by Chuck DeVore
Fu shifted uncomfortably in his chair. In somewhat less than 48 hours of absence, the ROCs had managed to reverse their misfortunes at yet another major city—first at Kaohsiung with the unexpected American intervention, now at Taichung—what next?
“In the 15th Group Army area we have two infantry divisions and a regiment of airborne infantry. The enemy also has two infantry divisions, one to the north and one to the south. . .”
Fu cleared his throat, “Pardon me colonel, but we enjoy interior lines of communication in Tainan. Why doesn’t the commander of the 15th Group leave a small holding force to the north or south and move to crush one of the divisions opposite him?”
The intelligence officer stammered, “Comrade, I cannot answer for operations.” He looked to the small knot of operations officers standing in the corner to his left.
“Comrade Fu,” it was a major general, “The commander of the 15th Group Army is a prudent officer. He has reported a build-up of enemy armor to his east—probably the 4th Tank Brigade fresh from its fighting in Kaohsiung. We all think it appropriate for a continued defensive stance while the possibility of a mounted assault remains. When the weather clears, and we once again have strong air support, we can move against the enemy in this sector.”
Colonel Chung looked ill now, “Now, in the 14th Group Army sector. . .”
“We have sacked the commander of the 14th for incompetence,” the operations major general said, sparing the intelligence officer the agony of explaining the setback to the senior political officer on the island. Colonel Chung was visibly relieved. “We have perhaps 5,000 troops remaining around Kaohsiung from the forces we committed there. We do not expect them to hold out much more than a day or two.”
Colonel Chung broke back in, “This, of course, presents a challenge to the 15th Group Army. We estimate that within 72 hours the enemy will have rested and refitted the 10th and 17th Infantry Divisions and will commit these forces to an attack to retake Tainan.”
Colonel Chung collected himself, then summarized the situation, “Sir, while we have had setbacks in the south, we believe our position to be so strong around Taipei that it would be militarily impossible for the Taiwanese to dislodge us from our siege. Furthermore, theirs is a wasting position. Every day we get stronger and they get weaker. Without the Americans or the Japanese to come to their rescue it is only a matter of time before their options run out and they will be forced to surrender.”
Fu’s concussion sent waves of pain into his head. The military situation was still acceptable, even if the Taiwanese were enjoying some minor success—it was too little too late anyway. In the meantime, he aimed to make the Americans pay for the Taiwanese aggression. Fu smiled to himself. “Send General Wei to my office, we have some planning to do.”
A curtain of hesitancy descended on the briefing room, “Wei’s dead,” someone said from the back of the room, “Comrade Fu, General Wei is dead. He was killed during the recent attack. We’re sorry. We thought you knew.”
“No, I was unaware of his death. That is all then. I will be in my office.”
Yes, the Americans must pay, Fu thought as he got to his feet, his head throbbing.
* * *
The leader of the Falun Gong in Amoy posted a couple of his followers at the door of the restaurant before entering. They would warn him in case a public security detail happened by. It didn’t hurt to be careful. The usual persecution had intensified over the past two weeks, as the government sought to lock up potential troublemakers while it moved against Taiwan. The crackdown against his sect, the “Buddhist Law,” was continuing as was the suppression of Christian groups. His lunch partner was the pastor of the largest underground Christian church in the city. Many leaders of house churches were already in jail. Both men had to exercise extreme caution.
In pre-revolutionary days, Amoy and the surrounding district had been the home of a substantial number of Western missionaries. Strangely enough, the sudden expulsion of the Christian missionaries from China had an effect entirely opposite of what the Communists had intended. Instead of drying up and shriveling away without leadership, Chinese Christian churches of all faiths proliferated as Chinese laity took over leadership roles once reserved for white Westerners.
Much to the consternation of the officially atheist Communist Party, the harder they cracked down on religions of all stripes, the more religion seemed to flourish. Party experts projected the number of serious religious adherents as outnumbering the membership of the Chinese Communist Party by about ten-to-one.
“Welcome, Master,” said the restaurant owner, bowing slightly as the man entered the crowded restaurant. Another follower of Falun Gong, he led the “Master” to a secluded table where Brother Ouyang was seated, then poured tea for them both. Every table within earshot was occupied by a loyal member of the sect.
The “Master” lifted his cup of tea in a silent salute at his tablemate who responded with a salute of his own.
“Both of us believe that the way of peace is superior to the way of the sword,” the “Master” began. “But the situation has grown intolerable.”
Brother Ouyang nodded thoughtfully, “What do you have in mind, Master Chao?”
The “Master” leaned forward and presented his thoughts to the Christian. If the State knew what was said next, both men would have been summarily shot and their families sent bills for the bullets.
* * *
Fu had a medical orderly remove his bandages and apply makeup to his wounds. He looked at his head and his one black eye. No, this will not do. “Find me a pair of sunglasses,” he snapped, “We cannot allow the Americans to know of my injuries.”
With neither reinforcement nor resupply, the American forces were becoming increasingly irrelevant from a military standpoint. Their political utility was still high, however, and Fu was determined to force their surrender. He set a meeting time of noon and instructed his staff to make the necessary final preparations.
* * *
Donna knew about the Chinese propaganda rocket. She also knew about the terrible toll the Chinese attack took on America’s West Coast cities. Los Angeles was especially hard hit. The Agency told her that damage from looters and rioters was estimated in the billions of dollars (she doubted that the information constituted useful intelligence should the Chinese have been listening in—no doubt both CNN and the Chinese consulate in L.A. had already conveyed the news). More troubling was the horrific toll on the displaced population in Southern California. With a complete breakdown in the infrastructure of a modern society, hundreds of thousands of people were in danger of death by dehydration in the desert wastes between Arizona and the coastal urban areas. The authorities were trying to move the people back to the city, but with the lack of law and order and the threat of nuclear attack, people refused. Donna marveled at her nation’s complete lack of any response—One unarmed missile and we give up. . .
She heard a soft tapping on the door, then a barely audible rasp, “It’s Taylor, let me in.”
She opened the door to the civilian attired four-star general. He immediately went to Donna’s bathroom and turned on the sink’s faucet. The water pressure wasn’t as high as it was the day before, but the noise of the running water was still enough to conceal a whispered conversation.
“I thought you should know, we extracted the Marine force out of southern Taiwan last night. We picked up more than 1,000 Marines and Navy personnel. The Chinese might be a little ticked during today’s negotiations.”
Donna raised an eyebrow. Now successful retreats were counted as victories. “What about the force up in Taipei?”
Taylor frowned, “Hell, Klein, there’s probably only about 40 of them left, besides, the downtown airport is under constant surveillance by the Chinese, there’s no way we could extract them, even if we knew where to find them.”
“That’s a load of bull general, and you know it; you don’t need fixed wing aircraft to fly in there and get those soldiers. Hel
icopters from Okinawa would do just fine.”
“Look, I didn’t come here to argue tactics with you. . .” Taylor looked very uncomfortable, “There’s something else you need to know—Lindley’s a mole for the Chinese.”
Donna’s mouth fell open. She struggled with this new bit of information. “How did you. . ?”
“Find out? I have a secure system two-way satellite message pager. The NSA figured it out a few days ago but only recently did they gather enough evidence to make it official.”
“How can I believe you—you could be the spy yourself.”
“Damn it Klein! I’m the general, he’s the former Chinese lobbyist, remember? I’ve dedicated 35 years of my life to the military; he made millions in fees from China before he made it to the White House. It’s so obvious. Have even you gone blind to how obvious this is? If Admiral Klein was here he’d dare call Lindley what he is: a traitor.”
Donna flushed briefly. She’d had her suspicions about Lindley, especially when he tried so hard to get the President to keep her off the negotiating team. “What do we do? We can’t very well arrest the senior member of our team for treason while on Chinese soil can we?” Donna’s face showed the question was merely rhetorical; she was already thinking of what to do.
A loud knock at the door startled both Americans.
“It’s Lindley. We have to be ready to go in ten minutes Donna. The Chinese want to resume negotiations. You hear me?”
Donna spoke loudly, “Sure, no problem.”
“Taylor in there with you?” Lindley asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay, fine, I want to see you two in a couple of minutes in my room.” Lindley’s tone was curt.
“We’ll be there,” Taylor said.
Lindley’s footsteps could be heard walking away.
“So, what do we do?” General Taylor hissed. He was consumed with contempt for Lindley and loathed the thought of even visiting his room.
“I may have a solution, but I’ll need your help. . .”
* * *
All day Thursday the rain drizzled down. Low hanging clouds clung just above the base of Taiwan’s mountains and hills. The People’s Liberation Army Air Force was nowhere to be seen. Maneuvering over familiar terrain and in friendly territory, the ROC army made good time and advanced north in good order.
On Friday afternoon a little-noticed engagement was fought at the intersection of Tollways 1 and 3 less than ten kilometers south of the Touchien Hsi River about 50 kilometers southwest of Taipei. With this key crossroads in hand, the ROC leadership was free to pursue a breakthrough to the north along Tollway 1 or further to the east along Tollway 3 where the terrain was more restricted but the concealment was better.
The ROC plan was simple and aggressive: as soon as darkness fell, seize the intact bridges over the Touchien Hsi River along both Tollways, then, employ overwhelming firepower and armor against the 85th Infantry Division to the east, breaking through to the division’s rear command post at Kuanhsi. Leaving behind the infantry to mop up the rear and clear the supply route, the 2nd Mechanized Infantry Division, 3rd and 5th Armor Brigades and the 6th Armor Brigade (Light) would drive north, brushing past the ROC 1st Infantry Division’s battle positions surrounding Lake Benevolence and the Tomb of Chiang Kai-Shek. Just before dawn the commanders expected to fight the battle to break through to Taipei, drawing in the Chinese mobile reserve and destroying them piecemeal with superior fighting skills and night vision capability.
Fu Zemin needed a replacement for General Wei. The intelligence officer had quickly made himself indispensable and the political officer missed him as he would his own right hand. Wei would have known what to do when the leader of the American team became violently ill and lapsed into a coma. As it was, Fu allowed the Americans another two hours to recover. Then, two hours slipped into three, and three into four as the military situation south of Taipei became increasingly critical. Clearly, the Taiwanese were not simply going to give up and die as everyone thought they were going to do just yesterday. By dinnertime Fu had completely forgotten about the Americans—and dinner.
While Fu respected General First Class Deng Yen-hsi, the commander of the operations on Taiwan, he found the general impenetrable and gruff, at least around him. Fu desperately needed a military officer at his side to communicate a clear picture of the evolving situation. General Wei had been that officer, now he was dead. On the positive side, at least he thought of a replacement for General Wei: Colonel Chu. The commando colonel who had impressed him a few days before had been lightly wounded in a terrible fight that claimed three-quarters of his battalion on the edge of Taipei itself. This hero of the People was known to be resourceful and tough. Without a battalion to lead and too wounded to be highly mobile for the next couple of weeks anyway, Fu decided to request the services of Colonel Chu as his personal aide (the PLA’s political secretariat had neither the time nor the opportunity to inform the field forces on Taiwan of Colonel Chu’s unique status due to his mother’s treasonous actions).
Colonel Chu was due to arrive any moment now—and not a second too soon. Fu wanted both the counsel and comfort that the brave commando leader would provide. Stronger Taiwanese forces than anyone had thought could be mustered had just broken through PLA lines east of Hsinshu and were reported to be only 25 kilometers from Deng Xiaoping International Airport. Worse yet, only an under strength airborne division stood between the ROCs and Fu Zemin’s small but very Communist body.
30
Rout
All Friday night the Taiwanese spearhead thrust north. By three in the morning the lead elements of the attacking vanguard could see the artillery duels lighting up the low-hanging clouds around Taipei. According to ROC intelligence, the army had only the PLA’s 1st Mechanized Infantry Division between them and their beleaguered capital. Taiwan’s best tanks, 47 venerable ex-U.S. M60A3s, were brought forward to make the assault, just to the east of Tollway 3 in the secondary road network running between the tollway and the ridge that paralleled it (the tollway itself was known to be mined). The tanks lined up, their engines rumbled behind a low-lying rise that separated them from the enemy some one kilometer away. Behind each tank there were two M113A2 armored personnel carriers, each with two crewmen and 11 infantrymen aboard. In front of the tanks sat 35 LAV-150 Commando armored fighting vehicles (armored cars equipped with a 20mm gun and two machine guns each). Only one kilometer south of this brigade-sized force was another of comparable size (only with older M48A5 tanks, also equipped with thermal sights). In reserve, the Taiwanese held the 6th Armor Brigade (Light), equipped with completely remanufactured M41 light tanks, reinforced with a battalion of mechanized infantry. The 4th Armor Brigade was still on the march some 40 kilometers to the south. Almost two-thirds of Taiwan’s remaining armored force was ready to tear loose into the Chinese lines, force a decisive engagement, and wrest victory from the PLA.
On the other side of the lines, 20 kilometers to the northwest in the basement of a hotel near the renamed Deng Xiaoping International Airport, Fu Zemin was watching the Taiwanese advance unfold like an unstoppable tide. His head hurt and he was fearful almost to the point of irrationality. Beside him, standing stiffly due to his leg bandages, his pain, and his discomfort at having to be so close to one holding political power, was Colonel Chu Dugen. The usual activity of any command post swirled about the two—clerks carrying messages, intelligence and operations staff updating information about enemy and friendly units with grease pencils on the thin acetate map overlay, and the crackling din of radio communications parsed from key sectors of the battlefield.
As much as the political officer Fu was worried and unsure of himself in the situation, Colonel Chu was calm. He resented having been pulled out of the field. He hated the Party and this pathetic man who represented all its evils. But, at least he understood the military environment. He strained to turn his easy understanding into calming and straightforward explanations for his latest charge. If Comrade Fu
was appreciative he didn’t show it.
Colonel Chu saw the battlefield as a living thing existing in all four dimensions. He knew what the Taiwanese were after. He knew victory was within their grasp—he also knew that they would be very vulnerable for an instant. If the PLA could strike at that rich concentration of armor and shatter it, all militarily significant resistance to the Mainlanders would end. Unfortunately, to strike such a target one needed exceptional timing (best achieved by slowing down the breakthrough at the point of entry) and the means to deliver the blow. The method of achieving both the timing and blow were unknown the Colonel Chu—he simply knew the necessity of doing so.
Colonel Chu turned to address the political officer, wondering once again if he was any relation to the man his late father was accused of assassinating, “Comrade Fu, may I confer with you about the current operations?”
Fu was almost glassy-eyed. He fiddled with a small, circular scar in the middle of his right palm. It was 0427 hours. The basement room was stuffy, heavy-laden with cigarette smoke and sweat. Mud covered the floor from the comings and goings of field commanders and liaisons. General Deng hadn’t been seen in hours and Fu half expected the general suffered a break down or worse. The chief Party representative on Taiwan turned to his new aide and said hoarsely, “Yes, tell me what you think.”
