“Sir, you are wanted on the secure line. Please take the call in my office.”
It happened all so fast. Fu’s knees were almost knocking together. Why had admiral Wong been arrested? Would he be next? What was wrong? In a daze, he walked into the office. The chief-of-staff shut the door behind him leaving him alone in the room. The phone was blinking. Line one was on hold. He picked up the receiver, “This is Fu.”
“You know who this is,” Fu immediately recognized the voice of the President’s Chief Military Council Advisor, Soo Wingji. “Open the pouch by the phone and read me the last line on the first page.”
Fu tore open the mail pouch, noted the document was labeled “TOP SECRET, EYES ONLY” and read the last line out loud, “…we are left with only one course of action.”
“You have five minutes to read this document. When you are finished, destroy it by pouring water on it. Follow its directions to the letter. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir, I understand.”
Fu’s head was still spinning when he sat down to read the document…
Lieutenant Colonel Chu Dugen was finally airborne. The Boeing 747–400 had left Hong Kong an hour ago for the early Saturday morning business flight (Taiwan works a five-and-a-half day week) and was cruising flawlessly to its destination with 428 heavily armed and highly trained PLA commandos. He thought of the rich irony of what they were doing: flying into a center of capitalism in the most recognizable symbols of capitalist arrogance.
The Cathay Pacific 747–400 normally carried 416 passengers in three classes. The planners of Chu’s mission entertained the notion of reconfiguring the seats to seat 460 commandos, but decided the additional manpower wasn’t worth the risk of adding another intelligence warning and indicator to the suspicious Taiwanese or the curious Americans. So, 416 commandos sat in the passenger seats while an additional 12 commandos were accommodated by the unused flight attendant seats.
Each commando sat with his personal weapon, several hundred rounds of ammunition, six grenades (fragmentation, smoke, and CS riot gas). Unlike regular PLA soldiers, most of the commandos had the benefit of Kevlar body armor with ceramic trauma plates — they could take a small caliber rifle round in the chest and live to tell about it.
In the overhead luggage containers there were rocket-propelled grenade launchers and reloads, additional supplies of plastic explosives, man-portable surface-to-air missiles, and communications gear packed in plasticized aluminum foil. In the food preparation galleys there were large tanks of pressurized incapacitating agent.
The cargo hold in the belly of the Boeing carried additional supplies of ammunition, communications gear, and anti-aircraft artillery. The commandos did not expect to use this equipment, but the planners were loath to waste any space and carrying capacity — any extra military supplies would be useful to the follow-on airlanding forces (they assumed that this 747 would never take-off again following its high-risk mission).
Mentally, Dugen was ready. Everything he had trained for was now in focus. But, one thought kept invading his mental shield. Dugen tried to push the thought away, but it crept up on him and seized him. His mother! How was she? He knew now that his father was most certainly dead. Killed as the murderous traitor he was according to the Party. But his mother — she was so gentle and passive, she could never plot to kill another. Certainly she did not deserve to die. Of course, the Party promised…
“Colonel Chu, Colonel Chu, look, there’s the coast. We are descending into CKS Airport. Soon we will reunite China!” It was his pimply-faced political officer. Does this man ever give up?
“Yes, Comrade Political Officer,” Dugen still used the formal address as a means to keep this pest distant and to show his men that he was more of an Army man than a Party creature. “Please be still, I am finding my center.” Dugen closed his right eye, the one on pimple-face’s side, and winked at his XO and 1st Company commander seated to his left. The political officer gazed in awe at Colonel Chu, then fell silent and looked out the window.
The commercial aircraft banked right into its final approach with destiny. It was 7:45 AM.
The PLA private was hot, tired, and sore. For three days he existed in the hold of this terrible dark ship with his comrades. He just wanted a drink of water. Then he wanted to defecate in something other than the now overflowing and reeking portable toilet across from where his platoon was sprawled across the rocks and dust of tin ore. Still, a hopeful sign, the ship’s engines had stopped two hours ago. With the stopping of the engines, however, what little circulation there was in the hold became even sparser. He thought he was going to pass out.
Some lights actually came on in the ship’s hold. A string of incandescent bulbs protected by little plastic cages rose and fell, up and down every three meters, off into the dusty distance. Overhead about three-and-a-half meters, the private was surprised to see a metal ceiling. The metal must have been thin for he saw it warp and snap as whatever or whoever was up above moved about.
“Third Platoon!” the sound of the platoon sergeant’s voice was actually welcome, “Gather round!” The sergeant had two large water containers at his side.
“Squad leaders, gather your men’s canteens and fill them, all men must drink their entire canteens dry, then pass the canteens back to the squad leaders to be refilled. Do this silently and listen up!” The private noticed platoon-sized knots of other men also being gathered together. He was glad to be tall, occasionally he learned more about his surroundings than he would be if all he could see was the back of head of the person in front of him.
The private passed his canteen over to his squad leader.
“We are very honored to be on a very important patriotic mission. The Americans are threatening to seize the renegade province of Taiwan and use China’s island as a launching pad of aggression against the Chinese people. We, of course, know their plans and are not helpless. We are going to frustrate the plans of America and reunite Taiwan under the rightful rule of China.” The sergeant’s voice easily carried above the sloshing water cans. The conscript thought of water, then realized that the sergeant was talking of war!
“Today we are in Taiwan in Tainan Harbor. Our mission is to secure the harbor from the American imperialists. Within 30 minutes we will leave this ship and occupy key harbor installations. We do not expect resistance from our Chinese brothers on Taiwan. Before we leave the ship we will put on our protective masks. To save the citizens of China from confusion and harm we will dispense incapacitating agent from this ship. This gas will render all who are not wearing protective masks incapable of resistance for about two hours. During this time we will be able to move about the harbor area freely and disarm and secure any police or military personnel we find.”
The private’s eyes shifted from the platoon sergeant to the clutch of canteens slowly being filled and passed out to the troops. A canteen reached him and he guzzled the water. He felt as if he would throw up, but he struggled to calm himself and settled his stomach. Ahh water. War?
“After putting on our masks and on my signal, our platoon will march down the ramp, turn left and proceed about 1,000 meters down the dockyard. There, we will occupy the Tainan Harbor Customs office building and await further instructions.”