Battlefield Russia

Battle of Taiwan

Loading another thirty-round magazine and placing it in one of his front ammo pouches, Staff Sergeant Conrad Price smelled the pungent scent of jet fuel intermixed with the humidity and smell of death that still permeated the air around this hard-fought military base. Sprawled out in the recently repaired cargo hangar were the men of Bravo Company, 2nd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, the US Army’s premier shock troops. The Rangers had just finished their preflight briefing and were now doing their final equipment checks before they would load up into the C-17 Globemasters that would ferry them to their drop zone.

Price looked down at his right hand, his trigger hand, and saw a slight tremor. He quickly flexed his fingers and went back to loading another magazine before anyone noticed. His nerves were starting to get the best of him as his mind wandered back to one of their earlier combat jumps. No matter how hard he tried to push the image out of his mind, he kept seeing his best friend, Joe Perez, lying in his arms, bleeding out from multiple bullet holes. Joe had saved him that day, and he’d paid the ultimate price for his country and his fellow Rangers. The look of fear on his friend’s face as his eyes had pleaded with Price for help would often cause him to break down emotionally when he was alone. He couldn’t afford for those emotions to surface now, not before a mission.

That was eleven months ago, but it still felt like yesterday. “How many friends have I lost in this war? Too freaking many!” he thought.

Sergeant Price angrily rammed another 5.56mm round into his last magazine. He desperately fought to turn those emotions of sorrow, pain and loss into a burning rage toward the enemy that had taken so much from him. That smoldering anger had kept him alive up to this point. He’d even been awarded the Silver Star for savagely charging and taking out an enemy machine-gun position in Siberia three months earlier. In his private moments, he’d secretly wished he’d been killed so that the pain would end, but since that hadn’t happened, he’d brutally killed the occupants of the fortified position with his trench knife when his rifle jammed.

With his magazines loaded, Price reached over and grabbed six fragmentation grenades and fastened them to his chest rig, making sure he’d wrapped the pins with at least one strip of tape. He firmly believed in the power of Murphy’s Law, and he wasn’t about to be that soldier whose pin got caught on something and the grenade went off.

Now that his personal kit was ready, he made sure his rucksack was packed with three changes of socks packed in Ziploc bags, a thousand rounds of ammo, two bricks of C4, four MREs, and the rest of the stuff needed to survive for several days, in case they were unable to get a quick resupply. Fastening his last piece of equipment to his ruck, he hoped the troops hitting the beaches would be able to relieve them according to the plan. Snorting to himself, he remembered something his dad used to tell him: “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face, son.” It seemed like an apt comment at that point.

Seeing that his own equipment was ready, Price walked over to check on the eight other guys in his squad. They had nervous looks on their faces like him, but also that sense of duty and purpose as well. Like him, they had all volunteered to serve in the Rangers, to be the tip of the proverbial spear and carry out the high-risk missions. Of course, the extra $750 a month in special pay was an added bonus.

“How’s my face paint look, Staff Sergeant?” asked Specialist Michael Cochran as he finished rubbing some OD Green paint on an exposed part of his neck, lowering the small mirror he was using.

“I think if you stand still, you could pass as a tree,” Price replied, drawing a few laughs from the others and cutting the tension in the room.

One of the other privates chimed in, “Tell us this isn’t a suicide mission the brass is sending us on, Staff Sergeant.”

Specialist Alistair Waters, the squad comedian, interjected, “Since when is doing a night jump onto an occupied enemy air base a suicide mission? It would only be a suicide mission if we did it during the day — at night, it’s a walk in the park.” He got a few more chuckles from the Rangers around them.

A few minutes later, they heard the roaring sound of a C-17 pulling up near the hangar they were huddled in. After just a couple more moments, a total of four of the aircraft had positioned themselves near the hangars, their rear cargo ramps dropping down so the Rangers could load on in. Two platoons were slated to pile into each plane, giving them some extra space so they would have room to set up their parachute rigs once they got closer to the drop zone. They were going to be in the air for close to seven hours, too long to stay strapped to their rigging.

Prior to the soldiers moving to board the C-17s, several fuel trucks drove out to the planes and topped off their tanks for the flight. They’d be making one midair refueling before they reached their final destination.

They were all abuzz with adrenaline. The 2nd Battalion, 75th Rangers had been given the inglorious task of capturing the Taiwanese Air Force base just north of the city of Taitung, on the southeast side of the island. The battalion would land on and around the air base and secure the area for follow-on forces. While that was taking place, two Australian infantry battalions would land near Taitung and move in to secure it. Following their attack, the US Army’s 63rd Infantry Division would land and assist in securing the southern half of the island. Once the Rangers had secured the air base, a brigade from the 82nd Airborne would start to arrive and bring with them a series of light armored vehicles and artillery support.

“Everyone up! It’s time to load up,” yelled their platoon leader.

The Rangers dutifully carried their gear and parachute rigs with them to the transports. They’d assemble their parachute rigs once they got closer to the drop zone; until then, they’d contemplate the inevitable jump and what awaited them once they landed.

Aboard the USS Gerald Ford, Captain Patricia Fleece poured herself another cup of coffee from the hot pot in the combat information center or CIC. She was still grateful that the last massive battle she had participated in had turned into a victory, even if it hadn’t been as decisive as it could have been. If things had gone even slightly differently, she wouldn’t be standing there drinking a mug of java. She constantly remembered how lucky she was to be alive and still have command of a ship.

On the big board, she could see the destroyers and cruisers were in the process of firing their Tomahawk cruise missiles at the various land targets on the island. Above them, the Commander Air Group, or CAG, was in the process of launching the carrier’s airwing of F-35s to go in first and take out the known enemy air-defense sites. This would be quickly followed by a squadron of F/A-18s that will be conducting Wild Weasel missiles, trying to get an enemy radar to lock on them so they could fire a HAARM missile, specially designed to follow the enemy’s targeting radar to its source and destroy it. As they destroyed more and more of the Chinese’s targeting radars, their air-defense systems would crumble until they no longer posed a threat. Then, the real bombing attacks would commence.

“How much longer until the ground invasion starts?” Captain Fleece asked Admiral Cord, who was nibbling on a small sandwich the galley had brought up for the crew.

“A couple of hours,” she replied. “You see that track of aircraft that just entered our bubble in the south?” she asked, pointing to a new cluster of aircraft that were slowly making their way toward them.

“Yeah, I see it,” Fleece responded.

“That’s the lead airborne element of the Rangers,” Cord explained. “They’re going to try and seize that PLA Air Force base down in Taitung City, where those Tomahawks are about to hit. If the rest of the fleet times everything right, the first wave of Australians should be hitting the beaches near there about the same time the paratroopers hit the airport. To the north, the Marines will land near Luodong.” She spoke as if instructing a class of naval officers at Annapolis — except this was a real invasion, not some tabletop exercise. While the invasion of Luzon was the largest naval invasion since World War II, the invasion of Taiwan was significantly larger.

Admiral Cord took the last bite of her sandwich, then asserted, “I’m going to order the strike group to start moving in closer to the shore. I want our ships closer to the landing force. Do you have any objections?”

“No, I think it’s a good idea to move in closer to land in case some of our fighters sustain combat damage and need to make an emergency landing,” Captain Fleece replied. “I wasn’t too keen on being this far out from where our fighters were striking either — it limits the payload they can carry.”

“Things are about to get real crazy for the next couple of days,” said Cord, smoothing back a hair that had fallen out of her bun. “I need you to stay on top of your people. If you see someone getting too tired, swap them out for a fresh body. We’re going to have tens of thousands of soldiers and Marines landing in what will likely be a very contested landing.”

Fleece nodded. “We’re ready, Admiral. You can count on the Ford.”

The water was relatively calm as the Marines of Echo Company, 2nd Battalion, 6th Marines loaded up into the amphibious assault vehicles or AAVs that would ferry them to the beach. Due to the heavy presence of enemy air-defense systems, it had been determined by the brass that the Marines would only conduct a seaborne assault, so they wouldn’t risk losing dozens of troop transport helicopters. This, of course, meant the AAVs would have to make several trips to the ships to get everyone ashore, but it was a small price to pay until they were able to neutralize the enemy air-defense systems.

Checking his own equipment one more time, Captain Tim Long ducked his head slightly as he climbed aboard the vehicle that would ferry him to the shore. This would be his second seaborne invasion of the war, and the third time he was part of the first wave of an invasion. He wasn’t sure if he should feel honored, nervous, or worried that his luck might run out this time.

“Third time’s a charm, or something like that,” he finally determined.

Five minutes after sealing the hatch to the vehicle, they rumbled toward the back ramp until they reached the inevitable edge and drove right off. The AAV briefly dipped under the water before popping to the surface like a buoy. The driver effortlessly turned the vehicle toward the shore and gave it some juice. In short order, their vehicle fell into formation with the other AAVs that made up the first three waves of the assault. Following those initial waves were the larger LCACs, hovercrafts that would bring their tanks and other armored vehicles ashore.

While their vehicle slowly made its way to the beach, one of the privates asked, “Do you think the Chinese will be waiting for us at the shore?”

Captain Long turned to look at the private and saw that everyone else in the vehicle was now looking at him, waiting to hear what he would say.

“Probably,” he answered matter-of-factly. “This is my third invasion. Each time, the PLA was waiting for us. I would suspect they’ll be waiting for us here as well. However, we’ve trained for this. We all survived the Philippine campaign, and we’ll survive this campaign as well. Remember your training, and do your best to look out for each other. Work as a team, and we’ll come through this.” As he spoke, he did his best to convey strength and optimism to them.

The vehicle sloshed around a bit in the waves as they got closer to the shore, and the motion pushed their vehicle forward. One of the Marines got sick and puked in a barf bag that the vehicle commander had handed him when they’d boarded. Apparently, the crew was tired of cleaning puke out from seasick Marines, not to mention having to drive around all day in a vehicle with vomit swishing around on the floor.

“We’re approaching the beach!” yelled the gunner from his perched position.

“Strange. I’m not hearing any explosions or machine-gun fire,” Long thought.

“Hang on, we’ve reached the beach,” the vehicle commander told Captain Long. “We’re going to drive up a bit and get you guys closer to the actual city before we turn around and go back for the next load.”

Seconds later, their AAV hit the soft sand and increased speed up the beach. Even as they moved up past the shoreline onto rockier areas, there still had been no reported contact with the enemy. It was quiet — no heavy machine guns, no artillery, rockets, or mortars. It was eerily silent. The hairs on the back of Captain Long’s neck stood straight up. Something about this situation just seemed wrong.

A few minutes into their drive, the vehicle commander halted the track and dropped the rear hatch. In seconds, everyone was out. They found themselves at the edge of a row of condos and other buildings that faced the ocean. There were no civilians or enemy soldiers there to greet them, not even a stray dog.

“Everyone, fan out and start clearing these houses,” Captain Long ordered. “We need to get the beachhead secured!”

Long turned to find his radioman. “Tell the other platoons to begin searching the nearby houses and make sure they are cleared. Also, send a SITREP back to the Wasp and let them know we’re on the beach and securing it. Tell them we haven’t encountered any enemy resistance as of yet.”

Captain Long searched the nearby faces until he located his sniper team lead. “Staff Sergeant Jenkins!” he shouted, waving his hand.

The staff sergeant heard his name and ran quickly to Long. “Sir?” he asked.

“Get your snipers deployed on the roofs of these buildings and start scanning those hills and ridges. I find it hard to believe the PLA would willingly give up the beach without a fight. I think we just walked into a trap,” Long explained.

“We’re on it, Sir!” shouted Jenkins as he motioned for his sniper teams to get moving.

Ten minutes went by with Captain Long’s company clearing one building after another along the coastal city before they made their way inland. During that time, the second wave of Marines had landed, bringing the other two battalions of their regiment forward. The LCACs were going to wait to bring their armor ashore after the third wave landed, but with the first two waves not encountering any type of resistance, they opted to move in and get the tanks and LAVs ashore before their luck turned.

Captain Long led his Marines further inland until they came to Qinqyun Road, the main road that separated the oceanfront part of the city from the more inland part that ran all the way up to the mountains. It also divided the east coast of the island from the west coast and the city of New Taipei. Looking up at the rising mountain scape they were walking toward, Captain Long thought he saw a glint of something. Several areas of the mountain had thick, black, oily smoke rising to the sky — a cruise missile or airstrike must have found something of value to hit.

Boom, boom, boom. Thump, thump, thump…

Suddenly, the world around Captain Long’s company exploded. Artillery and mortar rounds landed all over the part of the city his men had just walked into. Chunks of buildings, parts of parked cars, and clumps of dirt and concrete were thrown around in all directions like flying pieces of shrapnel, adding further chaos to the carnage that was being unleashed upon the Marines.

“Take cover!” Long shouted. His men were already seeking shelter against the sides of the buildings that hadn’t been pulverized during the initial barrage.

Captain Long turned back and scanned the ridgeline for the source of the barrage. Then, further up the mountainside, he saw the cause of their peril — cleverly hidden bunkers firing down on to them.

Screams for corpsmen pierced the air as the wounded called out for help. Looking back to the beach, Captain Long saw dozens upon dozens of explosions rocking the beach where his Marines had just been ten minutes earlier. Several of the LCACs that had zoomed in to land their armored vehicles had been hit on their way off the beach and now lay in the shallow waters as burning wrecks.

Some of the tanks that had made it ashore trained their main guns on the bunkers that were firing on the beach, sending well-aimed shots right back at the enemy. Several of the bunkers — the ones with artillery guns hidden in them — were starting to be blown up by the Marine tanks.

Knowing his Marines couldn’t stay where they were, Captain Long yelled, “Everyone, move forward!” They needed to get closer in to the hills and the mountains if they were to escape the deadly artillery fire that was still raining down on them.

Steadily, Captain Long’s Marines made their way through the now torn and destroyed seaside city to the rolling hills at the base of the mountain range that separated the island. When they reached the edge of the city, they were met by yet another nasty surprise. One of the fireteams ran to the base of the first hill, only to be ripped apart by machine-gun fire. The weapon of death that shredded them to pieces was one of the Chinese Hua Qing miniguns, which launched 7.62×54mm rounds from its multiple barrels so quickly that the soldiers were decimated before they even knew what had happened. This fearsome weapon then turned toward the rest of his company of Marines, and they immediately dove for cover in the mounting rubble of the city.

Captain Long grabbed his radio receiver and contacted his heavy weapons platoon. “Lieutenant Lightman, get your mortars set up and start pounding those bunkers up here!” he shouted.

Raising his own rifle to his shoulder, Long took aim at the machine-gun bunker with the Hua Qing minigun in it and fired several rounds at the location where he thought the gunner must have been. For a few seconds, the gun stopped firing, and Captain Long thought he might have been successful in his efforts. Then the shooting picked back up again.

“Crap!” thought Long.

Green tracer rounds zipped over his head and stitched up the buildings and anything else his men were using for cover. Aiming for the same spot he had just sent a few rounds into, Captain Long squeezed off another four or five rounds. The gun went silent again. This time, one of his Marines fired off an AT-4 rocket, which hit just below the gun slit, throwing a lot of shrapnel and fire into the bunker.

Just as another fireteam charged forward, two more hidden machine-gun bunkers opened fire, killing two of the Marines outright and wounding the others. Several of his Marines ran out there to help drag the wounded to cover, only to be cut down by the PLA soldiers, who were now going to use those wounded Marines as bait to kill more of his men. Before Captain Long could say anything, a handful of mortar rounds hit the area around the bunker.

A moment later, Long’s radio crackled. “Pit Bull Six, this is Dog Catcher Six. How copy?” He recognized the voice on the other end as Colonel Tilman, his regiment commander.

Slouching down behind the half-destroyed wall of the building he had taken cover in, Captain Long hit the talk button on his radio. “This is Pit Bull Six. Send,” he responded.

“Is the path to the base of the mountain clear?” asked Tilman.

“Negative, Dog Catcher. We’ve encountered several lines of well-camouflaged machine-gun bunkers protecting the base of the mountain. Some of the bunkers are equipped with miniguns, which are tearing us up. I’ve got dozens of wounded up here,” he replied.

Long heard a sigh on the other end. He knew that Tilman would not be happy. The guys on the beach were probably getting pounded. He’d probably hoped that if they could push through to the base of the mountain, they might be able to get some reprieve from the enemy artillery fire.

“Copy that, Pit Bull,” Tilman said after a slight pause. “We have fast movers inbound from the fleet. Their call sign is Angel Eight. Use them to clear out those bunkers in front of your position and advance to the base of the mountain. We need to clear a path off this godforsaken beach. How copy?” Colonel Tilman shouted to be heard over the explosions in the background.

“That’s a good copy, Dog Catcher,” replied Long. “I’ll contact you once we’re past this line of machine-gun bunkers.”

He put down his receiver and turned to his radio operator, who had a separate UHF radio that was designated for air support. Sadly, the ground forces operated on one set of radio frequencies and radio system, while the Air Force and naval aircraft operated on a different system entirely, which required the ground forces to have either two radios or a forward air controller who could speak directly to the fighters overhead. The battalion and regiment had a FAC, but not the individual companies.

Once his radioman had set the right frequency in place, he handed the handset to Captain Long, who proceeded to make contact with the F/A-18s that had just been assigned to him.

“Angel Eight, this is Pit Bull Six. We have troops in contact,” he began. “Requesting danger close mission at grid TA 5764 4765, enemy machine-gun bunker. How copy?”

There was a short silence. “Pit Bull Six, that’s a good copy,” the pilot responded. “How many targets do you have for us?”

“Angel Eight, I estimate at least five enemy bunkers to our immediate front,” explained Long. “However, I have eyes on at least twelve bunkers nestled into the mountains that are hitting the beach with artillery fire. What type of ordnance do you have?”

After another brief pause, the pilot’s radio had caught up. “We have a mix of 500-pound and 2,000-pound JDAMs. We’ll drop the 500-pounders near your position and save the big boys for the mountain bunkers. Send us the coordinates for the other bunkers, and we’ll hit them on our next pass across the island.” The pilot’s voice sounded so nonchalant from the safety of his high-altitude perch.

Five more minutes went by as they fed the planes somewhere above them the coordinates to seventeen separate targets. Then, one by one, the bunkers were hit. Many of them were completely blown apart. Within seconds of the bombs landing, more than half of the artillery fire that was devastating the beachhead ceased. The machine-gun bunkers directly in front of his company front had also been destroyed. By this time, another company of Marines had pushed through the enemy artillery fire to reach their position. With the bunkers destroyed, or at least temporarily taken offline, the Marines charged forward, quickly overrunning the enemy positions as they pushed their way to the base of the mountain.

The fight to liberate Taiwan was on, and it was going to be another bloody campaign before it was over.

High above the coastal city of Toucheng, there was an old Buddhist temple that sat just off the Fudekeng Industrial Road, halfway up the mountain that divided the Island of Formosa. It was at this little piece of paradise that Brigadier General Lee Jinping and Major General Xian Loa were observing the American fleet advancing toward them.

“It won’t be long until they begin to land their Marines,” General Xian thought in anticipation as he looked at the ships approaching the coast.

“When do you want our anti-ship missile batteries to start attacking the American warships?” inquired General Lee.

Xian lowered his binoculars and examined General Lee’s face. He seemed eager to put his fortifications to the test. “Soon,” General Xian responded. “Right now, the Americans have no idea what we have waiting for them. We want to let them deploy their ships, offload their ground force and then hammer their ships. What I want our forces to do right now is to be patient. We must wait for the Americans to land a substantial ground force. Then, when they are lulled into thinking we have abandoned the coasts to them, we unleash everything we have. We will sink their ships off the coast and pummel their ground forces. By the end of today, the Americans will accept that they can’t recapture Formosa from us, and they will withdraw.”

Xian, who had been given command of the 41st and 42nd Armies by General Yang, was thoroughly confident in Lee’s work and in his men. They had laid an elaborate trap for the Americans, and now they just had to stay patient and let it play out.

For the next hour, jets roared overhead. He listened to a myriad of precision-guided munitions and cruise missiles hit targets near the coast, along with a few positions further up on the mountain fortress. Most of the targets that had been hit were actually elaborate decoys. The Chinese knew the Americans would be hunting for targets, so they gave them a plethora of marks to hit. It was part of their strategy to deceive the Americans and to camouflage their true intentions. For now, the Americans would be led to believe they were crippling the island’s air defenses and destroying key bunkers and strongholds. When they were satisfied, they would send in their ground force, and then the real fight would begin.

“My butt is killing me, and this rigging is tearing into my back and shoulders,” reflected Staff Sergeant Conrad Price. He tried unsuccessfully to shift positions for what must have been the hundredth time since they boarded the flying deathtrap of a C-17 nearly seven hours ago.

“We’re five minutes out! Everyone, stand up for equipment check!” shouted the jump master, who was standing near the exit of the plane.

“Finally!” Sergeant Price thought, barely keeping himself from exclaiming aloud.

Standing up, Price checked the man in front of him to make sure his equipment was properly set up and ready. He could feel the guy behind him doing the same to his gear and then felt the familiar pat on his shoulders letting him know he was good to go. With these formalities taken care of, the jump master yelled out a string of additional commands as they prepared to jump.

Catching a glance out the window, Price could see the sun was starting to break through the evening sky. Soft yellow, red, and blue hues were ever so slowly trying to push the blackness of the night away, bringing with it a new day. However, this would be a day filled with sheer terror, excitement, and uncertainty.

A couple of minutes went by, and then the lights inside the cabin turned from a light blue to red. Seconds later, the two side doors they’d be jumping out of were opened. The chilly, humid air buffeted their faces as it quickly circulated throughout the cargo hold of the plane.

To Sergeant Price, the aircraft looked like it was still too low for them to jump. The water whipping past them looked practically close enough for them to land on.

“Man, these pilots aren’t messing around,” he realized.

Without warning, the aircraft’s engines decreased power and the plane shifted sharply upward in altitude, forcing the paratroopers to grab for anything they could to keep themselves from falling over onto each other.

“A little warning would have been nice,” Price grumbled to himself.

Seconds later, the plane leveled out and the jump light turned from red to green. The jump master started screaming, “Everyone, get off the aircraft as fast as possible!”

Not knowing if the plane was about to be blown up, the Rangers practically shoved each other out the jump door to try and get on the ground.

Following the lead of the soldiers in front of him, Sergeant Price quickly made his way out the door to the wild blue yonder below. Less than a second after exiting the plane, his chute opened, jerking him hard and preventing him from becoming a six-foot lawn dart. Looking around, Price saw strings of green tracer fire reaching out for the planes that were now flying across the runway of the airfield, dropping Rangers as fast as humanly possible.

With the sun not fully up just yet, they could easily spot the illumination flares going off several thousand meters above the air base, which further illuminated the paratroopers who were dangling from their parachutes and the planes delivering them. The AC-130 Spector gunship loitered above and behind them, then suddenly opened fire on the enemy antiaircraft guns that had shown themselves, silencing several of them before they could down any of the American aircraft.

Craning his neck to his left, Sergeant Price saw what appeared to be three ZU-23 antiaircraft guns that the gunship had not silenced yet. A dizzying rate of fire crisscrossed the sky above the runway. One string of rounds tore into one of the C-17s, causing it to explode before its human cargo had a chance to jump.

“Holy crap. That was two platoons’ worth of Rangers,” Price thought in horror.

Seconds later, the AC-130 gunship obliterated the gun positions, but the damage had already been done.

A minute later, Price found himself quickly approaching the ground and positioned himself to tuck and roll just as he had done in dozens of practice jumps. Before he knew it, he was on the ground, and his body had instinctively done what it had been trained to do.

Once on the ground, he quickly brought his weapon to bear. He’d spotted a machine-gun position that a handful of PLA soldiers were running to, and he wanted to take them out before they could start mowing down his fellow Rangers. Just as Sergeant Price was about to fire, a hail of bullets rained down from the sky and the running figures evaporated, cut to pieces by a five-barrel 25mm Equalizer cannon, which spat out thousands of rounds a minute. With the immediate threats neutralized, Price went to work on getting his pack strapped to his back and rounding up his squad.

Glancing back up toward the sky, Price saw the horizon continue to fill up with parachutes as the rest of the battalion arrived. He also spotted two smoke trails streaking up nearby and watched as missiles headed straight for the gunship that had been providing them with direct fire support. The AC-130 turned hard to one side as it spat out flares at a high rate of speed as it quickly changing altitude and revved its engines. Then, one missile successfully impacted against the plane, and one of the engines exploded and caught fire. The second missile was diverted by one of the flares and detonated harmlessly away from its intended target. However, the gunship was now trailing smoke with an engine out as it lumbered out of view. Price wasn’t sure what happened to it, but he knew he needed to get his squad moving to their next objective. He could contemplate what had happened to the Spector gunship later.

Seeing the other members of his squad unstrapping their parachutes and grabbing their packs and weapons, Price shouted, “On me!”

He swiftly led them toward the opposite side of the base. Their objective now was to clear the munition bunkers and then press on to secure the western edge of the base perimeter before expanding out further up the ridgeline that overlooked the base.

As they approached the road that led to the munition farm, his squad nearly ran straight into an enemy machine-gun position, which appeared to have been hastily manned, since the Chinese soldiers there were still feeding a belt of ammo into the gun.

At once, Price brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired at them. He was quickly joined by the members of his squad, killing the four enemy soldiers before they were able to react to their presence. With the enemy gun position taken out, they pressed on, now joined by at least two other squads of soldiers.

They continued unhindered until they reached the building that led to the entrance of a massive bunker complex. The relative silence was broken by a fuselage of enemy machine-gun fire.

Zip, zip, zang. BOOM.

Bullets and grenade explosions struck everywhere as the two sides fought it out in relatively close quarters.

“Frag out!” yelled Price. He threw one of his grenades at a cluster of enemy soldiers that had just arrived from deeper in the bunker complex.

BOOM.

“On me!” he shouted. He raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired a string of shots into the gun slit on the bunker, then charged.

Bang, bang, bang!

The sounds of his rifle echoed off the surrounding cement walls of the bunker system. Price slammed his body against the cement wall just to the left of the gun slit, then reached down and grabbed another grenade from his vest.

“Frag out!” he shouted as he tossed the second grenade inside the bunker. He had held the grenade for a couple of seconds before he threw it in, trying to cook down the timer. This would give the soldiers inside very little time to react to it.

BOOM!

Dust, air, and flame rapidly blew out the gun slit. Then a few cries of pain and agony groaned out, indicating the fragmentation grenade had found its mark. Price dropped his now-empty magazine, placing it in his drop bag, and pulled another out of the front pouch of his vest. Once he loaded the fresh thirty-round magazine, he slapped the bolt shut, loading the next round. Then he flicked the selector switch from semiauto to full-auto. Sergeant Price placed the barrel of his M4A1 into the gun slit and proceeded to empty his thirty-round magazine into the compartment. Pulling back against the wall, he dropped the empty magazine and slammed a fresh one in place.

“Damn good assault, Sergeant Price,” he heard from behind him. He glanced back to see Lieutenant Rafael Martinez, his platoon leader. More men were stacking up against the bunker wall his fireteam had formed up on.

Price nodded in acknowledgment, then turned to his squad, signaling with his hands that they were going to breach the bunker. Once they had finished stacking against the wall next to the bunker entrance, one of his soldiers pulled the door open slightly, throwing a grenade in and slamming the door shut. A second later, the grenade went off, and the private opened the door again, allowing the team to rush in and begin clearing the first room.

That first area of the bunker complex turned out to be the gun room, so they scarfed up some additional weapons before moving to the next entrance. Before they moved down the hallway and deeper into the complex, they threw a hand grenade down the hall and waited for the explosion. They rushed through the entrance, weapons at the ready, and found the next room. The other members of their platoon weren’t far behind Sergeant Price’s team. Together they would clear the complex much more quickly. Ten minutes went by. Aside from two enemy soldiers who had surrendered, they didn’t meet any further resistance.

Walking out of the fortified positions, the men of Second Platoon moved to the edges of the bunkers and climbed up the grass-covered sides to gain a better view of what lay around them. As he looked back toward the runway, Price could see the burning wreck of at least one C-17. Further out, he spotted a gravy train of aircraft lining up for their approach.

“These guys must be bringing in our light armored vehicles and other heavy equipment,” Price reasoned.

Parachutes were still descending over the runway with each pass of one of the cargo planes. Swarms of soldiers on the ground were busy unwrapping a pair of JLTV vehicles, which looked to be equipped with M2 .50-caliber heavy machine guns.

“OK, enough lollygagging,” Lieutenant Martinez announced. “We need to push the perimeter out. You guys see that string of roads and cutbacks leading up that ridge? We need to secure it. Battalion wants us to set up a position on top of the crest before nightfall, so we need to hoof it if we’re going to make it up there by then.” Martinez gestured toward an incredibly tall and intimidating ridgeline, part of the Dulan Forest. Various parts of the ridge provided exceptional overwatch of the air base, which would be very helpful since it was unknown if the area was still occupied by enemy forces lying in ambush, or if it was truly empty.

The soldiers grumbled a bit but eventually threw their packs on after the short break and fanned out as they made their way into the tree line that led to the outer perimeter road. As the platoon made their way up the forested ridgeline, they heard an increase in gunfire maybe a couple of kilometers to their right. Clearly, one of the other platoons was in the thick of it. More gunfire was still sounding off in the distance to their left, where the main city was located. That beach was being hit by an Australian infantry unit, so it wasn’t Price’s concern, so long as the Aussies did their job and secured the city. The airborne had the air base and the Dulan Forest to secure. It was rough terrain and would be a challenge, but it was a challenge the sky soldiers thrived on.

The last two weeks had been filled with terror and anxiety. The Americans had been dropping bombs all over the place, hitting God only knew what. From time to time, a bomb or missile would land near the bunker complex Sergeant Lei Wei had been calling home for the past two months. It especially irritated him when he was trying to write a letter home to his family. His unit would be ordered to man their weapons and be ready to repel a possible enemy invasion. Each time their officers told them this might be it, the time when the Americans would finally land their vaunted Marines on the beach to steal the rightful territory of Formosa from China’s bosom.

Lei felt proud of himself, and he knew his parents and elders back in the village were extremely proud of him as well. After his herculean efforts and bravery during the invasion of Formosa, he had been awarded the Order of Heroic Exemplar by the lone political officer who had survived that day of days. Once Formosa had been captured, Lei had been specially flown to Beijing, along with nearly fifty other soldiers who were being awarded the medal. They were presented their award by President Xi himself at a formal ceremony. For his part, Lei’s exploits that day were widely publicized in his home village and region as an example of what a young man, a lowly farmer, could achieve and do for his country. The Communist Party had promoted Lei from a militia member to the rank of sergeant in the 40^th Motorized Infantry Brigade, which was traditionally stationed in the province he was from.

That particular brigade happened to be a jungle warfare brigade, and they had been placed in charge of a large swath of the eastern shore of Formosa. They would be the frontline force against a naval invasion. Lei felt immensely proud at being promoted into this unit, though he was not exactly thrilled with the tough odds they would be facing against any Allied force that sought to liberate Formosa.

For nearly eight months, everyone had thought the Americans would leave Formosa alone and focus their efforts elsewhere. Then rumors had spread about a massive military defeat in northern China that had cost the lives of over a hundred thousand soldiers. The more recent gossip was that the PLA forces were being defeated in the Philippines. Sergeant Lei recognized that if the Americans had recaptured the Philippines, then it was likely just a matter of time before they tried to steal Formosa.

One of the privates broke Lei out of his reflections. “Sergeant Lei,” he said, “do you think the Americans are going to invade soon?”

A few of the other soldiers perked up as they heard the question, waiting to hear what their sergeant would say. Putting his pen down, Lei looked up and saw the scared expression on the young man’s face. Lei replied, “The Americans will come. I don’t know if it will be today, tomorrow, or next month…” Just then, a series of explosions blasted in a not-too-distant area. He continued, “… but rest assured, the Americans will come, and when they do, we will throw them back into the sea from which they came.”

The soldiers in the sleeping quarters of their bunker complex nodded in agreement. Before the men could ask any more questions or ponder what he had said further, the general quarters alarm sounded, alerting them that they were to man their battle stations. Getting up from his cot, Lei cinched his boots back on, then pulled on his body armor and reached for his QBZ-95 rifle. The men quickly filed out of the sleeping quarters section of the complex and made their way to the gun positions their squad had been assigned to.

Walking through the maze of tunnels in the complex, Lei could hear and feel the bombs hitting the earthen fortifications above them and around the nearby area.

“This is a much heavier bombardment than anything we’ve seen up to this point. I wonder if this really is it,” he thought.

His squad of soldiers moved through the tunnel, past other groups of soldiers running to and from various other sections of the underground maze.

Bang! Boom!

A series of large explosions rocked the mountain their fortification had been carved into, knocking most of the men in his squad to the ground. Bits of the ceiling crumbled down, letting in some small segments of dirt. Looking ahead of them, they could see a rush of smoke billow into the tunnel from one of the gun bunker positions, which was right next to the section his squad had been assigned to defend. Several soldiers stumbled out of the bunker room. Some of them held their heads, one braced his arm, and another limped out on an injured leg. Many of the soldiers in his squad rushed toward their comrades see what had happened and to help them.

Sergeant Lei spotted one of the other sergeants he had taken a liking to and ran up to him. “What happened, Yin?” Lei asked.

His friend looked dazed at first, unsure who had asked him the question. Then he slowly recognized his friend and fellow sergeant. “I think it was an American bomb or missile. They didn’t hit us directly, but the explosion was close. Oh God, I still have wounded soldiers in there. We need to get them help,” he replied, suddenly remembering the rest of the reality around him.

Before Lei could send his own men in to help, a group of medical soldiers ran past them into the bunker room, and their captain walked up to them both. “Sergeant Lei, get your men into your bunker room and prepare to repel the Americans,” he ordered. “We’ll handle Sergeant Yin’s men.” The captain had a concerned look on his face that betrayed his true feelings. He looked scared, like the rest of them.

“Yes, Sir!” shouted Lei, who then barked orders to his squad to man their positions.

Racing into their own bunker room, he saw the three soldiers he’d left on duty, looking out the gun slits with pairs of binoculars. When the rest of the squad ran in, they turned and excitedly explained what they were seeing, pointing at dozens upon dozens of enemy warships that had not been there even a few hours ago.

Grabbing one of the binoculars, Lei saw what looked like mini-aircraft carriers, with too many small craft to count circling around them in a holding pattern. Then he spotted several destroyers and cruisers, which were using their five-inch guns to fire directly on their positions. Hearing the roar of a jet engine, Lei looked up and saw an American war plane swoop in and release a pair of objects from under its wings. The payload struck the fortified positions near the Suao Lighthouse on the opposite side of the naval base and harbor. That had been one of their key strongpoints to keep the Americans from being able to capture and use the former Republic of China naval base, piers, and docking cranes.

Lei could smell the air, charged with burnt dirt, metal, cordite, and sulfur, wafting in through the gun slits. The atmosphere around them was already filled with the odor of battle and high explosives, a smell that would only grow thicker throughout the day. His nose also detected the putrid smell of burnt flesh, feces, and urine from those who had been killed and had lost the will to hold their bowels during their demise. Snapping out of the apocalyptic scene unfolding before them, Lei knew he had to get his men ready to defend their position.

“We need to get the guns ready at once!” he shouted. “Assistant gunners, make sure you have the extra barrels ready to swap out when the time comes. Also, make sure you have enough water nearby to help keep the barrels cool. They are going to heat up quickly, and we need to make sure we don’t melt them. Where’s my ammo runners?”

“Here, sergeant!” the trio shouted as they ran up to him and stood at attention, waiting for his next set of orders.

“Get the ammo cart and grab four more boxes of ammo for the Hua Qing. I want two extra boxes next to each of the guns! Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” they replied and ran out to grab the extra ammo.

Taking a moment to survey his position, Lei felt confident about their chances. His bunker room was six meters wide and ten meters in length, with ten meters of rock between them and the next bunker room. To their front, the gun slits looked like sideways Vs, opening the aperture of the gun slit further away from the opening; this provided the gunners with as much protection as possible from the outside and gave them exceptional fields of fire and the ability to raise or lower the angle of their fire, depending on where the enemy was.

It also had a wall that divided the room in half, to help ensure that a single rocket, missile, or cannon round wouldn’t kill everyone in the bunker with one lucky hit. Inside the bunker, they had two of the coveted Hua Qing miniguns. The guns were electrically run six-barrel killing machines. Sergeant Lei had been told that they were a knockoff version of a similar gun system the Americans used. Because of the incredible rate of fire, each of these weapons had a five-hundred-pound wooden crate/ammo box sitting next to it, which were self-designed by the PLA soldiers who would be manning and using them in the bunker complexes.

Each of these boxes of ammo had fifty 100-round belts attached to them, giving the gunner 5,000 rounds before they needed to swap out ammo boxes. Outside of the bunker complex, this little idea of stringing that many belts of ammo together would never work, but for their purposes, it was brilliant. The commander of their bunker complex had considered the idea important enough to share with the rest of the island defenses, which definitely said something.

They also had two W-85 heavy machine guns, which fired 12.7×108mm rounds, similar to the American M2 .50-caliber machine gun. Between these four killing machines, Sergeant Lei was confident his twelve-man squad would be able to prevent the Americans from successfully landing at the portion of the coast they were designated to protect. He just hoped the other areas would be equally protected.

Lei’s biggest concern, since they hadn’t practiced for it in any of their training drills due to the cost of ammunition, was making sure they would be able get rid of the sheer volume of spent shell casings these four machine guns were going to create. The bunker had two slits in the floor next to the outer wall, which had been cut in the rock on each side of the bunker for this purpose. The goal of these fixed positions was to be able to fight in them for a long time. Knowing that, the engineers designed a way to get rid of the brass casings as quickly as possible, so they wouldn’t clutter the floor up and make it nearly impossible to walk. Each of the guns had a trash can next to them and a flat metal shovel. One of the ammo carriers would also man the shovel and trash can. When the cans got full or there was a lull in the shooting, they would lug the trash can to the slit in the wall and dump the spent casings down it. The casings would then land outside the bunker and gather below to be picked up at a later date, assuming, of course, that they successfully repelled the Americans.

One of the soldiers backed away from the wall and put his binoculars down. He looked nervously at Lei. “This looks like it’s it,” he said, “the big invasion you and the captain talked about. That looks like a lot of enemy soldiers.” He motioned to the small landing craft still circling around their mother ships. “Do you think we can stop all of them?” he asked.

Sergeant Lei walked up to the young private and put his hand on the man's shoulder. “We’ll stop them,” he said, trying to display as much confidence as humanly possible. “You need to stay focused on doing your part. Don’t worry about what the others are saying or doing, just concentrate on your piece of the puzzle, and we’ll get through this. Besides, you’re the lucky soldier that gets to use the minigun.” His mouth curled up in a sarcastic half smile.

Unlike a lot of the PLA sergeants, Lei felt he could accomplish more with honey than vinegar. Maybe it was his small country villager attitude, but he seldom yelled at his soldiers unless they needed it. His squad, and a lot of the other members of his company, had taken an immediate liking to him. Not only was he a hero and good luck charm, but he was also a nice guy to be around.

“They’re heading to the shore now!” shouted one of the soldiers excitedly as they watched the smaller amphibious assault vehicles and troop landing ships begin to head toward the shore. Several of the destroyers fired smoke rounds into the village and port area just in front of the shoreline in an attempt to obscure their view of the landing.

“That smoke may hinder the bunkers near the coast, but it won’t affect us,” Lei thought as a devilish smile spread across his face.

As the landing force got closer to the shoreline, a pair of fighters flew in low and fast, releasing a series of long, tumbling bombs. They hit right on top of where Lei knew a line of bunkers and trenches had been built. The bombs exploded in thunderous flames that grew in intensity and stretched across the entire trench line. Horrible walls of fire intensified as the firestorm consumed everything in its path.

“Dear God, is that what napalm looks like?” Sergeant Lei wondered. His palms were suddenly very sweaty. The Americans had begun using that horrible weapon early on in the war, especially as the fighting had intensified in the Pacific.

Ten minutes went by, and then the first American landing crafts hit the shoreline, disgorging their human cargo. Lei watched in amazement at how many American Marines charged up the shoreline and how quickly they did so.

“Should we open fire, Sergeant?” asked one of the corporals who manned one of the machine guns. So far, none of the other bunker rooms had started shooting yet, so as not to give away their positions.

Lei shook his head. “Not yet. Our orders are to wait until the third wave of Americans lands. Then we are to unleash death and destruction on them.”

The corporal nodded, though he clearly wanted to start shooting at the American invaders. It felt like forever elapsed as they watched the first wave of Americans rush forward to be met by what remained of their initial defensive line; it was fascinating and terrifying at the same time. Watching those American Marines scream and charge their positions in such a ferocious and fearless way sent shivers down Lei’s back.

“These men fight more viciously than the Taiwanese did, and they are more skilled,” Lei realized nervously. He started to wonder if it would really be possible to make it out of the bunker complex alive.

The second wave of Marines landed and joined the fray. To Lei and his comrades’ horror, they watched as the Marines quickly overpowered and overwhelmed the first defensive line with speed and ease. Lei really earnestly began to question if they could hold this position, or if he was already surrounded by his tomb. This bunker complex they were in was manned by only 230 soldiers, and they only had five-gun bunkers. Once they were taken out or overrun, that was it for their part in the war.

Twenty minutes after that second group landed, the third wave of landing craft arrived. This wave brought with it multiple hovercraft or LCACs, which proceeded to offload dozens of eight-wheeled light armored vehicles and main battle tanks. Just as Lei was about to order his bunker to start shooting, he saw dozens of helicopters approaching the shoreline.

“Machine gunners, focus your fire on those helicopters!” he yelled. “When they come in to drop off more Marines, light ‘em up!”

One of the minigunners angled his weapon toward one of the Osprey tiltwing helicopters and let loose a string of bullets that looked more like a laser beam reaching out for the helicopter than it did machine-gun fire. In seconds, the Osprey was sliced through by hundreds of rounds, tearing it apart. The chopper blew up in spectacular fashion over the beach, crashing down onto the Marines below.

The corporal turned to fire on the next helicopter, although at this point, the cluster of helicopters took evasive maneuvers as they broke off their assault. However, Sergeant Lei’s bunker was not the only one to fire at the Ospreys — a total of three were downed before they managed to head back to the sea from which they had come. The soldiers manning the machine guns then switched to shooting at the swarm of American Marines who were moving inland.

Suddenly, the field phone attached to the wall rang. Lei grabbed the receiver, straining to hear who was on the other end and what they wanted. As he focused all of his attention, he could barely make out the voice of his captain. “I need to speak with you immediately,” Lei heard.

Shaking his head in confusion, Sergeant Lei responded, “I’ll be there shortly.”

He tapped on the shoulder of one of the other sergeants. “You’re in charge until I return,” he said.

The other sergeant just nodded and went back to making sure the four machine-gun positions continued to rain death and destruction down on the Marines who were now moving their way up the incline toward their position.

When Lei had traveled halfway down the hallway to where their captain was, the bunker complex shook violently, throwing Sergeant Lei to the ground. Parts of the roof above him gave way, dropping down chunks of rocks and dirt. Looking behind him, Lei saw a ton of smoke and debris coming from his bunker room. A single soldier emerged, stumbling out of the room before collapsing.

Lei quickly ran to his soldier and asked, “What happened?!”

“I don’t know what hit us,” the young private said, still in a state of shock. “One minute we were killing those Marines, the next moment the entire room was hit with something that blew apart the roof and walls. Had I not been on my way to get more ammunition, I’d be dead.”

As Lei got up, he tried to look into the bunker room and saw that most of it had collapsed. There was no fire, like he’d have expected to see from an explosion, just a lot of debris. Whatever had hit them had also caused a lot of damage to the rock, which Sergeant Lei hadn’t thought was possible without a missile or a bomb. In that one moment, all but one of his soldiers were gone forever.

Commander Mark Gray of the DDG-1001 Michael Monsoor was on his third cup of coffee, and it was only 0900 hours. When his ship had approached to the Taiwanese coastline, he’d insisted on being present either on the bridge or in the CIC. His ship was screening for the larger troop ships and would be employing its railguns for the first time as they identified targets of opportunity. As the invasion fleet approached the shoreline and moved into position, the coast stayed silent for several hours. No missiles or projectiles were fired at them, and it appeared as if the enemy had simply walked away from the beach in favor of a protracted inland fight.

The invasion appeared to be progressing smoothly, or at least predictably, according to the intelligence and operation planners. As the captain of the second Zumwalt-class destroyer in the Navy, now that the PLA Navy had been summarily destroyed in the Battle of Luzon, his task was to support the Marines’ ground invasion of Taiwan. While they had fired off some of their Tomahawk cruise missiles prior to the landings, their primary job now was to try and test their railgun against those hardened targets the ground forces were having a harder time destroying.

With that goal in mind, the camera monitoring of the landings by the CIC members was critical. As they found hardened points, the ground forces would call them, asking for a fire mission. Once the target had been identified, the Monsoor would fire one of its railguns and take it out.

As Commander Gray watched a couple dozen Ospreys and other helicopters head toward the beach, he suddenly witnessed the violent destruction of two of them. His stomach sank as the fireballs descended down to the earth below, right on top of some of the Marines. Gray scanned the horizon. His eyes were suddenly drawn to a suspicious area on the side of the rock.

One of the other battle managers in the CIC must have spotted the same thing seconds before him. “Zoom in on that position!” he shouted, directing everyone’s attention to the spot. In seconds, they all saw where the enemy fire was coming from. Carved into the side of a steep ridgeline was a heavily camouflaged bunker. Looking more closely, they saw what appeared to be several bunker positions.

“Weapons! Take that position out now!” yelled Commander Gray.

The first railgun fired, slamming its projectile into the first bunker, silencing it quickly. The second gun quickly followed, hitting the next bunker and successfully ending its reign of terror. Unfortunately, another Osprey was torn apart by what appeared to be a minigun firing from the third position before the first gun could spool up again fast enough to take it out. Seconds after the Osprey lit up like a Christmas tree, that bunker was also obliterated by the railgun.

“Make sure to put a few extra rounds into the bunker system,” ordered one of the battle managers.

Commander Gray then walked toward one of the petty officers, who was manning a monitor. “Begin scanning the entire ridgeline for any possible signs of gun bunkers,” he ordered. “If you think there might be one, we’re going to light it up with a railgun.”

“Worst-case scenario, we might blow up a few extra rocks and trees,” Gray thought. In any case, if they eliminated other bunkers, they would definitely be saving lives.

The rest of the day was spent with the crew feverishly looking for enemy strongpoints and hammering them with their railguns. Their ability to provide direct kinetic support to the Marines as they moved inland was proving to be invaluable as they ran into one enemy strongpoint after another.