The private’s brain was beginning to think of something other than water. We’re at war? We’re saving Taiwan from the Americans?
“One last thing, the Party has told the PLA that soldiers who distinguish themselves in this action will receive special dispensation from the government to have up to two children without penalty. In addition, all of us will receive a special 2,000 Yuan bonus (about $200) for having the honor of being here today!” There was a buzz of excitement in the hold. The men were coming to life and were looking forward to getting out of the inside of the ship — even if it meant fighting afterward.
The skipper of a ROC Navy Chien Lung-class submarine had seen this maneuver five times since last March: the PLAN amphibious assault ships would race up to the edge of Taiwan’s territorial limits near Quemoy, then retreat. Each time the forces of the PLAN would be better organized, larger, and come closer than they had before. This time promised to be no different.
He just wished they’d come across the line, just once. He knew he and his crew of the quiet Dutch-built diesel submarine could sink more than a few ships with its six torpedo tubes and the new, made-in-Taiwan, Hsiung Feng II surface-to-surface missiles.
Sinking surface shipping wasn’t his main concern — staying alive for more than ten minutes after firing his missiles and torpedoes was. In the last few years the PLAN had acquired some formidable anti-submarine warfare (ASW) systems; most worrisome were the three Russian-built Kilo class SSKs the PLAN were known to have operational with a fourth in trials. Those submarines, made with the benefit of ultra-quiet propeller blades built by computer-controlled nine-axis milling machines sold illegally by a Japanese company to the old Soviet Union some 15 years ago, were known by the nickname, “Pacific Black Hole.” Completely covered with rubber insulation material, the Kilos were capable of moving undetected into attack position. The skipper probably wouldn’t hear the enemy sub until it flooded its torpedo tubes in preparation to fire. Of course, then there were the ASW helicopters armed with sonobuoys and A-244S Whitehead torpedoes. In any event, he hoped his colleagues on the surface would manage to keep the enemy helicopters off his back. Working as a team with surface combatants, the ROCN’s Chien Lung-type sub was free to pursue enemy targets a bit more aggressively. He was absolutely confident that with the friendly naval task force overhead, his submarine could take a large toll of the enemy and live to fight again — assuming those Kilos weren’t around.
He looked at the tactical display: this time it looked as if at least 30 vessels were closing in on Hsiao Quemoy Island (one of the islands of Quemoy) from the southwest across Amoy Bay — hardly a huge invasion force. He wondered what the picture was from Weituo Bay sector to the north. He knew that his friendly rival and commander of the other Dutch boat would be steaming well out of the way, probably around the Penghu Islands. He smiled—poor bastard was missing out on all the action. If the PLAN decides to play today and I can sink a few of them, he mused, I’ll be an admiral and he’ll be serving me tea at naval headquarters.
He ordered the crew to head for deeper waters to the east and to send a coded communication of his intent to the task force above. A month ago, fleet intelligence had hinted the Communists might try soon to take Quemoy as they last did in 1958 during the Second Taiwan Straits crisis. If today was going to result in a fight, he wanted some room to maneuver.
The pilot of the Russian built Ilyushin-76 aircraft was frantic. He was screaming for clearance to land at Sungshan.
Another hijacking. The senior air traffic controller at Taipei Sungshan Airport at the northeastern edge of Taipei proper had been through this before when he worked as a junior controller at Chiang Kai-Shek (CKS) International Airport. He knew what to do, but what a rotten time for this to happen. Half of his crew was down with the flu. He was starting to feel under the weather today as well — a massive headache was coming on. And it was so early his tea hadn’t time to fully take effect.
He never understood why the Mainlanders hijacked aircraft. The Taiwan authorities always arrested the hijackers and returned them to the Mainland where they most assuredly would be executed.
The pilot pleaded with the controllers. Well, there were procedures to be followed. The senior controller called airport security and informed them of the unfortunate situation. Next, he placed all inbound aircraft on indefinite delay, ordering them to circle overhead in a holding pattern.
The aircraft would be landing in a few minutes. He saw a few security police take up their stations. Everything was in order. He gave the hijacked Il-76 from Ganzhou clearance to land.
Now, to find something for that headache.
The Chinese J-6 jet fighter belonged in a museum. Still, it was the mainstay of the People’s Liberation Army Air Force (PLAAF), accounting for over two-thirds of the more than 2,500 fighters in service. Highly maneuverable and fairly fast with a 1.45 Mach maximum speed, the J-6 boasted three 30mm cannons and two air-to-air missiles. Its wings began far forward and swept sharply back. The rudder and horizontal stabilizer were also swept back. The front of the aircraft featured a large air intake for its two Liming WP-6 afterburning turbojets. It looked almost exactly like the old Soviet-era MiG-19 from which it was a much-improved copy.
Unfortunately, the avionics were also antique; based on vacuum tubes and circuit breakers, they were slow to discover enemy aircraft and virtually blind when warning of hostile anti-air-missile launches. If flying against a primitive opponent, or with overwhelming numbers against a modern fleet, the J-6 might be able to inflict some losses; otherwise, it was a waste of pilot training and fuel on the cusp of the 21st Century.
Still, orders were orders and the pilot had a job to do. Normally assigned to the Mongolian border region at an air base on the edge of the Gobi Desert, the 1st Lieutenant was ordered to self-deploy with his squadron across thousands of kilometers of China to the southern coastal region. He hadn’t been able to enjoy the local food or women, but when they eventually let him off base, he fully intended to take advantage of his luck. Of course, he first had to survive his mission.
He climbed into his cockpit and began his preflight check. He thought of the squadron commander’s briefing 30 minutes before. The commander said this mission would be the most demanding, most exciting and most productive mission of their lives. He also said the PLA had some tricks up their sleeves and not to worry, everything was planned for. After all, if that wasn’t the case, why would the commander be flying with them this day?
So, today he might see combat. His engines sped up and began spinning on their own power. He inhaled deeply and wondered why his radio transmitter was disabled by the ground crews. He supposed the generals figured tactical surprise outweighed the advantage of being able to communicate with his wing-mates in combat. The flagman on the grass beside the taxiway motioned for him to proceed to the runway to await the signal for takeoff.
Soon he was airborne and cruising at 50,000 feet. He noted the time. It was 0745 hours. Within ten minutes they ought to be over the target and engaging the enemy. The sun in his eyes placed him at a tactical disadvantage, but the enemy’s advanced radar really made it irrelevant who saw whom first. The ROCAF pilots would be able to launch three or four waves of long-range missiles before he would able to see and engage them. The PLAAF would have to rely on superior numbers and attrition to destroy their foes.