“It wasn’t.” Rez replied.
“What do you supposed is going on down there?” Flint asked.
“Well, I’d say someone’s trying to signal someone else. Of course, there is a war going on down there. Maybe the flare was popped from somewhere nearby the target.”
The copilot’s voice came on the intercom, “I see a number of faint heat signatures above the target.”
“Looks like we have company, Rez.” Flint said.
Rez shook his head in admiration, “Hard to believe they’d use those things on a night like this.”
The pilot, not privy to all the details of the previous 11 days’ fighting said, “What? What? What things? What are you talking about?”
“Ultralights,” Rez said.
“Come again?”
“Motorized hang gliders.”
“Well, let’s splash them!”
Flint broke in, “We don’t have the time — they’re a bitch to shoot down. I say we go in now and hope they’re after some other target.”
“And if they’re not?” the pilot demanded.
“Then we’ll hose them down,” Flint said grimly.
Lieutenant Colonel Dan Alexander heard the commotion on the roof. He and his men were preparing for extraction out of Taipei. Everyone was in their place, had memorized their role, and knew exactly what order they would board what helicopter as they landed, one at a time, on the northern-most corner of the residence (away from the antenna).
Pistol in hand, Alexander ran up the stairwell leading to the roof of the large official manor. He burst out on the roof. A burning house up the hill behind the ambassador’s residence lent a ruddy hue to the rooftop scene. Alexander saw the tangled wreckage of the ultralight and a Marine yelling at a woman in civilian clothes—very strange, even for war.
“Marine! You need some help?” Alexander called.
The young lance corporal replied, “Yes sir. This woman just crashed on the roof with a Chinese soldier. I think she’s the CIA operative who was here a few days ago. She just popped a star cluster. We need to get her off the roof now!”
Walking up to the wreck, pistol still drawn, Alexander recognized Donna, “It’s okay Marine. I know this woman. You’re right, she’s with the CIA.”
“Colonel Alexander! I need your help,” the CIA analyst looked as if she was ready to collapse.
“What can I do?”
“The officer in the plane is Colonel Chu. He’s a PLA commando. He and his commando battalion are defecting. They have the chief Chinese political officer for the invasion with them. We have to get them safely down!”
“What do we have to do?”
“Colonel Chu has a flare in his cargo pocket. That flare was to be the signal for the commandos to land.”
Colonel Chu groaned.
“I don’t like it sir! It could be a trick!” the Marine protested, voice cracking.
“Can you trust this man?” Alexander asked.
“Colonel, I saw him kill someone who tried to stop us. I saw him order his chief political officer tied up and strapped to a hang glider. This is not a trick! This is the beginning of the end of the Chinese invasion force on Taiwan! You have to believe me!”
Alexander looked from Donna to the Marine, “Cover me while I retrieve the flare.”
“Sir, you’re not going to let them land are you?”
“Not on the roof anyway, there’d be too much traffic with the choppers due in in a couple of minutes.” Alexander was already searching for the flare. He found it, ignited it, and tossed it off the roof and onto the street below. “I’m going to cut this man out of here and get him off the roof. I want you to take Ms. Klein here down below, ASAP!”
“Aye aye, sir.” The Marine, reluctant to leave his post, nevertheless moved swiftly to carry out the order.
“Tell my men to cover the street and watch for commandos landing in gliders. Tell them to shoot if the soldiers show hostile intent. Klein, make sure the Marine gets the story right with my men. If what you say is true we don’t want to kill our guests, now do we? Also, tell Sergeant Heinzleman to call the inbound extraction force. I want you to tell them what you told me.” Alexander returned to cutting Chu loose. The first helicopter’s rotor wash was already tugging against Alexander’s torn and dirty cammies.
“Sir! Someone just threw a flare off the roof of the roof!” Rez was bolt erect on his seat, looking out the left side of the helicopter. The door gunner held his machine gun at the ready next to Rez.
“I see inbounds. They’re ultralights!” the copilot warned.
“How many?” Flint asked coolly.
“Five, ten. At least 20 that I can see.”
Rez had heard and seen enough, “Sir, they’re after the American Ambassador, or maybe the troops there. Remember how badly the Chinese wanted us to surrender? This is a snatch mission and we’re rolling right into the middle of it!”
Flint responded immediately, “Put out a net call. Form an airborne fire line, one bird every 100 meters. Tell the door gunners to aim center mass at the pilots. Wing and engine shots won’t do the trick. Then call the extractees and tell them they have company!”
Fu Zemin was beyond terror. He never knew how much he really hated heights. The sensation of flying in the little motorized glider as it tossed about in the air currents caused him to throw up so many times that he now had the dry heaves. His thoughts alternated between falling to his death and his probable future at the hands of the Taiwanese. He preferred the former: it was less painful and humiliating.
The commando-pilot of the little airplane suddenly nosed down. Fu’s stomach stayed in the clouds for a brief moment, then struggled to catch up with Fu’s writhing body. So this was death’s final act. Fu shut his eyes and tried to think of his wife and only son.
The sound of machine gun fire rattled his eyes open. Fu wildly looked around. Flashes lit up the night sky to the left. A dragon’s belly, glowing softly red, hung in the air beneath the biting sparks. Beautiful neon arcs extended in front of his eyes and flashed on by to the right. They came closer. Crack-thud! The pilot jerked sharply, then slumped over to the right. Fu’s universe began to spin madly around. Fu squeezed his eyes shut again. The picture of his wife and son in his mind’s eye was pushed aside by the angry red dragon. Fu briefly heard the sound of screeching metal before he lost consciousness.
“Cease fire, cease fire, ceasefire!” Colonel Flint had just received word of the defecting commandos from a female civilian attached to the embassy staff. He shook his head—why can war never be clean and simple? “How much loiter time do we have?”
“30 minutes,” the copilot responded.
“I’m going down there. Tell the other birds to head north out over the ocean until I give them the all clear to come in. If you don’t hear from me, scrub the mission.”
Rez rolled his eyes—Here we go again.
The medic immobilized Donna’s arm and administered a local painkiller. She could think clearly now, but the sound of grinding glass in her collarbone was disconcerting. Alexander was talking to one of his NCOs near the stairwell when an imposing presence of a Marine stomped by the NCO and planted his feet firmly in the middle of the dimly-lit hallway.
“Where’s the commanding officer?” Flint said loudly.
Alexander straightened and barked, “Here sir! I’m Lieutenant Colonel Alexander, Task Force Grizzly!”
“I’m Colonel Flint. Damn glad to meet you!” Flint shook the hand of the citizen-warrior he heard so much about, “I have 25 minutes to pull you out of here or we have to try again some other night. Tell me what’s going on outside.”