The Trust Of The People

by Christopher Read

  Chapter 10 – Sunday, October 30th

  Woody Island – 00:40 Local Time; Saturday 16:40 UTC

  The scattering of lights from the airport buildings guided them forward, four of them paddling with a well-practiced rhythm towards their landing point on the eastern edge. Despite the name, it was barely an island and its resource of wood – palm and coconut – was decreasing rapidly. The name came from the Vietnamese, the Chinese picking an even more optimistic title – Island of Eternal Prosperity.

  The largest of the Paracel group, Woody Island was barely bigger than two square kilometres, the landscape ravaged to make way for an ever expanding list of man-made structures, the most obvious a three kilometre long runway reaching out to the north-east. In sixty-five years the population had gone from zero to two thousand, almost all of them military personnel, the island a lonely outpost some 300 kilometres from the Chinese mainland.

  A naval victory over South Vietnam in ’74 had allowed China to gobble up the remaining Paracel Islands, the dispute moving inexorably south to the Spratly group. As frustrations grew, countries had slowly started to take sides, Malaysia and China forming a working relationship, the Philippines and Vietnam recently agreeing a joint strategy. Other nations were now ready to interfere, seeking to gain some advantage – Cambodia, India, Japan… A dozen countries, each vying to outfox the other, their naval patrols driving away the unwanted, with even small fishing boats regarded as a threat – it was an unstable mix of suspicion and desire, everyone awaiting China’s next move.

  Valdez wasn’t prepared to wait. China had the power to bully its way into controlling everything it desired, and its insidious advance from one half-submerged rock to another could not go unchallenged. Attacking the Chinese where they felt secure was risky, but the message would also be far more dramatic. Marcelo had bravely shifted people’s attention back to the South China Sea; now it was up to Valdez to ensure they were rewarded with a suitable spectacle, even if it was via a fifteen-minute video on the internet.

  Of the other five men seated in the Zodiac inflatable, three – like Valdez – were from the Philippines; the other two were Vietnamese, all of them equally committed to the difficulties ahead. Six months of training and they finally had a chance to prove their worth, Valdez determined not to back down or fail.

  The captain of the Anaconda had taken them as close as he had dared, the main shipping lane from Hong Kong to Malaysia passing some 60 kilometres to the north-west of the island. Then it was two mind-numbing hours in the Zodiac, its twin engines driving them forward at a steady twenty knots, before muscle power took over for the final stretch, Valdez trusting in the darkness to protect them from prying eyes, if not land-based radar. Naval patrols should have been a concern, except both boats were reportedly laid up with minor mechanical problems – quite how McDowell knew that, he hadn’t said.

  An eight-hundred metre concrete causeway linked Woody Island to its even smaller neighbour, the latter saddled with the equally uninspiring title of Rocky Island. Here lay Valdez’s biggest threat, specifically a long-range surface-search radar and signals intelligence system. The Rocky Island complex was linked via satellite to the main communications network on the Chinese mainland, a fact which – according to McDowell – was also its main weakness.

  Blind faith was not something Valdez approved of but on this one occasion he had little choice, and McDowell had assured him that the Zodiac would remain hidden from Chinese radar – not undetected, merely ‘hidden’. The timing and direction of the Zodiac’s approach just needed to be within certain limits, and McDowell had confirmed everything prior to them leaving the Anaconda. Valdez had long since given up trying to find out how McDowell could achieve the impossible, assuming it was due to a healthy combination of money and influence. McDowell certainly appeared to have plenty of both, Valdez and his men never wanting for anything.

  There was barely any moon, the sea state relatively smooth – ideal conditions for this first phase. The group had timed their landing to be just after midnight, with their departure planned for 04:00 at the latest, well before dawn. A tropical storm was predicted to arrive at about the same time, making their escape more difficult and significantly restricting the Zodiac’s top speed of well over forty knots.

  The nearest friendly base was in Vietnam, 440 kilometres due west. With the extra fuel the Zodiac carried, the Vietnamese coastline was theoretically in range, although re-joining the Anaconda was their first option. The cargo ship would have already turned west, cruising sedately towards the Vietnamese port of Da Nang. If all went to plan, they should arrive back on board sometime around midday.

  So far, it was going as well as anyone could have hoped. The eastern coastline of Woody Island was mostly clear of buildings, with the airstrip the first artificial structure past the outer fringe of palm trees. Their most distant target was no more than a flat 700 metres away, the four hour window offering a relatively relaxed schedule.

  The Zodiac grounded on soft sand and the six men stumbled out into the surf, dragging the inflatable onto the shore. Valdez spoke quickly, confident that their well-practiced drill would overcome the obvious nerves. It took just a few minutes to unload the equipment, several more to check that all was well. Whilst two men remained with the Zodiac, the other four moved towards the treeline, splitting into two separate groups, one Vietnamese one Filipino.

  Dressed all in black, each with heavy back-pack and assault rifle, they could have been from any country’s Special Forces. The two Vietnamese had served in their military as conscripts, and Valdez was the only full-time professional soldier, having spent ten of his eighteen years in the Philippine Army as an officer in the elite First Scout Ranger Regiment. He was more used to fighting guerrillas and terrorists than being one, but for once maybe that gave him something of an advantage.

  The young man beside him was in fact a relative, some third or fourth cousin, neither of them could work out which. Joseph he liked to be called, not Joe, at twenty-one a young man full of ideals and prepared to play his part. He might not have the experience of Valdez but he had worked hard to make his cousin feel proud, putting in the extra hours without complaint or obvious resentment.

  Valdez’s main target was the helicopter hanger, while the Vietnamese pairing had been entrusted with the desalination plant – an essential resource for an island with no supply of fresh water. Army patrols were part of Woody Island’s normal routine, a state of permanent alert felt appropriate so far from home. Yet the island had never been attacked, its guns and missile batteries never used in anger. The Chinese had recognised that it was important to combat complacency and the army units based on the island were rotated regularly, but after a few weeks it became a boring and pointless drill. McDowell had even provided Valdez with satellite images showing where the army patrols lingered for a smoke and a piss.

  Valdez’s tactics were hardly complex: there was plenty of cover; night-vision goggles gave an early warning on any potential problems, the explosives primed by simply tapping in a code. The airport site was protected by a security fence to the west together with regular armed patrols, typically a four-man team. The only building showing any light was the control tower at the south-western corner; further north stood the three aircraft hangers, dark and imposing.

  Valdez needed to wait less than ten minutes before he located a patrol, watching the soldiers closely as they strolled past some seventy metres distant. He left it another minute, before moving quickly to the rear of the helicopter hanger. No security lights, no cameras – after all, the whole island was essentially one big military base.

  The padlock on the double door was snapped with ease, Valdez slipping inside while Joseph kept watch.

  The building’s interior was eerily silent, no sign of human activity. Five minutes later, Valdez was back with Joseph, the pair moving warily towards the next target. Joseph’s secondary role was that of cameraman, every event recorded to be later uploaded onto the int
ernet. A team of six couldn’t really hope to put much of Woody Island out of commission; this was far more about proving that China wasn’t the invulnerable superpower its neighbours feared, unable even to defend a major outpost from six amateurs.

  If just one neighbouring government took note and acted appropriately, others would surely follow. China would doubtless respond with unsophisticated aggression, perhaps picking on some innocent target to vent its anger; any over-reaction by the Chinese could only help push allies closer together and possibly even force President’s Cavanagh’s hand.

  Valdez paused beside the security fence, beckoning Joseph down beside him. A hundred metres ahead was a second four-man patrol, the soldiers talking loudly together while walking along the narrow road. Apart from their assault rifles, Valdez and Joseph also carried silenced Heckler & Koch pistols; four targets were two more than Valdez was comfortable with, and he squeezed himself down into the dirt, unwilling to risk the mission by some rash and unnecessary act.

  It was a tense ten minutes before they could relax, the soldiers passing by just twenty metres away without even a glance in their direction. Valdez gave Joseph a congratulatory pat on the back, then cautiously led the way south-west towards the control tower. 01:46 – well on schedule, and no sign that the second team had met with any problems. Valdez’s sole concern was that the weather was starting to deteriorate, far earlier than predicted, rain lashing down, the wind strengthening.

  The control tower had two guards, neither man aware of Valdez as he shot them both. They had now stepped over an invisible line of conduct – no longer merely a protest, now a brutal act of terrorism. Even though night flights were rare, there was still three staff on duty in the control tower itself. Again Valdez killed them all, Joseph waiting at the bottom of the stairs for his return.

  Valdez moved more quickly now, unsure as to how long it would take before the lack of response from the Control Tower was noticed. The explosives were standard C-4, the triple-function detonator a more subtle addition. Ideally, Valdez would set the charges off in a planned sequence via a single phone-message; however, anyone approaching closer than two metres to a charge would instantly set them all off. And if no phone signal arrived, the explosives would automatically detonate at 05:10.

  Job done, they crossed the runway further north, keeping well clear of any patrols and moving rapidly back towards the Zodiac. They were the first to arrive, the Zodiac’s two guardians managing to look relaxed and unconcerned. 03:16 – no reason to worry just yet.

  The minutes ticked by, Valdez resisting to urge to break radio silence. The wind was now ripping through the trees, the rain battering away at their bodies and pooling in the sand around their feet. The storm was likely to blow itself out in another hour, but it was a double-edged sword, hiding them from the Chinese but making their escape more precarious.

  Eventually, two familiar rain-soaked figures appeared through the darkness. 03:38 – Valdez gave a relieved smile of welcome, strangely concerned that everything was going far too smoothly.

  They pushed and paddled the bucking Zodiac out into the surf, the twin outboards starting first time and thrusting them forward. The Zodiac was less than a year old, well able to cope with a range of sea conditions, the 753 model the military standard for the world’s Special Forces. Only the best was McDowell’s motto, and so far he had always delivered.

  After fifteen minutes, they turned west, increasing speed. Valdez peered through the darkness towards the island, still able to pick out the glimmer of lights. He turned on his satellite phone, checked the signal, before selecting the first number from the contact list. An eight digit code, then he pressed ‘Send’.

  The first explosion was barely a glow in the night sky, the second far more spectacular, a golden cascade that was joined soon after by two more. In total there were eight separate explosions, a satisfying one-hundred percent success rate.

  The Chinese long-range radar should remain ineffective for another hour, Woody Island’s small helicopter fleet hopefully for far longer. Helicopters, Control Tower, Desalination Plant, Radio Mast – it was a start. Now it was Marcelo’s turn once more.

  Marshwick, England – 09:28 Local Time; 09:28 UTC

  News of the attack on Woody Island was slow to permeate through to the Western media, the large time difference probably not helping, but that all changed once the terrorists’ video had gone viral. Despite the extra hour in bed thanks to the end of British Summer Time, Anderson was still late up, and he ate breakfast while trawling through the news channels, keen to keep up-to-date, sensing that the terrorist attack was another integral part of McDowell’s strategy.

  The identities of those involved were kept secret, the video showing selected exerts from the night-time trek and a grainy long-distance view of the resultant explosions. China had at first denied any such attack but within an hour, reality finally prevailed, a senior official revealing that six Chinese civilians had been murdered, the island’s desalination plant and two helicopters suffering minor damage. The number of terrorists was said to be between ten and twelve, not six as the video claimed. Although not given as a fact or even an accusation, the official hinted that the assailants were most likely Vietnamese or Philippine Special Forces.

  In turn, Manila had denied all knowledge of the attack, blaming the Chinese for their illegal occupation of Woody Island and so provoking a response. Whist they sympathised for any loss of life, they argued that all those on the island were military and not non-combatants. There was no attempt to speculate where the attackers might be from.

  Vietnam followed the Philippine line, Anderson mentally reducing the long-winded statement from Hanoi down to a single sentence: ‘the Chinese were lying and it was all their fault anyway’. Russia too was unexpectedly critical of China, perversely then offering to mediate.

  Ecstatic crowds in Hanoi and Manila were already voicing their approval of the attack, whilst in Taiwan’s capital Taipei a group several hundred strong stood in silent support outside the Manila Economic and Cultural Office.

  Despite several more of China’s neighbours verbally allying themselves against their larger adversary, others such as Malaysia waited to see how the spat would play out. The United States persevered with its more balanced stance, condemning the attack while trusting that China wouldn’t over-react.

  To Anderson, it seemed a forlorn hope. Even without McDowell’s continued interference, the momentum was firmly with the hawks, the United States needing to show some leadership – only time would tell whether President Cavanagh really was the man to deal with the crisis.