The 1st Brigade Combat Team was apparently the closest thing to a combat-ready unit in the Army at that moment. We were the spearhead, sent to hold the line until the rest of the Army could get to Taiwan. I just hoped the Taiwanese didn’t need us to do much, because we sure as hell weren’t ready for much.
The Knights and the Lafayette Initiative were the best soldiers in the world with the best equipment in the world led by heroes. We had a bunch of poorly trained kids who didn’t have any connections to get an employment voucher and find a job, forty-year-old weapons that were mostly designed to fight the Soviet Union, and peacetime officers whose biggest career challenge to date had been making punchy PowerPoint slides detailing the Army’s sexual harassment policies. And we were fighting the world’s largest army, battle-hardened and standing on the brink of victory.
For the first time in decades, I was truly excited.
Chapter 1: Concitor
Just after sunset, our Pelican landed a few miles off the coast of Taiwan, presumably to maintain the secret of the Pelicans’ existence from Chinese spies. Three small freighters were ready to meet us, and within four hours, the 101st Airborne Division disembarked in Suo Bay, just to the south of Yilan, the largest city on Taiwan’s east coast. There was no ceremony, but the few locals who weren’t conscripted into the war effort in one form or another came to the docks to see us arrive.
Every Taiwanese citizen I saw looked tired, which of course made sense given that they were a few weeks into an all-out invasion. But fatigue wasn’t the only thing you could see on their faces. We were the first American military units they had seen in this war. We were tangible proof that they were no longer alone in their fight. A few of them waved, and soon there was a small cheer going.
I had received my lieutenant bars after ROTC almost twenty years earlier, and for the first time I felt proud to be in the Army. I looked back at the soldiers in my company. Half of them were looking at their damn smart phones, a few taking pictures of the locals.
I know all of the 106 kids in my company, of course. And I wasn’t the least bit surprised when Privates Gregor and Brosnan started catcalling the women in the crowd. They’re both members of Lieutenant Barker’s platoon. She was all of ten feet away and had clearly heard them, but said nothing.
I sighed. This sort of problem should really be dealt with by the sergeant leading Gregor and Brosnan’s squad, but he was nowhere to be found, the useless bastard. Barker was in charge of four squads, a total of forty soldiers. She was the closest officer to the problem, so it was her responsibility. I walked over to Barker. “A word, lieutenant,” I said to her.
She strode a few steps ahead of her squad, and I said to her, “Gregor and Brosnan are harassing women in the crowd. They’re confirming every bad stereotype about Americans.”
Barker shrugged. “We’re here to rescue these people. I don’t think they’re in a position to complain about a few catcalls, sir. I’m busy checking the crowd for a possible ambush, sir.”
Barker was a 24 year-old kid from nowhere-Texas. Tall and athletic, blonde and blue. She’d be pretty except for a broken nose that never quite healed straight. I’m sure she was the terror of the ROTC unit at Northern Texas Community College. And, despite being a woman, she apparently cared more about an ambush than if her idiot enlisted men made asses of themselves to Taiwanese women.
That was characteristic for her. This island was at war, and she was quick to evict lesser issues from her mind. I realized that I needed to adopt the same mentality. Now wasn’t the time to worry about catcalls. Privates Brosnan and Gregor could be dead before too long anyway.
My earpiece radio crackled to life and, for once, I was happy to hear Colonel Brown’s voice to get my mind off the trivial distraction.
“Empathy 4, this is Empathy 1, over,” Colonel Brown called.
“Empathy 1, go ahead,” I replied, remembering fondly the days when call signs had some militaristic origin.
“Empathy 4, proceed to the Su’ao Railway Station to meet up with transportation heading to the front.”
So quickly? We’d been in Taiwan for barely half an hour. “Confirm, transportation is ready to take us to the front?”
Brown answered, “Roger. Our transport is departing in forty-five — that’s four-five — minutes. Get your men to Su’ao Station soonest. Out.”
We had been issued maps, of course, but I had long ago found that my Duan Nebula cell phone’s maps were far more accurate and timely. I found the station and oriented my company in the right direction. The phone method of navigation wasn’t exactly Army standard, but unlike most officers of the peacetime military, I’d rather do my job well and outside standard procedures than poorly by the book. The walk from the pier was only about a mile, but it took about twenty-five minutes to shepherd all the platoons through the crowds.
As we walked, every soldier of the company glanced up occasionally. The Air Force had promised us that they now controlled the skies, but a single lucky Chinese fighter-bomber could wipe out a significant percentage of the division during this short transit period. In an age of radar, satellites, and a wealth of digital goodies to detect planes, we still looked up as if we’d see the Red Baron coming in for a strafing run. I rationalized that, since the sun had set about an hour earlier, now was the optimal time to see a plane with the naked eye. The sky was dark, but a plane tens of thousands of feet overhead would be high enough to catch and reflect the rays of the setting sun.
The only plane we saw during the walk proved this point. Private Brosnan pointed to the sky and screamed, “Incoming!” That cry, of course, sent a chill down the spine of every one of us. Thankfully, Lieutenant Barker was right on the case. Almost as soon as Brosnan had finished, Barker shouted, “It’s one of ours!”
I squinted and, sure enough, it was an Air Force F-22, its double tail and light gray color reassuring us of its identity. Its pilot must have found out he was flying over the Airborne; he did a barrel roll and wagged his wings before exiting view to the west, presumably off to fly a combat air patrol over the battlefield.
Private Brosnan, embarrassed by his shrill warning, said loudly, “Fucking Air Force thinks it’s a parade.”
Barker responded in a tone that left no doubts about her authority, “Shut it, Brosnan. That flyboy might save your worthless goddamn life.”
Not for the first time, I thought how lucky I was to have a platoon commander like Barker. She’s quick and decisive, immediately taking control of a situation, a natural leader. And, not coincidentally, she wasn’t the schmoozing type or the best at parade drill. She was a wartime soldier.
I arrived at Su’ao Station to find Colonel Brown waiting. “Get your men through the station to track 3.” A slight grimace. “You’ll know the train when you see it.”
Walking through the station, I came to the tracks and immediately understood the colonel's hostility. The train looked so sleek, modern, and effective that it couldn’t help offending the bureaucratic mind. A Mandarin sign with an English translation above the tracks noted that this was a mag-lev train. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, telling myself that Colonel Brown must have some concern with the train and didn’t just hate it instinctively because it worked.
“Don’t worry, cap’n,” Lieutenant Williams said, thinking I was worried about the safety of the futuristic train. “I read a magazine article about these things once. They’re safe. They only levitate about 15 millimeters above the rail. The bottom of the train wraps around the rails, so it’s almost impossible to derail these bastards. The Taiwanese have robots monitoring the track and fixing any problems in real time. Only way something could go wrong is if the Chinese attack the train itself.”