by Chuck DeVore
“Ultralights,” Rez said.
“Come again?”
“Motorized hang gliders.”
“Well, let’s splash them!”
Flint broke in, “We don’t have the time—they’re a bitch to shoot down. I say we go in now and hope they’re after some other target.”
“And if they’re not?” the pilot demanded.
“Then we’ll hose them down,” Flint said grimly.
Lieutenant Colonel Dan Alexander heard the commotion on the roof. He and his men were preparing for extraction out of Taipei. Everyone was in their place, had memorized their role, and knew exactly what order they would board what helicopter as they landed, one at a time, on the northern-most corner of the residence (away from the antenna).
Pistol in hand, Alexander ran up the stairwell leading to the roof of the large official manor. He burst out on the roof. A burning house up the hill behind the ambassador’s residence lent a ruddy hue to the rooftop scene. Alexander saw the tangled wreckage of the ultralight and a Marine yelling at a woman in civilian clothes—very strange, even for war.
“Marine! You need some help?” Alexander called.
The young lance corporal replied, “Yes sir. This woman just crashed on the roof with a Chinese soldier. I think she’s the CIA operative who was here a few days ago. She just popped a star cluster. We need to get her off the roof now!”
Walking up to the wreck, pistol still drawn, Alexander recognized Donna, “It’s okay Marine. I know this woman. You’re right, she’s with the CIA.”
“Colonel Alexander! I need your help,” the CIA analyst looked as if she was ready to collapse.
“What can I do?”
“The officer in the plane is Colonel Chu. He’s a PLA commando. He and his commando battalion are defecting. They have the chief Chinese political officer for the invasion with them. We have to get them safely down!”
“What do we have to do?”
“Colonel Chu has a flare in his cargo pocket. That flare was to be the signal for the commandos to land.”
Colonel Chu groaned.
“I don’t like it sir! It could be a trick!” the Marine protested, voice cracking.
“Can you trust this man?” Alexander asked.
“Colonel, I saw him kill someone who tried to stop us. I saw him order his chief political officer tied up and strapped to a hang glider. This is not a trick! This is the beginning of the end of the Chinese invasion force on Taiwan! You have to believe me!”
Alexander looked from Donna to the Marine, “Cover me while I retrieve the flare.”
“Sir, you’re not going to let them land are you?”
“Not on the roof anyway, there’d be too much traffic with the choppers due in in a couple of minutes.” Alexander was already searching for the flare. He found it, ignited it, and tossed it off the roof and onto the street below. “I’m going to cut this man out of here and get him off the roof. I want you to take Ms. Klein here down below, ASAP!”
“Aye aye, sir.” The Marine, reluctant to leave his post, nevertheless moved swiftly to carry out the order.
“Tell my men to cover the street and watch for commandos landing in gliders. Tell them to shoot if the soldiers show hostile intent. Klein, make sure the Marine gets the story right with my men. If what you say is true we don’t want to kill our guests, now do we? Also, tell Sergeant Heinzleman to call the inbound extraction force. I want you to tell them what you told me.” Alexander returned to cutting Chu loose. The first helicopter’s rotor wash was already tugging against Alexander’s torn and dirty cammies.
“Sir! Someone just threw a flare off the roof of the roof!” Rez was bolt erect on his seat, looking out the left side of the helicopter. The door gunner held his machine gun at the ready next to Rez.
“I see inbounds. They’re ultralights!” the copilot warned.
“How many?” Flint asked coolly.
“Five, ten. At least 20 that I can see.”
Rez had heard and seen enough, “Sir, they’re after the American Ambassador, or maybe the troops there. Remember how badly the Chinese wanted us to surrender? This is a snatch mission and we’re rolling right into the middle of it!”
Flint responded immediately, “Put out a net call. Form an airborne fire line, one bird every 100 meters. Tell the door gunners to aim center mass at the pilots. Wing and engine shots won’t do the trick. Then call the extractees and tell them they have company!”
Fu Zemin was beyond terror. He never knew how much he really hated heights. The sensation of flying in the little motorized glider as it tossed about in the air currents caused him to throw up so many times that he now had the dry heaves. His thoughts alternated between falling to his death and his probable future at the hands of the Taiwanese. He preferred the former: it was less painful and humiliating.
The commando-pilot of the little airplane suddenly nosed down. Fu’s stomach stayed in the clouds for a brief moment, then struggled to catch up with Fu’s writhing body. So this was death’s final act. Fu shut his eyes and tried to think of his wife and only son.
The sound of machine gun fire rattled his eyes open. Fu wildly looked around. Flashes lit up the night sky to the left. A dragon’s belly, glowing softly red, hung in the air beneath the biting sparks. Beautiful neon arcs extended in front of his eyes and flashed on by to the right. They came closer. Crack-thud! The pilot jerked sharply, then slumped over to the right. Fu’s universe began to spin madly around. Fu squeezed his eyes shut again. The picture of his wife and son in his mind’s eye was pushed aside by the angry red dragon. Fu briefly heard the sound of screeching metal before he lost consciousness.
“Cease fire, cease fire, ceasefire!” Colonel Flint had just received word of the defecting commandos from a female civilian attached to the embassy staff. He shook his head—why can war never be clean and simple? “How much loiter time do we have?”
“30 minutes,” the copilot responded.
“I’m going down there. Tell the other birds to head north out over the ocean until I give them the all clear to come in. If you don’t hear from me, scrub the mission.”
Rez rolled his eyes—Here we go again.
The medic immobilized Donna’s arm and administered a local painkiller. She could think clearly now, but the sound of grinding glass in her collarbone was disconcerting. Alexander was talking to one of his NCOs near the stairwell when an imposing presence of a Marine stomped by the NCO and planted his feet firmly in the middle of the dimly-lit hallway.
“Where’s the commanding officer?” Flint said loudly.
Alexander straightened and barked, “Here sir! I’m Lieutenant Colonel Alexander, Task Force Grizzly!”
“I’m Colonel Flint. Damn glad to meet you!” Flint shook the hand of the citizen-warrior he heard so much about, “I have 25 minutes to pull you out of here or we have to try again some other night. Tell me what’s going on outside.”
“We have about 80 PLA commandos on the ground. My men are covering them. Some are hurt pretty badly. A few didn’t make it. None of them drew weapons on us. Sir, I don’t think we should pull out.”
“Why?”
“Well, there aren’t very many ROCs in this sector. They’re all at the front. There aren’t enough Marines on the staff here to guard them all either. I don’t see how we can pull out of here right now. Besides, if these troops are defecting, doesn’t that lessen the danger to us here?”
Lieutenant Colonel Ramirez walked up behind Flint, “He’s half-right sir. Conventionally, the PLA is less dangerous. From a nuclear standpoint, though, I think they’re more desperate than ever.”
Flint thought about this for a moment and said, “If that’s the case, they could just as easily nuke Okinawa as Taipei. Colonel Alexander, meet Colonel Ramirez—he’s a hothead like you.”
“Coming from a Marine, I’ll take that as a compliment, sir.”
* * *
Near Taiwan’s CKS International Airport, General Deng considered
suicide. He was faced with dwindling supplies and rapidly eroding morale. He had nowhere to retreat; no room for maneuver. The situation was hopeless. No sense in prolonging the agony. Continued fighting would simply be a waste of brave men.
Given what he represented and the suffering he had inflicted, Deng expected to be treated as a common criminal and killed. Surrender to the Taiwanese would be almost impossible. He looked at the pistol he had placed on the large desk in front of him. His mind wandered through the events of the past two weeks. The images of his wounded soldiers stood out sharply from the chaos of war.
Deng picked up his pistol—suicide is for cowards, my men deserve better! He holstered his pistol and walked quickly out of his office to the field hospital. He wanted to see the men who tried so hard to reunify their ancient nation; he needed their strength to bolster him for what he knew must be done.
Deng slowly walked through the brightly lit ward (an appropriated civilian hospital). Everywhere soldiers lay groaning, dying, or dead. The doctors ran out of pain deadening drugs yesterday. Deng comforted some, encouraging a soldier with a word or patting a young conscript on the foot as he made his rounds. He was about to exit the intensive care section when he saw two orderlies removing the body of a dead man. It was one of the American negotiators! In the bed adjacent to the dead man’s lay a badly wounded man. He appeared unconscious, but was softly moaning. One of the other Americans!
Deng quickly called a doctor over. “Listen to me!” he lowered his voice, “If this man dies, we die with him. Understand?”
* * *
At midnight they heard it: a stillness blanketed the front. No explosions sounded, no pounding artillery, only barking dogs challenged the quiet air.
Colonel Flint and the Ambassador decided to send the wounded guardsmen back to Okinawa. Donna Klein joined them, her arm bound to her chest to immobilize her shoulder injury. Some of the wounded Chinese commandos were shipped out too.
Lieutenant Colonel Alexander remained with 25 of his men. A fresh contingent of 14 Marines from the rescue force stayed behind, bolstering morale significantly.
Alexander had collapsed on a couch in the ambassador’s darkened living room when Flint and Ramirez came looking for him with their flashlights. “Alexander, wake-up!” Flint said, trying not to disturb the other resting soldiers.
Dan pried his eyes open, hoping that his nightmare was finally ending. “What?” Seeing the Marine officers he swung his feet around and sat erect on the couch, “Sir, what is it?”
Flint’s smile was just visible in the dark, “The Chinese commander wants to surrender.”
“That’s great news sir! Thanks for telling me. Now maybe I can get some sleep.”
“I’m afraid not. He wants to surrender to us. He’s afraid of reprisals. Besides, he claims to have a wounded high-ranking member of the American negotiating team with him. He says the man will die soon if we don’t evacuate him. Two of my on-station Super Stallions have refueled and are coming in. They’ll be here in less than ten minutes. I want you to join us in accepting the general’s surrender—you earned the right as much as anyone around here.”
Dan struggled to his feet. “Thanks sir! Let’s go end this thing!”
* * *
Donna was walking off the effects of the ultralight crash, the helicopter ride and the restless night of sleep at Okinawa’s main military hospital. Her shoulder ached dully through the painkillers. At first she wanted to find the USMC intelligence center and check in, but she soon felt a more pressing need to comfort the wounded. The dozen Chinese commandos were especially thankful to her for her language skills. As she visited with the men, her index finger caressed Taylor’s two bloody rings on her left thumb. She thought about their brief time together—if they stayed in D.C. would they have ever gotten together? If Tim lived, would they have ever stayed together on their return?
A commotion at the end of the hall signaled an incoming batch of wounded. Concerned that the Chinese may have attacked the Ambassador’s residence or decided to escalate the conflict some other way, she rushed to the end of the hall to get a better look.
She saw him there, strapped to a gurney and asking for a phone: Tim Taylor! Their eyes met. To the brief intensity of their first meeting six months ago was added a depth of understanding and tenderness.
Choking back a cry, Donna brushed past the orderlies and cupped her left hand on Tim’s cheek. Tears streamed down her face. A few splashed on Taylor’s shoulder.
Tim saw the rings on Donna’s thumb. “I love you!”
Donna looked at Tim, holding his gaze deeply. Her brown eyes tried to see past their tense days together in Taiwan to gain insight into another part of his soul.
An orderly cleared his throat.
Taylor glanced briefly at the orderly, then refocused on Donna. His crisp blue pilot’s eyes suddenly seemed to relax. His lips turned upward, “I thought I’d be scared when I asked you this question, but I’m not; Donna Klein, will you marry me?”
Donna smiled back and carefully bent over Tim’s face. Curly strands of red hair brushed against his forehead. She kissed him gently on the lips then pulled away just far enough to say, “Yes.”
* * *
Beijing and every major coastal city from Shanghai to points south were gripped by massive demonstrations. The situation deteriorated faster than the Party could manage. With their ability to communicate degraded and the best PLA troops on Taiwan, the Party found itself unable to dampen the fires of revolt everywhere.
It seemed that every man, woman, and child had taken to the streets of Beijing in protest. Each had a grievance against the regime. There were parents still grieving over the loss of sons and daughters at Tiananmen. Others had suffered during the Cultural Revolution. Some were Christians. Still others were secret members of Falun Gong, seething under the continuing persecution of their sect. What united them was a common revulsion against the regime. They surrounded the leadership compound by the tens of thousands.
The Party leadership, fearing for their lives, made the decision to crush the demonstrators. They had just enough force to do so. The uprising took a week to quell and more than 125,000 people died. The Beijing revolt gave the provinces in the south the time they needed to organize and cast off the Communist Party machinery. More than 100,000 Party members were executed and twice that number were jailed pending trial.
* * *
The end came as it often did in China over the millennia, and as it last did at the end of the Manchu dynasty in 1911 when it was every Manchu general for himself—the regime simply collapsed upon itself in chaotic, disorganized rebellion. Without armed force to maintain power, the Communist Party ceased to exist—often in a pool of blood.
