by Chuck DeVore
The door to the meeting room opened and a note was passed into the room for General Wong. General Mao took a deep breath and pressed on, “Instead of waiting here to die or surrender let us instead attempt to win this war.” Mao pounded his fist into his hand. About half the generals looked on as if he were crazy. “We have known for years that the Chinese people have become increasingly restive under the harsh and corrupt rule of the Communist Party. Have we forgotten how quickly and violently the government in Romania fell in 1989, then the rest of the Communist Empire in Europe, even the Soviet Union itself? Must China be Communist forever? The People’s Liberation Army may outnumber us by ten to one, but have we all forgotten the words of Sun Tzu?” Mao demanded. He noticed Wong had finished reading the note and was focusing on him. “What is the first of the five fundamental factors?” Mao jabbed the air with his finger.
Wong nodded thoughtfully and said, “Moral influence.” His voice was hoarse. General Wong coughed then straightened himself before his men, “Moral influence,” he said more strongly, “‘...that which causes the people to be in harmony with their leaders, so that they will accompany them in life and unto death without fear of mortal peril.’”
Wong held up the note, “This message comes from a trusted source in Amoy.” He pulled the note in front of his eyes to paraphrase from it, “It seems a computer virus attack initiated from Taiwan may have caused some confusion on the Mainland. There is concern among the Communist Party cadres that an uprising in Lipu County may spread and that there are insufficient resources on hand to deal with the situation.” Wong smiled grimly and looked up, “Most of the troops and security police normally stationed opposite us are now rampaging about our homeland—it seems the secrecy in which the Communist operations were prepared, combined with their all-out effort to supply the operations on Taiwan, have prevented a significant redeployment of troops on the Mainland. There may only be reservists, logistics specialists, and missile units to oppose us!”
General Wong turned to the admiral, “Within an hour, I want to know how many small boats remain on the island, how many troops they can lift, and how many fishermen will help us cross over to Amoy.”
Without missing a beat, the admiral replied, “More than 500 boats, 5,000 troops twice a night under cover of darkness, and a local captain for every boat, sir!”
Within a second, the underground bunker erupted in a deafening cheer. Mao just stood where he was. He wasn’t sure if he just finished the hardest part or the easiest part of what he knew had to be done.
32
Rebellion
The three busloads of religionists from Amoy left Lipu City shortly after the prisoners of conscience were freed. Having no interest in staying around Lipu City, the 60 formerly jailed villagers quickly collected their 41 children from the state orphanage and returned to their orchards to resume their lives.
After Lee’s suicide on Monday afternoon, Ng was in charge at Lipu County Party headquarters. Never more than an uninspired fool, Ng was more of a burden than a help to his comrades. By 4:05 PM, the crowd outside the Party’s county headquarters grew to more than 5,000 people. Ng had no idea what to do next.
With scores to settle and little fear of immediate use of force, the situation in Lipu City rapidly deteriorated. The few regular police, more interested in the mundane issues of law, order, and petty bribery, were of little help to the Party.
At 4:12 PM, someone threw a rock at Party headquarters, breaking a window on the first floor. The mass of people shuddered, then waited, expecting gun shots. When there was no reply to the thrown rock, they rushed the building.
Outwardly, the mob looked entirely unorganized, and while it was true that most in the riot were simply giving vent to decades of frustration and anger, there were many who had an agenda. Some went looking for Party officials to kill, others cut the phone lines, a few sought out the meticulous records of the Party and local security police, seeking the IDs of those who were actively collaborating with the authorities. By midnight, more than 150 Party members and informers were dead. By Tuesday morning, any vestige of Beijing’s foreign and harsh rule in this southern land was wiped clean.
Remarkably, Lipu did not descend into complete chaos—the town’s thriving business community had too much to lose to let that happen. The residents raged against the Party and little else. By nightfall, the town elected an informal council to handle civic affairs for the duration of the crisis.
* * *
Donna had never been so frightened in her life. The Chinese had bundled her and General Taylor into an appropriated limo and, with armored cars to the front and rear, they roared off to the front lines on the western edge of Taipei. Somehow, they had to cross the battle lines and make it to the Ambassador’s residence to arrange for the surrender of the American soldiers there.
All along the route from CKS International Airport—she couldn’t bring herself to think of it as “Deng Xiaoping International”—there were the uneven signs of war. Most neighborhoods close to the airport were unscathed. Sharp and alert-looking People’s Armed Police paramilitaries stood on every corner in these areas. Wary-eyed residents peeked from their windows at the passing motorcade. Other areas, especially those closer to Taipei, simply featured smoking, charred ruins that only hinted at the residential, commercial, or industrial districts they used to be.
Just as Donna was growing anxious over trying to fathom the coordination and luck she’d need to cross alive from the Chinese side of the lines to the Taiwanese side, the motorcade slowed to a crawl in a brick, concrete, and glass-strewn street overlooking a large river. Donna noted an intact bridge over the river, and beyond, the city of Taipei. Dozens upon dozens of dark smoky columns rose up from the dying city to merge with the cloud deck. The thickening smoke burned Donna’s eyes and made her throat a bit sore. She was shocked at the hellish scene. Donna stole a glance at General Taylor. He was intently observing everything he could with an impassive face.
Donna saw the lead armored car lurch forward. The vehicle now had a large white flag tied to a broomstick that was lashed to the AAA machine gun mount on its small turret. The four-wheeled armored car picked its way between piles of debris down to the bridge below. The driver of Donna’s limo gunned the engine and made a mad dash for the far side of the bridge.
As soon as the car got to the other side of the bridge a roadblock forced them to turn to the left. There, out of sight from the far bank, a ROC checkpoint forced everyone out of the car for a close inspection. For a moment, Donna thought the war weary Taiwanese were going to beat the driver. Instead, they blindfolded him and put one of their own behind the wheel to drive the Americans to their Ambassador’s residence. Donna could tell the Taiwanese held a mix of disgust and sorrow towards the betrayal she and General Taylor represented. But, the soldiers held their tongues.
It took two hours to travel less than five miles (it didn’t help that the large car suffered a flat tire along the way). By 5:10 PM they rolled up in front of the Ambassador’s residence. After the Marine guards carefully inspected the car, they were allowed to pass through the steel gates. Donna took a great quivering breath and exhaled. She made it alive to the Ambassador’s residence—now she and General Taylor had to figure out how to persuade a group of American soldiers to surrender by 6:00 AM Tuesday morning or risk a torrent of threatened destruction on the Ambassador’s residence and perhaps America itself.
Donna expected her and Taylor’s arrival at the Ambassador’s residence to be welcomed like a visit from the undertaker. As the two representatives from Washington were escorted into the Ambassador’s ample living room, they were surprised to see a smiling Ambassador, a confident lieutenant colonel in torn and blackened camouflage fatigues, and a commando sergeant, heavily bandaged about the face, but otherwise erect and alert.
After a short round of introductions, there was an awkward silence as Taylor and Klein stood there, wondering how to break the news of the surrender demand. Donna spo
ke first, “Say, aren’t you the National Guard colonel we saw on TV destroying several Chinese tanks?”
Alexander blushed and said, “Yes, I suppose that was me and my crew. We did some damage before we got ground down by the Chinese and a lack of spare parts.”
“Colonel,” General Taylor began with a heavy voice, “We have some bad news for you and your men. The PRC is demanding your surrender by 0600 hours tomorrow morning. It seems you put a dent in their pride.”
Alexander looked defiant, “And if we don’t surrender?”
The Chinese have threatened to bombard the hell out of the Ambassador’s residence and maybe even nuke Los Angeles.”
“That’s bullshit! Er, uh, pardon me general, but it is. The Chinese would never nuke L.A., we have, what, 100 or 1,000 times as many nukes as they do!” Alexander protested.
Taylor sighed, “You folks must have been out of circulation for a while. Did you hear about the Chinese missile attack on the West Coast a week ago?”
Alexander’s eyes went wide—Judy! The children! “Oh God! No! What hap. . .?”
Taylor cut in, “The Chinese fired a Long March space launch vehicle stuffed with propaganda leaflets at the West Coast’s five major cities. Complete chaos erupted. L.A. was hit the worst. As of yesterday it’s still burning.”
Alexander pinched his forehead, then started to speak from behind his hand, slowly taking it away and looking up as began, “So, my government wants me and my men to surrender to appease the enemy and prevent any further attacks on American soil?”
Donna looked at Taylor. The general was caught between the competing obligations to duty and honor.
Ambassador Ross’ smile had long since been erased, but now he saw fit to join the discussion, “Maybe it’s the two of you who have been out of circulation for too long.”
Taylor snapped his head towards the Ambassador.
Donna said, “What do you know to be happening?”
“Please, have a seat. I’ll get you some coffee. I think we have some things to mull over together before we decide to do anything rash,” the Ambassador suggested. “The ROCs came to us with some very interesting news about half an hour before you showed up.” The room was quietly attentive. Artillery fire could be heard in the distance. “There is an uprising in the Chinese countryside of Fujian Province. We’re seeking confirmation from national sources, thanks to Sergeant Heinzleman here who parachuted in last night with a load of communications gear and some other stuff he won’t even let us look at.”
Heinzleman looked at his boots.
“Rough landing?” Taylor asked, looking at the parachutist’s bandaged face.
“You could say that, sir.” Heinzleman said.
“I’m afraid my Marine guards got the jump on him,” Ambassador Ross said, “They weren’t expecting company on the roof last night.”
Heinzleman looked at his boots again.
Taylor smiled gently, “Look, sergeant, everyone did his job. You landed on the roof, no doubt in incredibly adverse conditions, and the Marines butt-stroked you for your troubles. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You kicked ass just to get here, son.”
Heinzleman’s face brightened, “Thank you, sir.”
Alexander, watching this exchange, decided he now had little to worry about in this general—This man would do the right thing. The young woman, however, was still an unknown.
Donna was deep in thought—Word of an uprising. . . Could the Taiwanese be trusted to tell the truth right now? Were their sources reliable? What could be done to exploit the situation if it was true? It was 5:30 PM. They had just a few hours to come to a decision if they were to act on the Chinese demands by six the next morning.
The Americans in Taipei received confirmation of the Chinese uprising in Lipu County by midnight. Outside, the sounds of war grew more intense and closer as the Chinese pressed their assault on the Taiwanese capital. The Ambassador, the Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the CIA analyst and the National Guardsman huddled and tried to come up with a plan.
“What exactly were the Chinese demands?” Alexander asked.
Donna removed a piece of paper from her briefcase, and read, “And I quote, ‘First, all United States armed forces personnel unlawfully on the Chinese sovereign soil of the province of Taiwan will cease hostilities as of 1800 hours Monday. Second, said forces will surrender to representatives of the Peoples Liberation Army by 0600 hours Tuesday morning. Third, the United States of America will recognize Taiwan as a province of the People’s Republic of China’s by converting their illegal diplomatic presence into consulates of the United States of America to the People’s Republic of China.’”
“Unlawfully on Chinese soil!” Alexander snorted, “Bastards forced us down and they say we’re here unlawfully!” He paused, “Wait, read that first part again. . .”
Donna cocked her head, “Okay. ‘First, all United States armed forces personnel unlawfully. . .’”
“That’s it! The only United States armed forces personnel here are the embassy’s Marines, General Taylor and Sergeant Heinzleman!”
Taylor narrowed his eyes, “How do you figure, colonel?”
“I’m a National Guardsman. My Commander-in-Chief is the governor of the state of California.”
“But you’re federalized, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but we can be defederalized in a moment if the President releases us back to state service. At that point we’d no longer be ‘United States armed forces personnel.’”
Donna looked at the two men, “Given the Chinese penchant for legalisms, it might work. However, I think that, right or wrong, there’ll still be hell to pay if we don’t come through under a white flag with a fair number of men.” She shook her head.
“So, what do we do?” Taylor demanded.
“Why not blame the Taiwanese?” Ambassador Ross asked. “We can say that they detained the American troops as bargaining chips.”
“That might work!” Donna’s face brightened, “The Chinese would try the same thing in a similar circumstance. Mr. Ambassador, can you arrange for a ROC ‘road block’ to be erected to prevent our troops from making it to the PLA lines?”
“Sure.”
“Then we’ll make sure the driver makes it back to the river to tell the Chinese about the Taiwanese treachery.”
“Are we in or out of the car when it crosses back into enemy territory?” Taylor asked.
Donna exhaled, looking at the floor, “In.” She looked at Taylor, “If there is a rebellion on the Mainland I want to be near Fu Zemin and his command center. I might be of use there.”
“You mean, ‘We. . . we might be of use there.’” Taylor said as if he wished it didn’t have to be so.
“Right. Let’s grab some shut-eye. Mr. Ambassador, can you arrange for enough cars and trucks to carry the Colonel’s men to the ‘road block’ by around 4:00 AM?”
“No problem, get some sleep,” the Ambassador replied.
* * *
Brigadier General Mao almost regretted his patriotism and his bold words. It was 0300 hours, only 11 hours since General Wong ordered the crossing to be made with a minimum of preparation. Some generals and the admiral argued for an additional night to prepare—that way, they’d have time to make two trips to the mainland in the fishing boats under cover of darkness. General Wong nixed the suggestion. As seasickness gripped Mao, he could still clearly hear General Wong’s words, “We must cross tonight. We have fog. We have surprise. And we have the fires of an uprising on our side. In these circumstances, crossing with 10,000 soldiers instead of 5,000 will make little difference. We must make it to Amoy by tomorrow morning!”
Mao’s brigade was on the smaller island only seven kilometers from Amoy. Because of his close proximity to the objective and because it was his idea to attack, the honors of leading the way fell to Mao.
He vomited again and weakly turned to his intelligence officer, trying to smile. Mao trusted his staff officer and was glad
to hear his assessment that they’d probably make it across the bay undisturbed by ship or aircraft. Mao had queried him sharply on Chinese naval and air capabilities but the officer assured him that Quemoy’s anti-ship and anti-air missile batteries had created a Chinese-free bubble around the islands—since China’s objective was the capture of Taiwan itself, it made little sense to risk losing valuable aircraft or ships by challenging the defenses of two strategically insignificant islands.
Only an hour later Mao and his lead battalions reached the shore. Downtown Amoy was only five kilometers away. Mao was shocked not to hear any gunfire. Either there were few Communist soldiers in this area or they were so poorly trained and led as well as overconfident that no one thought to keep a night watch.
Mao splashed ashore on wobbly legs. His stomach had been empty for half an hour now—that alone made him feel a little better. Visibility with the naked eye was about 20 meters. Mao picked up a starlight scope and looked right and left, north and south, along the deserted beach. The lack of fishing boats must have meant the military decided to clear the beach for fear the local fishermen might provide information to their brethren across the bay.
Mao shook his head and smiled to himself—Unbelievable! The PLA is so occupied in devastating my homeland that they could not attend to defending their own.
* * *
On the bus ride back to Amoy, Brother Wang Ouyang and “Master” Chao Yongmin discussed the events at Lipu City and openly wondered what to do next. Chao, flush with the possibilities of victory, wanted to immediately conduct a silent protest at Amoy Party headquarters where he would call for the release of the more than 150 recently jailed Falun Gong adherents. Wang wanted to confer with the other house church leaders first, then decide what to do after an organized day of fasting and prayer. When it became apparent that Chao was going to proceed with or without Wang and his Christians, Wang relented and pledged to do what he could to increase the size of the protest planned for Tuesday morning.
