The major was down to five men. They had exhausted their supply of hand grenades and most of their ammunition to get this far and now only had the explosives needed to penetrate the President’s bunker and a few CS grenades. He heard the sound of automatic weapons fire from the stairwell leading to the bunker. Curious.
The lieutenant smelled the steps of the advancing enemy. He filled his serpent with more venom and turned to face his new tormentors. A small package hit the ground in front of him and began hissing smoke. The smoke billowed and spoke to him, although he divined no meaning. Through the smoke came a gargoyle. The serpent reached out and killed it. Another slowly advanced. It was killed. The junior officer smelled perfume through the mask. Or was it the smell of tea? A three-headed monster edged through the mists and his deadly serpent struck them all down. His shoulder was vibrating warmth. He looked at it. A large red spider sat there, feeding off him, growing stronger off his blood. The spider began singing the Taiwanese national anthem.
The lieutenant tore his mask off and charged up the stairs, blindly firing the last of his 15 rounds. The lieutenant’s last round caught the PLA major in the leg as the commando shot his ROC counterpart in the head.
The major’s wound was too serious for him to continue his mission. To fail at the very doorstep of success! In the uniform of the ROC Army, the commando knew his fate if captured. He quickly turned his weapon on himself and ended it.
At 35,000 feet, 15 miles to the west of Taiwan’s northern shore, the ROC fighter pilot was elated. He had engaged the PLA fighters at maximum range and destroyed four of them just as they passed over Taiwan’s shores. His colleagues were similarly blessed with success. Together, their flight of four Mirage 2000-5s destroyed an entire squadron of 11 enemy aircraft and had downed another three aircraft in a second squadron.
His flight commander ordered them to go to afterburner and descend, closing the distance between them and the still advancing aircraft below. With their long-range radar guided missiles gone, they’d have to get within at least seven nautical miles to launch their infrared missiles. After that, they’d assess their odds and consider fighting the enemy tooth and tong with the two 30mm cannons their French jets mounted.
The captain began to throttle up to afterburner when he caught a flash in the sky. The headset in his helmet cracked painfully loud. His HUD (heads up display) went blank. Every digital instrument in his cockpit went dead. And, his fly-by-wire control stick was completely unresponsive.
Ten miles to the east, the seven remaining J-6 fighters of PLA 1st lieutenant’s squadron also felt the effects of the E-bomb. The radio receivers burned out and the newly acquired commercial GPS devices were also destroyed. The missile-warning indicator also failed. Fortunately, the advanced radar guided missile that had locked onto his jet was now an unguided missile. It simply went ballistic and flared by his canopy window, disappearing into the distance.
The pilot did not understand what happened. All he knew was that he was alive and that his aircraft had somehow sustained damage, but was still flying. An indicator light told him his air-to-air missiles were not functioning. Well, he still had his three 30mm cannon and, if he ever got behind the enemy, he certainly knew how to use those.
The squadron commander began a long banking turn to the right. He followed. They were now heading west, back to China! About 20 seconds later, he could see specks in the sky. These had to be their tormentors. The fact that he hadn’t been shot down yet must mean that the enemy ran out of missiles. He would now have his chance to even the score.
The ROC pilot was madly trying to reset his electrical circuit breakers. His engine had flamed out. His controls were completely unresponsive. His Mirage was nosing down and about to go into an uncontrollable spin. It pained him greatly to bail out of his beautiful aircraft, but he saw no choice.
The PLA pilot could hardly believe his eyes: three Mirage 2000s were spinning out of the sky. Above the fighter jets, ejection seats were visible, stabilized by small drogue chutes.
The ROC captain bailed out cleanly. The freezing air bit at his exposed skin. In less than two minutes he’d fall from 30,000 feet to 10,000 feet where his ejection seat would automatically deploy his parachute. If he could deploy his survival raft and get in, he’d live. Then he saw unwelcome visitors.
The 1st lieutenant’s commander saw the ejecting pilots and began a slow descent circling after them. The pilot understood his commander did not have a humanitarian interest in seeing these enemy pilots to safety. Once the first pilot’s parachute opened, his squadron commander swooped in, 30mm cannons blazing. The colonel missed. The 1st lieutenant’s flight leader followed his commander’s example and missed as well. Next came the lieutenant’s turn. He squeezed the firing trigger for his 30mm cannons.
The ROC captain couldn’t believe they were shooting at him. It wasn’t simply the blatant violation of the Geneva Convention that surprised him — it was that death was so personal and close. He had always assumed that if he died in aerial combat it would be by an unseen enemy using a long-range missile. The cannon rounds ripped the air around him. He closed his eyes. He never felt the round that killed him.
The commander of the PLA’s 37th Infantry Division, 12th Group Army knew about his mission for the last month. He told his staff about the mission 12 days ago, sequestering them to cut off all contact with their friends and family. Security to maintain surprise was paramount. Seven days ago he told his regimental commanders about the mission and confined them to base. Five days ago he canceled all leaves and imposed total isolation on his troops. Three days ago, they all boarded the cruise ship bound for Keelung.
It ranked as one of the biggest military gambles in history — sailing an unarmed cruise ship right into the enemy’s second busiest harbor. No, the general had to correct himself, not a gamble, rather, a calculated risk. An avid student of military history, the general was well versed in everything from Sun Tzu to Erwin Rommel. And, wasn’t it Field Marshal Rommel who said that he never gambled but took calculated risks? On the face of it, the cost to benefit calculation was very favorable. The cruise ship itself only cost COSCO some $25 million to purchase. Of the embarked soldiers of the 37th Infantry Division, about 1,000 were professionals, the rest were conscripts. Further, without their vehicles and little artillery, the force committed was fairly cheap. If we achieved success it would rank as almost equaling the Trojan Horse gambit. (For security reasons, the general had no knowledge of the freighters being drafted into troopship service in Tainan, Kaohsiung and Taichung, nor of the commando raids at CKS Airport or in Taipei itself.) If we failed, less PLA troops would die than in 1949 when we tried to take Quemoy.
The general knew Keelung as an important city that had an interesting and violent past featuring both Asian and European conquerors. An excellent natural port, Keelung was ringed by historical fortifications that dotted the steep hills that tightly penned the city against the sea.