“We have about 80 PLA commandos on the ground. My men are covering them. Some are hurt pretty badly. A few didn’t make it. None of them drew weapons on us. Sir, I don’t think we should pull out.”
“Why?”
“Well, there aren’t very many ROCs in this sector. They’re all at the front. There aren’t enough Marines on the staff here to guard them all either. I don’t see how we can pull out of here right now. Besides, if these troops are defecting, doesn’t that lessen the danger to us here?”
Lieutenant Colonel Ramirez walked up behind Flint, “He’s half-right sir. Conventionally, the PLA is less dangerous. From a nuclear standpoint, though, I think they’re more desperate than ever.”
Flint thought about this for a moment and said, “If that’s the case, they could just as easily nuke Okinawa as Taipei. Colonel Alexander, meet Colonel Ramirez — he’s a hothead like you.”
“Coming from a Marine, I’ll take that as a compliment, sir.”
Near Taiwan’s CKS International Airport, General Deng considered suicide. He was faced with dwindling supplies and rapidly eroding morale. He had nowhere to retreat; no room for maneuver. The situation was hopeless. No sense in prolonging the agony. Continued fighting would simply be a waste of brave men.
Given what he represented and the suffering he had inflicted, Deng expected to be treated as a common criminal and killed. Surrender to the Taiwanese would be almost impossible. He looked at the pistol he had placed on the large desk in front of him. His mind wandered through the events of the past two weeks. The images of his wounded soldiers stood out sharply from the chaos of war.
Deng picked up his pistol—suicide is for cowards, my men deserve better! He holstered his pistol and walked quickly out of his office to the field hospital. He wanted to see the men who tried so hard to reunify their ancient nation; he needed their strength to bolster him for what he knew must be done.
Deng slowly walked through the brightly lit ward (an appropriated civilian hospital). Everywhere soldiers lay groaning, dying, or dead. The doctors ran out of pain deadening drugs yesterday. Deng comforted some, encouraging a soldier with a word or patting a young conscript on the foot as he made his rounds. He was about to exit the intensive care section when he saw two orderlies removing the body of a dead man. It was one of the American negotiators! In the bed adjacent to the dead man’s lay a badly wounded man. He appeared unconscious, but was softly moaning. One of the other Americans!
Deng quickly called a doctor over. “Listen to me!” he lowered his voice, “If this man dies, we die with him. Understand?”
At midnight they heard it: a stillness blanketed the front. No explosions sounded, no pounding artillery, only barking dogs challenged the quiet air.
Colonel Flint and the Ambassador decided to send the wounded guardsmen back to Okinawa. Donna Klein joined them, her arm bound to her chest to immobilize her shoulder injury. Some of the wounded Chinese commandos were shipped out too.
Lieutenant Colonel Alexander remained with 25 of his men. A fresh contingent of 14 Marines from the rescue force stayed behind, bolstering morale significantly.
Alexander had collapsed on a couch in the ambassador’s darkened living room when Flint and Ramirez came looking for him with their flashlights. “Alexander, wake-up!” Flint said, trying not to disturb the other resting soldiers.
Dan pried his eyes open, hoping that his nightmare was finally ending. “What?” Seeing the Marine officers he swung his feet around and sat erect on the couch, “Sir, what is it?”
Flint’s smile was just visible in the dark, “The Chinese commander wants to surrender.”
“That’s great news sir! Thanks for telling me. Now maybe I can get some sleep.”
“I’m afraid not. He wants to surrender to us. He’s afraid of reprisals. Besides, he claims to have a wounded high-ranking member of the American negotiating team with him. He says the man will die soon if we don’t evacuate him. Two of my on-station Super Stallions have refueled and are coming in. They’ll be here in less than ten minutes. I want you to join us in accepting the general’s surrender — you earned the right as much as anyone around here.”
Dan struggled to his feet. “Thanks sir! Let’s go end this thing!”
Donna was walking off the effects of the ultralight crash, the helicopter ride and the restless night of sleep at Okinawa’s main military hospital. Her shoulder ached dully through the painkillers. At first she wanted to find the USMC intelligence center and check in, but she soon felt a more pressing need to comfort the wounded. The dozen Chinese commandos were especially thankful to her for her language skills. As she visited with the men, her index finger caressed Taylor’s two bloody rings on her left thumb. She thought about their brief time together—if they stayed in D.C. would they have ever gotten together? If Tim lived, would they have ever stayed together on their return?
A commotion at the end of the hall signaled an incoming batch of wounded. Concerned that the Chinese may have attacked the Ambassador’s residence or decided to escalate the conflict some other way, she rushed to the end of the hall to get a better look.
She saw him there, strapped to a gurney and asking for a phone: Tim Taylor! Their eyes met. To the brief intensity of their first meeting six months ago was added a depth of understanding and tenderness.
Choking back a cry, Donna brushed past the orderlies and cupped her left hand on Tim’s cheek. Tears streamed down her face. A few splashed on Taylor’s shoulder.
Tim saw the rings on Donna’s thumb. “I love you!”
Donna looked at Tim, holding his gaze deeply. Her brown eyes tried to see past their tense days together in Taiwan to gain insight into another part of his soul.
An orderly cleared his throat.
Taylor glanced briefly at the orderly, then refocused on Donna. His crisp blue pilot’s eyes suddenly seemed to relax. His lips turned upward, “I thought I’d be scared when I asked you this question, but I’m not; Donna Klein, will you marry me?”
Donna smiled back and carefully bent over Tim’s face. Curly strands of red hair brushed against his forehead. She kissed him gently on the lips then pulled away just far enough to say, “Yes.”
Beijing and every major coastal city from Shanghai to points south were gripped by massive demonstrations. The situation deteriorated faster than the Party could manage. With their ability to communicate degraded and the best PLA troops on Taiwan, the Party found itself unable to dampen the fires of revolt everywhere.
It seemed that every man, woman, and child had taken to the streets of Beijing in protest. Each had a grievance against the regime. There were parents still grieving over the loss of sons and daughters at Tiananmen. Others had suffered during the Cultural Revolution. Some were Christians. Still others were secret members of Falun Gong, seething under the continuing persecution of their sect. What united them was a common revulsion against the regime. They surrounded the leadership compound by the tens of thousands.
The Party leadership, fearing for their lives, made the decision to crush the demonstrators. They had just enough force to do so. The uprising took a week to quell and more than 125,000 people died. The Beijing revolt gave the provinces in the south the time they needed to organize and cast off the Communist Party machinery. More than 100,000 Party members were executed and twice that number were jailed pending trial.