China Attacks

by Chuck DeVore

  For almost being wiped out in America’s worst naval defeat since Pearl Harbor Flint felt remarkably at ease. He and most of the combat elements of the 31st MEU were alive and capable of fighting. Sustaining any action beyond a couple of days would be a challenge without the Combat Service Support Element, but he’d deal with that problem in a day or two. In spite of the situation, Colonel Flint smiled—he had a real war to fight now.

  “Dragon One One, Bulldog One, over.”

  “Dragon One One here.” The Harrier pilot replied.

  “Dragon One One, sink the bastards and get over to the airport ASAP, over.”

  “Wilco!”

  Flint could hear the excitement in the Captain Hill’s voice—he was about to run the sort of mission he was trained for with no one from Washington looking over his shoulder and telling him not to use all the tools in his kit.

  The PLA commander in charge of the 3rd Infantry Regiment, 97th Infantry Division radioed his status back to headquarters on the Mainland. Both of the busy men only had time for a brief situation update. The senior colonel said, “Sir, we’ve gotten one battalion of infantry off the ship. We’re trying to eliminate some sniper fire before we bring the other battalions and the support elements off. We just fired on some enemy aircraft. We saw three of them. Our recon element has just reported the airport is not yet defended.” The colonel was reluctant to mention his main real problem: dehydration and heat prostration. While more the fault of the men who planned the mission using a cargo ship hastily converted into a troop carrier, admitting a problem was to admit poor preparation—or worse yet, be thought of accusing his commander of a mistake. Either path was a sure way to be relieved of command.

  The major general responded, “You are getting behind on your timetable. I do not care about snipers. Get your men off that ship immediately! We must have the docks and the landing beaches secured within three hours. I’m not holding up the rest of the division for you!”

  * * *

  General Wei’s SATCOM phone chirped. Fu eyed him carefully, looking for indications. “I see. . . Certainly an unexpected development. . . Let me know the soonest you hear anything more.” Wei looked at Fu and flipped the phone shut. “Comrade Fu, it seems there has been a complication introduced into our operation. The American Marines have landed on Taiwan. . .”

  “What?” Fu felt years of planning beginning to crumble.

  “Sir, I’m sure it’s only the remnants of the force we attacked off Kaohsiung. I recall from the American order of battle that there could be no more than 2,100 Marines in the force we attacked. A little more than 2,000 dazed American Marines could hardly be considered a threat, eh?” Wei sounded his reassuring best.

  * * *

  Captain Mike “Mole” Hill (his nickname earned by his constant telling of mountainous tales involving his favorite subject: Captain Hill) keyed the radio to speak with his wingmen. “Snake, Dingo, I’m going to position for an attack run on that freighter. I’m going to come in from the southeast and drop my iron. Suppress the bastards for me, over.”

  First Lieutenant “Snake” Gilbert responded, “Roger, Mole, we’ll keep their heads down. Hey, I’ve got 16 five hundred pounders, I want to play too!”

  “Shut up and cover me!” Hill grinned behind his oxygen mask then banked his aircraft to the right and streaked off just over the wave tops, leaving the other two Harriers in a hover over the beach. About three miles away Hill pulled up and looped to the left. With his wingmen able to suppress the ship’s shoulder-fired SAM teams with rapid fire from their six-barreled 25mm guns as well as 2.75 inch rocket fire, Hill figured he could run a classic dive bomb attack on the freighter and damage it or even sink it with the six Mk 83 1,000 pound general purpose bombs he carried.

  At 10,000 feet Hill lined up for his attack run. To his left about two miles away, he could see the angry white spray of the LCACs making their way to the beach. Above them he saw the ACE’s helicopters. The freighter looked innocent, still and harmless off in the crowded harbor. Fortunately, it was one of the larger ships and appeared to be a bulk carrier as opposed to a container ship as most of the other ships were. It was easy to pick out in the harbor.

  Hill keyed his mike, “I’m going in. You may fire when ready Gridley.”

  Hill armed the bombs and waited until the ship was obscured by the nose of his aircraft. He nosed the Harrier down to a 45 degree angle, quickly found his target, and sped up to almost 600 mph. To the left, just behind the row of buildings on Chichin Island about a mile away from the freighter, Hill saw his two wingmen rise up and begin firing their cannons at the ship. Tracers arced across the bay into the ship’s superstructure. Hill had about seven seconds to dive, line up, and release his iron bombs about 5,000 feet above the target with the aid of his AN/ASB-19 Angle Rate Bombing Set computer. He started releasing chaff to confuse any radar guided missiles or anti-aircraft guns the enemy may have set up. Beads of sweat popped out of his face. In rapid succession Hill released his six bombs.

  “Mole! Mole! SAM launch! Two, three SAMs coming at you!” Snake cried.

  Not unexpected. Hill pulled back on the stick and released flares to decoy heat-seeking missiles. The laser warning tocsin sounded. Damn. “Laser warning, I have laser warning!”

  Dockside, next to the emptying Chinese freighter, a specially equipped PLA anti-aircraft team had just let loose with a Starburst shoulder-fired, laser-guided SAM. Starburst, made in Northern Ireland, has been around since 1991. It wasn’t supposed to be in China, then again, there were quite a few things that managed to make their way to China, the lure of cash being what it is. The laser-guided system was nearly impossible to decoy. Immune to chaff or flares, the missile was guided to its target by a laser beam. Once the system acquired the target, the shooter simply kept the target in his sights while the system’s computer held the laser beam on the target until the missile impacted. Designed for use against helicopters or low-flying aircraft, the missile was tremendously accurate.

  The missile exploded just under the engine inlet, knocking out the Rolls Royce Pegasus turbofan engine. The Harrier shook madly as Captain Hill fought to recover control. Hill’s leg felt numb. He looked down. Oh shit! The missile had torn a fragment of metal loose from the aircraft and sent it up the inside of his right calf, shredding the lower half of his leg. He no longer had rudder control (if the aircraft still had rudder control to lose). Two conventional heat seeking missiles streaked by his canopy, decoyed by the flares. The aircraft had been kicked over on its side by the explosion and subsequent aerodynamic forces. He could see the freighter below him. Hill knew he had about six seconds of flight remaining before his aircraft crashed. He reached to pull the ejection handle. A shard of metal obstructed it. Oh God. Forgive me.

  Hill pushed the sluggish stick to the right and rolled his aircraft upside down. He was now diving straight onto the ship. He gritted his teeth, “Snake, I’m hit hard. Tell my wife I love her.”

  The first 1,000-pound bomb hit the ship in the stern smack on top of its superstructure, penetrating two decks down before exploding. Just before the ship’s portals and hatches began to shatter and belch fire, the second bomb hit. The dry bulk carrier had five small mounds of crushed ore visible on deck, one pile for each cargo hold. Hill didn’t know it, but there was nothing but air under the piles—more specifically, air, a specially built-up interior lattice structure and about 3,500 of the 4,000 PLA conscripts that were to take Kaohsiung still inside, slowed down by heat exhaustion and confusion. The second bomb passed between the rear two piles of ore and exploded in the ship’s hold. The ship’s hull buckled outward and more than 1,000 soldiers died instantly. The third and fourth bombs hit the piles of ore on the deck and exploded in a great shower of dust, collapsing both piles into the ship’s interior. The fifth bomb hit the bow section and exploded inside the ship, just below the water line. Another 500 soldiers perished. If Hill had any doubt that his target was legitimate, he finally noticed two gangplanks ext
ending from the ship to the dock. The first bomb explosions having cleared the soldiers off the ramps like a broom clearing ants off a sidewalk. At 1,000 feet with less than two seconds remaining in the last dive of his life, Hill toggled his 25mm cannon to life (he hoped it would work) and selected an aim point at the middle of the ship, between the second and third pile of ore.

  The 22,000 pounds of mostly-fueled Harrier tore through the ship and exploded beneath the deck. In less than ten seconds of combat with the U.S. Marine Corps, the PLA lost 3,500 men from the 3rd Regiment of the 97th Infantry Division. The Marines had a long way to go to avenge the losses dealt to their Navy brethren, but they counted this a beginning.

  * * *

  The private was barely able to move. He and his platoon were in one of the buildings at the end of the wharf when he heard the unfamiliar whoosh of the outbound Chinese SAMs. He stiffly stood up to refill his canteen in the restroom and decided to hazard a look out the ground floor window. He noticed the diving Harrier but didn’t process its significance until the first bomb ripped at the dry bulk cargo ship he called home for the last three days. The conscript simply stood at the window, mouth agape. Finally, the blast shock wave reached the private’s building. Unfortunately for the young private, the window faced down the wharf at a 90-degree angle to the direction of the shock wave. The plate glass window shattered, shredding his face and slicing his jugular. Within five minutes, the 19-year-old was dead.

  * * *

  Donna Klein had been in the National Military Command Center (NMMC) once before on an orientation visit for CIA employees. The NMMC was on the second floor of the Pentagon. The third floor had been removed over the command center to provide room for large overhead displays and other equipment. The first time she saw it she was amused at how crowded it was with wires and TVs and displays. It looked nothing at all like the huge and lavishly equipped command center Hollywood portrays. She remembered that just to the right of the main door, up in a corner, was a lighted display of the DEFCON (Defense Readiness Condition) status for the various regions where America’s troops were stationed. During her first visit every location was at DEFCON 5 except the Korean Peninsula—it was at DEFCON 4 because of the hair-trigger readiness of the North Korean People’s Army to attack the South and the 37,000 U.S. troops stationed there.

  After signing in at the entrance she walked through the two sets of doors and began to look to the right to check the DEFCON status. Before she could find the display (did they move it since her last visit?) she saw General Tim Taylor. She found herself looking at him for a moment, studying how he interacted with those around him—confident, but respectful.

  Seeing her, General Taylor jumped out of his front row chair in the theater-like seating and called out, “Donna! I’m glad you could make it on such short notice. Do you know how hard it is to find the ‘A’ team on a Washington Friday night? Please sit down.” He gestured to the empty chair next to his, “Admiral Gordon here was about to update me on what we know so far in Asia.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Only distracted for a second by her lingering attraction to Taylor, Donna became completely focused on the crisis at hand.

  The admiral, white haired, but otherwise young looking, cleared his throat and began, “There is no new information of significance out of Taiwan since we first detected the Chinese attack two hours ago. We have not reestablished contact with the Belleau Wood Amphibious Ready Group. An hour ago we dispatched an already airborne RC-135 reconnaissance aircraft based in Okinawa to investigate. A few minutes ago it was intercepted by three Chinese fighter aircraft just inside the north entrance to the Taiwan Strait. They demanded that the RC-135 turn around. Our aircraft is returning safely to base.”

  Donna looked around. She was the only civilian in the room. She decided to say something, “I trust the aircraft was over international waters in an approved air corridor?”

  The admiral wasn’t used to being interrupted on his stage, “Why. . . Yes, of course.”

  Donna’s face flushed with anger, “Turning around was a mistake, a huge mistake. We have now set precedence that the Chinese can close the Taiwan Strait to legitimate air or sea traffic. We have also shown them that we are a paper tiger. Who ordered the aircraft to turn back?” Donna said the last accusingly. It was bad enough she didn’t see this war coming until it was too late. Now her error was being compounded by others.

  The admiral looked Donna straight in the eye, “The White House.”

  Donna paused, “Buildings can’t order anyone to do a damn thing. Who at the White House? The President?”

  Taylor stiffened slightly in his seat.

  The admiral was trumped, “I. . . I don’t really know. The pilot radioed his situation to CINCPAC. CINCPAC called up the chain of command. No one would take responsibility for provoking the Chinese into an open conflict so the ball was passed to the White House. That’s all I know. Besides, our latest guidance specifically dictates a hands-off policy on Taiwan.”

  “Where were you General?” Donna asked quietly.

  “Unfortunately the secure comm link in my car went down on the way in...”

  Donna slumped in her chair and mumbled, “What is this, the amateur hour?” She sat forward and turned to Taylor, “General, on a Friday night, who’s minding the store over at the White House?”

  “Probably some mid-level NSC functionaries—many of whom come from this building.” Taylor knew where Donna was taking him.

  “Do you think they could use some reinforcements? After all, what can we do here? We can get information all the same here or there. What matters most now is what is done with that information. Besides, you’re the President’s second-ranking military advisor.”

  “Right, and the Chairman’s in Kosovo visiting the troops. Let me make a call.” Taylor got up to use one of the room’s many secure phones.

  The admiral stood ignored behind his podium.

  Donna spoke, “Admiral, the Belleau Wood Amphibious. . .”

  “. . .Ready Group.”

  “Thanks. What is that?”

  “Today it is a force of four naval ships, it has three amphibious assault ships and an Aegis-class destroyer. It is a self-contained fighting force of about 2,200 Marines and support aircraft.”

  “What is U.S. policy in the event of an unprovoked attack on the high seas?” Donna asked.

  The admiral replied, “U.S. forces have the right to defend themselves without orders from Washington.”

  “Do we know how far the Belleau Wood was from Taiwan when the Chinese attack began?”

  “Of course, they were 14 miles off the southern coast of Taiwan in international waters. I can give you an exact location. . .”

  “Admiral,” Donna looked squarely at the officer, “If you were the commander of that task force and you were attacked by China, what would you do?”

  “Defend myself and turn around and head for the open ocean.”

  “And if you were too heavily damaged to flee?”

  The admiral winced at the word “flee” and said, “If I was badly hit I suppose I’d seek safe harbor on Taiwan.”

  “We have to find out where those ships are ASAP. Not knowing puts us at a disadvantage.” Donna sat stroking her chin.

  Taylor hung up the phone and turned towards Donna, “Let’s go! The White House wants us over at the Situation Room right away.”

  Donna smiled weakly at the admiral and softly said, “Quite talkative for a house, isn’t it?”

  Donna had never before been in the White House, not even as a tourist. The Situation Room, at least the one she was shown into, was a small hole in a subfloor of the White House’s West Wing. It had one large rectangular table with enough room to seat a dozen people. Behind the chairs at the table were another set of chairs pushed up against the wall. There was so little room between the chairs, that if both rows were occupied, no one could maneuver between the chairs without stepping over people’s knees. Donna was shocked at the small size of t
he meeting room—not at all like the public perception of the White House.

  The room was dominated by two televisions, one was turned to CNN, the other, MSNBC—a tribute to the immediacy of modern news gathering organizations. Curiously, neither network had caught on to the war that had just ignited in the Taiwan Strait.

  Donna recognized the faces of the National Security Council Advisor as well as two of the three young NSC staffers. Very junior team—not good.

  Bob Lindley, the NSC Advisor was dressed in a tux and still had on a bow tie. The social obligations of the well-connected, Donna thought, I hope he hasn’t had too much to drink. He hung up one of the five phones on the table and turned to the CIA staffer and the Defense Department official, “Thanks for coming over, we can use your assistance right now.” His voice was clear and strong.

  She wondered where some of the other NSC personnel were. She knew many of the civilian staffers had already left the Administration, now in its last half-year of life, to seek jobs in academia, banking or business. That would leave much of the NSC’s work to military personnel assigned to the White House. With the famously low level of mutual confidence between the military and this White House Donna calculated that a military staffer here rated just above a White House gardener and just below an intern on the pecking order.

  Klein and Taylor edged between the chairs to take their seats opposite the NSC chief.

  Lindley looked at Donna, then asked Taylor, “Who’s your colleague?”

  “Donna Klein, CIA, China desk.” Donna spoke in a measured staccato.

  “Excellent. What does Defense know about the situation so far?” Lindley was very cool, almost too cool for the potential enormity of the events.

  Taylor began, “When we last spoke less than 15 minutes ago my understanding was that the White House had all the data we did. We’ve been in transit since then. Has there been anything new?” Taylor looked at the NSC staffers.