by Chuck DeVore
Phase two of the counterattack would consist of marshaling all available mechanized infantry and armor forces for a break through at the lightly held passes 12 and 15 miles to the east of Taichung. This would have to happen on Wednesday night (using Taiwan’s superior night vision capability to advantage over the Chinese).
Moving at night (and perhaps during the day as well if the cloud cover remained low and thick) the ROC counterattack would gather momentum and strength, then culminate in phase three on Friday night with a battle to pierce the PLA’s ring around Taipei. The ROC generals hoped to draw the Mainlanders into a decisive engagement, destroy the enemy’s armored forces, then lift the siege of the capital.
The plan had no margin of error and only one armored brigade in reserve (the 4th, way down in Kaohsiung—and it would no doubt be subjected to aerial interdiction during its entire journey north). Unfortunately, it was the only plan the Taiwanese generals had that could seize the initiative from the Mainlanders and win the war. Remaining on the defensive would be prudent, but it would result in a slow and certain death for Asia’s newest democracy.
* * *
Fu Zemin read the dispatch from Beijing with unbridled glee over his morning tea. His trust in the Party leadership had never been stronger. Their bold and imaginative strike at America’s will to fight was as inspirational as it was effective. Most importantly, the mission’s success would now ensure that the struggle between China and its wayward province would remain free of outside interference. With the war going very well in the north, it would only be a matter of time before the combined forces of the PLA, the PLAAF, the PLAN and the PAP snuffed out the last of the counterrevolutionary forces on Taiwan.
Still, Fu had the more immediate concern of what to do with the American negotiators. Beijing still wanted a very public surrender—and now the price the Americans would pay for their insolence would be redoubled. Instead of being allowed to surrender their arms and leave Taiwan under an American flag, the American soldiers would now be required to surrender to a “neutral” third party: the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.
Fu moved to summon Major General Wei to his office. He would conclude the negotiations by noon and be done with it. He was about to shout for one of the junior officers to fetch Wei when he heard the unmistakable crump, crump, crump of falling artillery in the distance. He was annoyed that pockets of resistance were still so close the airport as to require the use of artillery to root them out. A deafening blast suddenly shook his world, punching the air out of his lungs and cutting the lights. The next thing Fu realized he was on his butt underneath his thick oak desk with a terrible ringing in his ears.
In the Tanshui Ho River valley a few miles south of the Shihmen Reservoir some 35 miles south southeast of CKS International, a little known ROC artillery unit rapidly ran their missile launcher back into the tunnel carved deeply into the side of the ridge. A few moments before they had launched a liquid-fueled Ching Feng missile. The missile, with a range of 70 miles, was a very weak counter to the hundreds of Chinese solid-fueled missiles across the Strait. Based loosely on the obsolete U.S. Lance short-range ballistic missile, the Taiwanese built only 20 of them in the mid-1980s, then scrapped the program under strong U.S. and Chinese opposition. While the Taiwanese built no more missiles, they did keep the ones they already had. Over time the missiles’ guidance system was improved—adding GPS terminal guidance made the missiles accurate to within 50 meters.
The ROC army was surprised that the PLA gave them such a lucrative target. All the tactical units from the five group army headquarters on down to the regimental command posts had been carefully hidden and constantly moved during the previous three days of fighting. The overall PLA headquarters for the Taiwanese operation, however, remained fixed at CKS International Airport. Buried deep within the modern concrete and steel terminal building the Chinese must have figured they were safe from anything in Taiwan’s arsenal—perhaps they were overconfident from the spotty performance of their adversaries over the last few days. In any event, the Ching Feng’s large high explosive warhead was a perfect bunker buster. If the PLA offered such a target to the Taiwanese again, they’d gladly strike at it.
Donna slept at least five hours. Some of the jet lag was shaken out of her system and she began to forage for some coffee in her room. Finding none, she decided to call room service. There was no reply. She debated walking down to the hotel restaurant.
Donna noted that mainly older men and a few women served the thinly staffed hotel. She figured they were dragooned into service from the surrounding neighborhood (accounting for the complete lack of military-age men at the hotel). The hotel was crawling with People’s Armed Police and a few junior-grade officers. Certainly all of these people are getting something to eat somewhere. . .
She was about to walk down to the hotel restaurant when she heard the muffled sound of artillery fire a few miles away. Mildly surprised that the Chinese put her into a room that looked down upon the airport, she carefully drew back the heavy curtain and surveyed the rainy scene. Wherever the artillery had exploded she couldn’t see. All this rain would suppress clouds of dust and smoke from the bursts anyway.
Without warning a giant explosion bloomed like a deadly orange flower from atop the passenger terminal. She jumped away from her window seconds before the shock wave hit the building. Her window shook but remained intact. She thought she could hear the sound of glass breaking elsewhere. So, the Taiwanese still have teeth. I better call home. Donna took the satellite phone from her purse then walked back to the window to get better reception. She’d figured the office would be very interested in the latest action around the airport. . .
* * *
Large sections of Los Angeles and San Diego were burning. Looters roamed the streets virtually unchallenged. The few police who remained on the job were overwhelmed and reduced to protecting their own stations from the threatening mobs. Almost 15% of the California Army National Guard was in Ft. Polk, Louisiana preparing to go to Indonesia, much of the remainder was scattered throughout the state. Even if the governor called them up, the fear-driven chaos had spread so fast and furiously that it was doubtful 10,000 Guardsmen could do anything at all.
By three AM Judy made it to the Cajon Pass. Her fuel mileage was horrible and she feared that she’d be unable to make it to Ft. Irwin without refilling the tank. Fortunately, the freeway speeds picked up a bit and she began to average 30 mph in stop and go traffic. She hadn’t been this exhausted since the birth of her last child, but, with the same life and death issues at stake as in childbirth, she drove on.
Just outside of Barstow she noticed the strip of factory outlets that marked the unofficial end of civilization until Las Vegas (or at least the California-Nevada border where a small city had sprung up to cater to those who couldn’t last another hour before commencing their gambling). “No shopping today,” she said to herself, mainly to stay awake. KNX news radio out of L.A. helped her stay alert for a while, but soon the endless reports of increasing violence, arson and looting became repetitious and the news had the opposite effect.
Every motel in Barstow was full, every parking lot packed with fleeing people from the city. Three gas stations in town were still open. The others were either closed or out of fuel. Judy pulled into a line that was more than a city block long. She estimated by the time she’d make it to the front of the line it would be dawn. Her toughest task was staying awake. The kids were asleep and the puppy, long since having relieved himself in the back of the SUV, only occasionally whined.
Minutes stretched into two hours and she was finally at the front of the gas line. The price per gallon was $42.95 and 9/10th of a cent. The fill-up would cost about $800. Judy was shocked, but she needed the fuel. Within an hour or two she’d make Ft. Irwin.
* * *
Phase one of the ROC counterattack went as planned. Most units halted their retreat from the advancing PLA forces and dug in as ordered. Several ROC units were quic
kly surrounded after going to ground, but with hidden supplies to draw upon and the knowledge that holding fast would not be in vain, the men stood firm.
Chinese intelligence misread the Taiwanese moves as the actions of a dying army. They confidently assumed that, with no hope of American intervention and being cut-off from their capital, their foe was simply laying down to die. The PLA concentrated its efforts on the pockets of resistance and began to pummel the Taiwanese positions with artillery. This was exactly what the ROC commanders had hoped for.
With the PLA focusing its energies on eliminating its “trapped” quarry, ROC intelligence was able to gain valuable insight on enemy unit dispositions and strength. Well-placed Taiwanese rocket and artillery fire managed to reduce the rate of supplies coming to the PLA at Keelung, CKS International and Taichung. On Wednesday, for the first time in four days, the amount of supplies used by the PLA outstripped the fresh supplies moved onto the island.
In the gathering gloom of a darkly rainy Wednesday evening, the first deliberate ROC counterattack of the campaign began. Instead of leading the attack with mechanized and armored forces, the point of the Taiwanese spearhead consisted of reserve light infantry, elite airborne soldiers, and mortars for fire support. With a better than seven-to-one advantage over the unreinforced PLA airborne forces at the passes to the east of Taichung, the Taiwanese infantry quickly stamped out opposition. Within an hour the ROCs bagged 139 prisoners of war. Most importantly, their method of attack concealed the more ambitious nature of their offensive intent. PLA intelligence read the setback as nothing more than a local action—another pinprick raid designed to harass PLA forces or help regular army ROC forces in their general retreat from the victorious PLA.
By midnight two Taiwanese armor brigades (104 operational tanks) had maneuvered through the gap and were racing north. If the weather continued to cooperate and stayed rainy with a low cloud deck, the Taiwanese expected to continue their movement north for the most part unhindered by the PLAAF (only the most modern Russian-built aircraft were capable of all-weather operations—and these numbered less than 200 out of thousands of Chinese aircraft). If the weather cleared, the Taiwanese planned to break east for the hills and forest country and wait until nightfall before resuming their dash north.
* * *
After racing north to the outskirts of Taipei, Colonel Chu Dugen’s Jia Battalion was relieved by a regiment of regular infantry and given a welcome opportunity to rest for six hours. By Monday morning his commandos were restive and waiting for their new orders. The orders weren’t much of a surprise for Dugen, and, although of a conventional nature, he knew they would be the most difficult to carry out to date. Jia Battalion was to conduct a night river crossing of the Tanshui Ho and scout enemy positions on the western edge of Taipei. If the enemy was there in strength, Dugen’s lightly-armed commandos would have a difficult time in the urban terrain against a prepared foe.
Colonel Chu rehearsed his troops all day Monday, using a wide, but deserted thoroughfare to simulate the river. When he was satisfied everyone knew their part of the mission, he gave his men three hours to eat, rest, and prepare.
The battalion started the crossing at 0124 hours. A thick mist hovered over the river. Dueling artillery batteries muffled what, to Dugen’s ears, seemed to be a deafening racket as his team’s paddles struck the dark water again and again. He hissed at his men to paddle more deliberately and avoid splashing.
Halfway across the 400 meter-wide river, Dugen found himself praying for success and the safety of his men. Startled and embarrassed at his sudden faith, he stopped, then he said a prayer for his imprisoned mother.
As Dugen’s rubber boat reached the far shore he felt a small breeze blow by his ears. He hopped out of the boat and helped his soldiers drag it up on the shore. The wind picked up another notch. Dugen looked over his shoulder at the river, peering through his American-manufactured thermal sight. It showed nothing but a uniform gray—the river must be still shrouded in fog, he thought. The sight began to transmit images of heat on the river. There! A rubber raft with one squad. Dugen smiled that another ten men had made it across. The wind ticked up another notch, suddenly Dugen saw two, then three groups of men in their rubber boats. Dugen flipped the sight off his forehead. The pressure sensitive device automatically went to standby and darkened. He looked up. Stars! A sinking feeling gripped the pit of his stomach. Less than half his men were across and the fog was lifting!
Dugen heard a faint pop. He saw it out of the corner of his eye—the faint trail of a rising flare. Three seconds later the nighttime turned to a whitewashed day as a large mortar flare lit up the river, then lazily descended on its parachute. There was a shout from a few hundred meters away, then tracer rounds arced out of a building overlooking the river, piercing the thin rubber hull of an assault raft and the thin human skin of its occupants. In five seconds, more of Dugen’s commandos fell then had fallen in the previous three days. Among their number was Jia Battalion’s annoying mascot, the political officer.
By Wednesday night the commander of the 10th Group Army authorized a withdrawal of the remnants of Jia Battalion. In 48 hours of hard fighting, Dugen’s battalion of elite commandos was down to less than 150 men. Dugen himself was wounded (two flesh wounds, one in each leg) and exhausted almost to the point of collapse.
The Chinese unloosed a modest five-minute artillery barrage mixed with smoke to cover Jia’s retreat. Halfway back across the river the smoke lifted and another 50 men fell to the ROC machine gunners. Dugen’s anger and the adrenaline rush of fear got him to the other side of the river. When his last commando made it to the safety of the modern steel and cement buildings on the west bank of the Tanshui Ho, Colonel Chu passed out.
Fu Zemin was released from the field hospital at six in the morning on Thursday with a twirl of cotton gauze on his skull and a massive headache. The Taiwanese missile attack on the airport caused him to lose two whole precious days. For two days the Americans just sat at the hotel. He was half thankful Beijing didn’t send in a backup negotiator to arrange for the Americans’ surrender. On the other hand, a crucial window of opportunity was almost closed.
Fu winced as he got out of the jeep and made his way to the hotel where the Americans were staying. He approved of the decision to move the headquarters to the basement of the hotel. If the Taiwanese found him again, he wanted to make sure the Americans would be the first to die in the attack.
Fu was slowly escorted to his chair in the briefing room. Thinking of himself as the only “hero” to be wounded in the Taiwanese attack, he was disappointed to see several officers and staff clerks carrying on with their duties having suffered wounds apparently far worse than his own. For a moment he was ashamed of his self-centeredness, but he quickly recovered his air of superiority.
An intelligence officer Fu hadn’t seen before walked up to the large map board. He was only a colonel (Fu later discovered that the Chief of Intelligence for the headquarters was mortally wounded in the missile attack). The young looking officer began his briefing, “Good morning. My name is Colonel Chung. I am the deputy to the Chief of Intelligence.
“First, the weather. The weather will remain overcast and rainy with a low ceiling for the next 24 to 48 hours. This does not affect our ability to use commercial aircraft but it does severely limit our tactical air operations and aerial reconnaissance capabilities. Off road mobility is also poor. Local flooding caused by the lack of dam and reservoir maintenance as well as damage also limits river crossing operations.
“Now an overview of the situation. We have 18 divisions in the field opposite 13 under strength divisions of the enemy. More importantly, our divisions are in place to accomplish their mission of capturing Taipei. By merely holding our ground we can starve the capital into submission. In addition to the 250,000 troops we now have on the island, more than 100,000 PAP security forces are securing the rear areas. We have had very little bandit activity as a result.
“Movin
g from north to south then, allow me to summarize current posture of enemy and friendly forces,” the colonel began using a small metal pointer, tapping each area with precision as he spoke. “In the vicinity of Taipei in the 10th and 12th Group Army sectors, we have the bulk of our deployed forces totaling two tank divisions, three mechanized infantry divisions, four infantry divisions, an air mobile division, an artillery division, an airborne infantry division and two regiments of airborne infantry. Opposing us in this decisive area are two divisions of infantry, one airborne brigade and one tank brigade in Taipei and the Yangmingshan mountain redoubt to the north. South of the city we have the remnants of the 1st Mechanized Infantry Division, a tank brigade and an artillery brigade. On the east coast we still have an airborne brigade that has not apparently moved from its positions since D-Day. Enemy activity has slowed down in the last 24 hours. Very little movement has occurred in this sector, although we have seen an increase in artillery and rocket fire concentrated on our ports of debarkation.”
Colonel Chung paused and gathered his concentration for what he knew to be the rough part of the briefing. “Now then, in the 11th Group Army area we have two divisions of infantry at Taichung along with a regiment of airborne infantry. These divisions hold strong defensive positions anchored by the city of Taichung and running 20 kilometers west to the port facilities. Opposite these forces are one mechanized infantry division, three infantry divisions, two tank brigades and an artillery brigade. Last night, the 1st Regiment of the 2nd Airborne Division reported a strong enemy attack on a battalion battle position in the hills to the east of Taichung. Following the pattern of the enemy’s actions at Tainan and Kaohsiung, the commander of the 11th Group Army expects the enemy to counterattack his forces in an attempt to seize the port. He has given his commanders direction to stay in place, using the extensive urban cover to exact a high price on the enemy. He estimates he could hold out for at least a week under a strong assault. Should the enemy attempt to reduce our positions at Taichung, this would present an opportunity for us to strike south and smash the northern part of the enemy’s attack against the 11th Group Army’s positions around Taichung.”
