China Attacks

by Chuck DeVore

  The civilian stepped forward. “Congratulations Colonel. . .” he stopped, looking for the nametag which wasn’t on the commando’s uniform.

  “Chu, sir. Colonel Chu.”

  The man paused briefly, “Congratulations Colonel Chu. I am Fu Zemin, the Senior Party Representative on Taiwan. On behalf of China and the Chinese Communist Party, I thank you for your commendable efforts.”

  “Thank you Comrade Fu. I will personally convey your thanks and the thanks of the Party to my men.”

  Fu and Dugen both thought of each other’s last names. They both dismissed as highly improbable that they could be somehow connected by their fathers: counter-revolutionary assassin and heroic victim, aggrieved farmer and corrupt Party boss. Fu Zemin smiled, turned on his heels and went back to the map. Dugen exhaled.

  “Sir, my orders?” Colonel Chu was now completely focused on the present.

  A few minutes later Dugen had received an overview of the situation around Taipei (better than he thought it would be at this point in the campaign) as well as his mission. Using “requisitioned” civilian vehicles from the CKS International Airport parking lot his commandos would drive as far to the east as Taishan, securing key road junctions along the way. Taishan was a bedroom community of Taipei. It was situated on a low lying ridge only nine kilometers from the Tamsui Ho River which marked the western boundary of Taipei. From there Jia Battalion would report back to headquarters, take up defensive positions, and await further orders.

  Dugen returned to his assembled battalion at the baggage claim area. He looked forward to the mental concentration required by military operations. Soon he would forget about his mother and the nagging doubts he had about his purpose in life.

  * * *

  Colonel Flint’s Marines were exhausted and battered, but not defeated. After a full day of intense action, they dealt out more than enough punishment to make the enemy wish they never saw another U.S. Marine again. More importantly, they happened to be in the right place at the right time to completely frustrate China’s finely tuned invasion plans—at least in the region around Kaohsiung.

  The Marines’ success in blunting China’s early efforts at taking Taiwan’s largest port gave the local defenders valuable time to recover. That night they launched a determined attack and retook the beaches from the Mainlanders. By the morning light, only sporadic pockets of Chinese resistance remained to be cleaned up. China still owned the skies and had made headway at three other ports to the north, but at least in the south, the threat was beaten back.

  Curious at how the Taiwanese could bag such a large number of invaders overnight, Colonel Flint sent Major Ramirez over to the 17th Infantry Division’s headquarters to investigate. The major came back without any official information (the Taiwanese refused to divulge “state secrets”). But, what he did see aroused speculation that Taiwan had a trick or two up its sleeve as well. On his way back to the Marine’s airport HQ, Rez spotted a column of enemy prisoners of war. Judging by the way they stumbled along and the strange looks in their eyes, Rez guessed that they had been blinded by some agent or weapon. All’s fair in love and war, Rez thought, remembering the aborted Combat Laser Assault Weapon from the early 90s. The idea behind the CLAW was to use a computer controlled laser weapon that would sweep a laser beam across the battlefield, permanently blinding enemy forces. The U.S. decided not to deploy the system, reasoning that it was too inhumane and that if America forewent its development, other nations would follow suit. This was a false pretense. Rarely have nations refused to deploy weapons they viewed as being in their national interest just because another nation refused to do so. With China’s huge advantage in infantry and Taiwan’s advantage in technology, it was only natural that Taiwan would seek to use capital to offset its opponent’s advantage in labor.

  When the intelligence officer got back to headquarters and reported to Colonel Flint, the senior officer considered the latest information for a long moment. Flint finally sat down wearily, looked up at Ramirez and said, “Rez, this is going to be one hell of a vicious war. There will be no rules. The last nation left standing will rule the world for a hundred years. You think America’s ready for that?”

  Rez was surprised at his boss’ sudden bout of melancholy. He tried to put a good face on things, “Well sir, we were ready in World War Two.”

  Flint shook his head, “That was a different generation and these are different times. In a couple of days the Chinese have used chemical, biological and nuclear weapons. You can’t beat China with two months of high altitude air strikes and cruise missiles. Do you think America can go toe-to-toe with these bastards and do what it will take to win?”

  “We did.”

  “We’re Marines, Rez, that’s what we do. It’s the home front I’m concerned about.”

  * * *

  Donna Klein had returned home for a lightning strike to gather some clothes in preparation for her trip to Taiwan. She had huge misgivings—not about her participation, but about the trip itself. Why send a team to Taiwan at all? What could be gained through negotiations? The Chinese expected unconditional surrender. The President wanted to stall for time until greater forces could be mustered to provide him with more leverage. Would negotiations in bad faith be worse than none at all?

  The whole mission had an unusual air about it. Three people: the National Security Council Advisor as the President’s representative, Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs as the lead negotiator of the surrender terms, and a low-ranking China expert from the CIA—three people attempting to diffuse a potential war between the two most powerful nations on the planet. The State Department was completely opposed to the mission from which they were excluded. However, the Chinese set the terms: no more than three people, including translators, were to fly into Chiang Kai-Shek airport no later than Tuesday and deal directly with the senior Party representative on Taiwan.

  Donna knew the Chinese were carefully controlling the venue to their advantage. First, by getting the Americans to agree to meet them on Taiwan, the Chinese had already established the concept that Taiwan was just as much a part of China as was Beijing. Second, by limiting the numbers of the delegation, the Chinese were able to limit the Americans’ potential for mischief. Third, a small delegation was an outward sign of weakness. Such a delegation would lack the stamina to do anything more than capitulate to Chinese demands for the surrender of U.S. forces.

  The White House began to get a clearer picture of the extensive Chinese preparations for war. With information hastily pulled together from America’s intelligence agencies—Donna’s own CIA, the DIA (the military’s counterpart), the NSA (an agency that gathered signals intelligence), and the State Department, it became obvious that China had secretly prepared for a crushing assault on Taiwan for an entire half year. Had they looked with their eyes and not blanketed the facts with their preconceived notions, any one of America’s information gathering agencies could have foreseen July’s events. Instead, they were all playing catch-up.

  Donna had already moved beyond the finger pointing. She had come as close as anyone in the CIA to discerning China’s true intentions before the attack. Had she been free to work full-time at the China desk instead of being diverted to assist the overworked Indonesia section during the humanitarian crisis there, she might have called it—not that anyone would have listened to her.

  What wasn’t easy was determining what China’s intent was after taking Taiwan. Understanding the nature of this conflict was essential. Was it a regional conflict or the opening move in a larger, more ambitious game plan? Knowing was essential for U.S. planners trying to formulate an appropriate response—this was the question that occupied Donna as she packed. Taiwan today. Tomorrow. . . ?

  * * *

  Dugen had only been on Route 4 for a few minutes when he saw it: the Goddess of Democracy! Dugen’s mind raced as he tried to suppress the walled-off emotions of that brutal day in ‘89 at Tiananmen Square. The terrified look on the faces of young
men and women—people no different than himself, people who believed in a better China, people he gunned down in cold blood without remorse. Dugen stared at the five-meter high statue. Dugen’s driver pressed on, oblivious to the symbol that had come to haunt his commander’s dreams.

  Only three hours later Colonel Chu had met his objectives and had taken up positions in Taishan. He had seen two more Goddess of Democracy statues along the way, each sending him deeper into thought.

  The last one they saw during the road march his political officer halted the convoy and ordered a squad to destroy it. Chu countermanded the order, claiming they neither had the time nor the ammunition to waste on destroying a statue. The political officer relented and returned to his car to sulk, not wanting to challenge the popular commando officer.

  Dugen made his command post in a small office building overlooking Taipei. He viewed the enemy’s city through his Japanese binoculars. Taipei gleamed and sparkled in the shafts of light that shone through the clouds. He placed the field glasses down for a moment to rest his eyes, then noticed a scuffle on the street below between one of his men and a civilian motorcyclist. The commando had forced the man off of his motorcycle and was binding his hands behind his back, when Dugen noticed a slender white form in the small park beyond the street. The Goddess! The PLA colonel sat in a leather executive’s chair and stared slack-jawed out the window. On the street below, the young, now helmetless man sat tied to a lamppost with his head bowed, crying. Dugen’s gaze passed from the young man to the Goddess of Democracy and back to the young man. Dugen’s thoughts returned to 1989. Could he ever regain what was lost?

  * * *

  Alexander talked a couple of Taiwanese airport security officers into finding Traveller a truck full of jet fuel. A few hundred gallons later, Traveller’s thirst was slaked and the tank was ready for an eight-hour night shift (until it would have to be refueled again).

  Traveller and its crew were now in their element—nighttime in the tank with the best night vision on the planet. Alexander worked the patch of open ground and highway bordering the river northeast of the airport. The uncharted city further to the east over the river was too dangerous and constrained for a tank to operate.

  Peña had just bagged his latest victim, the fourth tank of the evening, when Alexander’s radio broke squelch, “Thunderbolt X-Ray, this is Sidewinder Five Niner, over.” The voice was hushed.

  “Go ahead Sidewinder, over,” Alexander responded.

  “Thunderbolt, I’m hearing some tracks due east of the airport. I think they’re fording the river.”

  “Roger.” Alexander was just about to order Hernandez to move out to investigate when he saw the flickering whiteness of a far-off flare. The light streaming in through his TC’s periscope increased in intensity. Alexander looked up from the TIS scope and peered through the thick glass prism. The landscape danced under the light of at least half a dozen large flares—Traveller’s cloak of darkness was stripped away, they could be seen.

  “Driver, let’s pull back behind that berm about 50 meters to the left,” Alexander ordered with some urgency.

  The tank’s turbine wound up and they began to move forward. Traveller violently lurched forward and an eardrum-popping concussion swept over the crew. Alexander was knocked off his seat and barely caught himself before falling onto the back of Peña’s seat. Alexander wiped blood off his nose.

  Jones started screaming, “Shit! Shit! Oh God, we’re going to die!”

  “Shut the f*** up!” Peña yelled. Peña jacked himself around to look at his commander, “You okay, sir?”

  Traveller shuddered again as explosions rocked the air just outside the tank.

  Alexander steadied himself and looked at his gunner in the dim red light of the tank’s interior, “Yeah, I’ll be. . .”

  “Ow! Shit! My hand!” it was Jones again, “I burned my hand on the blast door. We’re on fire! Bail-out!”

  Alexander reached out and grabbed the edge of Jones’ fiberglass CVC helmet, pulling the young loader’s head toward his chest, “Stay inside! If you open the hatch now we’ll all die!”

  “What’s. . .”

  “We’ve been hit in the rear of the turret. Our ammo’s blowing up and the explosions are venting out like they’re supposed to. Now calm down and load a sabot round so we can kill the son of a bitch that shot us.” The M1IP carried 13 rounds in various nooks and crannies inside the turret itself. It wasn’t much, but it was more than enough to kill their attacker and get back to the airport (assuming the engine still worked).

  Only 500 meters away from the American tank, a Chinese tank crew was celebrating. They had finally done what no tank crew had ever done in the history of warfare: killed an American M1 Abrams tank.

  The disciplined crew quickly quieted down. Intelligence said there were other American tanks out there. The commander turned away from the brightly burning American tank and looked for more targets under the canopy of flares fired from four of the battalion’s mortar tubes.

  Loading the main gun gave Jones an opportunity to calm down. He broke loose another sabot round and held it at the ready between his knees.

  Alexander took a slow draught of air and began, “Gunner, I’m going to swing the turret around. Driver, as I do, I want you to neutral steer us around to the right. Do a 180. I want everything to happen fast. Ready?” Alexander didn’t wait for the question to be answered. He whipped the 20-ton turret around, Hernandez following quickly with the hull. There. “Gunner, sabot, tank, fire!”

  Peña saw the enemy tank was almost close enough to touch. He didn’t need to lase, which was a good thing, because he noticed the laser was inoperative only seconds before. Peña pulled the trigger. Traveller gently rocked back as the 105mm gun recoiled. They were rewarded with a blinding flash as the sabot dart penetrated its target and incinerated everything combustible inside.

  Alexander collapsed in a heap on pile of used small aircraft tires in the hangar Traveller was parked in. Their first night in Taiwan was very productive. The American tank’s TIS allowed his crew to identify and kill four enemy tanks without a return shot. The fifth tank almost killed them, but almost didn’t count in war. By the early morning hours, the enemy was in full retreat. Alexander failed to pursue the enemy. Not that he didn’t want to, but between his crew’s lack of rest, Traveller’s lack of fuel, lack of ammo, and battle damage, pursuit didn’t seem like a prudent option.

  Thankfully, his scouts linked up with a Taiwanese tank company commander and filled the ROC officer in on the Americans’ ongoing actions. The commander had six M60A3 tanks at his disposal—tanks with the same gun and largely the same thermal system as the Americans’ M1IP. Compared to the M1, the M60A3 was a lumbering beast. But at night, in the darkened city with thermal sights, speed was not the deciding factor; hitting the target was. The Taiwanese destroyed another 12 tanks, only losing one in the fight. By morning, the immediate threat to Taipei was blunted and the Taiwanese had erected an effective defense of the city proper.

  With three of Task Force Grizzly’s MPs in a Humvee standing watch, Lieutenant Colonel Alexander, Staff Sergeant Peña, Specialist Hernandez, and Private First Class Jones passed out for a well-deserved rest. They had been awake for the better part of 36 hours.

  * * *

  In the medium-sized Orange County city of Tustin, some 30 miles southeast of L.A., Judy Alexander pulled into her driveway. The Chevy Suburban was loaded with groceries and children. She immediately noticed the three news vans parked on the street. Three news crews stood on the sidewalk in front of her house like circling vultures.

  After seeing Dan on CNN, then on all the networks earlier in the day, she had to admit she wasn’t surprised by the media finally tracking her down. Not being intellectually surprised was one thing. Actually seeing the reporters and their cameras was quite another.

  The automatic garage door swung open and she immediately hit the button to close it after her. One of the reporters set foot in her g
arage, tripping the infrared sensor that prevents garage doors from crushing little children. The door immediately stopped. All three news crews stood there; eight people waiting expectantly.

  Judy froze. She didn’t know whether to back out of the garage and flee—flee where?—or get out and face the media. She sat there. Dan Junior, age two, started to cry from his car seat. Judy settled on her plan of action.

  She opened her door, “Hi there!” she said cheerfully, “Absolutely no interviews. . . until all the groceries are put away. If you help, I’ll be done quicker and I’ll let you conduct the interview in the house. If you’re nice, you might even get cookies and coffee.”

  Not accustomed to their quarry taking the initiative and being friendly, the news crews set their equipment aside and enthusiastically pitched in. The kids, food, and cameras were inside within a few minutes.

  Judy made a pot of coffee and sent the children in the backyard (for safety’s sake, she refused to let them be seen on TV). The three of them pressed their noses against the French doors, angling for a look at the reporters about to commence the interview. By mutual agreement, Judy got the reporters to agree to rotate their questioning. The result was a fairly dignified and somewhat organized interview of the wife of America’s newest hero.

  27

  Maneuver

  It was the start of Fu Zemin’s third day on Taiwan. He even had a restful night’s sleep. In general, the operation to recover China’s wayward province was going quite well. The senior officers around him smiled and even joked occasionally. So far, this was nothing like he feared war would be. He settled into his seat with a hot cup of tea for his morning briefing. His military counterpart, General First Class Deng Yen-hsi sat to Fu’s right, smoking a cigarette. Major General Wei sat just behind Fu.