Hsiaohsuehshan Radar Station, Taiwan
THE TYPHOON HAD blown itself out.
For two days now the winds had raged around this mountaintop radar post, the Taiwanese Navy’s eyes and ears across the island’s western shore and out into the Taiwan Strait towards mainland China. At well over two thousand metres above sea level, this remote garrison was notorious for its harsh conditions. Sometimes blanketed with snow in winter, buffeted by winds and torrential rains in summer, it could take days to get supplies up the tortuous, winding roads through pine forests and up into the granite crags. The Navy personnel and Marines who crewed it were only ever expected to do a thirty-day shift at a time, with a third of that off for rest.
There was another, unspoken, reason why Hsiaohsuehshan was classed as a hardship posting. Everyone who served there knew that in the event of a surprise attack by China this was one of the very first targets that would be taken out in the initial wave of missiles raining down from the mainland. As part of Taiwan’s US-supplied Phased Array radar system it had the ability to track missile launches and incoming threats thousands of kilometres away, providing an early-warning system for the government in Taipei, should Beijing decide to take back ‘the breakaway province’ by force.
The garrison at Hsiaohsuehshan had protocols and procedures for typhoons. Whenever a warning of extreme weather came in, orders were issued for the sensitive antenna masts to be taken down in case winds of 160 kilometres per hour or more broke them off, rendering the radar station effectively useless. And in typhoon conditions the 3D radar could also be affected, temporarily severing the connection with Taiwan’s combat data link systems that joined it to the US-built Patriot III and other anti-missile defences. The weather was a fickle friend for this self-governing island. For much of the year it made the Taiwan Strait a daunting proposition for any amphibious invasion from the mainland, but it also had the capacity to blind Taiwan’s defences.
On the day the typhoon subsided Master Sergeant Wu Chi-ming was walking back to his post at the data console, a steaming cup of High Mountain oolong tea clutched in his hand. He had just given the order to resurrect the comms antennae, restoring the remote radar outpost to full function. He had barely got through the door when one of his team rushed up to him and blurted out the news. ‘Boss! We have a Code Seven!’
‘Kàn!’
Master Sergeant Chi-ming uttered an obscene curse as he slammed down his mug of tea on the nearest flat surface, spilling much of it over his hand. A Code Seven! On his watch. This could end up being a court-martial offence. The two men rushed to the digital display console, housed inside the radar station’s reinforced bunker. A dozen operators, all wearing naval uniform, were staring at the time-stamped images coming in and clasping their hands behind their heads in horror as the room filled with nervous chatter.
While the Hsiaohsuehshan radar station had been ‘blinded’ by the storm, Beijing had used the opportunity to fire a submarine-launched YJ-18 land attack cruise missile right across the median line that separated the Chinese side from the Taiwanese side of the Taiwan Strait. Every operator on that base knew the capabilities of this missile by heart. It could carry either a 300-kilogram high-explosive warhead or, more pertinently, an anti-radiation warhead perfectly designed to disable a radar station like this one.
Master Sergeant Chi-ming whirled round and called to a subordinate. He told him to get the line up to be put through immediately to his reporting officer at Air Force Defence Headquarters in Taipei’s Zhongshan District. He knew he had some explaining to do but this could go either way. He could lose his job or he could be promoted.
The missile had landed offshore, in international waters, re-entering the ocean just forty-eight kilometres off Taiwan’s Miaoli County on the west coast. Had it continued on its course it would have made a direct line for the radar base. It was a message from the mainland, pure and simple. We know where you are, and, at a time of our choosing, we can wipe you out.