Wong took out his Republic of China sunburst flag and waved it out of the sunroof of the Japanese import his men had requisitioned from a Party official in Amoy. The crowds now lining the street went wild. Wong smiled and waved at the people. Behind his smile he thought, It is good they are enthusiastic because Beijing will soon seek to reassert its control here, then they will have to fight a determined foe.
Colonel Chu knew the situation was serious — potentially without hope. Only two hours before he spoke with a junior staff officer replacement, fresh off the plane from Guangzhou, about the situation on the Mainland. The young officer was actually relieved to be in the war zone, “You wouldn’t believe it,” he said, “I was on the last transport out before a mob overran the airport — at least here we’re winning and we know who our enemy is!” Shortly after a senior staff officer collected his new charge, Chu noticed the older man strongly warning the lieutenant about “defeatist talk” and “rumormongering.”
Chu was once again seeing the raw side of Fu Zemin — the side that was on display shortly before the neutron bombs wiped out the Taiwanese counterattack a few days ago. Part of him felt pity for the Party man, another part, contempt.
Fu barked questions at General First Class Deng, “Why are we not taking the rest of Taipei? Why have we not yet pressed south of Taichung?”
The weary warrior could only stare glassy-eyed at the Party hack, wishing that he could somehow make the snake vanish.
Watching this exchange, Chu also wished things were not as they were. Unlike General Deng, however, Chu began to formulate a plan to change the situation.
Fu turned to Chu and said, “I want you to be prepared to arrest the Americans. They might come in useful in the near future if I have to get off this island.”
Fu’s statement solidified Chu’s nascent plans. “Sir, what about the American soldiers? What if we can force their surrender?”
“Eh? What do you mean Colonel? How could you possibly do what countless cycles of intimidation and negotiation failed to do?”
“Sir, I need to speak to you alone.” Colonel Chu and Comrade Fu retreated to Fu’s private office.
“Sir, Jia Battalion still has 120 effectees.”
“So? The last time you tried to get into Taipei you were cut to ribbons, what makes you think you can succeed now with less than one-third your numbers?” Fu breathed exasperation.
Chu soothingly said, “Sir, Jia Battalion is air mobile qualified. My battalion was the first battalion trained in the use of the motorized hang gliders. Once we showed the army how easy they were to operate, they decided to equip two full divisions.”
Fu’s eyes were burning with the possibilities, “Yes, yes. Continue with your proposal.”
“I propose we take 100 of Jia’s best men in 100 of the 201st Air Mobile Division’s aircraft and fly into Taipei at nightfall. Our target will be the American Ambassador’s residence. Using surprise and superior numbers we will overcome the few American soldiers there, take as many as possible prisoner, then fly back to headquarters. If your television equipment still works you can broadcast your victory to China and the world as proof of your success. Such a propaganda victory might turn the tide back in our favor!”
Fu pounced on the idea, “Chu, you are brave and brilliant and I am a genius for recognizing that fact. How soon can you be ready?”
“Thursday night. You need to request the 201st’s aircraft through General Deng as soon as possible. I also need you to request the return of Jia Battalion to my command. We need to rehearse the mission.”
“I will order General Deng to make ready the preparations!”
“And remember, sir, complete secrecy — even Deng must not know the reason for our plans. The slightest leak of information and Jia would be destroyed and all would truly be lost.”
34
A New China
Bob Lindley grilled General Taylor and Donna Klein for two hours on Wednesday afternoon, letting up only to drink water and take a painkiller for a “very bad headache.” Lindley pressed and prodded for information about the American soldiers at the Ambassador’s residence. “How many were there?” “What kind of shape were they in?” “How much equipment did they have?” “Had they improved their positions much?”
Taylor played dumb, “Gee, I’m just a fighter jock, what do I know about ground combat operations?”
Donna just shook her head and said she didn’t recall anything, saying she only saw about ten soldiers and Marines.
Finally, Lindley got up to leave.
“Where are you going Bob?” Taylor asked.
Lindley began to answer, then coughed and walked out the door obviously flustered. Two Chinese soldiers immediately followed him down the darkened hall. Another soldier slammed the door shut.
“If that isn’t proof that he’s working for the other side, I don’t know what is,” Taylor said in disgust.
Donna held her hand, palm down, just in front of her throat with her fingers pointing inward. She made a short cutting motion in front of her neck signaling Taylor to shut-up. The general fell silent and looked at the floor.
“Oh hell…” he muttered.
“Right,” Donna said, reaching out to grab Taylor’s hand. She squeezed it tight and pulled Taylor close. “Tim, I don’t like where this is leading. I think we’ve outlived our usefulness,” she said quietly into his ear, her voice slightly trembling.
Taylor withdrew far enough from Donna to grab her shoulders. He moved his hands to her face, one hand cupping each side of her jaw. They stared into each other’s eyes then embraced as if it was their last moment together.
Twenty minutes after Lindley left Taylor’s room three Chinese soldiers beat on the door. The lead soldier demanded Taylor’s pager in broken English. Taylor tried to act as if he didn’t understand. The soldier shouted and threatened to shoot Taylor on the spot. Taylor angrily handed over his last lifeline to the outside world, disabling the little device as he did so.
As the door slammed in his face it was Taylor’s turn to be comforted by Donna. She lightly put her hand on his back and said, “We’ll do all right. They still think of us as bargaining chips, otherwise they would have simply killed us.”
Taylor felt as helpless as he did the day his wife died of breast cancer. He drew strength from Donna’s touch and turned to face her, “Donna, I know this is an extreme situation, but if we get out of this alive I would like it if we could see each other.”
“I would like that too.”
Taylor heaved a sigh of relief and pulled Donna into his chest, wishing he could protect her but knowing life was too fragile to be assured by his power alone.
The remainder of Wednesday passed slowly. It was well into Thursday afternoon when two very hungry Americans, a CIA analyst and an Air Force general, quietly discussed their situation.
“I’d say we march right out of here and demand a bowl of rice,” Taylor grumbled.
Donna replied soothingly, “Tim, not being fed is a bad sign. Either things are going very badly for our hosts or they intend to kill us. In any event, I don’t think we should draw attention to ourselves just right now.”
“Damn it, I wish I knew what was happening.”
“I just wish I could take a bath.”
“So do I — wish you would take a bath, that is, you stink!” Taylor cracked a grin.
“You don’t exactly smell like roses yourself.” Donna said, tossing a wadded ball of paper at Taylor.
Taylor swatted it aside and said, “I can’t smell anything. You’re obviously not a very good analyst…”
Donna cut the banter off with a wave of her hand. “Do you hear that?”