“Ah, Mr. Cortez, Sergeant McCormick, I have wanted to meet both of you for some time. Mr. Dietrich, Mr. Ivanov, welcome to you as well. I am Lee Duan.”
I spoke for the Lafayette Initiative. “It is an honor to meet you, Mr. President.”
Duan answered formally, “I should say that the honor is mine, Mr. Cortez. You have given more for the cause than I. And, Sergeant McCormick, your heroism at Taipei will never be forgotten by the people of my nation.”
McCormick said, “Thank you, sir.”
Duan's tone grew somber. “Even in the midst of all the tragedy of war, I was greatly saddened to hear of the death of so many of the Lafayette Initiative on your most recent operation. When I heard that one of our Pelicans was bringing you to Taiwan, I insisted that you be brought here so that I could thank you properly. Perhaps more importantly, I wanted to show you what your actions have won us.”
He gestured to one of his senior generals, who took the cue to explain. The general called up a map of Taiwan on one of the electronic displays. The map showed Chinese forces dominating the western half of the island. “The PLA's delayed resupply has pushed back the start date for their offensive against our central defensive line by several weeks. During that time, we have assembled and organized our reserves of men and materiel to rebuild the units of our army that were seriously depleted by the fighting in Taipei and the south. The American F-22's have wrested air control from the People's Liberation Army Air-Force, and we are even now flying a few sorties against Chinese ground forces with our remaining aircraft. Finally, the American 101st Airborne Division is almost fully assembled and will shortly deploy to our northern front east of Taipei.”
The general zoomed in on the north-central portion of Taiwan. “The PLA can't breach the mountains that run north-to-south in the middle of the island. They must launch a ground offensive on the north end of the island, east of Taipei to crack our defenses. If they break through our line, they can then sweep through the eastern half of the island and finish us off.
“To avoid that outcome, we have concentrated the lion's share of our forces to the north. The PLA has matched that move. Several of their armored divisions have been probing our defenses without success, and the battle has been building for the past 24 hours. Most of both armies are now engaged five miles east of Taipei. We have had enough time to build our forces to the point where we are confident they cannot be broken by a PLA assault.”
Duan smiled at that conclusion. “Meanwhile, as more American soldiers arrive, the balance of forces grows more and more in our favor. After the PLA offensive in the north fails, we will, with the help of our American allies, counterattack and retake the western half of the island, winning the war.”
A young officer wearing a headset caught the attention of one of the generals and spoke to him in rapid, urgent Chinese. Duan, his politeness toward Westerners honed by decades of experience in the business world, said in English, “General, what seems to be the problem?”
“Mr. President, a flight of three PLA Backfire bombers is inbound to the battlefield, coming in at Mach 1.8.”
Duan frowned. “Don't we have anything that can shoot them down?”
“A squadron of American F-22's was dispatched to the southwest fifteen minutes ago to deal with a flight of Su-30 fighters. There are no friendly aircraft over the battlefield at this moment. The Chinese bombers will likely make it through. They just flew over the Chinese shoreline north of Quanzhou, which means they will reach the battlefield in about five minutes at their present speed.”
“How much damage can three Chinese bombers do?” the President of Taiwan asked.
“Our forces are dug in pretty well, so the danger is not so much to our soldiers as to our logistics. With the right equipment, those bombers could take out some key supply dumps.”
“Son of a bitch.” Duan even used English swears, so conscious was he of his guests. “Get a camera on the affected part of the battlefield.”
One of the wall displays switched to a satellite view of the battlefield east of Taipei. The area, once a moderately hilly forest, was shorn of most of its trees by the intense fighting. The view on the screen looked to be about twenty miles across. Individual flashes were visible on the ground, shots fired by tanks and artillery pieces.
Volodya noted, “This imagery is incredible, Mr. President. How have the Chinese failed to shoot down your satellites so far into the conflict?”
Discussing technical achievements came naturally to the founder of Duan Enterprises. “Our engineers created a fleet of cheap, tiny imaging and communications satellites, and an electromagnetic rail gun system to shoot them into space at very little cost. The satellites are small enough that even finding them on radar is difficult, and there are so many of them that it would be a fool's errand to try to shoot them all down.”
The image on the screen did not flicker or waver as the Chinese bombers approached. Duan was not a man to waste even a few minutes waiting for something to happen, so he broached a new subject. “Mr. Cortez, I will see that you are flown back to Australia on the next convenient Pelican flight. The other members of the Lafayette Initiative will have to decide for themselves what they wish to do. They may return to Australia with you or, if they prefer to keep fighting, we can get them back into China the same way they went in the first time. Assuming your safe house in southern China is not compromised, we would be happy to continue providing intelligence and logistical support for the Lafayette Initiative.”
I looked to McCormick, Dietrich, and Volodya, unsure of how to respond to the offer. None of their faces betrayed any obvious response. Thinking I would stall for time, I said, "Thank you for the offer, sir—"
An aide interrupted, "Excuse me, sir, the bombers are beginning their attack run."
Another of the ubiquitous wall screens showed a satellite view zoomed to a fifty mile scope. The three Chinese planes, highlighted by red boxes, streaked in, covering a mile every three seconds. When they were a few miles out, a cylindrical object separated from each plane and began falling.
An aide said, "We're lucky. They're targeting our armored divisions, which are well dug-in. If they had targeted our supply dumps—"
A flash bloomed on the screen, and for a moment the picture turned to static. A military aide said, “One of our mini-satellites has gone out of commission. In a second, the programming will reorient another to cover the area we're interested in.”
After six seconds, the static on the screen changed to a new image.
“No… no, it can't be.” The President's voice was slack with horror.
Chapter 20
Every person in the room took a moment to process the sight. Three mushroom clouds climbed through the atmosphere, vast plumes of radioactive dust.
One of the aides said in a voice that almost succeeded in sounding unemotional, “Observers in the mountains report what appear to be three nuclear explosions in the area east of Taipei. No word yet on the size of the devices, though they appear to have been dropped by the PLA bombers we were tracking.”
My mouth felt dry. McCormick's face was a gray mask, as was Volodya's. Only Dietrich retained his characteristic dispassion.
A general asked, “What did they target?”
An aide answered, “From the looks of it, they hit three key staging areas just behind the front lines.”
President Duan asked in a brittle voice, “Casualty estimates?”
“We do not yet know, Mr. President. That will take some time.”
The room became quiet, the men present watching the inferno grow and grow. An operator zoomed the camera in on one of the blast sites. Within a few miles of the blast site, everything had been incinerated. Dozens of tanks and artillery pieces littered the area, their gun barrels twisted and warped by the intense heat of the explosions.