Two Peasants and a President (66 page)

Beneath the waves, the many anti-submarine weapons launched against the two Songs would overwhelm their defenses.  Their pierced hulls would be abruptly subjected to the extremes of high pressure water rushing inward, water that would compress the air inside so quickly as to cause it to ignite, incinerating those still alive in a superheated flash. 

The numbers of US ships and planes either damaged or destroyed by the initial attack would now be assessed and those still able to fight would await the missiles launched by Chinese shore-based batteries and any other fighter-bombers that they could bring to bear.  Given the initial numerical superiority of the carrier-borne planes, Chinese air strength would be greatly diminished until planes could be launched from other bases, something that was inevitable.  But the American ships still capable of fighting would begin launching cruise missiles against Chinese air bases and radar installations within reach.   It would be a very close thing, and as the Secretary of Defense had pointed out, the only reinforcements would be coming from China.

Captain Johnston knew these horrors, knew that by dawn some of his fleet could be on the bottom, but not before the fleet had badly mauled whatever Chinese forces were arrayed before it, displaying the courage and bravery that are in the best traditions of the US Navy.  Assuming the Chinese kept pouring resources into the battle, the 7
th
Fleet would eventually be overwhelmed.  It would be up to the American people to decide if their commander-in-chief had erred in depriving the fleet of the reserves it had heretofore always been afforded. 

“Captain, eight Vietnamese SU-27 fighters inbound.  Looks like they’ve come to protect their frigates,” the XO announced.

“I’m surprised not to see more Chinese aircraft,” said the captain.  “Unless they’re planning to rely on land-based missiles.  If that’s the case, it would have been far more effective to attack us when we were right off their coast.”

“I don’t think they expected us to use the Taiwan Strait, Captain. Something tells me this whole thing was hatched at the last minute; it just doesn’t have the hallmarks of a carefully planned operation.”

“I agree.  I think they planned to sink the container ship before we were near enough to defend it and then sit back and dare us to do anything about it.  They never expected the Vietnamese to be able to defend the
m
selves so capably or that we would take a different route.  I’d bet a month’s pay that President Li was so enraged at the sinking of his frigates that he o
r
dered his navy into this ill-conceived adventure.  No navy man in his right mind would organize a battle this way.”

“In about ten minutes, this whole thing is going to take on a life of its own and no one will be able to stop it,” Captain Johnston added with finality.  “I pray that tomorrow morning the world does not find itself at war.”

7
0

Officer
Fung
was unceremoniously notified
that his patrol shift had been
extended until further notice, the result of martial law now gripping the capitol.  He was already almost three hours beyond his normal shift time and fatigue was taking its toll.  It was for this reason that he drove by the parked army jeep without giving it a second thought.  Three blocks later, his weary brain finally shifted into gear, reminding him that a missing army jeep was part of one of many bulletins that had come over his
radio during his shift
.

The sleep-deprived officer turned his police car around and headed back to the jeep,
at which point he called it in, noting that it took several a
t
tempts to get through.
  The absence of fire trucks in the fire station, like the parked jeep did not at first arouse any suspicion.  A fire could have called them away, though he did not remember hearing any fire calls over his radio.  He was looking for someone to ask about the jeep parked out back when he tried a closed door in the rear of the station.  What he found inside awakened his tired brain like a gunshot.

It was at this point that his shift supervisor pulled into the fire station drive
way.  Fifteen
minutes later, President Li was advised that the escapees had commandeered two fire trucks and a police car, whereupon he responded:

“Bring them to me in chains.  If you cannot bring them to me alive, then bring me their corpses!”

******

“The embassy is on this street, approximately two miles ahead,” Jun said, responding to a call from Jim.  “We’re getting very close.”

In his rearview mirror,
Sheng
saw flashing lights.

“They’re behind us now,” he announced, “and they’re gaining!”

Jun could hear the roar of the police car’s engine as he pressed the pedal closer to the floor.  The car surged forward, already doing nearly seventy on a city street, which due to the late hour and the declaration of martial law was virtually empty.  Suddenly he realized that there were more flashing lights ahead, many more. 

“Big road block ahead, very big!” he announced excitedly into the phone. 

“All right, Jun, let us pull around you and take the lead.  We can do a lot more damage with these trucks,” Jim said.

The big fire engines were soon doing almost eighty and the distance between them and the monster roadblock was shrinking quickly.

“Norwood,” answered the station chief. 

“We’re just down the street and about to run a major roadblock,” Jim announced,  “You ready there?”

“I’ve got eight fully-armed Marines inside the gate.  I just heard on the Chinese military radio net that they’ve found the jeep.  They’re on to you and our smoking wastebaskets aren’t going to fool anyone.  I think I’ve managed to wake up half the embassy though; I expect to see the ambassador down here any minute now.”

“Tell him to keep the cafeteria open,” said Jim. 

Sheng
could now see the police cars in the roadblock clearly enough to tell that they were two deep.  When it became obvious that the huge fire trucks weren’t going to stop, the police officers who had been hunkered down behind their cars began to scatter, but as they took up new positions they pointed their side arms at the convoy.   It was then that
Sheng
heard a crack as a small round hole appeared in the windshield.  The bullet passed to the right of his head and within two inches of Brett’s face.

“
Don’t shoot unless you have to
!” Jim shouted into his radio.  “Focus on getting into the embassy grounds any way you can.”

The American Embassy in Beijing sits on ten acres northeast of the Forbidden City just outside 3
rd
Ring Road.  Nine hundred officials, e
m
ployees and Marine guards reside there in five buildings surrounded by a high wall enclosing a tree lined compound, all of which cost the American ta
x
payers more than $434 million, the second largest construction project in State Department history.

The compound’s residents could all clearly hear the approaching sirens now, that and the smoke in the courtyard prompting some to wonder if the embassy was on fire.  The ambassador had awakened and was in the elevator heading down from the eight story main chancery. 

Sheng
had lowered his silhouette as much as he could and tightened his grip on the enormous steering wheel when the truck hit the
outermost two police cars.  An
ear-shattering clash of steel propelled a blizzard of broken glass into the air as the huge truck tossed the lighter cars aside, causing se
c
ondary collisions and more showers of glass shards. 

The violence of the crash momentarily stunned the officers around the disintegrating roadblock, and by the time they coalesced again behind the wreckage, the convoy was pulling away.  Shouting at each other to shoot,
they began firing their side arms at the fleeing convoy.  Bullets buried themselves harmlessly in the pile of neatly folded and stacked fire hoses in the pumper truck; several ricocheted off the thick tread plate bumper.

One struck Jun in the neck. 

The police car swerved as he grabbed his neck, feeling the blood that had already begun to flow from the 9mm hole.  Struggling to keep the car poin
ted forward, he covered the wound with his hand, applying
pressure as best he could as the convoy picked up speed.  Two more bullets punched holes in the windshield in front of him and with one hand on the steering wheel he swung the car left and right, trying to throw off their aim. 

Jim pointed at the long shape of the embassy wall in the distance, telling
Sheng
that he would have to make a right turn just before the wall to reach the gate where the Marines were waiting for them. 
Sheng
, loathe to slow for a corner with police officers shooting at the convoy, nodded his head and shoved the pedal to the floor, resolved to get to the embassy
any way he could
.

With the speeding trucks nearing the corner, Jim shouted into his radio to prepare for the turn at the wall.  It was then he saw the tank pulling into the intersection, stopping squarely in the middle, its turret rotating until its main gun was trained on the approaching vehicles.  While the heavy fire trucks could easily swat aside a much smaller police car, the fifty-four ton main battle tank might as well have been a mountain.  Without even firing its 125mm main gun, it could stop any vehicle dead in its tracks.  To the men in the fire trucks, there were no options to consider.  The opening between the front of the tank and the corner of the building on the right side of the inte
r
section was more than
large enough to drive through – at t
en or fifteen miles per hour.  However, even if they slowed slightly, they would still be doing at least fifty miles per hour over that
when they hit the intersection – or t
he tank.

Sheng
now had about a half hour’s worth of experience behind the wheel of a fire truck, his fellow defector the same.  In less than sixty seconds, they would have to throw their twenty ton fire trucks into a maneuver that defied several immutable laws of physics, and they would do so without hesitation simply because there was no other choice.  The Seals knew what was about to happen and yet could offer no advice; no one trained for such things.  Only fools and the desperate attempt the impossible.  They grabbed what they could and held on as
Sheng
threw the wheel all the way to the right just as the truck reached the opening between the tank and the building.

The fire truck struggled mightily to make the turn, its wide dual tires leaving smoking black protestations on the pavement.  As the truck leaned sickeningly, the extension ladder was jarred out of its bracket and swung
wildly to the left, nearly shearing off the part of the soldier that protruded from the tank’s turret.  Only the heavy machinegun’s mount interrupted the ladder’s arc, propelling it back toward the center of the fire truck, its weight slowing ever so slightly the truck’s leftward lean.  It w
as at that point that the heavy gauge
aluminum side of the fire truck s
lammed
against the steel skirt that protects the tank’s road wheels, upon which its tracks are mounted.  The concussion heavily dented the side of the fire truck and punctured one of its left rear tires, but it also caused the fire truck to rebound off the side of the tank, righting itself. 

Sheng
, whether in shock or locked in fear, had never taken his foot off the accelerator and the fire
truck continued surging forward, its tires screaming black smoke.
  It was then that Jim noticed the Oshkosh logo on the dashboard.  A product of America’s premier fire truck manufacturer had just survived a collision with a Chinese main battle tank and was still drivable - barely.  The embassy gate was now less than a block away.

The pumper truck had nearly collided with the rear of the hook & ladder truck when
it was slowed by the collision
,
but an instant before
,
it had
surged forward
out of the way.  The pumper truck’s left front quarter
now
struck the
right
front
corner
of the tank full on, tearing off the
truck’s
fender and severely bending the left front wheel assembly.  The dual rear wheels continued spinning wildly, leaving hot, burning rubber on the pavement.  With the useless left front tire now acting more as a brake than a wheel, the truck struggled to maintain its momentum, the tank’s front fender gouging a ragged tear along the entire length of the truck. 

A police officer, hoping to take advantage of the reduced momentum of the truck, jumped on the side board and opened the door, pistol in hand.  Upon entering the cab, his head was met by Brett’s fist and the hapless p
o
liceman was catapulted from the truck onto the stump of a broken traffic light.  The wounded pumper truck willed itself forward like a dying animal, its left front wheel now almost sideways, impeding its forward momentum while the dual rear wheels, obscured by a cloud of black smoke, continued spinning.  Tires screaming, engine roaring, it finally disengaged itself from the tank and continued plowing its way toward the embassy entrance.