Jack Thorlin
Fulcrum of the Citadel
Foreword
Following the publication of my first book, Stand of Knights, and Domingo Cortez’s memoir The Lafayette Initiative, I decided that what was missing from the literature on the Taiwan War was an authoritative recounting of its ending. I had decided to write the book myself, and sought out interviews with all of the surviving individuals who played a pivotal role.
What I found, however, was that their stories were far more instructive than I could render them in the retelling. Thus, I decided instead to compile their narratives in chronological order so that the reader can see events unfold from the perspective of the key actors. At the beginning of each chapter, I note whose account I am sharing.
I am honored to have played a small part in the drama, and I hope you enjoy reading this final volume on the war as much as I enjoyed compiling it.
Brad Feldman
New York City
April 2031
Prologue: Concitor
The flight I took after I said goodbye to my wife Lucy in Kentucky brought me to Hawaii, where our plane was refueled. I was trying to figure out what crazy plan the Army had to get us into Taiwan when Colonel Brown, our battalion commander, came back to where I was sitting. He had been conferring with Brigadier General Gutierrez and the rest of the command staff for the 1st Brigade Combat Team of the 101st Airborne Division.
Brown said curtly, “Tell the men to check their equipment and make sure they don’t have any Air Force gear or contraband with them. We’ve got one more hop on this plane, then we’re switching aircraft.”
“Yes, sir.” Classic Brown order, that. The Air Force personnel we’d seen on the plane and at the airports in Kentucky and Hawaii knew we were heading for the war. They’d given us little gifts, a bottle of whiskey, playing cards, USB sticks filled with porn and pirated movies, that sort of thing. As the battalion commander, Brown had five hundred of the four thousand soldiers in the brigade heading into combat under his direct command, and his mind was on exactly what mattered: making sure we didn’t run afoul of any Defense Department regulations on contraband or inter-service equipment transfers.
“Where are we heading to on the next hop, sir?” I asked.
Brown glanced toward the front of the aircraft as if it would be a security leak to tell me where we were all going. “Midway. Then it’s up to the Taiwanese. They’ve apparently figured out some way to get the whole division over to Taiwan in seven hours.”
I considered that for a second. There’s no way we’ll be flying all the way to Taiwan, I thought. The Lafayette Initiative and the Air Force had mopped up the Chinese fighters pretty well, but the People’s Liberation Army-Air Force would send out whatever fighters they could cobble together to shoot down a bunch of transport planes heading for the war zone. The war would be won or lost by whoever was on the ground for the next week — there was no point in saving strength for the future.
So why land on Midway? We could easily fly to Taiwan from Hawaii directly if that’s what the suicidal plan was. Midway Island is pretty much just an airstrip midway between Japan and Hawaii. Four Japanese aircraft carriers and one American carrier were sunk nearby during World War II. Now there was nothing but an old airstrip and a bird sanctuary.
“Any idea why we’re heading to Midway, sir?” I inquired.
Colonel Brown frowned. “That’s above my pay grade. And yours. You just make sure the men know not to take any Air Force equipment with them, Captain Concitor.”
We arrived on Midway Island at about 19:30 local time, just about sunset. Sure enough, the island appeared to be almost totally deserted. We landed on the single active runway and taxied to a stop by some ancient-looking barracks. Colonel Brown’s aide, a snot-nosed twenty-something captain, came back to my section of the cabin.
“Colonel Brown wants you to unload your troops. They need to be ready to move again in twenty minutes.” He realized he was speaking to a superior officer and added, “Sir.”
I dismissed the colonel’s aide and assembled my four platoon commanders, all of whom were young lieutenants almost twenty years my junior. I passed along what I had been told. Lieutenant Amy Barker, one of my most promising officers, asked, “Sir, what the hell are we doing here?”
Not acknowledging that I had no idea myself, I answered, “We’ve declared war on birds and we’re here to study the bird sanctuary. You’ll be in charge of figuring out how to get them to stop shitting on cars if you ask me any other questions.”
The platoon commanders dispersed to tell the 107 soldiers under my command to get out of the plane, stretch their legs, and get ready for the last trip to Taiwan.
No one needed to stretch their legs more than me. I felt every day of my thirty-nine years when I got off that plane. Even heading off to a war, I felt one last twinge of bitterness.
As I stood watching Colonel Brown, General Gutierrez, and the rest of the command staff talking on the tarmac at Midway, I thought again how hopeless my career had been. I was too old to be a goddamn captain. Seventeen years in the Army. A tour in Afghanistan as a first lieutenant, patrolling around like a policeman or meeting with tribal elders like a diplomat. Endlessly passed over for promotion. Endlessly enduring the looks of pity from officers whose promotions rested on merit badges in “networking” and bullshit.
I was standing there wishing I hadn’t quit drinking ten years ago when I saw what looked like a massive bird skimming the waves out in the distance beyond the beach. It was heading right for Midway. As it drew closer, realization slowly dawned on me that I was not looking at a creation of nature, but of man.
My company executive officer, Lieutenant Mike Williams, stood alongside me and we watched the behemoth land offshore and taxi over to the island’s only pier. “What the fuck is that thing, captain?”
It’s hard for me to convey just how huge this plane was. If you stood it on its tail or one of its wings, it would be one of the tallest skyscrapers in most American cities. Suddenly the situation made sense.
“Lieutenant,” I said, “I think that’s our ride to the war.”
Sure enough, the entire 1st Brigade Combat Team of the 101st Airborne Division loaded into the plane, along with our entire combat load of equipment. Four thousand men and a small army’s worth of equipment — all on one of the Taiwanese “Pelicans,” as our Taiwanese loadmaster called it. The Pelican was stealthy and was supposed to be able to avoid detection by the Chinese.
I felt a sense of giddy anticipation that I thought had left my life a long time ago. The Pelican was like seeing a living dragon, something magical that makes you question all of your assumptions. Seeing that marvel up close was enough to give me a little hope, even if I was on my way to a war under the command of Colonel Brown and General Gutierrez.
We had one final briefing before arriving in Taiwan. Because the Lafayette Initiative and the Air Force had taken out the Chinese fighters that were patrolling Taiwan, the Pentagon felt safe enough in sending over heavy reinforcements to stop the Chinese invasion. Taiwan had been wearing down the Chinese invasion for a few weeks at that point, and with our troops and help from the Navy and Air Force, the Chinese probably couldn’t overrun the island once we got there in force. The problem was that the Chinese knew that and were determined to make a last-ditch effort to break through the Taiwanese lines, capture the last big cities on the island, and win the war before we get there.