strode to the weapons station.
 
He scanned
indicator lights and the status board, and watched as the seated missile
technician finished programming the Tomahawks.
 
The tech input
Ohio
’s current
position, multiple waypoints along the flight path, and individual target coordinates,
including corresponding digital landmarks.
 
Completing his task, the tech reported missiles one through 70 were
ready in all respects.

“Conn, sonar.
 
Report
all contacts,” the captain ordered.
 
The
sonar post reconfirmed the scope was clear, with no surface or subsurface
contacts.
 
“Very well,” the captain said.
 
He scanned the young faces that looked to him
with anticipation and a touch of fear.
 
The captain milked the moment and paused as he smiled wryly.
 
“Weapons, conn.
 
You have permission to release the
weapons.”
 
Ohio
’s weapons officer took the trigger in hand, swallowed hard,
and gave it a squeeze.

Despite its immensity, the American guided-missile submarine
quivered as Tomahawks ejected from her steel body.
 
For four long, vulnerable minutes,
Ohio
vibrated from the mass launch.
 
Taught to whisper, gently close hatches, and
never ever drop a thing,
Ohio
’s crew
cringed at the racket.
 
The captain stared
at the deck as he suffered the long launch.
 
If he had done his job well, no enemy submarine had sneaked up on
them.
 
If he had not, now was when
Ohio
would take some torpedoes amidships
or astern.
 
When the shaking stopped and
the panel lights went green, the weapons officer announced the last missile as
away.
 
With that, the captain ordered the
submarine secured from launch configuration and into the deep.