Fourth Crisis: The Battle for Taiwan (19 page)

The Chinese Arctic research vessel
Xue Long
(
Snow Dragon
) had
been boarded and searched by an American warship, and a joint US-Panama
operation had seized Chinese container facilities located at either end of the
Panama Canal and found anti-shipping mines, likely thwarting plans to disrupt
canal traffic.
 
An American warship
intercepted and halted the Chinese supertanker
Xin Pu Yang
(
New Port Ocean
)
just outside Malaysian waters.
 
Her belly
was full of crude from Saudi Arabia, bound for Chinese refineries, factories, power
plants, and vehicles.
 
The sea lines of
communication between the Middle East and Chinese shores were long, undefended,
and traversed multiple chokepoints.
 
Richard pondered this Achilles’ heel as he began to type.

An hour later, the secretary of state closed her office
door, removed a bran muffin and a double latté from a brown paper bag, and
started to read Richard’s report.
 
With some
food and caffeine in her, she went to work.

As midday in the American capital arrived, Secretary Pierce,
Richard Ling, and several other aides and department heads again found
themselves seated in the bunker beneath the Truman Building.
 
Video screens displayed the deputy director
of central intelligence and an army general.
 
Secretary Pierce opened the meeting.

“Good morning, gentlemen.
 
We, at State, have filed a resolution with the UN condemning the
Communist invasion--”

“Won’t the Chinese just veto it?” the general at the
Pentagon interrupted immediately and with obvious contempt.

“Yes. Or abstain from voting.
 
Despite a potential Chinese veto, we want the
resolution filed.
 
We believe this will
help build diplomatic pressure on Beijing,” the secretary continued.
 
“Thailand and the Philippines have offered access
to their bases, and the Japanese continue to be cooperative.
 
As you know, the Australians have begun their
own reconnaissance flights over the area, and are sharing their
information.
 
Thirty-seven American
citizens—tourists and students mostly—have been evacuated from Taiwan via the
American Institute, our de facto embassy.
 
We have ordered all Chinese tourists and students out of the United
States, and Air China has been denied landing rights within our territory.
 
We helped move the Taiwanese government to
Taitung City on the island’s eastern shore, and have plans to spirit them to
the Philippines should the need arise.
 
How’s the president holding up?” the secretary asked.

“Tired of hiding in the sky,” the general said with a
smile.
 
“Okay. My turn.
 
The
Reagan
carrier strike group and the 31
^st
Marine Expeditionary Unit are
approaching Taiwanese waters.
 
We’re
beginning to implement our long distance blockade, and have stopped several of
their tankers and cargo ships.
 
They’re
calling us pirates, of course,” the bearish general chuckled.
 
“The PLAAF has secured an air corridor over
the Strait, as well as superiority over the northern third of Taiwan.
 
They have 33,000 men—three airborne divisions—already
on the island, and hold major airfields at Hsinchu, Taipei, Taoyuan, and Yilan
Counties.”
 
As the secretary listened,
Richard slipped a political map of Taiwan in front of her and pointed out the
counties in the north of the island.
 
“Although
Taiwan’s army remains largely intact in the southern half of the island,
anytime it tries to move north, bam, it gets turned back by Chinese air
power.
 
Right now, Taiwan’s air force is
scattered to highways and eastern bases, but retains substantial hardware and
pilots.
 
In the Taiwanese capital,” the
general grumbled, “the Commies are moving in on the civic center.
 
We think they’re attempting a decapitation,
trying to get capitulation without having to occupy the whole shebang.
 
We’re seeing enemy preparations for a
trans-Strait amphibious assault, too.”
 
The general rubbed tired eyes.

The deputy director of intelligence, dressed in a dark suit
and his grey hair slicked back, leaned over his Langley office desk, and stated
the Chinese amphibious assault would take place at Penghu County in the Strait,
as well as at the strategic Port of Mailiao on Taiwan’s western coast.
 
He talked about resistance forming in Taiwan,
and rumors of dissent within the People’s Liberation Army and Politburo.“We are
infiltrating agents into Taiwan, building resistance, and providing
intelligence,” he added.

The general—a man pulled fifty different ways—asked if there
was anything else.
 
The three executives
realized they were done.
 
After
exchanging pleasantries, the video screens blued out.

Richard’s cell phone beeped.
 
A text had just arrived from an old college buddy, now over at the Department
of Treasury.
 
Richard shared the
information he had just gained, with the secretary.

“There has been a massive sell-off in T-bills by the Chinese
and Russians,” Richard informed Secretary Pierce.
 
“But the dollar seems to be holding steady,
and the Europeans and Japanese are taking up some of the slack.
 
Cell service appears to be back up, too.”
 
He held his phone up and smiled.
 
Pierce put an arm around his shoulder, and
asked Richard to join her for lunch.
 
They strolled toward the elevator.
 
When it arrived, Richard gestured for the secretary to go in first.

“After you,” he smirked, revisiting a long-time shared joke,
“it could be dangerous.”

Pierce smiled and stepped in.
 
The door slid shut and the cabin jerked,
bouncing as it rose.

“How are things with your girlfriend?” Secretary Pierce asked.
 
Taken aback, Richard tried to remember if he had
ever mentioned having a girlfriend.

“
Confront them with
annihilation, and they will then survive; Plunge them into a deadly situation,
and they will then live.
 
When people
fall into danger, they are then able to strive for victory
.”—Sun Tzu

G
eneral Zhen
presided over Songshan Airport from his terminal office.
 
He went over the timetable and tallied progress:
the 43
^rd
Division held Songshan Airport; the 44
^th
: Chiang
Kai Shek International Airport; and the 45
^th
were dug in at Hsinchu
Airfield southwest of Taipei.
 
These
elite units would not sit still for long, however.
 
Zhen donned body armor and a helmet, and then
headed for an armed Z-9 Haitun utility helicopter—a Chinese copy of the
European-made Dolphin—that sat on the tarmac.

The pilot engaged the helicopter’s main rotor and ducted
fantail.
 
A soldier in the open cabin offered
a hand to General Zhen, and yanked him onboard.
 
Whirring blades bit into the air, and the helicopter lifted from the
asphalt, rising above Songshan.
 
Zhen observed
the capital beyond.
 
Elements of the 44
^th
were breaking out and blitzing southwest to the Toucian River on Taiwan’s
western shore.
 
Explosions and fireballs
reflected in the windscreen, lighting up the delighted General Zhen.

He watched as several Taiwanese Military Police units were
swept aside by his forces.
 
The Chinese
armor and infantry surged toward the Toucian River.
 
A brigade and regiment of his paratroopers had
reached the shallow waterway that ran down the central mountains, flowing west
to join the sea.
 
Zhen would reinforce
this line with army regulars that had poured into the captured airports.

The Toucian’s pebbled bed was a no-man’s-land, watched over
by opposing trenches.
 
On the northern
bank, several thousand Chinese paratroopers and soldiers had assembled, now hiding
in shadows and among buildings, crouching inside their infantry fighting
vehicles and light tanks.
 
Newly arrived
Thunder Dragon main battle tanks roamed the captured city streets at will, and
the Chinese had since humped in many light and heavy mortars, pointing their tubes
south toward Taiwanese positions.
 
Zhen
contemplated his map.

Reconnaissance had said that two of the three bridges that spanned
the Toucian were demolished—reduced to sagged wreckage—and only a freeway
viaduct still crossed the river’s gorge.
 
Zhen knew he had to hold the river until amphibious forces could land on
the island’s south.
 
The general looked up
at the stars through the helicopter’s whirring rotors.
 
Unable to spare time or focus to contemplate
their twinkling beauty, he sighed and considered:
Once the marines land, they will move north
.
 
I will
push south, and pinch the Taiwanese defenders between my army and marines.
 
Thusly, we will crush the Taiwanese in this
sector
.
 
General Zhen looked to the helicopter’s
cockpit console and the thermal image collected by the electro-optics bubble
beneath the aircraft’s nose.
 
The view it
showed panned along the river’s southern bank.
 
In the dark of early morning, there was little indication of what lay ahead.

◊◊◊◊

Elements of Taiwan’s 6
^th
Army now massed south of
the Toucian River.
 
These elements
comprised elite armor, infantry brigades, mechanized infantry, a special
warfare brigade, and the 21
^st
Artillery Command.
 
An infantry division had also formed up in the
urban area of Jhubei City.
 
This division
was oriented for the coming fray and ready to exploit breakthroughs or block
enemy counterthrusts.
 
In command of
these forces and the coming counteroffensive was Republic of China Army Major
General Tek Foo Chek.

Major General Tek sported a shaved head.
 
His bulging arms sported tattoos with a
leopard on one; and panda upon the other.
 
These images rippled with every movement, and symbolized the duality of
man, as well as the schism between Taiwan and the mainland.
 
Tek looked hopefully to the gathering clouds.
 
He knew the coming rain would break the
humidity and conceal his army’s movements.
 
Tek scanned the far riverbank through binoculars.
 
His deep-set eyes flickered with anger.
 
The enemy occupied his land, and they would
pay dearly for it.
 
Seated cross-legged
upon the ground next to Tek, a soldier specialist studied a small screen.

Its image came from a Hermes unmanned aerial vehicle that
flew along the shallow river.
 
Bought
from Israel, the unmanned aerial vehicle’s camera showed the body heat of a
Chinese crew, manning a machinegun position.
 
This targeting data was being shared with the Taiwanese artillery,
helicopter gunships, and fighter-bombers assigned to frontal aviation.
 
Loud and slow, the Hermes drew Chinese flak
and soon disappeared from the sky.
 
The
soldier’s screen blanked-out.
 
Tek checked
his watch, and nodded to the soldier.

“It is time,” Tek decided.
 
The soldier clicked a radio and transmitted a code phrase: “Pouncing
Tiger.”

Taiwanese field cannons—M-59 Long Toms, self-propelled
M-110s, and towed M-115s—opened fire from beneath trees and camouflage nets. Truck-mounted
multiple launch rocket systems joined the fray, in whooshing unison.
 
Artillery rockets and shells screamed away
and landed several miles to the north, detonating over Chinese infantry and
mortars that dug into the riverbank.
 
Positioned at the front, Taiwanese forward artillery spotters refined
their fire by radio, making adjustments to where the high-explosive and
phosphorus rounds landed.

Shells burst over enemy positions along the Toucian,
spraying them with burning, sharp fragments.
 
Those rounds that impacted lifted earth, rock, and flesh, and cascaded
the mélange back down in a sickening rain.
 
Illumination rounds washed Chinese armor, speeding troop carriers, and
sprinting infantry with bright white light.
 
A low thumping became discernible from the barrage’s waning, rolling explosions.
 
This thumping echoed in the distance, and
then drew closer and grew louder.
 
Suddenly,
the Taiwanese artillery fire ceased as their attack helicopters came on scene.

Apaches: black flying tanks that kept low to the streets and
spread out through the city, fluttering behind billboards and low buildings,
and leaving only their rotor-top sensors to peek above such cover.
 
The Apaches carried Hellfire anti-tank
missiles on stub wings and a Chain Gun beneath armored fuselages.
 
The lead aircraft slowed, reared to a stop,
and hovered.
 
Its gun swiveled, following
the movements of its copilot/gunner’s head as he scanned the battlefield.
 
Before advancing to cause havoc, however, the
Taiwanese Apaches would have to wait until their air force had knocked out
Chinese flak cannons.

A lone Fighting Falcon swept in from the mountains,
shrieking northwest along the freeway.
 
Eight red stars adorned the Taiwanese
fighter-bomber’s fuselage; each representing a confirmed kill.
 
There was a dent in the Fighting Falcon’s empennage,
a nick in its trailing edge, and a large repair patch beneath the squadron
number and Taiwanese sun.
 
The
battle-worn jet carried two heat-seeking missiles, and two big cluster bombs slung
beneath its wings.
 
Where the external
tank was usually mounted, the Fighting Falcon instead carried a night
navigation and targeting pod.
 
Major Han—Taiwan’s
first Ace of the war—was the Fighting Falcon’s driver.

Anti-aircraft artillery had been spotted on the north bank
of the river.
 
Han’s initial mission task
was to take it out and then fly cover, protecting the ground hugging Apaches
from marauding Chinese fighters.
 
Han
plugged data into the Fighting Falcon’s impact point aiming system: air speed,
bomb weight, and distance to target.
 
He
dropped the airplane through rain clouds.
 
When they parted, the silvery sliver of the Toucian River showed in the
canopy.
 
Han used it to line up for the
bomb run, and then kept the targeting computer’s sliding indicators centered in
the heads-up display.
 
Flak started to burst
around the jet, and Han saw muzzle flashes on the river bank.
 
He weaved the Fighting Falcon through the
fire and pressed on.
 
The impact point
aiming system showed two parallel lines that began to converge.
 
When they met and flashed, Han pickled off
the cluster bombs, a weapon his air force called ‘Ten Thousand Swords.’
 
There were two thumps.
 
The airplane shook and, growing lighter,
began to climb.
 
Han pulled back on the plane’s
stick.
 
The Fighting Falcon’s nose
pointed skyward and the engine flamed as Han opened the throttle.

The spinning bombs dropped their casings and released a cargo
of bomblets that dispersed and rained over the Chinese anti-aircraft
emplacement, obliterating everything within a wide circle.
 
Given the all clear, the Taiwanese attack
helicopters went on the warpath.

An Apache hovered behind a parked seafood truck with a smiling
fish on its side.
 
The Apache showed only
its rotor-top radar to anyone on the wide boulevard, where a Chinese main
battle tank clanked along, traversing its main gun and sighting sensors.
 
The Apache’s pilot pulled back on the collective,
and the helicopter rose from behind the cover, quickly firing a Hellfire
anti-tank missile. The Apache dropped down again as the Hellfire skittered
along the street.

The missile met the Thunder Dragon.
 
Its tandem warhead bypassed the blocks of
explosive-reactive armor that adorned the tank’s squat, sloped turret and ripped
into it.
 
In the Chinese tank’s crew
compartment, metal spalled, ricocheted around, and tore everything to
pieces.
 
The Thunder Dragon’s ammunition
stores exploded.
 
Blowout panels fluttered
into the air.
 
With its crew dead and
much of its guts destroyed, the enemy tank lurched to a stop.

The Apache rose again from behind the truck, its gun and
nose sensors swinging back and forth in search of threats.
 
Looking for a new ambush position, and with a
clear field-of-fire, the Taiwanese attack helicopter dashed over the burning
enemy hulk.
 
Several blocks away, another
Apache hugged the riverbed.
 
Its rotor’s downwash
blasted friendlies as they infiltrated the area.

Taiwanese army frogmen crossed the meandering shallows of
the Toucian.
 
With bowie knives and
silenced gunshots, they neutralized several enemy soldiers, and disabled sapper
charges set to blow the remaining bridge. Taiwanese armor surged north as a jet
roared overhead.

Major Han exited his bomb run, and climbed over the river
and out to sea.
 
He pulled the Fighting
Falcon into a loop and then settled back at 3,000 feet for another strafing run
on enemy positions.

A Chinese paratrooper ran to the parapet of an apartment
building’s roof.
 
He brought a Red Tassel
anti-aircraft missile to his shoulder, and centered the Taiwanese jet in the
launcher’s reticle.
 
The paratrooper flipped
a switch on the launcher’s pistol grip and locked the seeker on the Fighting
Falcon’s hot tailpipe, causing a bright flash as the Red Tassel launched.

Han saw a flicker in his peripheral vision and instinctively
dropped flares, before snap-rolling the jet and climbing to escape.
 
The Chinese missile swerved to the burning
decoys and exploded. Han had no time to relax.
 
A radar warning joined the tense chorus of cockpit sounds.
 
A quick glance at the display showed two
bandits approaching from the north.
 
Subsonic
and flying nap-of-the-Earth, Han surmised they were light bombers sent to
silence the devastating Taiwanese artillery, and, if he was right, that meant
enemy fighters could not be far off.
 
Han
swiveled his head around.

The rain had broken, and the cloudy, black sky admitted very
little moonlight.
 
Han turned the
Fighting Falcon and activated the cannon, a gun site popping up in the heads-up
display.
 
Beside the projected site was
‘473,’ the number of rounds left in his ammunition feeder drum.
 
A new, intermittent high-altitude plot appeared
on the radarscope.
 
That would be the fighter cover
, Han considered.
 
He continued his charge at the Chinese attack
aircraft, as they crossed the river:
Fantans
.
 
The supersonic, single-seat warplanes with deeply
swept broad wings had been named for the old game still played in the casinos
of Macau.
 
These particular Fantans were
painted white and looked like bunnies as they hopped over the hills.
 
Han noted that the Fantans hauled external
fuel tanks and very big bombs.