Fourth Crisis: The Battle for Taiwan (20 page)

“Pam One, Tally Ho,” Major Han called out.
 
He rolled in, lined up the crosshairs, and
pulled the trigger.
 
Flames erupted from
the Fighting Falcon.
 
From on high and
behind, a shadow crossed the moon.

Arriving high above the battlefield, Chinese naval aviator
Senior Lieutenant Peng observed the Taiwanese fighter emitting its tracer
fire.
 
Peng banked his big Flying Shark,
and maneuvered to gain position on the enemy.

The Fantans took hits from Han.
 
One of the light bombers careened into his
wingman. Both spun into a hill and exploded in a fireball that lit up miles of
city and sky.
 
Han turned his attention
to the Chinese fighter.

He toggled between radar modes, but found each one degraded
by the weather.
 
Han then slipped the
Fighting Falcon into a dark, towering cloud.
 
The cloud rattled Han’s airplane, and droplets tapped the bubble
canopy.
 
Hypnotic grey mist rushed
past.
 
A momentary vertigo hit him, and Han’s
stomach protested with a wave of nausea.
 
He looked down at his instruments.
 
His head cleared and his belly settled, just in time for a blast of 30-millimeter
fire from Peng’s Flying Shark.

Peng matched every move the Taiwanese Fighting Falcon
made.
 
He twisted and rolled his Flying
Shark, keeping his Taiwanese counterpart centered in the canopy-mounted
infrared search and track system all the while.
 
With his cover blown, Peng reached down and powered up his bird’s radar.

The radar caution went off in Han’s cockpit, quickly joined
by a whooping missile warning.
 
Han
cursed.
 
This meant that a radar-guided
air-to-air missile was after him, likely the capable Chinese
Lightningbolt.
 
Han rolled the Fighting
Falcon inverted, dumped chaff, and then edged over into a dive.
 
Sucked into his seat, and with his eyes graying
out, Han squinted to read the vibrating altimeter.
 
Fifteen
thousand feet.
 
Not good
…
 
The missile alarm wailed again, the sound sending
a now familiar cold chill down Han’s sweaty back.
 
He jerked the airplane left and right, chucked
more decoys, and took the airplane supersonic.

Peng’s missile veered from the metallic confetti of Han’s
chaff and pointed its nose back at the Fighting Falcon, closing on the hot fire
of Han’s engine nozzle.
 
The
Lightningbolt detonated and sprayed a cone of shot, small steel cubes that ripped
into the Fighting Falcon’s engine and stabilizers.
 
The rear half of Han’s airplane broke away
and exploded.
 
Slammed violently, he pulled
the yellow handle between his knees.

Explosive bolts popped, and the canopy kicked free.
 
A fist of air knocked Han unconscious.
 
The seat harness snugged and the ejector
rockets fired, lifting the seat and his limp body from the dead airplane.
 
A drogue pulled the main parachute free.
 
The seat fell away, and a survival pack
unrolled beneath Han as he floated gently toward the darkened town.

Peng’s Flying Shark let out a contented snarl as it turned,
but then Taiwanese ground fire harassed the Chinese pilot, throwing up a hail
of sparkling fire.
 
Peng climbed his
machine to escape.
 
Hanging high in a
cloud, Peng saw the twisted wreckage of his vanquished foe burning in the city
streets.
 
He spotted a helicopter low
over the Taiwanese lines.
 
Tempted to
roll in on it, a surface-to-air missile warning changed Peng’s mind.

Taiwan’s Major General Tek continued to observe operations
from a Kiowa helicopter.
 
Hovering just
three feet off the ground, the Kiowa floated from behind an abandoned motor
coach and provided Tek a thermal image of his main battle tanks and infantry
fighting vehicles as they streamed across the bridge.
 
Although
an Apache was lost to a rocket-propelled grenade ambush
,
the attack helicopters had served their
purpose by taking a gruesome toll on enemy armor
.
 
Furthermore, the artillery had devastated
fixed Chinese positions, and with the enemy bloodied, Taiwanese armor had shown
their stripes and carved out a bridgehead for infantry to storm the front.

“Move up,” Tek spoke into the radio, and ordered the
artillery to advance and gain a deeper reach into the city.
 
For an entrancing moment, Tek watched the
heavy rain that pelted the Kiowa’s windscreen.
 
Then he saw his Brave Tiger main battle tanks and eight-wheeled CM32
Cloud Leopard infantry fighting vehicles as they sped along the freeway.
 
A rolling wedge, the Taiwanese armor dashed
across the bridge.
 
Tek told his pilot to
move to the next vantage point.

The first Brave Tigers and Cloud Leopards sneaked across the
span and fanned out.
 
A missile tube
emerged from a warehouse.
 
It spewed a
Red Arrow anti-tank missile that hit a Cloud Leopard, pierced the thin armor, blowing
its turret and rear hatch off.
 
The
inferno vented, and a burning man stumbled out and collapsed.
 
A Brave Tiger tank deployed a smoke screen
and pointed its big gun at the warehouse.

“Sir, may I fire?” the Taiwanese gunner asked.

“For God’s sake, shoot,” the tank commander yelled, looking
through his thermal site at the Chinese anti-tank crew as they reloaded their
launcher.
 
The tank’s cannon boomed and lurched
the heavy machine in recoil.
 
Supersonic
ball-shot stippled the warehouse housing the Chinese anti-tank crew.

“They’re dead,” the gunner morbidly observed.

A Taiwanese Brave Tiger tank punched through the smoke bank
to push the wrecked Cloud Leopard infantry fighting vehicle aside.
 
Another Cloud Leopard emerged from the smoke
screen, sped to the first intersection, and dropped its rear ramp.
 
The squad it carried exited, and the Chinese
opened fire on them.
 
Their muzzles
flashed, illuminating the black windows of surrounding buildings.
 
The Cloud Leopard opened up with its turret
machinegun as the squad fought their way to a perimeter and secured the
intersection.
 
Beyond the river’s
southern bank, a small helicopter darted from behind a tree.

Major General Tek directed the helicopter pilot to gain a
bit of altitude.
 
The small Kiowa flew up
to 100 feet.
 
A roar overhead announced
the arrival of a Taiwanese Mirage.
 
The
triangular jet dove through ribbons of rain and strafed Chinese infantry caught
retreating.
 
Tek and his pilot shared a
dark smile of approval at the slaughter.
 
The pilot pointed to the screen.
 
The heat signatures of several enemy tanks registered.
 
A column of Chinese light and main battle
tanks had rallied, and they were moving for the Taiwanese bridgehead.

“Gunner, main gun, tank,” the commander of the lead Chinese
tank ordered.
 
“Identify CM11.
 
Fire.”
 
A depleted uranium penetrator left for a Brave Tiger.
 
With a shower of blue-yellow sparks, it
pierced and killed the Taiwanese tank.
 
A
TOW missile arced in and serviced the Chinese main battle tank, its commander
blown out the top.
 
Two Apaches pounced
on the rallying Chinese column and raked it with Hellfires.
 
The lead tank was dead and burning, so the
Taiwanese attack helicopters shifted fire to the column’s trailing tank,
trapping the rest between two shattered ogres.
 
The Apaches then methodically butchered the rest.
 
Although a Taiwanese Hellfire was already on
the way to it, a Chinese main battle tank managed to get off a final cannon
shot that ripped an Apache from the sky.

The last surviving Apache had run out of missiles.
 
It reared, tipped, and banked away from the
wasted enemy column.
 
When the melee
quieted, tree frogs again sang.
 
We have our foothold
, thought Taiwan’s
Major General Tek.
 
He ordered his pilot
to get him back on the ground.

◊◊◊◊

A summer storm had soaked DC, blowing off the stagnant
humidity that had settled over the city, and replacing it with a dry, cool,
steady breeze.
 
Jade reclined on the
couch, deep in study.
 
Richard worked at
his computer desk by an open window.
 
He thumbed
through papers as he researched potential diplomatic repercussions of a strike
on a Chinese base in Sri Lanka.
 
A muted
commercial flickered on the television, and the 10 o’clock news started.
 
Richard reached for the remote and turned up
the television’s volume.

News of the war led the program.
 
Jade grunted with disapproval.
 
The kettle whistling in the kitchen triggered
Richard that it was his turn to brew the tea.
 
He welcomed the distraction and obliged.

Richard returned with two steaming mugs and the day’s mail tucked
into his armpit.
 
Jade accepted the cup
from Richard, thanking him with a kiss.
 
He
returned to his desk, sipped his tea, and pawed at the mail.
 
Pushing aside charity solicitations,
furniture catalogs, and coupon clippers, he found a letter from Immigration
& Customs Enforcement.
 
The official
letter bore Jiao Zhang’s name, c/o Richard Ling.
 
It
could mean only one thing
, he concluded.
 
He spun in his chair.

“Hey, Jade?”

She quieted him with a finger to her lips, gesturing to the
television and the breaking news it showed.
 
Taiwanese citizens gathered before Taipei’s parliament building, cheering
and waving little red and gold flags of the People’s Republic,.

“Look at this,” she smirked.

◊◊◊◊

The midday sun blared.
 
Chinese paratroopers were dressed in festive outfits and baseball caps,
holding back loyalist throngs that had gathered outside the Taiwanese
parliament.
 
On a small stage preened
General Zhen and Ai Bao Li, vice president of the People’s Republic of
China.
 
Lined up on either side of the
two Chinese officials was an apprehensive collection of Taiwanese legislators representing
both the pro-unification and pro-independence parties.
 
Of course most stood there under threat of
arrest.
 
Vice President Ai stepped to the
microphone.
 
It squealed, and the crowd
quieted.

“My fellow Chinese,” the Party man paused and gestured to
the bright, clear sky.
 
“The sun has
risen on a new day in China’s long and glorious history: the criminal
separatist regime in Taipei has been deposed.
 
It is, therefore, my pleasure to announce the new chief executive of the
Taiwan Special Administrative Region of the People’s Republic of China, Yao Ou
Pei.”
 
Ushered by applause, whistles, and
cheers from the carefully selected crowd, Taiwan’s new Communist head of
government emerged and strode to the microphone.

“Thank you, my fellow citizens, thank you.”
 
Chief Executive Yao bowed his head and waved
sheepishly.
 
“I,” his voice cracked,
“address the people of a united China, the world’s greatest power, and also,
our neighbors in the international community.
 
My first directive as chief executive of Taiwan,” his voice grew stern,
“is an order to all military units of the former regime to cease hostilities
against liberating forces of the People’s Republic.
 
Abandon your weapons and uniforms now.
 
Compliance brings assurances that no further
harm will befall you.
 
Brave soldiers of
Taiwan…go back to your families.”
 
The
crowd roared again and the region’s chief executive crossed his arms and smiled
approvingly.
 
Letting the applause
linger, he theatrically raised a hand.
 
The
crowd calmed.
 
“Effective immediately, Taiwan
and its island territories comprise the 23
^rd
province of the
People’s Republic of China.
 
As head of
government, I shall appoint all ministers to the legislative and executive
councils.
 
Like Hong Kong, Macau, and
Tibet, Taiwan will enjoy 20 years of semi-autonomy.
 
Finally, I entreat the international
community—particularly the United States of America —not to interfere with this
peaceful reunification.
 
Leave the
internal affairs of China to the Chinese people.
 
As lovers of peace, we wish to cease
hostilities, and rebuild a fruitful future with our foreign friends and
partners.
 
Citizens of Taipei, citizens
of Taiwan, citizens of the People’s Republic, it is indeed a glorious day.
 
Long live China.
 
Long live Taiwan.
 
And long live the Communist Party.”
 
Chief Executive Yao raised his arms to the
sky.
 
Accentuating the moment, three
Vigorous Dragons shrieked overhead, trailing red and yellow smoke from their
wingtips.
 
A Chinese news crew focused
their lens on the joyful tears of a woman who clutched her child and
patriotically squinted skyward.
 
General
Zhen, Vice President Ai, and Chief Executive Yao smiled and shook hands.