China Attacks

by Chuck DeVore

  The team broke into the building just north of the Presidential building, spraying the guards at the entrance with automatic weapons fire. The major knew he needed every advantage he could muster at this critical phase of his operation. He tossed a CS (riot) gas grenade into the foyer and motioned his men to go down the hall. This entrance was the primary entrance they trained on. At this point, based on his previous practice runs, he only expected to have 13 men remaining. The fact that he had 16 and the defenders probably had no functioning radios or surveillance equipment to direct their defense, or track his movements, meant that he still had an advantage.

  The lieutenant and the Presidential Guard colonel felt rather than heard the dull thuds of gunfire through the building. “It sounds like you were right, lieutenant, the nation owes you a debt of gratitude.” The colonel turned around and unlocked a weapons cabinet. “I trust you know how to use one of these?” He handed the young lieutenant an M-16 assault rifle and two 30 round clips.

  “Yes, sir.” As the lieutenant spoke he was already slapping a magazine into place and pulling the charging handle to chamber a round, “Locked and loaded, sir!”

  “Follow me.” The colonel bounded down the hall to a stairwell and started down, two steps at a time. The lieutenant was surprised at the colonel’s dexterity. They went down four flights of stairs until four guards in front of a heavy steel blast door stopped them. The colonel briefed them about the enemy commando force topside and reaffirmed their standing orders to protect the entrance to the President’s command bunker with their lives.

  The colonel turned to the lieutenant. “Until relieved by a superior officer, I’m placing you in command of this guard post. Let no one pass. I’m going back to lead the defense of this building.”

  The colonel’s lips seemed to move slowly. The young officer was concerned the colonel was showing his age. “Yes, sir. Are you all right sir?”

  The colonel seemed annoyed. “Of course I am. Good luck, I’ll see you soon!”

  With that the colonel turned to go. The lieutenant was puzzled by the colonel’s actions. There was danger everywhere and he was moving so slowly! The colonel seemed to bounce languidly up the stairs. The lieutenant turned to face the four guards. Instead of the human guards he thought he was leading, each guard had the head of a gargoyle. The lieutenant tried to suppress his surprise. His whole body shuddered. One of the gargoyles began talking. The words radiated from the Gargoyle’s mouth like the waves of a pebble in a pond. The lieutenant looked down at his rifle. It was a long, deadly serpent. A serpent that spit fire and destroyed his enemies. Thunderous blasts of yellow and red filled his eyes. The gargoyles were shattered. The smell of their death was overpowering. He put his gas mask on to guard against the spirits of the dead gargoyles.

  The major was down to five men. They had exhausted their supply of hand grenades and most of their ammunition to get this far and now only had the explosives needed to penetrate the President’s bunker and a few CS grenades. He heard the sound of automatic weapons fire from the stairwell leading to the bunker. Curious.

  The lieutenant smelled the steps of the advancing enemy. He filled his serpent with more venom and turned to face his new tormentors. A small package hit the ground in front of him and began hissing smoke. The smoke billowed and spoke to him, although he divined no meaning. Through the smoke came a gargoyle. The serpent reached out and killed it. Another slowly advanced. It was killed. The junior officer smelled perfume through the mask. Or was it the smell of tea? A three-headed monster edged through the mists and his deadly serpent struck them all down. His shoulder was vibrating warmth. He looked at it. A large red spider sat there, feeding off him, growing stronger off his blood. The spider began singing the Taiwanese national anthem.

  The lieutenant tore his mask off and charged up the stairs, blindly firing the last of his 15 rounds. The lieutenant’s last round caught the PLA major in the leg as the commando shot his ROC counterpart in the head.

  The major’s wound was too serious for him to continue his mission. To fail at the very doorstep of success! In the uniform of the ROC Army, the commando knew his fate if captured. He quickly turned his weapon on himself and ended it.

  * * *

  At 35,000 feet, 15 miles to the west of Taiwan’s northern shore, the ROC fighter pilot was elated. He had engaged the PLA fighters at maximum range and destroyed four of them just as they passed over Taiwan’s shores. His colleagues were similarly blessed with success. Together, their flight of four Mirage 2000-5s destroyed an entire squadron of 11 enemy aircraft and had downed another three aircraft in a second squadron.

  His flight commander ordered them to go to afterburner and descend, closing the distance between them and the still advancing aircraft below. With their long-range radar guided missiles gone, they’d have to get within at least seven nautical miles to launch their infrared missiles. After that, they’d assess their odds and consider fighting the enemy tooth and tong with the two 30mm cannons their French jets mounted.

  The captain began to throttle up to afterburner when he caught a flash in the sky. The headset in his helmet cracked painfully loud. His HUD (heads up display) went blank. Every digital instrument in his cockpit went dead. And, his fly-by-wire control stick was completely unresponsive.

  Ten miles to the east, the seven remaining J-6 fighters of PLA 1st lieutenant’s squadron also felt the effects of the E-bomb. The radio receivers burned out and the newly acquired commercial GPS devices were also destroyed. The missile-warning indicator also failed. Fortunately, the advanced radar guided missile that had locked onto his jet was now an unguided missile. It simply went ballistic and flared by his canopy window, disappearing into the distance.

  The pilot did not understand what happened. All he knew was that he was alive and that his aircraft had somehow sustained damage, but was still flying. An indicator light told him his air-to-air missiles were not functioning. Well, he still had his three 30mm cannon and, if he ever got behind the enemy, he certainly knew how to use those.

  The squadron commander began a long banking turn to the right. He followed. They were now heading west, back to China! About 20 seconds later, he could see specks in the sky. These had to be their tormentors. The fact that he hadn’t been shot down yet must mean that the enemy ran out of missiles. He would now have his chance to even the score.

  The ROC pilot was madly trying to reset his electrical circuit breakers. His engine had flamed out. His controls were completely unresponsive. His Mirage was nosing down and about to go into an uncontrollable spin. It pained him greatly to bail out of his beautiful aircraft, but he saw no choice.

  The PLA pilot could hardly believe his eyes: three Mirage 2000s were spinning out of the sky. Above the fighter jets, ejection seats were visible, stabilized by small drogue chutes.

  The ROC captain bailed out cleanly. The freezing air bit at his exposed skin. In less than two minutes he’d fall from 30,000 feet to 10,000 feet where his ejection seat would automatically deploy his parachute. If he could deploy his survival raft and get in, he’d live. Then he saw unwelcome visitors.

  The 1st lieutenant’s commander saw the ejecting pilots and began a slow descent circling after them. The pilot understood his commander did not have a humanitarian interest in seeing these enemy pilots to safety. Once the first pilot’s parachute opened, his squadron commander swooped in, 30mm cannons blazing. The colonel missed. The 1st lieutenant’s flight leader followed his commander’s example and missed as well. Next came the lieutenant’s turn. He squeezed the firing trigger for his 30mm cannons.

  The ROC captain couldn’t believe they were shooting at him. It wasn’t simply the blatant violation of the Geneva Convention that surprised him—it was that death was so personal and close. He had always assumed that if he died in aerial combat it would be by an unseen enemy using a long-range missile. The cannon rounds ripped the air around him. He closed his eyes. He never felt the round that killed him.

  * * * />
  The commander of the PLA’s 37th Infantry Division, 12th Group Army knew about his mission for the last month. He told his staff about the mission 12 days ago, sequestering them to cut off all contact with their friends and family. Security to maintain surprise was paramount. Seven days ago he told his regimental commanders about the mission and confined them to base. Five days ago he canceled all leaves and imposed total isolation on his troops. Three days ago, they all boarded the cruise ship bound for Keelung.

  It ranked as one of the biggest military gambles in history—sailing an unarmed cruise ship right into the enemy’s second busiest harbor. No, the general had to correct himself, not a gamble, rather, a calculated risk. An avid student of military history, the general was well versed in everything from Sun Tzu to Erwin Rommel. And, wasn’t it Field Marshal Rommel who said that he never gambled but took calculated risks? On the face of it, the cost to benefit calculation was very favorable. The cruise ship itself only cost COSCO some $25 million to purchase. Of the embarked soldiers of the 37th Infantry Division, about 1,000 were professionals, the rest were conscripts. Further, without their vehicles and little artillery, the force committed was fairly cheap. If we achieved success it would rank as almost equaling the Trojan Horse gambit. (For security reasons, the general had no knowledge of the freighters being drafted into troopship service in Tainan, Kaohsiung and Taichung, nor of the commando raids at CKS Airport or in Taipei itself.) If we failed, less PLA troops would die than in 1949 when we tried to take Quemoy.

  The general knew Keelung as an important city that had an interesting and violent past featuring both Asian and European conquerors. An excellent natural port, Keelung was ringed by historical fortifications that dotted the steep hills that tightly penned the city against the sea.

  Taking the port and using it were two different problems. The city itself had no depth. There were only a few hundred meters of dense concrete buildings before the city gave way to heavily vegetated bluffs. The division commander could take the city in half an hour. To keep it, he’d have to secure the high ground on three sides. Finally, to keep the port open, both the east and west side of the harbor’s five kilometer long entrance would have to be cleared of the enemy’s heavy weapons. Then there was the historic fortress island of Peace, sitting squarely astride the Keelung Inlet, just like a cork in a very expensive bottle of brandy.

  For years Peace Island and the hills surrounding Keelung Islet were strictly controlled by the ROC military. Now, as commercial interests grew and the iron discipline faded, those restrictions had been partially lifted. This allowed Mainlander spies the opportunity to carefully map many bunkers and emplacements in the strategic region. The general intended to make the Islanders pay dearly for their softness.

  Still smoking mightily, the cruise ship entered the harbor. The fireboat tried to maneuver into place to begin to put water on the flame but the cruise ship pressed on, making 12 knots for the port. The captain of the ROC patrol boat on the scene was about to radio for back up when the E-bomb detonated, cutting off all communications between ship and shore.

  Virtually helpless to stop such a giant vessel with his 30-meter patrol boat, the ROC captain decided to race ahead to warn the port authorities about the mad dog skipper. The patrol boat revved up and began pulling ahead of the cruise ship. The general resisted the temptation to destroy the vessel with the crew-served weapons he had attached to the deck and concealed by canvas coverings. Opening up on the pesky patrol craft would only offer a warning to the ROC Marines he knew were stationed in the hills. If he could get dockside with nothing more than some police to contend with (larger, missile-carrying patrol boats had been likely rendered incapable of firing their missiles due to the E-bomb), then Keelung would be his. He ran the timing in his head: the patrol craft could make it to port in a little under five minutes, while he could make it in about 14 minutes (assuming he slowed down a bit just before plowing into the docks). With a nine minute warning the Taiwanese could really do nothing more than offer small arms fire to stop him. He decided to let the boat go—he’d catch up to it later.

  By now the general’s division staff and his commanders from the regimental level down to selected company commanders, 112 officers in all, were performing a mini leaders’ reconnaissance. Situated behind the cruise ship’s ample picture windows so as not to be seen from the shore, the officers took in the view of the terrain they were about to master. The general knew that even this cursory look would greatly enhance his leaders’ confidence and ability to prevail in battle.

  Five minutes passed. The patrol boat ought to be reaching Keelung now. What would the captain say? Even with the tension of imminent combat, the general had to smile. That poor patrol boat captain would have a rough time explaining the situation—especially after the incapacitating agent burst overhead.

  A few seconds later, over the bluffs on either side of the cruise ship, the general saw what looked like wisps of steam in the air as the incoming warheads burst open and spilled their canisters onto the ground.

  Ten minutes passed. Keelung’s hills loomed above them on three sides. The port looked like it was hard at work, loading and unloading dozens of cargo ships. On closer inspection, however, the first glance was deceitful. On every loading dock and ship a few workers stood around, pointing at the steaming canisters.

  The cruise ship captain began to slow the vessel and aim for an open quay.

  From the ship’s port side, three patrol boats raced in on a course to intercept. On the ship’s bow, a fireboat and a tugboat closed in, one behind the other.

  The general gave the order to prepare to land. The company commanders had already gone below to be with their men. All along the upper decks of the ship, canvas was pulled back to reveal crew-served weapons. The general thought this his best adaptation yet of the lessons of history—borrowing the idea from the famous commerce raiders of Germany and the American Confederacy. While the cruise ship had no protective armor, it fairly bristled with armament. The cruise ship was about 225 meters long. Its eight decks above the waterline and hundreds of cabin windows provided more than enough firing ports for 12.7mm Type-77 heavy machine guns and AGS-17 30mm grenade launchers. Reserving the upper decks for the heavier equipment, the general stationed an entire battalion of 18 37mm Type-74 anti-aircraft guns topside as well as an anti-tank battalion with Red Arrow 8 anti-tank guided missiles (the latter’s fiery backblast made it impractical to launch from within an enclosed space). His greatest idea was figuring out a way to secure and conceal three 122mm Type-83 towed artillery pieces to the small bow section. He knew his ersatz gunship couldn’t take punishment well, but it could sure dish it out.

  One of the patrol boats fired its heavy machine gun across the cruise ship’s bow. Seconds later, hundreds of cabin windows popped out of the cruise ship and a massive volume of fire from no less than 50 machine guns and grenade launchers cut the patrol boat to pieces. While the other two patrol boats hadn’t responded, they too received the same treatment.

  The fireboat and tugboat were a different matter. They came straight on where none of the ship’s heavy weapons could target them (the weapons on the upper decks couldn’t depress enough to hit the charging boats). The skipper of the fireboat had already been affected by the phenothiazine agent. He calmly aimed to ram the oncoming ship—unconcerned about the consequences that might bring on him and his beloved fireboat. The tugboat captain followed, also impaired by the chemical. He was simply following the fireboat, although he was having difficulty remembering why.

  Between the bow wave a large ship makes as it moves through the water, and the narrowness of the bow itself, it’s hard to hit a ship head on in the water. Even if one tried, a glancing blow would be the more likely result. Recognizing this, the fireboat captain turned hard to starboard a few seconds before impact. The cruise ship’s forward momentum was slightly checked as it sliced the 35-meter long fireboat in two, sustaining minor damage to its bow in the process.

/>   Seeing this calamity occur only 50 meters in front of him, the tugboat captain snapped out of his stupor long enough to steer his boat to safety. Unfortunately, this brought him within the view of the cruise ship’s gun crews who immediately destroyed his boat.

  The general noticed three small ROC patrol craft tied alongside their naval wharf, just like intelligence said they’d be. There was no sign of activity on the boats. He told his operations officer to call ceasefire over the ship’s intercom. No point in wasting ammunition and causing more damage than necessary.

  The cruise ship’s propellers were straining on full reverse as the ship ponderously scraped alongside the empty cargo pier, then smashed bow-first into the boardwalk at three knots. Combined with the damage from ramming the fireboat, this impact was enough to render the ship unseaworthy. This was of little importance now to the division commander—the ship had gotten his men safely to Keelung. If it sank in the shallow pier side waters it was no matter. The ship would still be useful as an artillery and anti-aircraft platform regardless.

  If all went according to plan, the northern pathway to the heart of the enemy would be his in less than three hours.

  * * *

  In the American C-17 Globemaster, Lieutenant Colonel Alexander thought about the conversation he just overheard. U.S. Marines in the Taiwan Strait were observing a war brewing between Taiwan and China. And just as he was going to Indonesia as part of a UN mandate to bring peace and stability to that riotous land. Interestingly enough—as part of a UN mandate with full Chinese approval and cooperation. He wondered if more than a coincidence was at work here. Dan took off his headset to scratch his scalp. He heard a crackling sound. The hand holding his headset jerked as if it had been jolted by electricity. The cabin lights went out. Fortunately there was plenty of sunshine coming through the cockpit window. Just before he looked to see how Joe was doing, Dan noticed his arm hair was standing straight up. Curious.