Since China’s invasion of Taiwan, there had been no communications between the de facto U.S. Embassy in Taipei and Washington. This fact, coupled with the Chinese demands for surrender of all U.S. forces on the island, meant that it was imperative to establish reliable communications with the Ambassador — especially since the Ambassador’s residence was now home to 67 tired American citizen-soldiers, many of whom were wounded.
Staff Sergeant Michael Heinzleman began his military career as a member of the Army’s elite Golden Knights parachute team. Enjoying military life far more than he anticipated, and wanting an even bigger challenge, Heinzleman signed up for a special opportunity to train with the Navy’s SEALs. Within a year, Heinzleman was on the Army’s secretive Delta Force. He was at Ft. Bragg, North Carolina when he received orders to assemble a HALO (High Altitude, Low Opening — a technique used to clandestinely insert parachutists, usually at night) kit and meet an aircraft at Pope Air Force Base next door. That was 24 hours ago.
Heinzleman now found himself doing something so classified and unusual, that he himself had only heard rumors about it. He was strapped into a special pod inside the bomb bay of a Stealth Fighter.
Deep inside of China’s South Central Air Defense Region bunker a yellow blip began flashing on a monitor. Moments before, China’s Passive Coherent Location system detected minute variations in civilian radio and television signals caused by the passage of a solid object through the sky. This information was automatically compared with regular radar data from China’s fixed ground and airborne systems. Within seconds, the system flagged the location of a probable stealth aircraft. When the Passive Coherent Location system saw something that radar didn’t see, it was an indication that American Stealth aircraft were lurking about. Only two minutes later the South Central Air Defense Region radioed an air interceptor division covering north Taiwan and told them to vector fighters to intercept the probable inbound Stealth.
Heinzleman checked his watch, barely readable from behind the protective goggles he wore as part of his completely black, rubberized ensemble. According to the time he ought to be getting close to Taipei. As he looked away from his watch to adjust a strap, the pilot came over the intercom and announced, “Sergeant, I’ve got 20 seconds to the release point. Everything is nominal. We’re at 10,150 feet. Barometric pressure is at 29.95. Temperature is 49 degrees. Humidity is 100 %. Wind is at 110 degrees, speed is 15 knots.”
Ten thousand feet, won’t even need oxygen, the Sergeant thought. “Roger, all my systems check as nominal.”
“Opening bomb bay doors.”
A kilometer away and just above the cloud deck a pilot in a Russian-made Chinese Su-30 fighter intently scanned his instrument panel and heads up display. He grunted—Nothing, probably just a spirit in the machine.
He was about to call for instructions when a flight controller in the nearby ETA Phalcon AWACS broke squelch, “Sea Wind 42, we have a radar return!”
“Go ahead, over.”
“I have a return fixed at about a kilometer to your direct front. No altitude reading yet. Doctrinally, he’d fly in the clouds. You better slow-down, you’re going to pass him in a few seconds. I have his airspeed at 280 KPH.”
“Affirmative. I’m deploying flaps. I still don’t see him on radar.”
“You may be too close, widen your search beam. Maybe we’re getting a return from a different part of the aircraft than you can see.”
“Right…” the pilot thought about his situation. He could be the first pilot in history to shoot down an American Stealth aircraft in air-to-air combat. He might even be the first pilot to down an American aircraft since the Korean War. He took a cleansing breath and called the AWACS, “Am I clear to fire a missile? I have an idea.”
“We have no friendly traffic in the sky to your front.” There was hesitation in the controller’s voice, “What’s your plan?”
“No time to explain, the target’s almost over Taipei. I’ll call you after I succeed!”
The pilot was confident in his position as an elite fighter in China’s best air regiment — he knew he had some leeway for creativity in combat. He burned up his airspeed and dropped into the cloudbank.
Heinzleman looked down. He could see nothing. The wind tugged a bit at his clothing. He knew that within a few seconds he’d have to leap out into the abyss — every moment that the stealthy aircraft had its bomb doors open was a moment that its famed radar invisibility was virtually worthless.
“Jump on my mark,” the pilot warned, “Five, four, three…” A bright yellow glow lit up the clouds under Heinzleman. “What the… Shit!”
The glow was immediately followed by a series of orange flashes, ruining the night vision in the sergeant’s left eye (he kept the right eye closed) “We got a heat seeker launch! Decoy flares auto-deployed. Jump now, ride’s over soldier!”
Heinzleman decoupled the intercom then hit the quick release buckle. He was free. Within a few seconds he was falling at 110 mph. Using his right eye, he looked down at the softly illuminated face of the GPS receiver strapped to his left forearm. He was falling a little too far to the south. Using his arms and legs as wings, the champion parachutist corrected his path and wondered what was to become of his ride.
The Chinese pilot’s hunch paid off handsomely. The launch of his heat-seeking missile caused his prey’s decoy system to kick in, automatically dispensing flares to entice his missile off course. The flares backlit the target cruising in the thinning cloud layer, making it stand out as an inky black hole in a bank of orange fog. He pushed his nose down and lined up for the kill—cannon no less, how poetic. Tonight he would become a hero among heroes.
Above him, only seconds after he jumped, Heinzleman’s remaining night vision was sorely tested by flashes of tracer light followed by an explosion. A flaming arc of debris rained down a mile away. No one will ever know I made it out unless I land on target.
Heinzleman deployed his black parasail at 900 feet. He flipped down his thermal sight (already warmed up and on) and searched for the distinctive roof of the American Ambassador’s residence.
Less than ten seconds later he touched down, right on the money. Heinzleman released the parachute harness. The chute slowly began to drift off the roof before he could get control of it. He knew the Ambassador’s residence was still within Taiwanese-controlled territory but that it was very likely the residence was under continuous observation by PLA forces. His arrival was supposed to remain a secret.
Heinzleman almost finished gathering his chute together when he heard the crunch of roof gravel behind him. He wheeled about, meeting a rifle butt as it smashed into face, robbing him of consciousness.
The Republic of China’s army was crushed before the gates of Taipei, yet, the ROC commander on Quemoy had five divisions reinforced with some armor, artillery and air defense artillery. Other than a handful of minor injuries during the initial PLA bombardment, his garrison had suffered none of the horrific setbacks that had befallen Taiwan. Without Taiwan, however, his position was untenable. Within three months his soldiers would run out of food (the civilians on the two islands were already complaining of rationing).