“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.
Brother Wang only snatched two hours of sleep; Chao didn’t sleep at all. Assembling at an open-air market only three blocks from Party headquarters, about 500 Falun Gong believers and 50 Christians (Catholics and various Protestant denominations) listened intently to “Master” Chao’s instructions. One scared looking young security officer saw the group, then scuttled off towards the Party building. Just before they were to march, Brother Wang offered a prayer for their safety and asked for God’s blessing. All 550 people bowed their heads in respect to the elder Christian leader.
By 7:05 AM, the mass of protesters gathered in front of the Party offices. A squad of grim-faced guards stood on the imposing flight of steps leading into the building. They held their assault rifles waist high, pointing them warily in the direction of the protesters.
The protesters locked arms and sat down. A few trucks, whose expected morning route was now blocked, stopped, adding to the confusion. Another squad of soldiers showed up on the stairs.
About ten minutes passed. The protesters began to sing. Curious onlookers ringed the fringe of the sitting crowd, leaving a healthy distance between themselves and the protesters.
Just as a group of 20 soldiers moved into position on the street to the left of the Party’s main entrance, a slowly snaking column of hymn-singing Christians emerged from behind a produce truck to the front of the building. The column seemed to have no end — every two seconds another person appeared from behind the truck, winding around the sitting, signing mass until a bare patch of pavement was found upon which to sit.
A platoon of 40 soldiers marched in on the street to the right. There were now almost 100 armed representatives of the Party facing off against about 1,000 unarmed believers. “Master” Chao sat cross-legged, deep in meditation. Brother Wang, sitting nearby, looked about. He had seen a face-off like this before years ago. He knew he was about to become a martyr. He sighed and began praying for the souls of the soldiers and his fellow protesters.
Wang was deep in prayer. He was at peace, ready to die, if that was God’s will. He heard shouts down the street behind him, then a shot. Before the protesters could react, Wang heard the familiar clatter of AKs on full automatic. The time had come. Maybe others will draw inspiration from our example, Wang thought as he felt, then heard, a bullet tear through the air above his head.
General Mao had shaken off the effects of the sea and was now surging forward with his men, running on pure adrenaline. He couldn’t believe he was in the middle of Amoy.
Mao was at the head of two companies totaling 220 men. Two blocks to his right and left were another company each, providing flank security for his main column. Their objective: Amoy Party headquarters.
Mao had assigned specific tasks to handpicked company commanders as well. One was to seize the radio station, another, the main telephone exchange, two more were to block the north and south roads into town—16 companies in all. Mao expected another brigade of 16 companies was about half an hour behind him from the larger Quemoy Island. The remaining force of about 1,000 men was conducting a diversionary landing on the coast to the northeast of Amoy in an attempt to seize the small fishing villages of Aotou, Lianhe and Shijing.
So far, Mao’s force had only encountered eight shocked police officers, four of them simply stood in place, hands raised, and allowed themselves to be disarmed. Of the other four, three ran from the advancing Taiwanese, the last one, surprisingly, volunteered to lead Mao’s battalion through the city to the Party complex.
The local police officer crouched down behind an idling truck. He pointed down the street, “The Party building is less than 100 meters away. A PAP company is assigned to guard it. They only have rifles and tear gas.”
Mao acknowledged this bit of data and broke squelch on the small tactical radio his radioman carried, ordering his two flanking companies to move into position before they began the assault. Mao waited patiently, constantly sweeping his gaze back and forth and up and down, looking from street level to roof-top, some ten stories up. Civilians were curiously absent.
Just above the throaty idle of the diesel truck he by which he was kneeling, Mao thought he heard the sound of singing from the direction of the Party headquarters. He frowned and ordered a soldier to switch off the ignition of the recently abandoned truck. The singing could now be clearly heard. Could this be a sign of the rebellion we heard of? A gunshot cut short Mao’s thoughts on the matter. Instinctively, he waved his men into action.