News of China’s tightening stranglehold on the island of Taiwan was emerging with leaden slowness. Beijing, unsurprisingly, was releasing nothing. And there had been no time for any of the Western media’s Far Eastern correspondents even to reach Taipei before the iron grip of the Chinese military took hold of the region.
Add to this the complete rupture of all Taiwanese military communications, and the West was left with no sources, no information and no prospects of obtaining any. The only news emerging from the island was the occasional sly and undercover dispatch from the pseudo-embassies, and they had access to very few hard facts. The air battles, which had now been fought over several days, had taken place more than 60 miles from mainland news reporters, out of sight, out of earshot, basically out of reach.
And on this Wednesday morning, the mood in the West Wing of the White House was very somber. The hard men of the United States armed forces, Admiral Arnold Morgan, Defense Secretary Bob MacPherson, the Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Alan Dixon, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Tim Scannell, had been proved powerless to fight two enemies in two separate theaters. They were tied up in the Strait of Hormuz, guarding the world’s main oil routes, and China was effectively left to do whatever it liked.
News was trickling in of a very large Chinese force landing on Chinsan Beach. It was already moving southeast to the port of Keelung. It had taken three days to muster, and the Chinese airborne troops had accepted very heavy casualties as the depleted but still determined Taiwanese forces constantly attacked them on the ground.
Nonetheless, the tide of warriors sweeping across the strait from the mainland, by both air and sea, was just too great, too engulfing for the Taiwanese to stop. Tens of thousands of Chinese troops made the beaches from the vast flotilla of civilian boats, merchant freighters and naval ships. This was a mission that had all of China behind it. And all the efforts of the remaining battalions of Taiwan’s northern army proved unable to break through the “screen” of Chinese marines who fought doggedly to protect their beachhead from attack.
And now they were on the move, and Admiral Dixon considered they would swiftly attempt to capture the port of Keelung. Early reports, telephoned in secret from the pseudo-embassies, had the Chinese growling along the road, marching behind tanks and armored vehicles. But the Admiral offered a ray of hope here, because there was a major Taiwanese defensive force in this area. It had been formed six years previously with the express purpose of holding off a Chinese attack on Keelung, and the invaders would have to fight for every inch of ground in the port city.
It would perhaps come down to attrition, like most of China’s wars. And then there could be only one winner. In Arnold Morgan’s opinion, the Taiwanese would be suing for peace within 10 days.
This was Black Wednesday, no doubt. And at 0915 a White House agent entered the office of the National Security Chief to inform all four men that the Navy helicopter taking them to Andrews Air Base was on the lawn.
From there they were flying up to Cape Cod, landing at the sprawling Otis Air Force Base, and then heading on by Navy helicopter to Marblehead, Massachusetts, 20 miles up the north shore from Boston, for the funeral of Lt. Commander Ray Schaeffer. Admiral Morgan himself had insisted that the SEAL Team Leader be awarded, posthumously, the highest possible decoration in the United States Armed Forces, the Medal of Honor. As a SEAL, Ray Schaeffer’s award was for many, many services rendered to his country. It would be awarded with no public announcement whatsoever.
Three thousand miles away in California, the funeral of U.S. Navy SEAL Charlie Mitchell was also taking place, and it would be attended by Admiral John Bergstrom and the Pacific Fleet C-in-C, Admiral Dick Greening. CINCPACFLT had personally recommended that the rookie combat SEAL quietly be awarded the Navy Cross.
In Marblehead, there was an air of terrible sadness. The Schaeffer family had lived there for generations, and Ray’s wife, Wendy, with their two little boys, Ray, Jr., age nine, and Bobby, six, was returning to live in the old family house down by the water, where Ray’s widowed father now lived alone.
The church was packed, with crowds lining the narrow street outside, and General Scannell read a moving eulogy, regretting that the Lieutenant Commander’s area of operations was classified to such a degree that no one would ever know precisely where he had served, and with what “unfathomable courage” he had carried out his duties. “I hope,” he concluded, “that his Medal of Honor, and the presence here of the senior military figures in America, will offer some testament to the regard in which he was held in the United States Navy.”
Eight Naval officers carried the casket bearing the fallen SEAL to his last resting place, and the church bell tolled out over the little seaport as they lowered the body of Ray Schaeffer into the ground.
Admiral Arnold Morgan read the final prayer, offering the sentiment that “ordinary people, like ourselves, may sometimes find it difficult to understand what drives a man like Lieutenant Commander Schaeffer forward, to comprehend that selfless gallantry which is bestowed upon so few. I don’t suppose Ray would have been able to explain much, either. And so we will just have to accept that God granted him an inner light, and we now wish him farewell, sure in the knowledge that light will guide him home. Amen.”
At the graveside Wendy Schaeffer was erect and brave with her arm around Ray, Jr. But little Bobby wept uncontrollably for his lost father and Admiral Dixon knelt down to comfort him.
The only good news throughout the day was the formation of a Schaeffer family trust, which was begun with a $100,000 personal donation from the former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and Boston banking heir, Admiral Scott Dunsmore.
The rest was a catalog of sorrow and remembrance, and the four military chiefs from Washington took their leave as soon as the burial was over. They were back at the White House by 1630, and it quickly became clear that the flight had done nothing to lessen their fury toward the Republic of China.
Back in his office, Admiral Morgan yelled, formally, for Kathy to order them some fresh coffee, with cookies, and answered his telephone as it tinkled.
“Faggot phones,” he muttered, snatching it up and growling, “Morgan. Speak. And I am busy. So make it quick.”
Kathy’s dulcet voice murmured, “Outside desk to home base. Message received about the coffee and cookies. And I have one incoming signal, O rudest of pigs…Admiral George Morris is ready for duty tomorrow.”
“Beautiful,” replied the Admiral, and turning to Tim Scannell, without breaking stride, he snapped, “Fire Borden. Get him the hell out of there. George is coming back.” And then, as if doubting the possibility that his thin, pastel green phone would be man enough to transmit a message, he replaced it and yelled through the door, “KATHY! Make sure that coffee’s HOT!”
General Scannell told the Admiral he would indeed arrange to have Admiral Borden transferred to somewhere more amenable with his talents.
“Christ, Tim,” he rasped. “Don’t do that. We can’t have someone of his seniority driving the harbor launch.”
The General grinned. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. “But to return to our subject, you really do intend us to move forward and either destroy or disable that Chinese Navy base in Burma, and then warn them out of the area?”
“In one, Tim, old buddy. That’s our plan.”
“Timing?”
“I think right now. Give the little bastards something to think about while they’re strangling Taiwan.”
“Is John Bergstrom up to speed on this, Arnie?”
“As far as he can be. He has the charts, but no decent satellite pictures. And he knows we’re moving on it. He has a SEAL team in place in Diego Garcia. And we got the right SSN available with the biggest ASDV we have. Same one we used to get the guys into the refinery.”