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.