Fatal Terrain

PROLOGUE

The fistfight broke out as suddenly as a thunderclap. Several men and women leaped over seats to clutch at those who dared disagree with them or support another side over theirs. Railings and seats were used as ladders to try to get at one another, and the entire crowd seemed to surge forward like a pack of wolves on the attack.

The scene resembled an unruly crowd at a World Cup soccer match, or a riot in South Central — but this was a special session of the National Assembly of the government of the Republic of China on Taiwan.

The president pro tem of the National Assembly hammered his gavel, trying to restore order. He glanced over at the national guard troops peeking through the window in the back of the chamber, ready to burst in if necessary. He heard breaking glass and almost hit the panic button, but stayed calm and watched nervously as the noisy politicians surged forward. It took nearly thirty minutes to restore some level of calm, and another ten minutes for the legislators to clear the aisles enough so the National Police could escort the president of the Republic of China, Lee Teng-hui, to the podium.

“My fellow citizens, your attention, please. I am pleased to announce the results of the ratification vote of the Legislative Branch, which was taken just a few hours ago,” President Lee began. “By a vote of two hundred seventy-one for, thirty against, three abstaining, Mr. Huang Chou- ming is hereby approved by the people of the Republic of Taiwan to serve as vice president and premier. Mr. Huang, step forward, please.”

Amid renewed cheering and yelling, mostly from the left side of the hall, the new premier of the Republic of China stepped up to the dais and accepted the green-and-gold sash of office. Huang was a major figure in the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP), and his election to the number-two position in the Taiwanese government was significant — it was the first major advance of a non-Kuomintang (KMT) Party member in the country’s short history. Although the Kuomintang still held a solid majority in all branches of the Taiwanese government, the advancement of the DPP was a major shift from nearly fifty years of KMT philosophy and control.

The shouting, cheering, celebrations, and accusations suddenly and violently turned into another brawl on the floor of the National Assembly. While bodyguards surrounded the president and vice president, members of Taiwan’s National Assembly ran up and down the aisles, stood on desks, and screamed at each other; several members were up on the dais near the president, fighting with one another to decide who would speak with the president first. Members of the National Police Administration, charged with the protection of government buildings and property and who acted as security guards in the National Assembly chamber, had moved into the chamber itself and stood stock-still along the outer aisles of the Assembly chamber, long cane batons nearly invisible at their sides and tear-gas canisters safely tucked away inside their tunics. They did nothing but watch with stone-expressionless faces while the fights and bedlam raged all around them.

“My fellow citizens,” President Lee tried. His voice, even amplified, was barely heard. He waited patiently for any sign that the near-riot was subsiding. He heard clothing rip just a few paces away from him — the fight had somehow moved up to the dais, where police were trying to keep Assembly members from reaching the president and new premier— and decided that he needed to wait a few moments longer. He had a pistol tucked away in a holster inside his pants at the small of his back, and Lee considered firing a shot in the air to get everyone’s attention, but quickly decided that a gunshot might just make this place explode.

The Taiwanese National Assembly was composed of members elected for life. Since most of the membership had been elected to their post in 1948, prior to the Communist overthrow of the Nationalist Party on the mainland, there were some very old gentlemen here in the Assembly Hall. But the old goats, Lee noticed, were arguing and fighting just as hard as the more newly elected members — they just had less endurance. The hall was splitting into two distinct sections, a normal and common occurrence here in the National Assembly. The largest group was the Kuomintang, along with their nominal allies the New Party, the Young China Party, and the Chinese Democratic Socialist Party. On the other side were the members of the Democratic Progressive Party, a more liberal and modern-thinking political party filled with young, energetic, rather idealistic members. Although the right side of the hall, filled with KMT members and supporters, was much larger, both sides were equally boisterous.

“My fellow citizens, please,” Lee tried again. When he realized there was no response to his pleas, Lee finally ordered the police to step in. Order was quickly restored. “Thank you. We will now proceed with the main piece of business on tonight’s agenda.” Huang respectfully stepped behind and to Lee’s right; this simple action got the Assembly’s attention right away, and the chamber quieted. Lee quickly continued: “This election also signals a unity of purpose and policy within our government, my friends, a union between rival patriotic groups that has been much too long in the making. Our newfound coalition between the KMT and DPP forms the basis of our pride in our accomplishments and our standing in the world community. It is time for our unity, our pride, to be brought forth upon the world for all to see.”

President Lee let the loud applause continue for a few long moments; then: “With humble pride and great joy, Premier Huang and I hereby bring to the floor of the National Assembly a bill, drafted by the Central Standing Committee of the Kuomintang, amended by the Legislative Yuan Major Constitutional Committee, and passed this date unanimously by the Legislative Branch, to amend the constitution of the Republic of China. It is now up to us to ratify this constitutional amendment.

“The bill amends the constitution by proclaiming that the Republic of China, including the island archipelagoes of Formosa, Quemoy, Matsu, Makung, Taiping, and Tiaoyutai, is now and forever shall be a separate, sovereign, and independent nation, subordinate or component to none. The people of the Republic of China hereby renounce all allegiance and ties to land, title, property, legal claims, and jurisdiction to the mainland. Our prayers will always be that we are someday reunited with our motherland, but until that day comes, we hereby proclaim that the Republic of China is a separate nation, with all the rights and responsibilities of free and sovereign nations anywhere in the world. The bill is hereby submitted for a vote. May I please have a second?”

“I proudly second the motion,” the new premier, Huang Chou-ming, shouted, which lifted the applause to a new, outrageous level. Huang and the DPP had been fighting for such a declaration of independence for many years, and their victory in getting this legislation passed and onto the Assembly floor was the most significant event in the history of the Nationalist Chinese.

The introduction of this bill meant that the Kuomintang s basic philosophy of one China, introduced by Dr. Sun Yat-sen as he and Nationalist General Chiang Kai-shek fought to liberate China from the grasp of the Japanese empire after World Wars I and II, and proclaimed ever since the Nationalists were pushed off the mainland to the island of Taiwan by the Communists in 1949, was effectively dead. There had always been a hope that the Nationalists could somehow liberate the mainland from the dark clutches of communism, now the government and the people were saying that hope was moot. Mainland China could someday join in the prosperity and power of the Republic of China — but until then, Taiwan was in control of its own destiny.

The cheering in the Assembly hall was deafening; the applause and demonstrations in the aisles lasted for nearly ten minutes. There was still a small group of KMT members opposed to the amendment, and they tried to start another fight on the Assembly floor, but their anger and outrage could not undo years of Lee’s gentle persuasiveness and coalitionbuilding efforts.

But it was more than releasing an improbable dream. It was an assertion, a declaration to the world, and especially to the gargantuan presence known as the Peoples Republic of China, that the Republic of China on Taiwan was taking its rightful place on the world stage. Taiwan was no longer a breakaway republic of China; the ROC was no longer a rebel government. It had the strongest economy in Asia, the ninth-largest economy on the planet, and the largest deposits of foreign currencies in the world. Now it was a sovereign nation. No one was going to take any of that away from them.

It took an entire hour for the votes to be cast, but the results were finally tallied and the announcement was made, soon for all the world to hear: independence.

As he had done for the past thirty-two years of his life, the retired U.S. Air Force general was up at four A.M., without the assistance of an aide, an operator, or even an alarm clock. He was a man who had always set the agenda, not followed those of others. He was accustomed to having everyone else get moving on his timetable.

But now no one in a base command center was waiting for him, there were no “dawn patrol” missions to fly, no world crisis that had to be analyzed so a response could be planned. His uniform now was not a green Nomex flight suit or freshly pressed blue wool class As, but a flannel shirt, thermal underwear — one of innumerable pairs he had used in his flying days, in aircraft where keeping the electronics warm was more important than keeping the humans warm — hunting socks, hip waders, an old olive- drab nylon flying jacket, and an old Vietnam-era camouflage floppy “boonie hat” with spinners and lures stuck in it. He didn’t know that all those things in his hat had nothing to do with open-sea fishing, but it didn’t matter — it was part of the “uniform.”

By force of habit, he put the hardened polycarbonate Timex aviator’s watch on his left wrist, although his own internal body clock was all he needed now; and he plucked the cellular phone from its recharging cradle, turned it on, and stuck it in his fanny pack, although no one ever called him and he had no one to call. For a long, long time, since assuming his first command more than twenty years before, leaving his quarters without a portable radio or a cell phone and pager had been unthinkable, and such habits die hard. The cell phone was something of a link to his old life, his old base of power. The old life had been stripped away from him, but he would not let it go completely.

The weather in Oregon’s central coast matched the man’s mood— gray, cloudy, and a little depressing. The man had spent many years in the Southwest, especially southern Nevada, where they had more than three hundred clear, sunny days a year. Many times he cursed the sun and the oppressive heat it brought — one-hundred-degree days in April, lots of ninety-degree midnights, terrible jet performance especially in the high deserts — but right now a little sun and warmth would be very welcome. It was not looking good — typical low overcast, drizzle with occasional light rain, winds out of the southwest fairly light at ten knots but threatening to increase, as they usually did, to thirty to forty knots by afternoon.

Not ideal fishing weather, but what the hell — nothing else to do except sit around and look at the mountain of unpacked boxes still cluttering his little mobile home in Southbeach, an isolated vacation and retirement village on Oregon’s central coast, about eighty miles southwest of Portland. The Air Force-contracted movers had delivered his household goods seven months before, but there they sat, virtually untouched. He saw a small hole the size of a pencil in the corner of one box marked “Memorabilia” and wondered if the mice were enjoying nibbling on the plaques, awards, photos, and mementos he had stuffed in there. At least someone was enjoying them.

The man decided just to get the hell out and do what he had planned to do, and to hell with the bad memories and bitterness. Concentrating on his boat, the sea, and staying alive on the cold waters of coastal Oregon in freshening breezes would take his mind off the neglected remnants of the life that had been taken away from him. The prospect of catching a glimpse of a migrating pod of whales filled him with a sense of excitement, and soon he was speeding down the long gravel driveway, eagerly looking forward to getting on the water.

It was a short drive north on Highway 101 to the marina, just south of the Yaquina Bay bridge. The marina’s general store had just opened, so he had his thermos filled with coffee, his cooler packed full of orange juice, fresh and dried fruit, and some live sardines for bait — he didn’t have the money to buy live mackerel or squid, which would really improve his chances. What he knew about fishing would embarrass himself if he tried to talk about it, but it didn’t matter — if he caught anything, which was unlikely these days in the fished-out waters of central Oregon, he would probably let it go. He filled out a slip of paper that explained where he was headed and how long he was going to be out — somewhat akin to filing a flight plan before a sortie — stuck the paper in the “Gone Fishin’ ” box near the door on his way out, and headed for the piers.

His boat was a thirty-year-old thirty-two-foot Grand Banks Sedan, bought with most of his savings and the sixty days’ worth of unused accumulated leave time he had sold back to the United States Air Force. Made of Philippine mahogany instead of fiberglass, the heavy little trawler was easy enough to handle solo, and stable in seas up to about five feet. It had a single Lehman diesel engine, covered flybridge, a good-size fishing cockpit aft, a large salon with lower helm station, settee, and galley, and a forward cabin with a head/shower and a V-berth with decent but fish-smelling foam cushions. He turned on the marine band radio and got the weather and sea states from WX1, the Newport Coast Guard weather band, while he pulled off the canvas covers, checked his equipment and made ready to get under way — he still called it “preflighting” his ship, although the fastest he’d fly would be ten knots — then motored over to the pumps, filled the fuel and water tanks, and headed out of the marina into Yaquina Bay and then to the open ocean.

There was a very light drizzle and a fresh breeze blowing, but the man did make his way up to the flybridge to get a better feel for the sea. Visibility was about three to five miles offshore, but the Otter Rock light was visible nine miles north. The waves were maybe a foot, short and choppy, with the first hint of whitecaps, and it was cool and damp — again, typical weather in Oregon for early summer. He headed northwest, using an eyeball bearing off the lighthouse to sail into the fishing area. When he’d first started sailing, he’d brought an entire bag full of electronic satellite navigation gear, backup radios, and charts for almost the entire West Coast with him, because that’s how he had prepared for a flying mission. After ten trips, he’d learned to navigate by compass and speedometer and left the GPS satellite navigation gear at home; after fifteen trips, by compass and tachometer and currents; after twenty trips, by compass alone; after twenty-five, by bearings off landmarks; just off feel and birds and whale sightings thereafter. Now, he could sail just about anywhere with confidence and skill.

The man thought that perhaps flying could also be just as uncomplicated and carefree as this, the way pilot-authors Richard Bach and Stephen Coonts wrote about it, but in his ten thousand-plus hours of flying he had never done it that way. Every sortie needed a flight plan, a precise schedule of each and every event and a precise route to follow. Every sortie needed a weather briefing, target study, and a crew briefing, even if the crew had flown that sortie a hundred times before. Hop in and go? Navigate by watching birds and listening for horns? That was for kids, for irresponsible captains. Plan the flight, then fly the plan — that had been the man’s motto for decades. Now he followed birds and looked for whales. -

Almost an hour later, just as the eastern sky began to show signs of sunrise, the man shut down his engine, threw a sea anchor out by the bow to keep pointed into the wind, poured a cup of coffee, stuck a granola bar in his shirt pocket, and got his gear ready for fishing. Halibut and salmon were running now, and he might get lucky with live sardines on a big hook with one-hundred-pound test and a little weight. He cast out about a hundred feet, couched the pole, set the reel clutch, sat out on deck surveying the horizon…

… and said aloud, “What in hell am I doing out here? I don’t belong here. I hate fishing, I’ve never caught a damned thing, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I like boats, but I’ve been out here an hour and I’m bored. I’m wet, I’m cold, I’m miserable, and I feel like tying the fucking anchor around my neck and seeing exactly how long I can hold my breath underwater. I feel like shit. I feel like—”

And then the cell phone rang.

At first he was surprised at the sudden, unexpected noise. Then he was angry at the intrusion. Then he was curious — who knew his number? He’d left his home number on the little slip of paper at the general store, not the cell phone number. He was even outside max range of the Newport cell site — he didn’t think he could get calls way out here. Puzzled and still a bit peeved, he retrieved the phone from his fanny pack, flipped it open, and growled, “Who the hell is this?”

“Good morning, General. How are you, sir?”

He recognized the voice immediately, of course, and it was as if the sun had just popped out and the skies had turned clear and blue, even though it was still gray and cold and wet out here. The man opened his mouth to ask a question, answered it himself — dumb question; he knew they could find his number easily enough if they wanted — so remained silent.

“How are you doing, sir?” the voice repeated.

Always friendly, always disarming, always at ease, the man thought.

This was obviously some kind of business call, but with this guy there was always time for business later. Always so damned polite, too. You work with a guy for, what, almost ten years, and even though there’s an age and rank difference you expect to be on a first-name basis and can the “sir” stuff. Not this guy, at least most of the time. “Fine… good,” Brad replied. “I’m doing… okay.”

“Any luck out there?”

He knew I was out fishing? That was odd. It was no state secret or anything, but he hadn’t told anybody he was fishing, or given out his phone numbers, or even told anyone he was living in a little trailer in Nowhere, Oregon. “No,” Brad replied.

“Too bad,” the voice on the phone said, “but I got an idea. Want to do some flying?”

The sun that had come out in his heart a few moments before was now setting his soul on fire, and Brad fairly leapt to his feet. The waders suddenly felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds. “What’s going on?” Brad asked excitedly. “What are you up to now?”

“Look to the south and find out.”

Brad did — and saw nothing. He had a brief, sinking feeling that this was all a hoax, some complicated and brutal joke…

… but then he felt it, that sound, that feeling. It was a change in the atmosphere, an electricity flowing through the air stirring and ionizing the moist sea breeze. It felt like an electric current flowing through nearby high-tension power lines, a snap of unseen force that made little hairs stand up on your skin. Then you feel the air pressure rising, of a thin column of air being pushed ahead like air streaming out of a giant hypodermic needle aimed right at you, the plunger being pushed by what could very well be God’s thumb, but was, Brad knew, a very human construct…

… and then the overcast parted and the clouds disgorged a huge black aircraft. It was low, pointed, and very deadly-looking. Brad expected it to roar past him, but instead it hissed by like a giant ebony viper on the move across a jungle floor. Only when the monstrous vehicle had zoomed past him, barely a hundred feet above the Pacific and almost directly overhead, could he hear the thunder of its eight turbofan engines… no, Brad realized with faint shock, not eight, only four engines, but four huge engines. The aircraft banked hard to the left, showing its long, thin fuselage, its long, low, swept-back V-tail ruddervators, its wide wings tipped with pointed tip tanks — and yes, it carried weapon fairings on its wings, stealthy pods that enclosed externally-carried weapons. It was not only flying, but the damned beautiful creature was armed.

“What do you think, Brad?” retired Air Force Lieutenant Colonel Patrick McLanahan asked on the cell phone. “You like it?”

“Like it?” retired Air Force Lieutenant General Bradley James Elliott gasped. “Like it? Its the…” He had to be careful — last he knew, the EB-52 Megafortress defense-suppression and attack bomber was still highly classified. “… its flying again!”

“It may be the only model flying in a few months, Brad,” McLanahan said. “The Air Force let us play with a couple. We need crews to fly them and commanders to organize a new unit. If you’re interested, climb aboard the Gulfstream that’ll be waiting for you at Newport Municipal in two hours.”

“I’ll be there!” Elliott shouted as the Megafortress climbed back into the overcast and disappeared from view. “I’ll be there! Don’t you dare leave without me!” Bradley James Elliott dropped the phone onto the deck, quickly stepped forward to the bow, began reeling in the sea anchor, swore because it wasn’t coming in fast enough, then simply detached it from the bow cleat and dropped it overboard. He did the same with the fishing rod. The cold diesel engine was cranky and wouldn’t start on the third try, but thankfully it started on the fourth, because Elliott was ready to jump out and run all the way back to Newport. After seeing the Megafortress again, a new Megafortress, he felt light and happy enough to give walking on water a try.

It was back. It was really back… and so, with the grace of God, was he.

“Doors coming open! Stand by! All hands, secure loose items and prepare for exposure!”

The rear cargo doors of the Yunshuji-8C cargo plane motored open at one hundred and twenty seconds time-to-go in the countdown. Admiral Sun Ji Guoming, deputy chief of staff of the People’s Liberation Army of the Peoples Republic of China, was standing in the forward section of the cargo plane as the temperature of the cargo hold, already below freezing, suddenly dropped nearly fifty degrees almost in the blink of an eye. The ice-cold wind swirled around the huge cargo hold, tugging at legs and arms as if trying to pull the humans out into the frigid sky. Yes, it was mid-May over the generally warm, relaxing South China Sea, but at 30,000 feet just before midnight, the air, rushing into the plane at over a hundred miles an hour, was still bone-snapping cold. The roar of the Y-8C’s four Wojiang-6 turboprops, at 4,250 horsepower per engine, was deafening even in the thin air.

The senior naval officer, like the other engineers and technicians in the cargo bay, was dressed in a sub-Arctic snowsuit, layered over an oceangoing exposure suit that was required to be worn anytime they were flying outside safe gliding range of land. Sun also wore a fur-lined aviation helmet with an oxygen mask and cold-weather anti-fog goggles. Sun marveled at some of the soldiers working on the cargo inside the plane— they wore parkas and boots but no gloves, and they took only occasional gulps of 100-percent oxygen from the masks dangling down on the sides of their faces as they worked. These men, obviously born in the punishing cold and high altitudes of Xizang and Xinjiang Provinces of western China, were very accustomed to working in cold, thin air.

Sun Ji Guoming was one of a rare breed in the Peoples Liberation Army — a young, intelligent officer with vision. At the age of only fifty- three, Admiral Sun, known as the “Black Tiger” because of his noticeably darker, almost Indian-like complexion, was by far the youngest full flag officer in the history of the People’s Republic of China. He was at least fifteen years younger than any other member of the Central Military Commission and thirty years younger than his superior officer, General Chin Po Zihong, the chief of staff. Suns family were high Party officials — his father, Sun Jian, was minister of the State Science and Technology Commission, in charge of restructuring and modernizing China’s vastly outdated telecommunications infrastructure.

But Sun had not earned his post merely by his family’s powerful Party connections, but by his utter devotion to the Party and to its leadership, first as commander of the South China Sea Fleet, then as former hardline premier Li Peng’s military advisor, then as chief of staff of the People’s Liberation Army Navy (PLAN), and now as first deputy chief of the general staff and certainly its next chief, possibly even the next minister of defense. The Black Tiger was truly one of the fiercest officers in the huge Chinese military.

As deputy’ chief of staff. Suns main goal was to modernize the huge People s Liberation Army, to drive it into the twenty-first century. He had been executive officer several years earlier aboard China's most ambitious blue-water naval project, code-named EF5, the destroyer Hong Lung, or Red Dragon. The Hong Lung was an amazing warship, equal to any other warship owned by any nation on earth. The ship had been the spearhead of an ambitious plan by the chief of staff. High General Chin Po Zihong, to occupy several of the Philippine islands, and had been destroyed in fierce attacks by the United States Air Force and Navy, including bombardment from outer space. But until the final crushing blow, the Hong Lung had controlled the sea and airspace in the southern Philippines for hundreds of miles.

That was the kind of military power China needed to succeed in the twenty-first century — and Admiral Sun Ti Guoming was going to make it his career to see to it that China developed the technology to meet the challenges of the future.

“Sixty seconds to release! Navigation data transfer in progress. Pilots. maintain constant heading and airspeed and conform to prelaunch axis limits."

The soldiers backed away from the cargo as the countdown neared an end. Sun did a count of the men in the cargo bay — six had gone in, and he counted six. plus himself. Accidents were easy and common in this kind of work, but it wnuld not look good for an accident to occur with the deputy’ chief of staff aboard.

“Stand by for release! All hands, prepare for cargo release! Five… four… three… txvo… one… zero. Release!" Sun heard several loud snap! sounds and a slight burble through the fuselage: then, slowly, the cargo began to roll backward through the cargo bay and out through the open clamshell doors.

The “cargo" w’-as a Chinese M-9 rocket, an intermediate-range ballistic missile. Admiral Sun Ji Guoming. as chief of development for the People s Liberation Army, was conducting yet another experiment on the possible future deployment of the M-series tactical ballistic missiles on nonconventional platforms. For years, other countries had experimented with alternative methods for deploying missiles to make them less vulnerable to counterattack. The most common w’as rail-garrison or road-mobile launchers, and China relied heavily on these. But although the missiles were transportable, they still needed presurveyed launch points to ensure an accurate position fix for their inertial guidance units, which meant that the launch points could be known and attacked.

The advent of satellite-based positioning and navigation greatly increased the accuracy of military weapons — at any moment, even while moving in an aircraft, it was possible to capture position, speed, and time from the satellites, dump the information to a missile or rocket, and be assured of previously unbelievable accuracy. If the weapon could get position updates from the satellites while in flight — and the M-9 missile Sun had just launched could do just that — the weapon’s accuracy could be improved even more. And if the missile contained a TV camera with a datalink back to the launch aircraft so an operator could lock onto a particular target and steer it right to impact, pinpoint accuracy was possible.

Sun stepped back through the cargo bay, waving away several soldiers who cautioned him not to go back there, and walked right to within a few feet of the edge of the open mouth of the cargo bay. What he saw was absolutely spectacular.

The M-9 missile was suspended vertically below three sixty-foot parachutes, fitted with strobe lights so he could see where they were in the darkness. He knew that as the 14,000-pound missile fell, it was receiving yet another position update from the American Global Positioning System satellite navigation constellation, and gyros were compensating for winds and missile movement, and were aligning the missile as vertically as possible. Suns cargo plane was about two miles away now — the missile could just barely be seen under the three chutes— when suddenly a long white tongue of fire and smoke appeared from under the parachutes. The three chutes deflated as the weight was taken off the risers, then they cut away completely as the M-9 rose up through the sky.

A perfect launch! Sun had proven — again, for this was his seventh or eighth successful air launch — that it was possible to launch a ballistic missile from a cargo plane. No special aircraft was necessary. Any cargo plane — military or civilian — could do it, with the right modifications. All of the avionics needed to transfer satellite navigation data to the missile was in a “strap-down” container that could be transported with ease and installed in less than an hour.

Sun signaled that he was clear of the opening and that it was safe to close the cargo doors, hurried forward, and entered the air lock leading to the crew cabin. Ignoring the biting cold, he stripped off his gloves and snowsuit as the air lock pressurized, then removed his oxygen mask and helmet, opened the forward air lock door, and entered the launch-control compartment. “Status!” he called out excitedly.

“M-9 is running hot and true,” the launch officer replied. “Altitude eighty thousand feet, twenty-nine miles downrange. Datalink active.” The officer handed Sun a messageform. “This came in for you while you were aft, sir. Message from headquarters.”

Sun took the messageform but did not bother to look at it — he was too excited about the launch. He watched in childlike fascination as the tracking numbers changed, moving his finger along a chart following its position as the missile zoomed northeastward. It was running perfectly.

Minutes later, the M-9 was approaching its target — Tung Ying Dao, what the rebel Nationalist government on the Chinese island province of Formosa called Tungsha Tao. Tung Ying Dao was a large archipelago of islands and reefs in the South China Sea, claimed by Taiwan, about midway between the southern tip of Formosa and Hainan Island, almost two hundred miles east-southeast of Hong Kong. The rebel Taiwanese government had erected several military sites on the largest island, Pratas Island, including U.S.-made Hawk and Taiwanese-made Tien-Kung antiaircraft and Hsiung Feng anti-ship missile sites. The defenses on the island were a great threat to Chinese ships passing between the mainland and the South China Sea, especially ships bound for the Spratly Islands, the archipelago of islands, reefs, and atolls claimed by many western Asian nations.

“M-9 reaching apogee,” the technicians reported. “Altitude one hundred fifteen thousand feet, seventy-one miles downrange.”

Admiral Sun touched the sensor control, and in a few seconds several white dots appeared on a dark black and green background. This was an infrared image of the scene below from the nose cone of the M-9 missile, beamed to the launch aircraft via radio datalink. Sun magnified the image to maximum and could just barely make out the outline of Pratas Island. Several other large, hot targets, far more intense on the heat-sensitive sensor than the island, showed as well — these were target barges with large diesel heaters set up on them, arrayed around Pratas Island to act as targets for the M-9 missile.

But Sun ignored the target barges. Instead, he locked the targeting bug of the M-9 missile on the northwest section of Pratas Island, where he knew the missile installations were located. The senior technician noted this at once: “Excuse me, Comrade Admiral, but you have locked the missile on the landmass…”

“Yes, I know,” Sun replied with a sly smile. “Continue the test.”

“Our telemetry systems won’t record the impact if it strays more than twenty miles off course,” the tech reminded him.

“How long will we have datalink contact before impact?”

“It should hold lock all the way to impact,” the tech replied, “although terrain or cultural obstructions may block the signal within approximately eight seconds to impact.”

“How far will the missile drift off course in eight seconds?”

“If it stays locked on, it will not drift off course,” the tech replied. “If it breaks lock when we lose the datalink… it will miss perhaps by not more than a few dozen meters.”

“Then I think we will get all the telemetry we need,” Sun said. “Continue the test.”

The closer the M-9 got to its target, the more detail they could see. Through occasional spats of static and one short nine-second datalink break as the warhead separated from the booster section, Sun could start to make out large buildings, then piers and wharves, then finally individual buildings. Through long hours of study, Sun knew exactly what he was looking at, and as soon as the system allowed him to do so, he locked the warhead on the main barracks building, a two-story wooden frame structure just a few hundred meters from the northwestern shoreline of Pratas Island. Sun knew that approximately a thousand rebel Nationalist soldiers were stationed on Pratas Island, manning and servicing the antiair and — ship sites — and he knew that about one hundred Taiwanese soldiers would be asleep right now in those barracks.

“Twenty seconds to impact,” the tech reported. “Uh… sir, should we lock on one of the target barges now? ”

“Captain, if you dare question my actions ever again, you will be commanding a garbage detail in Inner Mongolia province by tomorrow night,” Sun Ji Guoming said in a low voice. “As far as you are aware, I locked the missile warhead’s targeting sensor on the primary target barge, and you saw it lock on perfectly as expected. Is that clear, Captain?”

“Yes, sir," the technician responded. He watched in horror as the war-head careened down out of the sky, faster and faster, never wavering— it had held lock all the way until it passed below datalink coverage. The last thing they saw on the TV monitor was the broad, flat roofline of the barracks building. Even if the warhead started to drift, which it didn’t, the warhead would not have missed that building full of sleeping soldiers. The warhead had no explosive charge on board, only concrete ballast to simulate a 300-pound high-explosive warhead, but such a large object smashing home at over 900 miles an hour was going to do major damage even without a major explosion. The devastation would be catastrophic — and the rebel Nationalists would never know what hit them.

“Excellent test, comrades, excellent,” Admiral Sun announced. “Secure all stations.” He remembered the urgent message from Beijing just then, and fished the messageform out of his flight suit pocket and read as he continued, “Section leaders, I expect full reports on any difficulties to me before we land. Pilot, let us head back to base and—”

He stopped, dumbfounded, as he read. No, no, this was impossible!

“Cancel that last order, pilot,” Sun shouted. “All available speed to Juidongshan naval base. What is our time en route?”

“Stand by, sir,” the pilot responded. Sun was in a daze as the pilot, copilot, and flight engineer pulled out charts and started computing the new flight planning information. The three officers looked at each other nervously; then the pilot turned to the navy admiral lower class and said, “Sir, the naval base at Juidongshan does not have a runway long enough to accommodate this aircraft. The closest base that can safely accommodate us is Shantou, ETE, five-zero minutes. We can have a helicopter standing by to take you to Juidongshan, ETE—”

“Pilot, I did not ask you to fly to Shantou,” Sun said angrily. “Are the runways and taxiways at Juidongshan stressed to take this aircraft?”

The copilot looked up the information in the airman’s flight supplement manual and replied, “Yes, sir, the runways can handle us at minimum gross weight. The taxiways and ramp areas are limited to thirty thousand pounds, so—”

“That is all I need,” Sun said. “I do not need you to park this plane— I only require that you drop me off. You can dump fuel as you begin your approach to get down to emergency-landing fuel weight.”

“But, sir, the runway is made for only liaison aircraft and helicopters,” the flight engineer said. “It is only five thousand feet long! Even with only minimum fuel to reach Shantou, our safe takeoff roll will exceed the runway available by—”

“Lieutenant, I do not care if this plane becomes a permanent fixture at Juidongshan — I want to be on the ground at Juidongshan in less than a hour. If I am not in a car and on my way to headquarters in that time, the next destination you will be landing at will be a security ice cave in Tibet. Now, go!”

“Greetings to you, Comrade Admiral Sun Ji Guoming,” General Major Qian Shugeng, the elderly deputy commander for plans of the Military Command Headquarters Targeting Taiwan, said in a low, gravelly voice. “It is a pleasure to present our operational plans to you on behalf of the general staff. I will now turn the briefing over to my young deputy, Colonel Lieutenant Ai Peijian. Colonel Peijian has been most helpful in preparing this briefing for you. He is one of our hardest workers and a true and loyal son of the Party.”

The nearly eighty-year-old general officer waved a withered hand to tonight’s briefer, Colonel Lieutenant Ai Peijian—“young” in his case meant about age fifty-five — who moved to his feet and bowed respectfully. “Welcome, comrade, to our status briefing regarding our standing war plans for the glorious pacification and reunification with the rebel Nationalist Chinese on the island of Taiwan. Before I begin in detail, I am happy to report that our plans are in perfect order and await only the command from our Paramount Leader to execute the war plan. In less than one week, we can destroy the Nationalists’ defenses, capture the Nationalist president and his key advisors and Kuomintang leadership, and start the process of reunification under the Communist Party of China.”

“That will be for me and Comrade General Chin to decide, Colonel,” Sun said, impatiently waving a hand for the briefing to begin.

Just two minutes into the briefing, Sun knew that not much had been changed — this was the same briefing he had been given every two weeks for the past year now. This military committee — the Operations and Plans Committee, part of the Military Command Headquarters Targeting Taiwan, or MCHTT, based here in Juidongshan — was in charge of continually revising the war plans drawn up by the Central Military Commission, Chinas main military command body, for the initial attack, invasion, occupation, and subjugation of the rebel Chinese Nationalist government on the island of Formosa. Every two weeks, the MCHTT was required to brief the Central Military Commission or its designated representative — that had been Admiral Sun Ji Guoming for quite some time now — on any changes to the war plan made because of force or command changes on either side.

But it was a farce, typical of the huge, bloated People’s Liberation Army bureaucracy, Sun thought. No member of the lowly MCHTT would dare make any substantive changes in the war plans drawn up by the Central Military Commission — that would be an act tantamount to treason. Colonel Ai was the commanding officer of the planning division of the MCHTT, but he was such a junior officer that if he worked in Sun’s office of the chief of staff, his day would be spent mostly making tea and emptying wastebaskets for all the middle- and upper-class flag officers there. If the Central Military Committee wanted any changes made as to how Taiwan was to be “reunited” with the mainland, the CMC would tell the chief of staff, who would tell Sun, who would tell the MCHTT to make the changes. That process might take six months — six months spent by each bureaucrat in order to make sure that his superior wasn’t trying to screw him, each bureaucrat making sure that the orders made him look good if it worked and made someone else look bad if it didn’t work.

The initial thrust of the attack on the island of Formosa was to destroy the island’s thick air and coastal security units from long range. Seven fixed bases and ten mobile presurveyed launch points in east- central China were programmed to launch up to twenty Dong Feng-15 intermediate- and short-range missiles each on Taiwanese targets per day, that was one hundred and fifty to three hundred missiles per day, an incredible bombardment. The attacks were programmed to last as long as a month, but of course would be halted right before the amphibious invasion began, or upon the rebel’s unconditional surrender. The high- explosive missile attacks would be followed by tactical air strikes to mop up any surviving targets, escorted by waves of fighters to ensure air superiority and to fight off an expected counterattack by Taiwanese air forces. An amphibious invasion was deemed unnecessary — the thought being that loyal Communists on Taiwan would rise up, throw off their Nationalist oppressors, and welcome the People’s Liberation Army ashore peacefully — but the aircraft carrier Mao Zedong, formerly the Russian carrier Varyag and for a short time the Iranian carrier Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, and its battle group would be used to ferry troops and supplies ashore if necessary, while providing air cover against any resistance.

“Hold please, Colonel,” Sun finally said. “You show the employment of seventy-five DF-15 missiles on Longtian to launch against Taoyuan and Hsinchu Air Bases on Taiwan.”

“Yes, sir…?”

“Yet I was briefed two days ago that there has been extensive flooding on Longtian peninsula and that the base and city are not fully repaired,” Sun went on angrily. “The undamaged missiles were removed and sent to Fuzhou. What forces are covering Longtian’s targets while their missiles are evacuated?”

Colonel Ai seemed stunned at Sun’s question. “The evacuation was merely precautionary, sir,” he responded. “We expect the missiles to be back at their presurveyed launch points in just a few days…”

“But then you are in fact telling me that Taoyuan and Hsinchu are not really at risk right now” Sun insisted. “You are saying—”

“Comrade Admiral, Longtian covers the initial bombardment of Taoyuan and Hsinchu,” General Lieutenant Qian said in a loud, irritated voice. “Colonel Ai, continue the briefing—”

“But, sir, I just said there are no missiles at Longtian,” Sun interrupted. Although Qian was senior to Sun, they were both of equal rank and authority, and it was certainly within Suns purview to question anything in this briefing. He turned to Colonel Ai and asked, “Did you bother to move any bombers from the interior or from the north to cover those targets? Zeguo Air Base can perhaps handle twenty or thirty B-6 bombers; Hangzhou and Fuzhou might be able to handle thirty each as well. One hundred bombers might be able to cover those two Nationalist cities until the DF-15s can be replaced at Longtian. You might be able to get a number of Q-5s to cover the targets, but it might take a hundred and fifty or more, depending on the status of Taiwan’s Tien Kung-2 antiaircraft missile deployment that was scheduled for this month at Hsinchu. But the weather is getting a bit better, so the Q-5s might have a good chance.” Sun paused, regarding Ai. He still looked absolutely petrified with confusion, his eyes shifting back and forth from Sun to Qian. “Are you getting any of this, Comrade Colonel?”

“Yes, sir,” Ai said, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as if he were choking on his own tongue. But a warning glare from General Qian got his attention, and he pressed on: “Ah… yes, as I was saying, Longtian’s DF-15 missiles will destroy the air defense bases at Taoyuan and Hsinchu, with secondary targets at Taipei and Lung Tan available when intelligence reports the destruction of these two air facilities—”

“Comrade Colonel, are you listening to what I am saying?” Sun interjected angrily. “You cannot destroy any air bases with weapons you do not have. Now, I have told you that there are no missiles at Longtian, and I have suggested using bombers or attack planes to cover Taoyuan and Hsinchu until the missiles are operational again. Why do you continue to brief outdated information?”

“I… because, Comrade Admiral, the plan calls for Longtian to attack and destroy those two Nationalist bases,” Ai said. “It is all in the plan, sir…”

“Yes, I know, but the plan is wrong,” Sun said. This caused a gasp from Ai and from most of the officers attending the briefing — and an absolutely explosive grimace from Qian. “It is wrong because… Damn you, Colonel, you can see it is wrong. Change it. We could be called upon at any moment to execute this attack plan, and I want to be sure it is perfect. ”

“It is not wise to change the war plans,” General Qian said. “Yes, yes, some missiles are not in place right now, but they will be soon. If we are ordered to execute our war plans, we can move additional forces eastward to cover those two Nationalist air bases. Does that alleviate your concern, Comrade Admiral?”

“Comrade General, the purpose of this planning committee is to continually modify the existing war plans to reflect current circumstances and conditions,” Sun Ji Guoming said. “This is done so we do not have to wait until the moment we execute the war order to learn that we do not have the forces in place to accomplish the mission. When you were notified that Longtian was flooded and missiles were being relocated, you should have immediately moved additional forces to cover those targets.”

“You mean, fly hundreds of aircraft and thousands of troops all over China just for a few days until some mud is swept away?” General Qian asked. “Do you realize how much that would cost? And what of other war plans for which those aircraft and personnel are committed? That means coordinating with dozens of other headquarters all over China.”

“But, sir, that is the purpose of this planning group — to respond immediately to changes that might affect this war plan,” Sun argued. “If it becomes necessary to move men and equipment to a new location, then so be it. We should—”

“We should look at the solution in a different way, a way that will not be as complicated or as costly,” Qian interjected, obviously impatient to get this briefing over with. “Perhaps in the future we can brief possible replacement units that could be utilized to fill in, in situations such as have occurred in Longtian. We do not actually move any forces, but we earmark them for possible action in case the war plan is activated. How does that sound to you, Comrade Sun?”

Sun opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it. It was a bad idea. The war plan for the invasion of Taiwan was supposed to be a rapid reaction plan — the invasion was supposed to begin within twenty-four hours of the execution order. The world, especially Taiwan and its de facto ally, the United States of America, would immediately detect any massive troop or equipment movements; the element of surprise would be lost, and China no doubt would be forced to stand down its forces. If there were huge gaps in the reaction time of forces key to the plan— especially the Dong Feng-15 missile bombardment units, which were supposed to destroy key air defense and coastal defense sites in western Taiwan — the entire invasion plan was in jeopardy.

But now was not the time to argue this point. “Very well, Comrade General,” Sun acquiesced. “As long as the chief of staff is aware of the degradation, and immediately advised as to the steps being taken to correct the deficiency, a briefing note such as you suggest could be acceptable. But it is certainly not acceptable to brief that a certain element in the attack plan is mission-capable if it is in fact not so. The war plans are not carved in stone — they must be continually modified or they are useless. Please do not commit that error again, Comrade Colonel.”

“Yes, Comrade Admiral,” Colonel Ai responded, nodding contritely. Ai took a moment to take a sip of water, collect his thoughts, and find his place again — and immediately proceeded to give his briefing exactly as prepared, errors and all. There were at least two more instances that Sun knew of where attack units were not in place — in one case, an attack unit that Ai briefed was key to the destruction of a radar site on the Pescadores Islands in the Formosa Strait did not even exist any longer! The planning committee had done virtually nothing to the original Central Military Commission war plans drafted several years earlier.

“Another question, Comrade Colonel,” Sun interjected, swallowing his exasperation. “You seem quite content to sail the carrier Mao and her escorts right up to Kaohsiung, supported by air forces from Pingtan and naval air units from Quanzhou. But that means our J-6s will be up against the Nationalists’ F-16s from T’ainan…”

“We enjoy a six to one superiority in fighters, Comrade Admiral,” Ai responded. “Also, the DF-15 bombardment is guaranteed to destroy all of the runways that might possibly be used by the F-16s. Even if we do not destroy many F-16s on the ground, they will be trapped either aloft running out of fuel and weapons, or on the ground unable to launch.” “Your estimates of the amount of damage our rockets might do to the Nationalists’ bases is arguable, since they have a great quantity of ballistic missile defense systems and much of their warfighting infrastructure is belowground, where our rockets would have little effect, ” Sun said. “But even if our rocket attack is twice as effective as you say, our numerical fighter aircraft superiority can be completely erased if our air attack is at night.”

“Sir…?”

“Our J-5 and J-6 fighters and most of our J-7 fighters are not capable of night operations — I see that seventy-five percent of the air cover for the carrier is composed of J-6s,” Sun explained. “Only about ten percent are J-7s and J-8s. Where are the Sukhoi-27s? Those are our most capable fighters.”

“The Su-27s are based at Haikou Airfield, on Hainan Dao, Comrade Admiral,” Ai replied.

“I know where they are based, comrade — my question is, why are they not part of this offensive?” Sun asked. “Our fifty best fighters against their fifty best fighters — it would be an excellent battle, one that we could very well win. Such a battle could be decisive.”

“There you go again, comrade,” General Qian interjected, with a chuckle that sounded as if he were losing a lung. “The Sukhoi-27s have been deployed to Hainan Island to patrol the Nansha Dao. Their base facilities are specially made just for them. Do you now suggest we spend billions of yuan more to move them north to Pingtan or Fuzhou?”

“For this offensive — of course we should, sir,” Sun replied. “We need our best equipment and best pilots to blunt the rebel’s superior technological advantage, and the Sukhoi-27s are just as capable and perhaps superior to the F-16 Fighting Falcon. The teaming of J-8s with Su-27s is easily superior to a matchup between Taiwan’s F-16s and F-5 Freedom Fighters. The key, obviously, is the Sukhoi-27s.”

“We also have the advantage of superior command and control,” Ai interjected, “namely, the Ilyushin-76 radar surveillance planes. Two of our U-76s operating in the region during the conflict greatly increase the flexibility of the J-7s and J-6s. ”

“Our radar plane crews are just now being certified for combat duties,” Sun responded. “I feel it is not wise to trust them to carry the air battle for us, especially if we are top-heavy with fighters that require constant airborne intercept and even weapon-control information right down to ‘knife-fighting’ range. That could overload the radar operators and cause confusion.”

“Every commander wants the best, especially the young ones like yourself,” Qian argued, his voice very grandfatherly, almost jovial. “The J-6s and J-7 fighters, along with the Ilyushin-76 radar planes, will perform well beyond all expectations.”

“But the Su-27s will give us an edge—”

“The Sukhoi-27s were based on Hainan Dao to protect our interests in the South China Sea, in case of attack by Vietnamese or Philippine forces on our holdings in the Spratly Islands,” Qian said. He raised a suspicious eyebrow and asked Sun, “You are not suggesting we abandon our rights to the South China Sea, Comrade Admiral?”

“Of… course… not, sir,” Sun Ji Guoming replied, stunned by the question. “Sir, I am not trying to discredit the war plan or impose my own views over that of the Party or the Central Military Commission. My intention is to suggest improvements on the plan to ensure a safe and successful outcome. The Formosa invasion—”

“Is well planned and ready for execution, without the added complication of the Sukhoi-27 fighters,” Qian said confidently. “They can always be brought north in case they are needed, but with a six-to-one numerical advantage in fighters now, along with the carrier Mao’s fleet of Sukhoi-33 fighters, we feel the carrier is well-protected and we can destroy any opposition from Kaohsiung. A little danger is to be expected, my young friend — you cannot summon every rifle or every jet you wish. The plan has been formulated to concentrate necessary strength on defeating the rebels without sacrificing security or strategic balance in other areas of our vast nation. Please continue, comrade…”

“Perhaps you do not understand, Comrade General,” Sun said. “The National Assembly of the rebel Nationalist government on Taiwan has just voted to amend their constitution to declare themselves independent and sovereign from the mainland.”

Colonel Lieutenant Ai Peijian appeared to be a bit confused. Since no one else was speaking, he said, “Permit me to speak, sir, but why is this such shocking news? The rebels have been thinking they can be independent from us for a long time.”

“But now they’ve declared it to the world! ” Sun shouted. “They have put it in their constitution! They have dared to declare that there are two Chinas, separate and equal! Equal! To us? How dare they! How dare they do such a thing!”

“It is meaningless, sir,” Colonel Ai said, still unsure as to why Sun was so angry. “The world knows it is not true. It is like a bug declaring it is equal to the elephant. The world knows that eventually the rebel government will be overthrown and the province of Taiwan will return to the People’s—” “The world knows, does it? The world knows?” Sun interrupted, suddenly stopping his furious pacing. “You did not hear the rest of the news, then, Comrade Colonel: It is expected that the governments of the United States, Great Britain, France, Germany, Russia, South Africa, Saudi Arabia, and many others will formally recognize the new Republic of China within the coming days. Intelligence reports that a new American embassy will open in Taipei within the week. It is also estimated that the United States will petition for permanent membership for the Nationalists in the United Nations. It will be a simple majority vote— our country cannot block membership with a veto.”

“No… it cannot be,” General Qian muttered. He got to his feet, his hands still shaking. “This demands an immediate response. This cannot be!”

“We shall establish contact with the general staff immediately,” Sun said. “Comrade General, you must convene your operations staff and be prepared to execute the war orders immediately. ”

“Execute… the… war… orders!” Colonel Ai sputtered. “You mean, we are at war with the Nationalists?”

“You thought all this was a joke, Colonel?” Sun shouted angrily. “You thought none of this could really happen, that you would be somewhere else, doing something else? I am going to recommend that this plan be put into operation immediately! Within forty-eight hours, Colonel, I expect to be standing on the remains of the rebels’ capital, walking over the bodies of the rebels’ so-called ‘sovereign’ legislature.

“But first, I must figure out a way to fix your incompetence in amending the war plans so our attack will be successful,” Sun Ji Guoming thundered. “What do you think of the plan now, Colonel? What if I put you on the first landing craft that rolls across the beachhead at Kaohsiung? Would you brief the plan the same, knowing that it was your ass that would be the first to face the remnants of the Nationalist forces that were supposed to be destroyed? Tell me, Colonel! ” He suddenly swung on the aged general. “Tell me, General! How is the plan shaping up now? Perhaps I should nominate you to lead the invasion force! ”

“Have a care, Comrade Admiral,” Qian said, but in a panicked, squeaky voice. “You are on the verge of insubordination.”

“And what about the Americans, Colonel?” Sun Ji Guoming said, his voice rising in absolute frustration. “Your time line extends out to thirty days — but it will not take the Americans more than one day to respond. Their fighters from Okinawa have the range to engage our fighters in the northern sector; their fighters with their air refueling can protect their sub hunters and anti-ship attack planes. And that is before one of their carriers arrives to begin a counteroffensive. What forces do you propose to use when that begins?”

“The Americans would not risk a carrier during the initial thrust against the rebels,” Ai Peijian argued. “The Military Intelligence Department reports that if the Americans do decide to engage, it will be well after the initial thrust.”

“I am referring to the land-based forces on Okinawa, comrade,” Sun said. “American navy, marines, air forces — it seems the Americans have as many planes on Okinawa as Taiwan has in their entire fleet! If they commit those forces, all our forces arrayed against the northern half of Taiwan could be in jeopardy. If they get control of the skies and bring in their P-3 sub-chasers, all of our submarine fleet in the Formosa Strait and East China Sea could be in jeopardy. What will you do if—?”

“Comrade Admiral,” General Qian interjected wearily, “you are raving. Be silent.”

“Why not just destroy Okinawa, Comrade Colonel?” Sun Ji Guoming said, ignoring the generals admonition. “That would eliminate one of the biggest threats to our forces committed to the Taiwan battle. Destroy Okinawa, destroy Kunsan, South Korea, and we push the Americans back to the 135th meridian, out of range of their medium attack planes. If the Japanese refuse to allow American forces to stage attacks against us from their bases, we can then push the Americans back to Guam. Destroy Guam — one DF-5 long-range ballistic missile fired from Changsha, or one sea-launched ballistic missile fired from the Xia, our nuclear submarine — and we push the Americans back to the other side of the International Date Line. They would not even be fighting on the same day as us! We could then—”

“You… you are talking about using nuclear weapons, Admiral?” General Qian gasped. “You know that the Chinese Communist Party has officially stated that the People’s Liberation Army will not use nuclear weapons first in any conflict?”

“Using nuclear weapons would be much better than relying on false and misleading war plans such as these to retake what is rightfully ours! ” Admiral Sun shouted, sweeping his copy of the war plans onto the floor. “We are doomed to failure unless we commit ourselves to using every weapon in our arsenal.”

“That is quite enough, Comrade Admiral,” Qian interjected sternly. “The war plans do not call for the use of nuclear weapons against our own province — may I remind you that the island of Formosa is our territory, our twenty-third province — and it does not call for using nuclear weapons against the Americans, South Koreans, Japanese, or anyone else. I think this news has unsettled you. You appear to be on the verge of a mental breakdown.” And that was the end of the discussion.

This was a travesty, Sun Ji Guoming thought, as the others filed out of the conference room — for all he cared, the war plans didn’t exist. China was completely unprepared for what had just happened and what was about to happen.

Sun Ji Guoming had his own plans, and they had nothing to do with missile and air bombardments or massive naval engagements. Taiwan could be taken, without prompting war with the United States or hatred from the other Asian nations. It would be simple to isolate Taiwan, even from its staunchest supporters.

But capturing Taiwan and making it part of Zhongguo again was not the most important mission facing them right now — the biggest threat was the domination of the United States in every aspect of life in the Far East. The Americans’ ability to project its military power throughout this region was crushing China’s struggle to take its place as the most important power in Asia. Yes, the Americans’ military might was awesome, its technological superiority enormous. But Asia was far away, mysterious; its military had been greatly downsized, its economy was unsteady, its leadership tenuous. America’s influence on its Asian allies was not as strong as it once was.

Sun believed that he had a way to topple the great United States of America off its perch — and now was the time to do it.