Fourth Crisis: The Battle for Taiwan (37 page)

“Torpedo terminal.”

“Brace.
 
Brace. Brace
for impact,” Ferlatto shouted.
 
Then an
immediate, violent jarring and a bright flash rocked Ferlatto’s ship.

At the moment
Lake
Champlain
was lifted, broken in two, and crumpled back on herself, People’s
Liberation Army Navy multirole aircraft carrier
Liaoning
succumbed to her wounds and slipped beneath the rippled
sea.
 
She pulled down with her over 2,000
souls.

Qingdao
ate a
Harpoon that crippled her, but
Harbin
blasted Lake Champlain with her 100-millimeter gun.
 
One life raft left
Lake Champlain
’s side just before a salvo of three Eagle Strikes
slammed into her.
 
She went down fast
after that.
 
Three hundred, twenty-five
sailors went with her, Captain Anthony Ferlatto among them.

With their mission finally accomplished and
Liaoning
now a future reef and fish
sanctuary, the contaminated supercarrier
Ronald
Reagan
led Task Force 24 from the area.
 
When the Chinese departed the area, too, an Osprey tiltrotor from
Essex
found
Lake Champlain
’s lone life raft and hoisted the last of her crew to
safety.

◊◊◊◊

Richard woke from a disturbing dream and frantically scanned
the dark, windowless room.
 
Soaked with
sweat, he touched his aching temples and blinked his eyes.
 
Lying on a cot, he focused on the peeling
green paint.
 
What happened?
 
He tried to remember.
 
He had been with Jade, waiting for their
flight.
 
Then they were walking down the
jet-way, and had reached the last corner, where folded strollers and oversized
carry-ons are left.
 
After that,
nothing.
 
Blackness.
 
He felt a bump on his neck.
 
An injection site?
 
A tranquilizer dart?
 
Richard began to panic.

“Jade,” Richard murmured, his throat dry and hoarse.
 
He tried to sit up and wondered if he was
still in San Francisco.
 
He scanned for
details.
 
Not even an electric outlet to
tell him which country he was in.
 
Unrestrained,
Richard stood and wobbled on feet of clay.
 
Someone outside the heavy door yelled in Chinese.
 
It unlatched and swung open, and a People’s
Liberation Army officer burst in, and shouted at someone out in the hall.
 
He stood over Richard.
 
His smile was a wicked curl.
 
The Chinese officer asked for something, and
got agitated when Richard did not comply.
 
He smacked Richard, who trembled.

“I don’t know Chinese…Mandarin,” Richard stuttered.
 
The officer went nuts and grabbed for his
pistol.
 
Richard held his hands up in
surrender and begged for his life.
 
The
officer’s snarling face smiled again.
 
Then
the Chinese officer began to laugh and slid the weapon back into its holster.

“Sorry, Richard,” he said in perfect American English.
 
On cue, Richard’s favorite FBI
counterintelligence officer, Special Agent Jackson, waltzed in, wearing a smug
smile of satisfaction.

“Thanks, Sam,” Jackson acknowledged his counterpart in the
Chinese uniform.
 
“Richard Ling, meet
Special Agent Sam Wu.”
 
Richard deflated
with exhaustion.
 
“Sorry, I couldn’t
resist.
 
You have been bad, Richard.
 
Very
,
very
bad.”
 
Wu left Jackson alone with Richard.
 
“Where exactly were you going, Richard?”
Jackson asked.

“I don’t really know anymore,” Richard stuttered, and sat
back down on the cot.
 
“Where is Jade?”

“Richard, Bei Si Tiao made a deal with us.
 
In exchange for clearing you of charges, she
gave us some valuable information.
 
Then
she left the country, never to return.”
 
Jackson handed Richard a small bottle of water.
 
He choked it down.
 
“Look,” the special agent continued, “I’m a
father, too.
 
There is something
hardwired in our brains that makes us do anything to protect our children.
 
It’s like with birds: One day you’re free and
winging it, the next, you’re puking up worms.
 
Know what I mean?”

“Throwing up sounds good,” was all Richard could say.
 
The blank look on Richard’s haggard face spurred
simplification from Jackson.

“What I’m trying to say is: I’m not sure I blame your poor
decision-making these last few days.
 
I would
add that I believe Jade lied to you about being pregnant and used that lie to
manipulate you further.
 
I hope that
helps a little.”
 
While alleviating some
of Jackson’s nagging, empathic guilt, Richard took little comfort in the
words.
 
“By the way, Richard, you’re back
home in DC.
 
Come on,” Jackson said.
 
“Let’s get out of here.”

◊◊◊◊

China National Television broadcast news of a glorious sea
battle with the Americans and the great victory of Chinese naval forces over
the imperialist power.
 
According to the
state-controlled propaganda machine, two American aircraft carriers were afire
at sea, soon to be finished off by Chinese submarines.
 
Despite this version of the news, however,
most Chinese had gotten information from western websites and Taiwanese
transmitters that broadcast into the mainland.
 
By the time Beijing released the official story, reports of disaster had
spread like wildfire, and close to 1,000,000 people had gathered in Tiananmen
Square and its surrounds.

The People’s Liberation Army deployed to encircle Beijing’s
city center.

“
The art of war is of
vital importance to the State.
 
It is a
matter of life and death, a road either to safety or to ruin…
”—Sun Tzu

T
he moon hung
high in the young night as the
Harry S. Truman
carrier strike group steamed into the East China Sea.
 
Rushed from the Persian Gulf, the American
nuclear supercarrier was accompanied by the guided-missile cruisers
Antietam
and
Bunker Hill
, the guided-missile destroyer
John Paul Jones
, and, running near the surface and leading the way,
the nuclear attack submarine
New Mexico
.
 
The American ships set headings for
Ronald Reagan
and Task Force 24.

Ronald Reagan
was now
sufficiently decontaminated to resume flight operations.
 
Severely damaged, the destroyer
Gridley
had tugs alongside, shoving her
along to the Philippines.
 
With the
arrival of the
Harry S. Truman
carrier strike group, over a half-million tons of warships were under the
command of Rear Admiral Kaylo.

Dressed in formal whites, and standing over the planning
table on
Ronald Reagan
’s flag bridge,
Kaylo positioned the three cruisers in a wedge around his two supercarriers,
then put destroyers in the leading and laggard positions, the two attack subs
on the flanks, and repositioned the dock landing ships and amphibious assault
ship as trailers.
 
The stealthy littoral
combat ship and guided-missile destroyer brought up the rear, with the last
attack submarine anchoring the entire formation.
 
Satisfied with the positioning of his ships,
Kaylo straightened his uniform.

“Form the task force up like this,” he ordered a commander, pointing
to the table.
 
The rear admiral adjusted
his cap and mentally prepared for somber duty.
 
He made for
Ronald Reagan
’s
hangar.

Ronald Reagan
’s
number-one elevator, now suspended over the water and serving as the site of a
memorial detail, was ready for duty.
 
All
available hands gathered in the hangar deck’s opening.
 
Rear Admiral Kaylo led the service.
 
Senior Lieutenant Peng stood among the
attending aviators, marines, and sailors.
 
One of
Ronald Reagan
’s search
and rescue helicopters had plucked him from the sea, and his wounds had been
treated.
 
Kaylo had granted Peng’s
unorthodox request to attend the memorial.
 
He felt Peng’s presence appropriate, especially once he learned of
Pelletier’s gallantry.
 
Nevertheless, he ordered
armed marines to watch Peng’s every move while outside the brig.

Rear Admiral Kaylo read the name and rank of 162 American
aviators, marines, and sailors, each followed by the toll of the watch
bell.
 
When Kaylo said: “Lieutenant
Cynthia Pelletier,” Peng snapped to attention and raised cuffed hands in
salute.
 
Peng would always know this
name.
 
In the years to come, even when
his own children had to refresh his fading memory, Peng would recognize the
American woman who had brought him to the edge of death, and then chosen to spare
his life.
 
The honor roll complete,
Ronald Reagan
’s salute gun
discharged.
 
For those claimed by the
sea, a wreath was thrown into the supercarrier’s wake, and the chaplain prayed
for resurrection from the cold deep.
 
The
collection of American ships—now accompanied by several surviving Republic of
China Navy vessels—steamed into the Taiwan Strait.

Two weeks later…

Jade enjoyed a scorching shower that fogged her hotel room
window, obscured the sparkling towers of Singapore.
 
She wrapped herself in a luxuriant robe and plopped
into the soft clean bed, flicked her wet hair aside and turned the television
to an international news report.
 
She
sighed with exhaustion and began to towel-dry her hair.
 
For the first time in days, Jade felt like
she could relax.
 
She closed her eyes and
reviewed her escape, a flight from San Francisco to Jakarta, then one to Hanoi.
 
After a few days in the bustling city, she had
then left for Singapore, arriving in the port city-state early in the evening.

Jade’s sister had arranged for a wire transfer she expected
in the morning.
 
Delivered to the hotel’s
front desk, it would provide her with a fistful of Singapore dollars.
 
So
,
for now
,
everything is going according to plan
, Jade supposed.
 
I’m
hungry
.
 
She finally heeded her
growling stomach and reached for the leather-bound room service menu on the
nightstand.

Jade called in an order of several hors-d’oeuvre and an
aperitif of gin and tonic to calm her nerves.
 
She hung up the phone and considered the fluffy pajamas she had neatly
tucked in the room’s drawers.
 
Deciding the
PJs could wait, she fell backward onto the cool quilt.
 
The sound from the television filtered into
her drowsy head.
 
The voices became
gibberish as she dozed off.

A loud knock startled Jade from her sleep.
 
She wiped drool away and jumped from the bed,
slipped into some complementary hotel-provided slippers, and paused at the hall
mirror for an adjustment of her spiked but still-damp hair.
 
Then she opened the door for the female
attendant with the cart full of goodies.

“Room service,” the woman said in English, with a smile.

Jade gestured her into the room.

The attendant lifted a small table leaf and cast out fresh
linen before carefully positioning polished silverware.
 
She removed a small, green bottle of alcohol,
and placed it next to some bubbling tonic, wedges of fruit, and a bucket of
ice.
 
Jade said she would eat at the bed,
and the cart was wheeled to its edge.
 
The attendant continued her duties and set a place, putting everything
just right.
 
Jade turned to the
television’s picture as she waited.

On the screen, she saw the East Room of the White House.
 
Seated at a long table were the President of
the People’s Republic of China Xu Wai Li, President of the Republic of China
Bing Rong, and President of the United States William Keeley.
 
Jade recognized the Chinese Ambassador to the
United States Fan Wei and People’s Liberation Air Force General Piao Bai.
 
Also in attendance was Taiwan’s recently
promoted Lieutenant General Tek Foo Chek, the hero who rallied his army and
pushed them into Taipei.
 
Vice President
Elias Campos squeezed in behind the American president, as did Secretary of
State Georgiana Pierce, and National Security Advisor Nathaniel
Westermark.
 
The three presidents signed
documents, exchanged pens, and shook hands.
 
The television shot widened, and, at the periphery of the smiling,
clapping congregation, Secretary Pierce pulled Richard Ling in to share in the
happy moment he had ‘unofficially’ helped broker.

Surprised, Jade smiled with delight.
 
The British newscaster narrated and summarized
that remaining Communist forces on Taiwan were now departing peacefully.
Reports also mentioned widespread, peaceful demonstrations in China.
 
Unsupported rumors abounded that the army,
ordered to fire upon the demonstrators, had refused. Some soldiers reportedly stacked
their weapons, stripped uniform shirts, and joined the black-haired masses in
their vigil.
 
Soon thereafter, the
government announced general elections would be held within one year, and a
commission would sit to draft a constitution.
 
Furthermore, Taiwan was to be recognized as an independent nation and
granted a seat in the United Nations General Assembly.
 
Statements also provided that parts of China—Tibet
in particular—were now free to examine their own political status.
 
Chinese forces appeared to be thinning on the
Indian frontier as well.

The room service attendant cleared her throat, interrupting
Jade’s mesmerized stare. The attendant gestured to the table and raised a
silver dome.
 
Dim sum—literally ‘touch
the heart,’ savory, steaming dumplings—were revealed.
 
Jade remembered her appetite, but also realized
her hunger had departed her.
 
She eyed
the bottle of gin, sat on the bed, unfurled a napkin, and retuned her
concentration to the television.
 
The
camera caught Richard’s smiling face again.
 
The attendant lifted the other domed silver food cover.

On the white plate lay a Chinese pistol fitted with a
suppressor.
 
With a fluid motion in
Jade’s peripheral vision the attendant picked up the gun and placed its cold
metal on her temple.
 
On the television,
Richard smiled and shook hands with delegates.
 
A tear ran down Jade’s cheek.
 
She
clutched her swollen belly.
 
A puff of
hotness, and then blackness.

Followed by a double tap to the heart for indemnity, the
single shot to the brain of Bei Si Tiao, AKA Zhang ‘Jade’ Jiao, had ended her
life instantly.
 
Her unborn child took
longer to die, however.
 
The assassin
disassembled the pistol, stashed its components about her clothes, and left the
smoky room.
 
She hung a ‘Do Not Disturb’
sign on the door handle.
 
The scene would
go unnoticed until tomorrow’s checkout time.

◊◊◊◊

Rear Admiral Kaylo finished watching the White House
ceremony and moved to the flag bridge’s window.
 
He marveled at the sparkling lights of Hong Kong and the fireworks that burst
over its skyline.
 
Kaylo stepped outside and
breathed deep the fresh sea air.
 
Ronald Reagan
rose and fell gently in
the swells.
 
A sailor came outside and
handed Kaylo a transmission from national command: CEASE ALL HOSTILITIES.
 
MAINTAIN ALERT STATUS.
 
END.
 
The cessation of hostilities having been an unofficial fact for more
than a week now, the command was still a welcome sight.

Rear Admiral Kaylo smiled, crumpled the paper, and tossed it
to the wind.
 
It danced there for a
moment before tumbling to the sea’s foamy surface.
 
Kaylo retreated to the warmth of the bridge.

◊◊◊◊

Major Han Ken walked up the dirt road toward the farm outside
Hsinchu City.
 
He passed the crop fields
and spotted the old tree in which he had landed.
 
He noticed a shred of his parachute still fluttering
from the twisted branch that had torn it.
 
Han turned a bend in the road.
 
There, ahead, he saw the old farmhouse.
 
One of the kids had waited at the entryway and now dashed inside.

The old farmer and his family emerged.
 
The last to come outside was the niece,
wearing a big smile and waving enthusiastically.
 
Han greeted everyone.
 
He shook the old man’s hand, kissed the
farmer’s wife, ruffled the children’s hair, and then embraced his future bride.

◊◊◊◊

Chief Master Sergeant Li Rong Kai, his wife, daughter, and
mother sat at the Italian eatery in Neihu.
 
Even though his mother had offered to watch the little girl so Li could
steal away with his wife, he wanted them to all be together.
 
The restaurant sat in the shadow of Hill 112.
 
Li watched a construction vehicle turn
up the winding road toward the hilltop.

Around Taipei and the rest of the island nation, a
monumental effort had begun to repair the ravages of war, although a semblance
of normal life had already returned.
 
Li’s wife showed their little girl how to twirl the spaghetti on a
fork—the first time the little girl had used such a strange utensil—and then to
suck the noodles into her mouth.
 
Li
smiled at his daughter’s sauce-covered grin, leaned over the table, and kissed
her forehead.

◊◊◊◊

It was raining hard in DC, but Richard happily entered his
townhouse on Olive Street.
 
He flopped
his soaked trench coat over a kitchen chair.
 
Jade’s favorite perfume still wafted through the place and traces of her
abounded everywhere: a textbook; a magazine; and a pile of clothes left behind
during their hasty departure.
 
Richard
went to his desk.

Raindrops wiggled their way down the windowpane.
 
The yellow streetlight decorated Richard’s
face with their streams, as he thought of Jade.
 
He hoped she was okay and happy.
 
As much as he missed her, he missed most of all the idea that he thought
he would be a father.
 
He had forgiven Jade
her deception, and was thankful he had come to realize a desire for family that
now permeated his entire being.

“Goodbye, Jade,” Richard whispered. “Be well.”
 
A tear rolled down his cheek, lost among the
rainy rivulets that the streetlight painted on his face.

◊◊◊◊

Although the runway and pockmarked terminal at Taipei’s
Songshan had already been opened to limited commercial and military traffic, and
much of the litter of war was cleared, the airport remained under repair.
 
A cluster of hangars at the far end of the
field was particularly devastated and needed to be razed and rebuilt.
 
A bulldozer began to clear one of the wrecked
hangars.

The bright yellow machine’s blade pushed into the burnt piles
of aluminum sheet, concrete, and fallen trusses and shoved the debris into
piles.
 
The bulldozer backed and rushed forward
again.
 
Something large and heavy,
however, stopped its progress hard.
 
Beneath a pile of wood planking and other flotsam, the operator saw a
large, dented black cylinder.
 
Upon it
was a tangled cable that linked the cylinder to a small blood-caked and charred
control box.

The bulldozer’s operator swore and backed off.
 
The machine’s toothed blade caught and, as it
retreated, the blade dislodged the control box, which tumbled down.
 
Within it occurred a spark and a puff of
smoke, and an electronic hum began to emanate from the black cylinder…