by James Rosone
“I’m hit! Corpsman!” screamed the wounded Marine. Tim was probably only ten meters away. He ran to the aid of his wounded comrade as bullets continued to whip through the air all around him, slapping trees and ricocheting off nearby rocks. As he got to the wounded man, he saw a pool of blood all around him. The Marine had been hit in the thigh and the bullet must have nicked an artery. Dark blood that was almost purple oozed through the young Marine’s fingers with each pulse.
Sergeant Long glanced at the young man’s name tape. “Hang in there, Tarpin!” he yelled above the constant din of machine guns and explosions going off all around them. Tim reached over and grabbed the field tourniquet all Marines carried with them and began to apply it just above the wound. He needed to stop the bleeding or Corporal Tarpin would bleed out. Sergeant Long got nervous as he observed that Tarpin’s face was already starting to turn pale and he was sweating profusely despite the cold temperature.
“He’s going into shock,” Long thought.
“Am I going to die?” Tarpin asked, fear written all over his face.
“No, Corporal. You are not going to die. I got a tourniquet on your leg and the bleeding has stopped. You’ll be fine, just hang in there. I see one of the corpsman heading towards you now… I need to keep moving. Hang in there, Marine!” he replied with conviction in his voice.
Tarpin just nodded in response. He knew Sergeant Long had to get back to leading the platoon.
Long looked up the hill and saw most of his platoon had advanced without him. They had probably moved 60 or 70 meters ahead of him while continuing to lay down heavy fire at the Chinese positions. A few of his men had been hit as they charged up the hill, and he heard them calling out for help. Sergeant Long desperately wanted to stop and check on each of them, but he knew he also needed to be leading and guiding his platoon to the top of the ridge. His men needed him, and he needed to trust the corpsmen to handle the wounded. Darting from one covered position to another, he quickly caught up to the rest of his guys. They were nearly in range of their hand grenades and would soon overrun the enemy positions.
“Come on, Marines! We’re almost there. Let’s go!” he yelled.
He moved with speed even he didn’t realize he had from one covered position to the next, all while bullets zipped and snapped all around him. As he took cover behind a decent-sized rock and some shrubs, Sergeant Long grabbed one of his hand grenades and shouted, “Frag out!”
He threw that grenade for all he was worth at the enemy position. A couple of seconds later, it exploded while still airborne, over one of the enemy machine gun positions. The two Chinese soldiers operating the gun screamed out in pain, temporarily stopping their murderous rampage.
“Charge!” Sergeant Long shouted for what felt like the tenth time that day. He jumped to his feet again and raced towards the enemy lines.
As he came within ten meters of the PLA soldiers, he saw the fear in their eyes as he leveled his rifle at them and fired multiple times into their positions. He kept charging, screaming like a banshee and firing his rifle rapidly until he ran out of bullets.
At that moment, Long realized that he didn’t have enough time to reload his weapon before the PLA soldiers in front of him would start to fire back at him. So, he leaped right towards one of the shallow slit trenches the enemy had dug and plowed into three of the soldiers, knocking them all off balance. Quickly, Sergeant Long rocked back on his heels, raised his rifle up high into the air and then slammed the butt of it into the cheekbone of one of the enemy soldiers. He felt the bone crack and give slightly from the sheer force of his hit, and the man groaned as he slumped down from the shock and pain.
Long shifted his weight and swung the butt of his rifle at the next soldier, slamming it into the man’s mouth and nose, crushing several of the man’s front teeth in and breaking his nose in an instant. Quite a bit of blood sprayed into the air with that last hit. The man screamed, dropping his rifle as his hands went to his face.
The third soldier swung his AK-74 like a baseball bat at Sergeant Long’s head and landed a solid blow on the side of his helmet. The shock of the hit caused Long to see stars as his head snapped back. Still reeling, Sergeant Long reached down with his right hand, grabbed his M17 SIG Sauer handgun and shot the enemy soldier three times in the face, exploding the man’s head. Blood, bone, and brain matter splashed back on Long and the dead man’s two comrades.
Sergeant Long twisted slightly to the right and fired several more rounds into the chest of the first soldier he had struck in the cheekbone. Then he rocked back on his left leg and prepared to fire at the last remaining soldier, the man with the broken nose. As he took aim, a three-round burst from the man’s AK-74 slammed into the front ballistic plate of Long’s body armor, causing him to stumble backwards out of the trench.
As he fell, Sergeant Long raised his SIG and fired four rounds at his attacker. All of the bullets missed, with the exception of his final round, which briefly caught the man’s helmet and caused him to lose his balance as he fell backwards while firing a string of bullets into the air, just barely missing Long.
“I’ve got to recover or I’m a goner,” Sergeant Long realized. He threw his body to the ground, then re-aimed his pistol at the enemy soldier and fired three more rounds into the center mass of the man before he felt that sickening click that let him know that his pistol was empty.
“I hope that guy’s dead because I’m out of bullets,” he thought. He lifted himself up slightly and grabbed for his next SIG magazine.
To his relief, he saw the enemy soldier clutch his chest and fall backwards, presumably deceased. The battle wasn’t over, however, because in the next instant, Sergeant Long involuntarily dropped his head to the ground. His lungs desperately tried to fill with air, and his chest hurt something fierce; it was almost impossible to get the oxygen his body was screaming for.
A moment or two passed, and then his body recovered from the impact of the bullets against his body armor. His lungs filled, and he rolled over on his side, taking in several large gulps of air as he immediately began to fiddle with his pistol to get it reloaded. All around him, his Marines moved past him and continued to take out the remaining enemy soldiers. It was pure chaos, with multiple groups of Allied and enemy soldiers grappling with each other in desperately fought hand-to-hand combat involving knives, brass knuckles and pistols.
More enemy soldiers appeared from atop the ridge and charged down to join the melee. Sergeant Long saw an enemy soldier rushing towards him and aimed his pistol at the man, firing three times before the soldier’s body crumpled to the ground.
The fighting continued for another five more minutes, with each side desperately trying to kill the other. It was only the superior combat training of the Marines that let them prevail; they had been badly outnumbered when the second wave of Chinese soldiers had joined the fray.
Slapping his third magazine into his SIG pistol, Long found his rifle lying next to one of the dead enemy soldiers and grabbed it. He dropped the empty magazine, slammed a full one in its place and slapped the bolt closed, loading a fresh round in the chamber.
“Sergeant Long, are you OK?” asked a voice that seemed far away. At first Long couldn’t place where he knew that voice from. It sounded like it was coming from a tunnel. “Tim, are you OK?” asked the voice, a bit closer to him now.
He turned to his left and saw Captain Culley as he jumped into the trench with him and the dead enemy soldiers. Two other Marines jumped in with them as well.
“I, uh, yeah… I think I’m OK,” stammered Sergeant Long, still trying to collect himself. Captain Culley looked him over for a second before nodding. “Good. I saw you jump into this trench here and fight those guys off. I swear I thought you were dead when that guy shot you at point-blank range. I’m glad you’re all right. Maybe we should have one of the corpsmen check you just to make sure,” he offered.
“No, Sir. I’ll be OK. I can get my ribs checked after we’ve secured the obje
ctive,” Long replied. However, when he went to stand up, he saw a spinning red haze. Then he involuntarily doubled over in pain and threw up. In the midst of the vomit, Sergeant Long spotted a fair bit of blood, and he knew then that he must really be in a bit of trouble.
“Corpsman!” yelled Captain Culley, flagging down one of the medics.
“Are you hit?” the medic asked as he approached.
Culley explained what he saw happen to Sergeant Long.
The corpsman said, “He probably has a punctured lung. He’s going to need to be medevacked out, along with the rest of the seriously injured guys.”
Sergeant Long tried to protest but nearly passed out from the pain in his ribs. Reluctantly, he consented to being evacuated out with the other wounded. As he made his way down the ridge, helping a few other wounded Marines along the way, he felt angry that he could not continue to be there for his platoon. They had been together since the start of the war, and now he was going to be out of the action for at least a few weeks, maybe a month or two, until his ribs and punctured lung were all healed up.
It took nearly an hour to get to the base of the ridge where they had originally started the day. Once down there, all the wounded were loaded into a number of trucks, waiting to be driven back to the airport they had been at in the morning. The more seriously wounded Marines were being picked up by chopper and immediately flown off to receive a higher level of care.
Six hours after being wounded, Master Sergeant Long found himself at a trauma center on one of the amphibious assault ships, getting an x-ray. Sure enough, it was quickly determined that he had five broken ribs and a punctured left lung. The doctors there told him that he’d be flown to Japan the following morning. From there, Tim would recover in a military hospital until he was able to return to his unit.
Two Months Prior
The Republic of China
Taiwan
Following the surrender of the Japanese to the Allies in 1945, the Chinese Civil War heated up again. The communists were eager to pick up their fight against the Chinese Nationalist Party for control of the country and waged a successful campaign. Between 1946 and 1950, the communists had been able to gain control of the country, forcing the nationalist party to flee to the island of Formosa, now known as Taiwan. Although the new foothold in mainland China was firmly established, no armistice or peace deal was ever reached between the two warring factions. It was not until 1971 that the United Nations officially recognized the People’s Republic of China (PRC) as a separate state from the Chinese nationalists who had set up a government in exile on the island of Taiwan, and that declaration was only achieved through a warming of relations between the United States and China when US President Richard Nixon visited Mao in China in 1971.
Despite 67 years of relative peace between the Chinese mainland and Taiwan, the communist government never gave up their territorial claim to Formosa or stopped denouncing what they claimed to be an illegitimate government. These tensions had nearly boiled over into renewed fighting on multiple occasions. The only thing keeping the communists in check was the knowledge that Taiwan had fallen under the protective umbrella of the United States. In the 1990s and throughout the 2000s, the United States not only increased its military aid to Taiwan, it began to sell the Taiwanese more and more advanced weapon systems to negate any technological or numerical advantage the PRC might try to leverage.
* * *
It was another hot, muggy August morning at the Hsinchu Kansai military training base as Colonel Wang finished his tea. Today was the final day of his brigade’s training exercise, and he was determined to see them do better than they had the day before. His armor brigade had just been outfitted with a series of upgrades by the American defense firm Raytheon, giving their M60A3 Patton tanks new life. With a shiny coat of brand-new reactive armor and a seriously improved fire support system, they felt like completely different machines. The main gun had been switched out from the old 105mm to a new 120mm cannon, giving them a lot more power.
Colonel Wang smiled. “These upgraded tanks are on par with anything the communist mainland can throw at us,” he thought with satisfaction.
Looking through his binoculars, Wang could see his battalions were still working out the kinks in the new equipment and getting their crews up to speed. Today was the final day of their annual training and unit certification, so they had to make the most of it.
Putting the specs away, he walked up the stairs to the observation and control room of the tank range. It was a beautiful day. Birds were chirping, the sun was out and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky — perfect range weather. A private who had been guarding the door stood to attention, snapping off a sharp salute. The colonel returned the gesture. Then, the door was held open for him to walk into the control room.
Once inside, Colonel Wang saw several officers with headsets on, directing the various units that were approaching the three tank trails that made up the exercise. A tank would head down one of the lanes and then move at different speeds from one point to another. At certain times, an enemy tank would appear, and the crew would have seconds to identify the target and engage it before they would be deemed killed. Some of the engagements were shoot-on-the-move exercises meant to test their ability to use the new targeting system, while others would have them come to a complete stop and fire at the target.
While this was happening, the crews in their tanks would hear the explosions of artillery landing nearby and have dirt and fake shrapnel thrown at them, courtesy of some sophisticated pyrotechnics. A couple of light machine gun crews would stitch the tanks up with some training bullets that would harmlessly ricochet off their armor. This simulation was meant to put the tank crews under the most realistic training exercise possible. If they handled themselves well in this situation, then chances were, they would handle them well in combat. If they failed, then they could focus on why they’d failed and work to correct those deficiencies before their lives were at stake.
Looking to his executive officer, Colonel Wang inquired, “How are the units shaping up today?”
His XO, Major Chin, smiled and nodded. “Much better than yesterday. The First Battalion did an exceptional job. Everyone passed. Second battalion had three crews fail. We’re going to run them through again for a second try. Third battalion is going through the exercise as we speak. It looks like only one of them is going to fail, so I would say this is a marked improvement over the past week,” he replied with a look of satisfaction on his face.
“A 93 % pass rate for the brigade is nothing to sneeze at,” thought Chin. “We can work with the few crews who struggled to help them improve.”
The colonel smiled and nodded in agreement. This was a marked improvement indeed.
Major Chin, who was still rather excited by the new upgrades, asked, “Are they still going to outfit us with the American Abrams battle tanks in a few years?”
Colonel Wang turned to look at his XO. “That is what I’ve been told, but sadly I will not be the brigade commander if and when that happens. It will be you younger officers who will have that distinction.” Explosions rumbled in the distance as the tankers that were running through the exercise engaged fictitious targets.
Wang’s expression hardened. “Major Chin, I’m not sure if a conflict will arise with the mainland soon or not, but we need to make sure the brigade is ready in case it happens. The air force and navy are not going to be able to prevent the mainland from landing a ground force. It will be incumbent on brigades like ours to push them back into the sea. Do you understand?”
His face also somber, Major Chin responded, “Yes, Sir, I understand, and so do the battalion commanders. If the mainland does attack, we’ll be ready to push them back to the water.”
* * *
Sergeant Lin was in a bit of a foul mood. His company had just arrived at the training range for a week of intense training on marksmanship and small-unit tactics, and the five new recruits that had joined his platoon out of basi
c training had rifle skills that were, to put it mildly, terrible.
The first couple of days at the range were spent going over the basics of their T91 assault rifle, which was essentially an American M4 rifle that used the standard NATO 5.56 x 45mm round. It was important for soldiers on the coastal defensive line to become excellent shots and learn how to fire accurately under immense stress. They also had to learn a myriad of other weapon systems, from the various heavy machine guns used in the bunkers to the anti-armor missiles that would be used against the amphibious assault crafts the mainlanders would use. This two-week annual exercise was meant to refamiliarize everyone with all the weapon systems, should they need to be used. While there was no indication the Chinese mainland was looking to start hostilities, their recent acquisition of Mongolia and the movement of a large number of soldiers towards their southern border meant there was definitely a larger plan afoot.
Sergeant Lin gritted his teeth as he saw another new soldier making stupid mistakes. It was as though they had suddenly developed amnesia under the pressure of their new platoon sergeant.
“No, Private!” he yelled, loud enough to gain the attention of the other soldiers nearby. “You hold the rifle tight into your shoulder, and then you lean your cheek into the stock of the rifle with your noise gently touching the charging handle.” Sergeant Lin demonstrated the proper posture for holding the assault weapon, making sure the other soldiers also saw what he was doing.
“Then you close one eye and look through the scope with your dominant eye, placing the red dot on the target you intend to hit. Next, you gently squeeze the trigger, making sure not to jerk it. The rifle will kick once you fire it, but keep your cheek tucked in tight to the stock, re-aim and repeat. You do this over and over again, until you run out of ammo, and then restart the entire process again. Understood?” he shouted, surveying the nearby soldiers like prey.
