by Chuck DeVore
The Chief of Operations for the Taiwan invasion began the briefing, “Comrade Fu, General Deng, comrades, as of this morning at 0600 hours, we have 17 divisions in action on Taiwan. This includes two tank divisions, two mechanized infantry divisions and an artillery division in the vicinity of Taipei. The Chief of Intelligence will provide you with details, but let me say that the enemy can now only muster 14 partially manned divisions against us. We destroyed a division of ROC marines at Keelung on the opening day as well as the 12th Infantry Division yesterday in heavy fighting around Hsintien. Other enemy divisions have retreated before the face of our stronger forces. In addition to our 17 divisions, we have landed about 40,000 soldiers of the People’s Armed Police. They are proving extremely effective in keeping our rear areas secure and suppressing any resistance among the civilian population. We expect to have some 250,000 PAP in the province within a week.” The general paused for effect, “As of yesterday at noon, we isolated Taipei from the rest of Taiwan. From now on, enemy forces in Taipei will grow weaker while we grow stronger. We will now concentrate on forming a series of defensive positions beginning at Taichung and extending north to include a double ring around Taipei: one facing outward, the other inward. Once we have defeated the enemy’s mobile formations in the inevitable counterattack they must launch to relieve their besieged capital city, we will simply march into the defeated city. If there are no questions, I will be followed by the Chief of Intelligence.”
Fu felt this plan was sound, and his lack of formal military training left his no firm grounds to criticize it, still, there was the nagging issue of the Americans and the spectacular failure in the south. Fu placed his tea on the low table in front of his knees and said, “General, could you please help illuminate something for me. Why are you not mentioning our reverses in Kaohsiung nor the presence of so many American troops?”
The Chief of Operations stopped only briefly to formulate an answer, “Comrade Fu, the issue of the Americans will be addressed by the Chief of Intelligence. As far as Kaohsiung, yes, it is true that we lost four divisions and an airborne regiment in our assault there. It is important to note, however, that this action tied down Taiwan’s 4th Armored Brigade and allowed the successful landings at Tainan to take hold and expand. The enemy will now have to fight his way through our defenses there before he can mass enough power to threaten our first defensive line 120 kilometers to the north at Taichung. Remember too, Comrade, that we committed more forces to Kaohsiung in an effort to capture the American Marines who landed there.”
Fu was not happy with the fact that the Americans had gotten the jump on them in this war. It was crucial that the PLA quickly develop a reputation for being unbeatable—unbeatable armies were quite useful in conquering weak, fearful neighbors at a minimal cost. “Why were chemical agents not used after the first attack at Kaohsiung?”
“Comrade, it was a matter of weather. The typhoon east of Luzon Island caused the prevailing winds to blow offshore more strongly than we anticipated. In such conditions it is very difficult to build up militarily-significant concentrations of chemical agent.” The general was cool and confident throughout the briefing. Fu hated to admit it, but he was unable to pin the blame on anyone for the operation’s only major problem to date. He would speak to the Party leadership in an hour and tell them he still had complete confidence in the military’s ability to achieve their objective of forcibly reuniting Taiwan with Mother China. Most importantly, he expected to be able to deal from a position of strength with the American delegation that Beijing told him to expect at the airport by next morning. The thought of accepting the surrender of American forces from a U.S. four star general made Fu smile wickedly on the inside.
* * *
Donna Klein, General Taylor and Bob Lindley made it to Okinawa in the pre-dawn hours after flying all night from Andrews Air Force Base with only one stop in Anchorage. The three would-be negotiators were exhausted and jet-lagged. Donna argued for spending the day in Okinawa to rest up, but Taylor and Lindley both insisted on immediately pressing on to Taiwan as planned. Both had their reasons that neither cared to share with the woman from the Company.
The flight plan made the Air Force general nervous. Flying into contested airspace in the small, unarmed Defense Intelligence Agency executive jet (the DIA maintained most of the DoD’s executive jets) without an escort was a good way to get shot down—either by the Taiwanese or the Chinese (either of whom could also have a motive for doing so).
Donna mentally reviewed her instructions one last time: conduct a quality check on the Chinese to English translation being done by the Chinese, overhear any useful bits of information or gain subtle insight into the negotiation dynamics, and serve as a foundation of knowledge about China for Mr. Lindley and General Taylor—fairly easy stuff when compared to the actual job of negotiating the surrender of U.S. forces—or at least appearing to negotiate their surrender, she corrected herself.
When the twin-engine jet lifted off the runway, Donna was snapped back into the here and now. Taiwan was less than an hour away. She decided to review one last time her classified briefing material on possible Chinese end games for the conquest of Taiwan. . .
* * *
The American officer had been skipper of the USS Los Angeles (SSN-688) fast attack submarine based out of Pearl Harbor for six months now. He loved command. He was proud to be a naval officer. While he was also black and was cognizant of his status as a role model to the African Americans under his command, he felt an even larger responsibility to be the best of the best to his entire crew. With 11 officers and 115 enlisted riding a nuclear powered steel tube under the waves, responsibility did not come lightly.
The skipper had been watching the build-up of tensions between China and Taiwan with interest. His interest was motivated by his personal participation in the last run up in tensions in March of ’96 he when prowled the Taiwan Straits as part of a U.S. task force. Back then he was finishing up his tour as head of engineering for the USS San Francisco. He’d since completed some schooling shore side, then served as XO of the Los Angeles before taking command. He knew he was marked as a fast burner, but he would have preferred to remain in command of the Los Angeles the rest of his career.
When he received orders to make all speed for the Taiwan Strait he wasn’t at all surprised. What surprised him was that, as far as he could tell, he was the only American military response to the Chinese invasion of Taiwan. He knew the armed forces were thinly spread around the globe—but one attack sub was all the world’s most powerful nation could send against the world’s second most powerful nation in the opening moves of a conflict? He wondered at the other dynamics in play that limited the U.S. response.
The Los Angeles’ mission was simple: pass undetected into the Taiwan Strait (they’d already rode the southerly current into the passage, making only two knots against the sea); then await orders to begin sinking Chinese shipping with a priority towards heavy sea lift, then capital ships (warships). The main danger to the Los Angeles lay in China’s stated threat to mine the Strait to prevent foreign naval interference.
The skipper reread the summary of the recent naval actions in the Strait. One of the Chinese Kilo class subs drew first blood, sinking a Taiwanese diesel-electric boat. A Los Angeles class with an American crew was more than a match for the Chinese Kilo. Still, in the fairly confined spaces of the Strait, shooting and living to tell about it would be a challenge. In spite of the danger to himself and his crew, he smiled inwardly—he loved challenges as much as he loved command.
* * *
On Sunday evening the Speaker of the United States House of Representatives put out the call for an emergency session to consider a resolution for a declaration of war on China. Most of the Members were out of town in their districts and didn’t plan on being back until Monday evening. The Speaker wanted a quorum by Monday morning with a vote by Monday evening at the latest. The debate promised to be raucous and the vote by no means unanimo
us, but the Speaker calculated that China’s unprovoked attack on the U.S. Navy would turn enough votes away from China and its powerful business allies to force passage. Then, it would be off to the Senate and a less-certain future. The Speaker and his allies wanted a declaration of war for two reasons: first, to ride the popular wave of support for action generated by the images of the lone American tank making a stand and the news of the Navy’s horrible losses in the surprise attack; and second, to make it more difficult for the President to cut a deal with the Chinese and abandon Taiwan before China could be dealt a decisive blow.
28
Eyeball-to-Eyeball
The flight from Okinawa was thankfully short and uneventful. As the small twin-engine DIA VIP jet set down at a rainy Chiang Kai-Shek International Airport, Donna set to work counting Mainland aircraft and aircraft types (the constantly overcast weather had hampered spy satellite operations so the “Company” had asked her to do some old-fashioned spying). Donna also wryly noted that the Mainlanders had replaced the airport’s welcome signs so that the airport’s new name read Deng Xiaoping International Airport.
The aircraft came to a halt at an out of the way portion of the airport, far from any protection from the rain. Within seconds, Chinese security forces swarmed over the aircraft. When the Air Force crew popped the hatch, eight armed Chinese security officers forced their way on board. They seemed to have no mission other than to have a look around and a few minutes later, they left, leaving wet footprints and drips of water everywhere.
General Taylor and Bob Lindley were quiet. Donna noted their demeanor was probably what the Chinese wanted to shape. Both men were stunned by the unceremonious force the Chinese used to establish their unquestioned superiority in this situation. Donna knew the Chinese were trying to keep the American team off-balance and on the defensive—this would make them easier opponents to deal with.
Donna decided to break the ice, “Well, gentlemen, we know what the remainder of this mission will be like. We might as well get used to it. What’s the worst they could do to us?” Donna got up and began walking towards the open passenger exit.
“What the hell are you going to do?” Lindley asked incredulously.
“Mr. Lindley, you can simply wait here on the tarmac, if you like, but I think we should take some of our own initiative. Let’s grab our briefcases, head for the terminal, and see how far we’ll get.”
General Taylor smiled. “I like your plan.”
“This is insane!” Lindley protested, “You can’t do that!”
Donna stopped at the exit, raindrops smacking against her shoes, “Oh well, I guess we won’t get to test them this time, here comes the official welcoming party. Nice limo. And look at all those cameras. . .”
* * *
The Los Angeles had slowly and quietly made its way into the Taiwan Strait two hours ago. Between the ocean current and sub’s own creeping pace, they had gone only ten nautical miles. Still, it was far enough to be inside the PLAN’s first anti-sub picket line.
Not long after entering the strait the submarine picked up a message on the ELF communications set (ELF: extremely long frequency, a very slow way of communicating code with a signal that penetrates ocean waters). The coded message was simple: proceed.
Within an hour, the skipper and his crew had sunk a PLAN Jiangwei-class frigate and a Quonsha-class amphibious troop transport (capable of carrying 400 troops). They were now eluding a very determined foe who was using aircraft, helicopters, ships and technical assistance from a battery of Russian satellites to corner, then destroy them.
The commander was too busy surviving to be scared.
* * *
The hotel was only a five-minute trip from the airport. When he got to his room, General Taylor placed his satellite pager on the windowsill. Within a couple of minutes it rewarded him by vibrating (he hoped he wouldn’t have to hook it up to its antenna attachment). He grabbed it and read the message (the message would repeat itself every ten minutes for an hour). The pager’s readout said: MOBILE BAY ACTIVE. Taylor grunted approval. America was responding to China’s challenge. It wasn’t much—and the Navy was doing it, not the Air Force—but it was a start. Taylor wondered how the Chinese would react when the Americans sat down to negotiate with a wild card in their hand. Taylor stifled a big yawn, talk about Mondays—this will be the toughest Monday of my life!
After half an hour to stow their bags and change clothes, Bob Lindley, General Taylor and Donna Klein settled into the hotel meeting room to await their Chinese counterparts.
So far, everything was perfect, Fu Zemin chortled to himself. The opening video shots of the American delegation, looking small, wet and scared, would soon be triumphantly projected on televisions all across China. The embarrassing stain of China’s 1999 humiliation at the hands of America in Belgrade would soon be wiped clean and then some. Fu couldn’t wait for the “negotiations” to start.
The three Americans walked into the large hotel ballroom. Fu sat at one end of a long mahogany table. No other Chinese sat with him. Behind him stood six PLA generals, two minor Party officials, and two translators. Two television crews captured the event on tape for later broadcast to China and the rest of the world (after appropriate editing, of course). Three photographers snapped away. The Americans had simple chairs upon which to sit, Fu’s chair was heavy and ornate.
Perfect, everything was perfect, Fu marveled at his own power.
The Americans sat down. Fu looked at them: Mr. Lindley, a former lobbyist for China, now in the employ of the President himself, said to be still very sympathetic to China and not at all in favor of confrontation. By Lindley’s expression, he was clearly looking for mercy and favor from the Chinese. General Taylor, an Air Force officer, more accustomed to flying bombers on almost risk-free missions over virtually defenseless small nations—definitely not a negotiator, Fu thought. Then there was the woman, a contemptible woman from the CIA. Supposedly she knows Mandarin. Fu harumphed to himself at the thought of a white female actually being fluent in his tongue, stupid Americans with their weak notions of equality between the sexes. After we conclude the negotiations, I ought to have her arrested as a spy and. . .
Major General Wei walked into the room behind Fu just as Fu was about to open the charade. Fu held his tongue and his anger. After just a few intense days he was beginning to rely heavily on the intelligence officer—he knew Wei would not interrupt such an important event without good cause. Wei got close to Fu’s ear, “Sir,” he whispered, “the Americans have sent one of their attack submarines into the Taiwan Strait. It has sunk two of our ships. The Navy is trying, but it will be hard to sink. I thought you should know.”
Fu whispered back, “Yes, you are correct. Thank you general.” He cleared his throat and then spoke loudly for the cameras in Mandarin, “The Americans are jeopardizing the negotiations for the surrender of their forces on Taiwan by needlessly playing with fire. I am calling a break in the negotiations for two hours until the Americans become serious and desist all resistance on both the land, on and under the sea, and in the air around the sacred Chinese island province of Taiwan!”
The Chinese translator flawlessly and with excellent expression turned Fu’s words into English. Lindley looked frightened. Taylor held a blank face. Klein simply looked alert, her eyes methodically sweeping the room, looking for useful bits of information. Five tough looking Chinese security guards came into the room and escorted the American delegation back to their suite down the hall.
When the three Americans got back to their suite and the door shut behind them, Lindley wheeled on Taylor and screamed, “What the hell was that all about General?” Lindley’s veins stood out on his neck and forehead. Donna studied both men.
“General Taylor,” Donna said soothingly, “before you answer that I would like to remind you that we are not in a private location.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Taylor said, picking up a pad of hotel paper. He wrote in small letters, “We
have a sub operating in the Strait. It probably sank something.”
When Taylor showed the note to Lindley, the National Security Council Advisor blew up, “Whose dumb ass idea with this? The President’s or did you dream this one up?” Lindley jabbed the General on his bemedaled chest.
Donna gently grabbed Lindley’s wrist and took the note from his clenched hand. She read it then looked at Taylor with an arched brow. She looked around for an ashtray to burn any further notes in before flushing the ashes down the toilet. “Gentlemen, I suggest we stick to our mission—the negotiations.” Donna knew that they were simply there to occupy the Chinese and stall for time until more force could be amassed, she only hoped she could keep her colleagues in mind of that.
Lindley shook his head and turned on his heels muttering under his breath.
“Why don’t we all relax for awhile? We’ve been up a long time and we won’t be sharp when we need to be,” Donna suggested. She thought of her role during the last minute—the junior to both of them, yet the peacemaker. Damn the lack of organization and rehearsal for this “diplomatic” mission.
While Fu let the Americans worry and wait, he consulted with Beijing on their next move. The leadership was obviously worried about the turn of events with the United States. More than the substantial amount of shipping the U.S. sub could sink, the symbolism of American resistance could rally Japan, South Korea, and other Asian powers to the U.S.-led opposition of China’s takeover of Taiwan. Clearly the Americans had to be made to back-down or be quickly destroyed. Beijing properly ascertained that the delegation now on Taiwan had no true authority to negotiate a general surrender of U.S. forces (those forces on Taiwan maybe, but a submarine at sea, never). The leadership directed Fu to “negotiate” for the cameras and the potential propaganda value, but otherwise to await word of further Chinese initiatives designed to force the Americans to give in.
