Black Star

CHAPTER 13 — GWAI–LO

General Wu Hsin-chieh walked down the broad steps of the American Institute in Taiwan. He stopped in the courtyard between the main building and the perimeter wall and gazed around. Wu could remember when this place used to be called the United States Embassy, before Nixon embraced Mao and moved the embassy — and diplomatic recognition with it — to Beijing.

He blinked in the harsh light. The sun was streaming through a high veil of smoke. There was no wind. To the east, where the large industrial complexes nestled on the outskirts of the city, columns of black smoke rose straight into the sky.

War had come to Taipei.

In the first twenty-four hours of the conflict, a barrage of missiles had hurtled across the strait toward Taiwan. The Patriot anti-missile batteries had performed better than anyone expected, intercepting over eighty percent of the incoming missiles. Still, the missiles were taking a toll. Entire blocks of Taipei’s institutions were now heaps of smoking rubble. The sounds of the city were replaced with the wail of sirens, the whump of exploding warheads, the screams of panicked citizens.

Wu saw his aide, Captain Lo Pin, and his driver waiting inside the guarded gate. A pair of guards in battle dress were stationed behind sandbagged emplacements on either side of the gate. Another contingent manned an observation post behind them.

The passenger door of the black government Lexus was open, waiting for him.

Wu was in no hurry. After the past two days inside the executive bunker, he wanted to taste the open air, the relative tranquility of the afternoon. Instead of climbing into the Lexus, he lit a cigarette and stood watching the traffic outside the gate.

He couldn’t help noticing that this part of Taipei — the area around the American Institute — was untouched by the incoming cruise missiles. A coincidence? He doubted it. They already knew that China had retrofitted the guidance units of all their cruise missiles with GPS — global positioning satellite technology — furnished to the world by the United States. They could hit any target in Taiwan with an maximum error probability of thirty feet.

He guessed that it was a tacit protocol being observed by China and the United States. Don’t violate our space, and we won’t touch yours. Each side was scrupulously avoiding a confrontation with the other.

It was strangely quiet. At this time of time of day, mid-afternoon, Taipei should be a maelstrom of gridlock and honking horns. Instead, an orderly parade of vehicles, mostly military cars and a few commercial vans, passed along Joping Street in front of the consulate. The light at the intersection was not working, and a uniformed policeman was directing traffic. No horns were honking.

He had often wondered how the Taiwanese would fare if they actually experienced war. In normal times they were a noisy, quarrelsome, divided people. They fought over parking spaces, argued about food prices, insulted each other in public. Politicians in the legislative Yuan engaged in more brawls than debates.

A large faction in Taiwan had always clamored for total severance from China. Another faction, almost as large, preached reunification with their kinfolk across the strait. Becoming one happy Chinese nation. Various splinter factions wanted a Marxist state, or a Buddhist state, or no state at all — a return to the feudal system of warlords and serfs.

Wu loved this country. It was flawed and feisty, filled with contradictions and pride and guts — but it was his homeland. As a young soldier nearly thirty years ago he had taken a vow to defend it. Nearing the end of his career, he had begun to think that it would never be necessary.

Until the day before yesterday. Until President Charlotte Soong.

He still didn’t know whether he had admiration or contempt for her. Both, he guessed. He was too much of a loyal soldier to engage in an active conspiracy against her — but he didn’t rule it out. If she proved herself to be disastrously inept, he would act. No President had the divine right to destroy Taiwan.

He saw Lo Pin signaling him from the staff car. “General, a call from the President.”

Wu walked over to the Lexus and took the handset from Lo. It was the secure phone, a scrambled-signal satellite connection that linked him directly to Soong’s office.

“Yes, Madame President.”

“What was the outcome of your conversation with the Director?”

Wu had long been acquainted with the senior American diplomat in Taiwan, Jennings Poynter, whose title was now Director of the American Institute. Poynter was a career foreign service officer who spoke Mandarin and liked to play poker with senior Taiwanese officers. He was also known to favor reunification of Taiwan with China.

“He is supportive, but as we expected, he wants you to negotiate.”

“Negotiate what? A surrender?”

“A truce,” said Wu. “A cessation of hostilities.”

A silence followed, and for a moment he thought he had lost the connection. Finally he Charlotte Soong’s voice again. “Did you relay our concerns, General? About more weapons? About our need for U.S. support?”

“To the best of my ability. I am a military officer, not a diplomat.”

“I understand. But I trust you, General Wu, more than my diplomats. I trust you to define our military position for the Americans.”

Wu was about to reply when something on the western skyline caught his eye. A squiggly gray trail was pointing into the smoke-veiled atmosphere. As he followed the trail, it made a couple of corkscrew turns, then erupted in an oily black cloud. A shower of debris arced down toward the western suburbs of Taipei.

A Chinese missile, he realized. Intercepted by one of the Patriot air defense batteries. He guessed that it was another C-801 Sardine short range cruise missile. The bastards had an endless supply of them. Thank God for the Patriots. Without the Patriot anti-missile batteries supplied by the U.S., Taiwan would now be a smoking ruin.

“Are you still there, General Wu?”

“Yes, Madame President. I am observing a demonstration that the PLA has not run out of cruise missiles.”

“All the more reason that we need rearmament.”

“Consul Poynter tells me that a resupply of the Patriot missile batteries has been authorized.” Wu was watching the cloud of debris descend over Taipei. The sound of the explosion had not yet reached him. “To our request for more offensive weapons — land-attack missiles and more F-16s — he says Washington declines. There will be no rearmament of offensive equipment.”

“I have a conference scheduled in two hours with the U.S. President,” said Madame Soong. “I will remind him that America is involved with Taiwan in this war. That we share a common interest in the outcome.”

Wu knew she was being circumspect. Even though the telephone transmissions were scrambled, they had to assume that others would monitor the conversation. It was a fact of life that Taiwan — including the military and the executive branches of government — was riddled with PRC spies. Just as the PRC was well-infested with Taiwanese operatives.

He knew exactly what she meant. She was referring to an operation against a base on the mainland called Chouzhou. And a stealth jet called Black Star. It would commence in eight hours, and yes, the Americans were definitely involved.

Smartass broad, thought Bass.

It was the third time in a single conversation that she had corrected his imperfect Chinese. As if someone had appointed this Mai-ling chick to be his cultural supervisor. His nanny.

“Where did you say you went to undergrad school?”

“University of California,” she said. “You may have heard of it.”

“Which campus?”

“San Diego. Where’d you go?”

“UCLA. You probably never heard of it.

“I made it a point never to go there.”

“I guess you learned all that California flake talk in San Diego?”

“Actually, I learned it from some Air Force ROTC guys. They weren’t very bright.”

Bass just shook his head. They had gone back and forth like this for most of the time he had known her. She had a comeback for everything.

“How does a student from China get into a university in the U.S.? Some kind of foreign assistance program?”

“By merit, mostly. China sends a thousand or so of the best and brightest students every year for studies in the U.S. Many go on to obtain advanced degrees. I was one of them.”

“Are they all as modest and self-effacing as you?”

“Yes. They don’t wish to embarrass their American male counterparts who are not as gifted.”

“Then they go back to China to work on weapons to use against us.”

“Of course. America educates its enemies and sells them its secrets. It’s an old tradition.”

Bass just nodded. He suspected that she was right. It didn’t make sense, but a lot of things lately weren’t making sense. His own situation, for example. He still hadn’t figured out how he got into this mess.

“What will you do when this is over?” he asked. “Go to the United States?”

“I don’t know.” She seemed to drop some of the smartass posture, at least for the moment. “Maybe. Maybe not. It depends on what happens in the next few days.”

Bass supposed that she meant the operation in Chouzhou. If it turned out badly, none of them had a future. Not him, not her, not Maxwell. China would win, and everyone else lost.

She was making no secret of her crush on Maxwell. He wondered if they were already sleeping together. Well, why the hell not? Life was short. For them, possibly very short.

He heard the sound of boots on the wooden floor. He glanced up to see Colonel Chiu striding into the room. As usual, he wore sharply creased battle dress fatigues with black, spit-shined boots.

Chiu glanced around, a look of disapproval on his face. He said to Mai-ling, “So? You have nothing better to do than spend your time talking with gwai-los?” Gwai-lo meant “foreign devil,” but was loosely applied to include all outsiders.

“I was helping him with his Mandarin.”

“Why? So he can answer questions in Chinese when the PLA interrogates him?” Chiu’s face creased into a humorless smile.

Prick, thought Bass. He noticed that Mai-ling wasn’t giving Chiu any of the smartass treatment. Was she afraid of him?

Chiu glanced at his watch. “We have a briefing scheduled in ten minutes. I suggest you keep your thoughts directed on the mission.”

“Yes, Colonel,” said Mai-ling.

Bass just nodded.

Something was happening.

Huang could sense it, like a change in the weather. In the executive bunker he had spotted General Wu skulking in and out of the President’s private office. Staff officers — colonels and commanders — scurried back and forth clutching documents to their chests. Plainclothes agents walked the passageway of the bunker, mumbling hushed instructions in their pocket radios.

Outside the executive office he encountered Peter Weng, the President’s administrative aide. He remembered Weng from the cabinet meetings. He was a prissy office type who followed Soong around like a pet poodle.

“Where is the President?” Huang demanded. “I need to speak to her.”

“She’s not in the office.”

“I can see that, you idiot. Where is she?”

Weng looked like he’d been slapped. “I’m not authorized to divulge the President’s whereabouts.”

“Authorized? Do you know who you’re speaking to? I’m the second-in-command of this government, and you are refusing to tell me the whereabouts of my only superior?”

“I–I’m not refusing, Premier. It’s just — well, the President made it clear that—”

“This country is at war, you insignificant pest. You are interfering with the conduct of my official duties. Mr. Weng, I may have you arrested for obstructing the war effort and abetting the enemy. Do you know the penalty for such conduct?”

Weng knew. His face went white. He glanced up and down the hallway for help from someone. Anyone.

Huang knew he had overplayed his hand, but it was producing the desired effect. “Speak up, damn you. Or shall I call the chief of security and have you put in shackles?”

“If you give me a few minutes, I’ll call her and have her get in touch with you.”

“I’m the Premier, you pimple-headed moron. I don’t require your permission to speak with the President. Where is she?”

Weng caved in. “She went to Chingchuankang.”

Huang made a deliberate effort not to register his surprise. Chingchuankang? That was a secret facility where they staged commando operations. Why is she there at this hour? It was nearly nine o’clock in the evening. Something was definitely going on. Something she had kept from him.

“Of course, I know she went to Chingchuankang. I mean, where is she at this very moment? Has she left the base yet?”

“I’m not sure, Premier. I will find out.”

“Do that. Be quick about it.”

A look of relief covered the young man’s face and he fled the area. Huang waited till he was gone, then he wheeled and went to the cubicle that served as his office in the underground bunker.

The rest was easy. Using his secure phone, he called the base commander at Chingchuankang. The commander, a colonel, was flattered by so much attention. First a visit by the President, then a personal call from the Premier. Yes, the President and her entourage were due to arrive in a pair of helicopters in not more than ten minutes.

Huang took a shot in the dark. “Of course, she expects to see the preparations for the commando raid?”

A pause, and Huang worried that the question may aroused suspicion.

After a moment the colonel said, “Yes, Premier, we will review the plan with her. She wishes to emphasize to Colonel Chiu Yusheng and the two Americans how critical the raid is to Taiwan’s survival.”

Huang felt a ripple of alarm run through him. Americans! A raid critical to Taiwan’s survival.

What was going on? Colonel Chiu Yusheng? He had heard of him. He was some kind of shadowy commando who was reputed to have carried out a number of audacious clandestine operations.

A dozen questions rushed to his mind, but he held them back. The base commander would be alerted if he realized that Huang had no real knowledge of an upcoming commando raid. Anyway, he had other sources.

“Thank you, Colonel. You are performing a valuable service.”

“I am honored, Premier. Should I tell the President you wish to speak with her?”

“No, that isn’t necessary. It’s best not to distract her from her task at Chingchuankang. Our business can wait until she returns.”

“Yes, Premier.”

After he hung up, Huang sat alone in his office pondering this news. What sort of commando operation would merit a personal visit from the President? Why were Americans involved? There were two of them, the colonel said. Who were they? What sort of raid would be critical to Taiwan’s survival?

He called Feng Pao, his aide in the central office of the Yuan. “Get me a brief on an officer based at Chingchuankang. A Colonel named Chiu Yusheng. Everything about him. I need the information immediately.”

“Yes, Premier. Right away.”

Colonel Chiu was in the middle of his briefing, barking instructions to his squad leaders, giving directions to the helicopter pilots, stopping to growl orders to the two Americans and Chen Mai-ling. “Here,” he said, rapping a spot on the model Chouzhou base with his long pointer. “Helicopter One discharges First Platoon, who will secure the forward flight line. Helicopter Two then lands here—” another rap of the pointer, “—with Second Platoon and the pilots who—”

He stopped in mid-sentence and gaped at something behind them. A noisy commotion burst from the back of the briefing room. Every head swiveled to follow Chiu’s gaze.

Someone barked a command in Chinese. All the commandos jumped to their feet. Chiu slammed his heels together, bringing himself to rigid attention.

“What’s going on?” Maxwell asked Bass.

“Something about the President. I think she’s here on the base.”

So she was. Escorted by half a dozen troops in full battle gear, Charlotte Soong and her party swept into the cavernous room.

Maxwell and Bass rose to their feet, and Mai-ling stood with them. The President of the Republic of China went directly to Colonel Chiu. Maxwell watched her shake the colonel’s hand, exchange a few words with him, then gaze around the room. For a minute she studied the model of the Chouzhou base, asking questions of Chiu. Then she looked across the room at the Americans.

Maxwell knew little about her, only that Madame Soong had succeeded President Li after the shoot-down of the Airbus. He had presumed that she was a Chinese dowager, stout and formidable, whose authority was mostly ceremonial.

This was no dowager. Madame Soong was tall, with a slim waist and a long, graceful neck. Her hips swayed like a fashion model’s as she walked toward them, taking strong, purposeful strides. She carried a flowered umbrella over her left arm.

“Holy shit,” said Bass in a low voice. “That’s the President?”

“Try not to be a pig,” whispered Mai-ling.

Colonel Chiu was at the visitor’s side. “Madame President, meet Commander Maxwell, of the United States Navy. And this is Major Bass, from the United States Air Force. They are the pilots who will accompany the mission to Chouzhou.”

Mai-ling made a show of clearing her throat. She glowered at Chiu.

“Oh, yes,” said Chiu. “And this is—”

“Chen Mai-ling.” Mai-ling brought her heels together and bowed her head. “Formerly of the People’s Liberation Army.” She ignored the menacing look from Chiu.

Charlotte Soong shook hands around, bestowing a gracious smile on each. “I came here to personally thank each of you. The Republic of China will forever be in your debt for what you are doing for us.” She turned to Bass. “You are already a hero in Taiwan, Major.”

“I am?”

“You trained many of our excellent young fighter pilots. And then you led them into combat over the Strait.”

“Well, I, uh, I’m not supposed to…”

“Now you have volunteered for the raid on Chouzhou. You are a hero of the greatest magnitude, Major.”

Bass mumbled thanks, his face reddening. Mai-ling was peering at him curiously.

Charlotte Soong turned her attention to Maxwell. “Commander Maxwell, may I ask you something?”

“Yes, of course, Madame President.”

“I know you have a brilliant career in the U.S. Navy. Why have you volunteered for this mission?”

He felt her keen gaze on him, waiting for an answer. “I have some knowledge of the stealth fighter that no one else out here has. That made me the best candidate for the job.”

A lame answer, he knew.

She shook her head. “No, it’s more than that. I know something about you. I know that you were a test pilot and an astronaut, and that you have been decorated for bravery in several conflicts. You are a man who does not retreat from danger.”

Maxwell didn’t know what to say. Flattery embarrassed him, especially from a head of state, and a good-looking one at that. He looked over at Bass, then said, “We will do our best to accomplish the mission, Madame President.”

She regarded him with interest for another moment. “Yes, I am sure you will.”

She then chatted with Mai-ling. They spoke in Chinese, Mai-ling nodding her head, smiling, eagerly answering the President’s questions. Madame Soong said something that gave them both a good laugh. Maxwell watched them, realizing that he had not seen Mai-ling this cheery or animated.

Colonel Chiu stood apart, listening to the two women, wearing a sour expression. He scowled, shuffled his feet, then made a show of studying his watch.

Finally Madame Soong said, “Our time is up. I must return to Taipei.”

She shook hands again, wished them all success, then followed her escorts back to the darkened ramp outside where her helicopter waited.

“Wow,” said Bass. “What did you think?”

“Impressive,” Maxwell said. In his military career he had served under several good leaders and a few bad ones. Charlotte Soong, he had a gut feeling, was a good one.

Mai-ling was still staring at the door where Madame Soong had exited the room. A look of pure enchantment covered her face. “I think she’s fantastic.”

Colonel Chiu broke the spell. “It doesn’t matter what you think. Quit wasting time and get to work.”