In the White House Situation Room the President and several staffers listened transfixed to the Colonel’s briefing to General Keagan in Kosovo. They regarded the speakerphone on the table’s center with unwelcome frowns.
A familiar folksy southern accent came over the line, interrupting Flint. There was nothing friendly about the tone. “Colonel…uh…Flint, I believe it is. I understand that you and some of your Marines are ashore on Taiwan.”
The President himself, Flint thought. In different circumstances he would have been amused. Damn, it must be five or six in the morning in Washington.
“Yes, sir.” Flint was instantly on guard. Never trust someone in authority when they ask you a question to which they already know the answer.
As if to punctuate Flint’s reply, the crackling explosions of cluster munitions could clearly be heard in the distance. A moment later there was a large, reverberating explosion. A Marine at the door yelled, “There goes one of the airport’s fuel tanks!”
If the President heard the explosion, he was unmoved, “Who in the hell gave you permission to do that? You know the island is off limits to American troops. What is Beijing going to think?”
“Sir…?” Colonel Flint stopped himself and another explosion thankfully muffled his insubordinate response. He started again, “We didn’t really have any choice, Mr. President. The Chinese sunk our ships.”
There was a long pause at the other end of the line. A sonic boom shook a broken piece of glass loose from the window in the factory’s front office.
“This is not our fight, Colonel Flint,” the President’s voice came back on the line. “This is all a terrible misunderstanding. We will protest the sinking of the Belleau Wood, of course. But don’t engage in any hostilities.”
“It’s too late for that, Mr. President. We’ve already engaged elements of three different divisions of the enemy.”
“What can a few hundred Marines do against so many?” came the response, dripping with sympathy. Phony sympathy, Flint decided.
“I think you’d better try and end hostilities, Colonel,” the President continued, “After all, we don’t want to find ourselves in World War Three.”
“You mean surrender, sir?” Flint’s voice was icy.
“Now hold on, Colonel. That’s your word, not mine. But… yes, find some way to sit down with the local Chinese commander and work out your problems.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, sir.”
“Now listen here, Colonel!” the President shouted. “I am your commander-in-chief. I order you to surr… er. cease firing.”
“Sir, a cease fire would be difficult. We are being attacked by aircraft at the moment here at the airport. At two other locations my Marines have successfully broken contact with enemy air mobile troops. Surrender is not a viable option right now…”
“Why not?” A different voice was on the line. Flint knew he was on a speaker box now.
“Because, to surrender, you have to have someone to arrange a surrender with. Right now, the only officers who may have been able to accept a surrender are either dead or are our prisoners. Lieutenant Colonel Chen, the senior surviving officer of the PLA’s 97th Infantry Division, and Major Wu of the PLA’s 3rd Airborne Division, have both surrendered to me. Several other cargo ships and ferry boats carrying follow-on troops have been sunk or severely damaged as well.”
There was dead silence on the line. Colonel Flint shrugged at Major Ramirez and continued with his briefing. “We have inflicted something on the order of 7,500 casualties on the enemy, probably double, maybe triple that if you count the shipboard losses. We have taken approximately 750 prisoners. The MEU — that’s Marine Expeditionary Unit, sir — has sustained approximately 350 casualties, half from close-in fighting with the paratroopers and air bombardment and the other half at sea when we were hit by Chinese anti-ship missiles. The Navy has sustained many more casualties, but there’s no way for us to know exactly how many. We managed to get 600 or so sailors ashore,” Colonel Flint smiled, “and are trying to make them into Marines.”
There was still silence. Flint drove on, “We have established contact with the ROC forces, who have been hit hard by some kind of combined biological and chemical weapons attack. Their reserves are being mobilized and they may have enough combat power to defeat the last Chinese assault that just pushed us off the beach.”
Colonel Flint concluded, “We will continue to hold the airport Mr. President, unless, that is…” Flint gave a wicked grin to Major Ramirez, “you order us to join the ROC assault on the commie forces at the beaches.”
Flint heard a gasp on the other end of the phone. Two more sonic booms sounded overhead.
“The U.S. Marines are holding Kaohsiung International Airport, sir!” Colonel Flint didn’t even try to keep the pride out is his voice. “There will be no throughput from the PLA forces here sir! I doubt if they’ll try another motorized hang glider attack. We handed the enemy his head today sir!”
Flint heard some shuffling at the other end of the line.
“Uh, right, Colonel Flint.” It was a female voice. The phone clicked at the other end. The phone was obviously off the speaker box. “The President is indisposed. Motorized hang gliders you say?” The voice was soft and quiet. She sounded loathe to disturb the President and those around him.
“Yes, hang gliders. Who is this?” Flint demanded.
“That’s not important — remember, this is an unsecure line.” The voice sounded uncomfortable and reluctant.
Flint knew he was dealing with a non-political type — probably an NSC, State, DoD, or CIA staffer, “Why the lack of interest in my situation over here?”
“Umm…”, the woman’s voice got very soft, “Suffice it to say that the President is very concerned about the situation.”
Flint heard the phone system click over to the speaker box. “Colonel Flint, this is National Security Council Advisor Lindley. It’s six in the morning out here. The President has been up all night following your situation. Needless to say he is exhausted. Continue to hold the airport…” the phone spit static and faded out.
“Hello, can you hear me?” Flint pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. The low battery light shone on the phone. Damn!
Half a world away, Lindley was finishing up his instructions to the Marine colonel, his tired mind half looking at CNN and half trying to direct the conversation. “…Continue to hold the airport if you can. Minimize your contact with the enemy, if possible. The President wishes to maintain flexibility in this crisis. Is that understood?” The other end was dead. “Hey, the line is dead! Get the Pentagon and get the colonel back on the phone! Shit, I wonder how much he heard?”
Donna Klein smiled from behind her hands. The colonel probably heard what he wanted to hear. She hadn’t liked the tenor in the White House since she arrived at five in the morning shocked to find the President and his key advisors pulling an all-nighter while spiraling down into a deeper pit of defeatism. The Marines may win this thing in spite of the White House, she thought.
Colonel Alexander was nearing the end of the longest day of his life. It started that morning with a wake-up at 0300 in Alaska, crossed seven time zones and the International Date Line, and almost killed him twice (first the E-bomb, then the nervous Taiwanese airport security troops). It was now 7:00 PM in Taiwan some 23 hours later.