by Chuck DeVore
Deng’s eyes were burning with the fires of military leadership. Fu could tell this man savored command in war—even if everything wasn’t going according to plan. Men like this could lift China to its rightful role as the world’s hegemon.
“I will give you six hours and the 202nd Air Mobile Division to help you get your follow-on divisions ashore. By 1800 this evening, if you’re not in Kaohsiung engaging the enemy yourself, I will personally sign the order for your removal for dereliction of duty! Is that understood General?. . . Fine then, Deng out!”
General Deng clicked the phone off and turned to Party Liaison Fu. He smiled and bowed. “Sir, I am honored by the presence of the Party’s trusted representative and the architect of this most excellent operation.”
Fu was momentarily stunned—a General First Class with four stars on each shoulder was bowing to him! Of course, that was as it should be, he reminded himself, he was, after all, the Party’s representative on Taiwan and therefore the highest-ranking political officer on the island.
“You’re too kind General Deng. The honor is mine. Please, give me a brief update on your progress. I last had a briefing from General Wei at about 10:00 AM and have since made a tour of our positions around the airport.”
“Excellent. Major General Wei is a fine officer. He once worked for me as my Chief of Intelligence when I commanded the 12th Group Army. The situation is simple. We are crushing the Taiwanese and making all of our objectives on or ahead of schedule. . .”
“What about Kaohsiung and the Americans?” Fu decided he would be demanding. He had a reputation for being smart and aggressive, now he wanted to enhance his reputation as a hard nose among the military.
If the general was fazed, he didn’t show it, “The Americans have managed to inflict some significant damage on our Kaohsiung operations. They have destroyed the 97th Infantry Division and the 2nd Regiment of the 3rd Airborne Division—12 battalions of infantry. Interestingly, they managed to achieve surprise against the 14th Group Army commander. He expected nothing but virus-weakened Taiwanese troops. He failed to react to the initial indications that his landings were in trouble. I am still not concerned, though. As far as the Americans go, there are not many of them and now we know where they are. I hear our Foreign Ministry is now working out the terms of their surrender. I, for one, almost wish they would fight to the last man so we could exact revenge.” The general clenched his fist in front of his barrel chest and squeezed.
Fu nodded, “If we could force a surrender that would be exceptionally good. An American surrender would cause Japan and South Korea to swiftly acknowledge our unquestioned primacy. Is the American presence in Kaohsiung the reason why you risk reinforcing failure?”
Deng arched his eyebrows, “Ah, yes, the 202nd Air Mobile Division. As for Kaohsiung, you are correct, it is only a supporting attack. Our goal is to tie down Taiwanese reserves and mobile forces along the length of Taiwan so they cannot interfere with our landings and build-up around Taipei. By the time the Taiwanese eliminate our southern beachheads and break free to rescue Taipei, it will already be too late, we will outnumber them in the decisive area of operations!”
“General, if I may, if it is only a supporting attack and it is not going well, then why are you willing to reinforce failure with another division?” Fu felt satisfied that he asked a good, militarily relevant question. After all, he was here to be more than just a wall decoration.
General Deng stopped a half-beat, not out of frustration, but out of respect for the younger man’s position. A hasty answer would indicate a lack of respect, “Comrade Fu, in most military situations, you would be correct. In an offensive effort, one does not reinforce failure. On the other hand, you have no doubt heard of the axiom, ‘one man to the enemy’s rear is worth ten men to his front’?”
“Yes, yes, of course I have.” Fu also tried not to act impatient.
“Well the landings of the 14th Group Army in Kaohsiung are critical to our success. Even if only two regiments out of the ten we have assigned to that attack make it, they will serve to tie down a regular infantry division, a reserve infantry division, and a tank brigade. Taipei can ill-afford to miss these forces during the coming key battle. Further, we have done so well elsewhere I can now afford to release some of my reserves. The 202nd Air Mobile Division is one of two special purpose, quick reaction divisions at my disposal. Using one to ensure success in the south is a small price to pay. And, now, as you say, additional power at this juncture may force the Americans to surrender. That alone would be a strategic victory far in excess of any lives lost to achieve it.”
Fu looked impassive. He refused to endorse or oppose the decision.
“Comrade Fu,” Deng smiled like a father preparing to tell a story about his only son, “Have you heard about the new Air Mobile Divisions?”
“No general. I would assume they are like their American counterpart except that I didn’t think we yet had enough helicopters in our inventory to lift an entire division.” Fu was now curious. Deng now tightly held Fu’s interest.
“Well, comrade, let me tell you. . .”
* * *
It was 1600 hours. The Marines had been in Taiwan for the better part of one civilian workday. During that time, the Marines killed or captured six battalions of infantry totaling 6,000 men while their Navy teammates sunk or scattered another six battalions. Not bad for a day’s work where the highest paid among them received about $70,000 per year in pay and benefits. Colonel Flint cocked his head, I wonder what they’d have to pay the CEO of a Fortune 500 company to kill, maim or capture 6,000 men?
Flint was flying out in his UH-1N Huey command and control chopper to inspect the sunken freighter in Kaohsiung Harbor, then visit the Marine recon elements up in Shousan Park. The SEAL team’s scouting a few hours before had uncovered a fascinating new twist on the Trojan Horse theme. Flint grudgingly admired the Chinese for their inventiveness. If it wasn’t for blind luck, a PLA regiment would own the harbor right now. As it was, only a battalion made it off the ship before it was sunk—God rest Captain Hill’s soul—and that battalion, bloodied and demoralized by the sudden loss of their comrades, surrendered to a dozen surprised SEALs and a couple of bemused Whiskey Cobra gunship pilots.
Flint’s Huey swooped low over the harbor. Some movement to the left out of the overcast afternoon sky caught Flint’s attention, “What the hell is that,” Flint said to no one in particular, stabbing his finger at the western horizon out of the open side door of the helicopter.
Major Ramirez scratched the back of his neck under his fiberglass CVC helmet. Usually quick with an answer, he said, “It looks like a big flock of birds. . .” Rez squinted, “Is that more over there?”
Flint addressed the pilot over the mike attached to his CVC helmet. “Take us up a bit and fly closer to that,” he pointed.
Rez strained to see, then keyed his mike, “They’re not birds.”
The helicopter rose another 100 feet and edged west towards Chichin Island.
Flint was squinting too, “They’re too small and too slow to be fighters or helicopters. . .”
Rez’s voice cracked like a teenager’s, “Hell, they’re hang gliders. Motorized hang gliders!” Rez was amazed, not yet processing the military importance of what he was seeing.
Flint put out a net call designed to alert all Marines and even the now beached Curtis Wilbur and the Germantown to the new threat. Commander Meade beached his ship, Flint thought, he would have made a great Marine.
“Attention all Bulldog elements, all Bulldog elements. We are observing some motorized hang gliders coming in from the west. They are probably carrying light infantry. Estimated strength is two groups of ten to 15 gliders. They look like they can only carry one or two men. . .” Flint was about to request an acknowledgment of his transmission when he observed the low gray fog in the distance begin to resolve itself in to tiny specks. Flint keyed off the mike.
“Holy. . .” Ramirez muttered from beh
ind his binoculars. He switched the intercom on and smacked Flint in the arm, “Sir, that fog bank over there is. . . What I mean is that. . .” The magnitude of what Rez was seeing prevented an easy description, “Damn it sir, it looks like the whole friggen PLA is riding in on motorized hang gliders. Can they do that?” Rez knew the question was silly and rhetorical. Rez remembered a small media report in 1999 or 2000 about the Chinese holding a military exercise in Tibet using motorized hang gliders, GPS devices and special communications equipment. He shrugged it off as a typically weird report from China. Certainly motorized hang gliders had no large-scale military utility.
Of course, that’s what the Western Allies thought in May 1940, just before German paratroopers conducted a massive vertical envelopment of Holland and executed the surprise capture of a formidable fortification in Belgium. Up to that time, the German (and Soviet Russian) preoccupation with sport parachute and glider clubs was deemed by some a healthy outlet for warrior-like impulses. Certainly, the experts thought, men dropped by parachute could do nothing more than serve as spies, scouts, or harassment forces. Having lost the last war, the Germans felt compelled to innovate. They proved the experts wrong.
After a few centuries of Western and Japanese domination, the Chinese similarly felt compelled to innovate. They knew it would be hopeless, at least in the short term, to match America and Japan dollar-for-dollar with high-tech equipment. But, if one was willing to accept something less than the state-of-the-art in the pursuit of military capabilities, then arriving at the use of motorized hang gliders in combat was a natural for the Chinese.
The Chinese recognized the utility of vertical envelopment. For years they maintained three airborne divisions (with plans to expand the force to nine), although they lacked the lift to send all three into combat at once (at least without pressing the civilian air fleet into service). Unfortunately, airborne forces could be used safely only when the enemy was not capable of downing a large number of them before they made it to the drop zone. For this reason, the Chinese became intrigued with the American concept of the airmobile division (first employed against China’s neighbor, Vietnam, in the mid-60s). Fielding enough helicopters to move an entire division, then training the division to fly and fight as a unit would be time consuming and expensive. Helicopters were also vulnerable to being shot down or bombed at their bases.
After years of thought and internal debate, the PLA decided on a third course in addition to the traditional airborne divisions. This choice was neither airborne nor strictly air mobile – they decided to create two divisions of motorized hang glider troops.
Each motorized hang glider cost the Chinese $500 to produce (the equivalent model sold for $10,000 retail in America). A few tubes of aluminum, some cable, some nylon and a motor-scooter motor and presto—a machine capable of carrying up to two soldiers 250 kilometers (150 miles) at a speed of 120 KPH (75 MPH) – fast enough to overcome the current 18 KPH headwinds in the Strait caused by the typhoon far to the south, but not fast enough to fly safely in rough weather.
To lift an entire division of light infantry (with some gliders carrying only one soldier and a heavy weapon or extra supplies) it took 7,500 gliders costing less than $4 million. The hang gliders were small and easy to operate. They were easy to conceal on the battlefield as they could be quickly disassembled and reassembled and they were almost impossible to shoot down en masse. Even if the enemy knew an attack was imminent, short of using a nuclear bomb, how could they down thousands of moving targets? Even their infrared signature was cool enough to avoid being acquired by heat seeking missiles. Add a few commercial GPS navigation devices for the platoon leaders and some lightweight communications equipment, and the force would know where it was and be able to send and receive orders. In the hands of the PLA, an army large enough to use it on a truly operational scale, the motorized hang glider was nothing short of a revolution in military affairs. It was perfectly suited to an infantry-rich and comparably low-tech army such as China’s. And, just as with Germany in May, 1940, the first widespread use of the tactic in combat was calculated to shock an unprepared enemy.
High above the hang gliders in the overcast sky Rez saw the swept back wings of Chinese jets, “Fighters! We need to get out of here. I think the Chinese want to make this landing a success.”
Flint’s calm voice came over the intercom, “How many you see?”
Rez panned the sky, “I can see about 20 fast movers—it’s the ones I can’t see that worry me.”
“Let’s get back to the airport and see how many Taiwanese have shown up to help us defend the place.” Flint ordered.
The pilot dropped back down to the water and spun the helicopter around to the southeast.
Ramirez clicked the intercom on, “Sir, how do you shoot down 10,000 hang gliders?”
Flint’s eyes looked intensely distant, “You don’t. Wait until they land then hit ‘em with artillery. With no overhead cover they’ll be dead meat for the cannon cockers.”
The first wave of 100 Chinese airmobile infantry came low off the waves and swept up the steep sides of Shou Shan Hill. The few Marines on the hill could only see the gliders intermittently through the trees until at last they headed for the open ground around the Martyr’s Shrine and began to assemble.
One of the LAVs from the armored reconnaissance company opened up with its 25mm cannon, hitting several motorized gliders in the air. Most of the hits went unrewarded, however, as the cannon simply made small holes in the nylon, which, at 50 feet off the ground and only going 30 mph, were not fatal to the light aircraft. Some of the rounds hit gliders’ engines (again, not fatal—they were essentially gliders, after all) and some hit the infantrymen/pilots on board (definitely fatal).
In spite of facing an armored vehicle, the Chinese rapidly began to form up and maneuver against the Marine LAV. Within minutes, a heavy machine gun crew was in action and three RPG teams were found and sent, two to one side and one to the other, to get into position to take out the LAV.
The LAV commander called for help from his company commander and the commander called the 31st MEU looking for artillery or air support. All of Shoushan Park was within range of the six 155mm guns now emplaced at the airport. In less than a minute, the battery was firing rounds down range.
The victory in battle usually goes to the side that can pose more problems than their enemy can react to. This can be achieved through large numbers, simultaneous attacks, or multiple means of attack (i.e., artillery, armor, chemical agents, and air strikes). Up to this point, the Chinese had not yet displayed battlefield synchronization against the Marines, in part, because their intelligence/operations cycle had not adequately detected the unexpected threat, then compensated for it. To give the PLA credit, they had adequately planned for the systematic destruction of Taiwan’s armed forces and the swift occupation of the island—they just hadn’t planned on American forces being there at the onset of the invasion. Once the PLA chain of command overcame its initial denial of the situation, it was quick to respond.
Colonel Flint heard the chatter from the recon units atop Shou Shan hill on the MEU’s command net. A few moments later he heard a frantic call for fire from his units on the beach to the south of the harbor entrance. Flint furrowed his brow, Damn, the recon elements have priority of fire. I hope the beach can hold out.
They paralleled the highway back to the airport. Occasionally the pilot would jerk back on the collective to clear power lines or an overpass. Flint was glad they weren’t flying at night or in bad weather.
A mile from the airport the pilot pointed to the front. Three dark forms were diving on the airport. They pulled up about 1,500 feet above the runway. At the very edge of the eye’s perception, small, dark and evil smudges were seen falling away from the jets. The militarily trained eye knew what they were. The eye that beheld close friends and colleagues wanted to deny their purpose. A few moments later denial was met by harsh, red-hot reality as an impossibly large fireball erupt
ed over the airport. The faces of those in the helicopter could feel the heat through the cockpit screen. Five seconds later a sonic boom and overpressure wave lightly rocked the helicopter. As a defiant and almost absurd afterthought, one of the three jets was found by a defender’s missile. A small flash (insignificant compared to the inferno below, but significant enough to cause the pilot to eject shortly afterward) was followed by a puff of gray, then a dirty smoke trail as the now pilotless J-6 spiraled to its death below.
“Looks like the airport is under attack,” the pilot said matter-of-factly.
Rez joined in, clinically commenting, “Fuel-air explosives. We probably have a lot of casualties there.” The tone of his voice changed to quiet concern but he kept the mike on anyway, “God, I hope they had a chance to dig in. . .”
“Rez, I’m going to tell you something I heard from an Army Colonel a few years back in a place called Saudi Arabia, ‘Hope is not a battlefield operating system.’ Our Marines either dug in or they paid dearly for not doing so. My bet is they dug in because that’s what they were trained to do.”
Rez was silent. For the first time in his Marine career he saw an enemy use a potent means of destruction aimed at American fighting men and women. Snipers, mines, light weapons fire, even the automatic grenade rounds from the BMD a few hours ago all seemed to be manageable threats, easily overmatched by American technology, firepower and training. This was different and terribly sobering. They were in a war and they weren’t necessarily the biggest and toughest guys in the fight.
