Fourth Crisis: The Battle for Taiwan Read Online Free PDF

air
bases, Chiayi practiced alerts and scramble take-offs so its aircraft could not
be caught on the ground.   Since the
Fourth Crisis had begun, all Taiwanese air bases had been on ground alert.   On Chiayi’s flight line, Major Han Ken waited
in the seat of his F-16 Fighting Falcon.
    The Fighting Falcon’s look was classic: dart-tip nose, crisp
and sharp edges, distinctive bubble canopy, tricycle landing gear, and an ovoid
engine inlet nestled between slender wings.   Like tail feathers, the notched empennage had, beneath it, a big, silver
nozzle that marked the end of the engine tunnel.   Although built in the 1990s, the Americans had
kept Taiwan’s Fighting Falcons upgraded, making the jets practically new under
the skin.   Major Han proudly served as flight
leader of Chiayi’s 21 st Squadron; ‘The Gamblers.’ Freshly painted on
the side of the warplanes the squadron’s insignia was displayed: two playing
cards, the ace-of-hearts crossed by the king-of-spades.   Upon the vertical tail was a blue roundel
with the white sun of Taiwan with ‘455-4’s painted beneath it.   Parked with Han on the tarmac were the
squadron’s nine other fighter-bombers, all outfitted with external fuel tanks
and air-to-air missiles.   The sweating
pilots suffered, strapped into their reclined seats.   Beside those of ‘The Gamblers,’ the wing had 40
more Fighting Falcons ready to go, with six others getting armed and fueled within
Chiayi’s shaded shelters. .   Even with the
canopy wide open, the pilots enjoyed no breeze, and cockpit temperatures climbed.
    Han tugged at his flight suit, itching through the thick
fabric at the tickle of streaming sweat.   A welcome air conditioning cart pulled up, and an airman snaked a
flexible yellow duct into his cockpit.   Cool, dry air blew over him.   Relieved,
Han tried to relax.   Unlike the other men
in his wing, he had no photos of family to stare at longingly, to pass the
minutes.   However, he did have Erica,
Playboy’s ‘Miss August, her picture taped to his cockpit console.   She accelerated time like no other.   Han sighed; her ample bosom made the
uncomfortable wait pass faster.   The cool
air seeped into his suit.   Han shifted in
the ejection seat and tried to stretch.
    Like other young Taiwanese men, Han had been conscripted.   His academic records in math and other
sciences, however, allowed him to apply for a place at the Air Force Academy at
Kangshan.   He was accepted and, soon
enough, it became clear that Han had an innate ability to fly.   Shunted to fixed-wing aircraft and then jets,
Han smoked anyone who tried to down him.   After he had ‘shot down’ countless hotdogs in mock combat, and showed
his absolute control in flight after flight, it was realized Han was an artist
who worked in the medium of airspace; his brush: precise proximity flying and
aerial combat maneuvers.   Han, ever the
doubtful prodigy, stood sweating in his flight suit as he was ordered to be the
youngest pilot ever to join the air force’s ‘Thunder Tiger’ air demonstration
team.   After wowing air shows and
dignitaries for years, all while training Taiwan’s greatest aviators, Han now had
a wing of warplanes under his command.
    Han checked his watch.   It was two hours since the siren had summoned the men to their
aircraft.   In another four, backup
aircrews would relieve them all.   In
hopes of a nap, Han closed his eyes.
    ◊◊◊◊
    A sharp, jagged horizon in the ocean, Taipei was a human
beehive.   ‘Taipei 101’—a graceful
skyscraper shaped like a bamboo frond—punctuated the city’s skyline.   Taiwan’s capital since being so declared in
1949 by the leader of the Chinese Nationalists, Chang Kai Shek, Taipei was an
effervescent city of festivals, towers, shopping districts, and dazzling light.   It was also contrasted by shadows, with
narrow alleys where smoke and grease, sucked from sizzling woks, discharged
around laundry flapping on poles.