The Chinese captain had radioed a distress call. His engine room was on fire and his internal firefighting equipment was malfunctioning. He had 2,300 passengers on board, three days out of Shanghai and was requesting immediate permission to enter Taiwan’s Keelung Harbor to receive fire fighting and humanitarian assistance.
Seeing an opportunity to score some propaganda points, the Maritime Police immediately agreed, sending two tug boats, a fireboat and a 32-meter Vosper patrol boat out to render assistance.
The captain of the cruise ship had already increased his speed to the limit of his ability. His ship was now making 15 knots and would be in the harbor inside 40 minutes.
There were five large military smoke generators aft producing a thick white smoke. This was augmented by a mound of burning tires on the deck to produce black smoke. The tires were concealed by a false deck of sheet metal to prevent easy observation by aircraft of the true nature of the fire. To cap off the deception, on board, there weren’t 2,300 scared civilian passengers. Instead, 10,000 heavily armed troops of the PLA’s 37th Infantry Division assigned to the 12th Group Army from the Nanjing Military Region were crammed inside.
The exercise to take the port and airport of Kaohsiung was going so well that Colonel Flint realized he hadn’t thought about the fiasco on East Timor for at least a couple of hours. A new record, he thought sourly.
His Marines were just beginning their sixth L-Form in the last eight days. The helicopters were on the flight deck, engines warming up. The LCACs were roaring in the well decks of the Belleau Wood and the Dubuque. Ever since leaving Pattaya in Thailand he had run his men through L-Forms — intense training exercises for amphibious action. Because of the recent operations budget cutbacks they hadn’t been able to afford too many L-Forms in the past few years. Now, however, his operations were still technically under the aegis of the UN’s Timor peacekeeping funds. Any fuel and spare parts consumed now would come out of a separate pot of money and he decided to drain it dry if he could. With enough effort, he might recover half of the readiness and morale lost in Timor. L-forms were tough — doing them one day after another was a way to add the sharp steel edge back on his Marines as well as to exorcise the demons of Timor out of everyone’s mind.
The ACE commander came up to bridge to report. “The CH-46s and CH-53s are all on deck and fueled. The Cobras are armed, and the lead planes in the Harrier Squadron are in the catapults.”
He was followed by the Landing Craft-Air Cushion (LCAC), boats, and Assault Amphibian company commander, each of whom announced that his equipment was manned and ready. L-form was complete. His Marines were armed and ready to board their helos.
Colonel Flint had decided against a full-blown demonstration in favor of launching a few boats and a helo or Harrier or two. Best not to be too provocative this close to the Dragon. He was just about to give the order to launch when he noticed the Combat Information Officer running up to the ship’s XO. Running?
He slipped out of his swivel chair and went below to the Combat Information Center (CIC). He presented his ID at the door as required and entered the dimly lit room filled with computer screens, radios and plotting screens. A knot of officers stood silently clustered around one large screen he recognized as the air situation plot.
On the screen of the air situation plot were two almost undifferentiated masses of radar returns to the west of the Belleau Wood. For a second he wondered if the ship’s radar was malfunctioning, but as the masses shifted east in unison and resolved themselves into hundreds of separate blips he realized that he was witnessing a very unfriendly act. If each of those blips represent an aircraft, then close to a thousand planes were now flying towards Taiwan. The colonel whistled softly.
A junior naval officer heard the whistle and looked over his shoulder. “Oh, Colonel Flint, I didn’t know you were here.” The Lieutenant (junior grade) gestured at the screen. “The entire PLA air force seems to be headed our way.”
By now Colonel Flint was completely absorbed in watching the slow-moving blips. “What’s the situation?” he asked, his eyes never leaving the screen. He could now see several smaller masses of blips heading west from various points on Taiwan.
“Well, sir, I’m not the Combat Information Officer…” the lieutenant JG stammered.
“I asked you what the situation is, not whether or not you are qualified to give it to me.” Colonel Flint started out hard, but finished soft. “Besides, I’m just a dumb ol’ jarhead, not a fancy-pants naval officer like yourself. I’m sure that you’ll bring me up to speed better than I could on my own just squinting at your screen there.”
The young officer relaxed. “We estimate that there are at least 900 PLA aircraft, six hundred in this mass here,” he pointed at the mass of blips in the north, “and three hundred in this mass here,” he pointed at the mass of blips in the south, which were rapidly approaching their own position off Kaohsiung. “The ROC air force is preparing a welcoming party,” pointing at the smaller masses of blips heading west.”
“And Sir, there’s more. Ten minutes ago, just before we made radar contact, we received a navigational warning from the PRC that the Taiwan Strait was closed to all north and southbound traffic south of the line 21 degrees north latitude and 25 degrees north latitude. We’re well north of 21 degrees right now, so we’re caught right in the middle of this, whatever this is.”
“What do you mean, son?”
“Well, you remember in 1996 during the Taiwanese presidential elections they fired short-range missiles into the ocean just north and south of Taiwan. This could be a similar effort to intimidate Taiwan or it could be…”
“…that we’re going to find ourselves in a real shooting war,” Colonel Flint completed his sentence for him. He picked up the nearest phone and punched in the numbers for the MEU command post. His XO answered the phone. “Hank, we’ve got about a thousand Red Chinese fighters heading our way. I want all our Marines on board their helos, engines running. And get Ramirez down here to CIC on the double. I need his brains.”
“Sir,” a third class petty officer warbled, “we’re getting a message on open channel.”
“Put it on the overhead speaker,” the lieutenant JG ordered.
After a crackle of static, a heavy Chinese accent intoned. “Warning to all international shipping. Warning to all international flights. You are hereby ordered to clear the Taiwan Straits at once. There is a military exercise underway. Repeat, there is a military exercise underway. The People’s Republic of China Air Force and Navy are engaged in military exercises around the province of Taiwan. Clear the Straits at once. Clear the air space over Taiwan at once. Those who disobey this order will bear full responsibility for their actions.” The message began repeating.
“Well, Colonel Flint, what do you think we ought to do?”
The Colonel turned and saw that the ARG captain had entered the CIC, closely followed by his CIC-OIC. “You Navy guys are the ones with the brains,” he responded. “We grunts just supply the brawn. What does Washington say about this?”
“They know that the Chinese have demanded that the Taiwan Straits be cleared, although they are mystified that the Chinese have given us so little notice this time around. This business with the aircraft we’re sending live via MILSTAR to CINCPAC in Hawaii. So far no comments, just ‘ohhs’ and ‘ahhs’ and ‘be careful, guys.’”
The hair on the back of Colonel Flint’s neck stood up, just like it had in ‘Nam 30 years before. He had been a 19-year-old Lance Corporal leading a squad of torn-up and scared Marines back to base after a brutal firefight. The trail had divided and he had taken the left fork — the more direct route — without thinking. That’s when his instincts began screaming danger at him. He had stopped inches in front of the tripwire that would have carved his name on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in the D.C. Mall for all time. He carefully backed up, took the right fork, and from that time forward vowed to trust his instincts whenever he got in a tight spot. And at this moment his instincts were on overload, screaming danger.
“Captain Bright, I’ve got a feeling that the Chinese aren’t bluffing this time around. We’re about to be in the middle of a war we weren’t invited to.”
“What do you suggest we do, Colonel?”
“Get me a little closer to land, captain,” Colonel Flint replied with a tight smile. “My Marines don’t swim too well.”
Captain Bright increased speed to flank and headed for the 12-mile limit — as close as they dared get to Taiwan in peacetime.