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    Bombard the Headquarters!
    Bombard the Headquarters!
    Bombard the Headquarters!
    Ebook89 pages1 hour

    Bombard the Headquarters!

    By Steven Digena

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    In 1971, strange things were afoot at the centre of the People's Republic of China. With the Cultural Revolution still under way and Mao Zedong at the height of his power, China and the world were shocked to find late in the year that assassination and coup had been in the air, and had subsequently come crashing down in eastern Mongolia. Lin Biao, Marshall of the People's Liberation Army, and Mao's constitutionally designated successor was dead in a plane crash, having failed to launch a military coup against the regime he had so long served. The seizure of power, known as Project 571 ended in disaster for its plotters, and anyone who could be accused of having been involved.

    But what if their effort to bomb the Chairman's train had succeeded?

    In Bombard the Headquarters! Steven Digena explores the possibilities of what could have happened, had 'The Great Helmsman' been assassinated in the fall of that year. What follows is clash of his lieutenants and plotters as military and political factions challenge each other for power, leadership and their own survival.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSea Lion Press
    Release dateOct 15, 2018
    ISBN9781386066712
    Bombard the Headquarters!

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      Book preview

      Bombard the Headquarters! - Steven Digena

      Bombard the Headquarters!

      Steven P. Digena

      Part One

      The Detonation

      60 Kilometers Northwest of Xi’an

      People’s Republic of China

      September 10th, 1971

      A natural law often thrown around in a certain kind of action movie says in various ways that there is no kill like overkill. This quote may come from the Vietnam War, in an attempt at wit in the face of the casual use of overwhelming force. It would take much more time for the term to become at least recognizable in aspects of Western Culture. Regardless of its origin, it certainly was not a well-known term in the Fall of 1971, when it could have easily been said by one of the plotters in a drama separate but at least partially tied to that in Vietnam.

      There is no kill like overkill. It is like the denotation of a bomb on a fast moving train just as it begins to cross a bridge over a hundred plus meter canyon meanwhile that bridge is simultaneously obliterated by a separate but equally powerful explosion.

      The train’s burning cars plummet to their doom as the engine is engulfed in flames, hitting the rocky bottom of the ravine and the river that cuts its path, as car after car of VIPs and bodyguards telescope and crush each other, the guard unit assigned to the bridge stares in abject horror.

      A detachment of Guards Division Security Forces arrived earlier in the day with necessary documentation, and conducted a several hour long sweep of the bridge are mulling around watching the fireball that was once the train they were supposed to protect. They are not frozen. Unlike some of the young teenage conscripts they aren’t crying. Instead some move to repel down the cliff face toward the burning wreckage with systems of ropes and pulleys while the others stand guard. One of them simply cups his hands over his mouth to help light a cigarette in the face of the windblown wreckage. Silently watching the horror behind a pair of darkened sunglasses, cutting a strange figure of calm is amidst the chaos?

      From remains of the east end of the bridge, the conscripts and their officers, and just a few oddly alert security men of their elite guests watch. In the pre-dawn twilight the men on the opposite end of the bridge can be seen fast repelling down to the disaster, into the dark shadows and flickering flames.

      Eventually there are more explosions, not grand ones but muffled, from inside the train. Loud bangs echo upwards. One of the new arrival contingents puts a large walkie-talkie to his ear and turns to address the officer who seems to the conscripts to be the leader of these harder men.

      He’s dead. And so is the actress.

      The other man slowly nods in approval. Good.

      People’s Liberation Army Air Force Colonel Lin Liguo takes a moment longer. The fires below continue, unabated by the noises that waft upwards. With one last inhalation of his aromatic tobacco, he tosses his cigarette into the abyss.

      He doesn’t face the radioman even once.

      Radio command from the car. He uninterestedly tosses his hand back towards the PLA Jeep on solid ground behind them. "Tell them this, exactly. The B-52 has been shot down. Stop. The F-4 was flying escort. Stop. Complete Air Superiority. Stop. Returning to base. Stop. Anything wrong with that message and you get redeployed down there."

      The radioman nods, not that the young colonel bothers to look, and rushes off to send the transmission.

      The Young Lin looks over the work that had been done. Twisted wreckage of the former bridge was everywhere, scrap iron and wood splitters peppered both the remnants of the bridge’s supports and platform, but also scattered amid the surrounding rocks and grime. Men begin to ascend back to the surface as they complete their work.

      A final part of the assignment needed to be completed, and as luck would have it, it sought to solve itself. The young Second Lieutenant commanding the conscripts slowly moved up to be alongside him. The man’s voice broke as he asked the big question.

      Who… who was on that train?

      The colonel offers a smile and seems to ignore the question. Good job on the rescue operations, Lieutenant. You and your men have done everything in their power to save lives in this terrible disaster. We will be recommending you and all of your men for the highest commendations.

      Who was on that train? the Second Lieutenant asks again.

      Oh, you know who it was, offers the Colonel casually. His smile doesn’t break as the Lieutenant seems to freeze.

      The Chairman? came something part question and part answer. A whisper.

      Lin nods. You did everything you could. And you’ll do everything you can for our nation in the future won’t you? After all, we’ve suffered a terrible loss today. He pats the junior officer, not much younger than him, on the shoulder and starts walking back to the jeep.

      "You didn’t see me, of course. And you’ll be reporting up your chain of command now, no mention of us. Just let the bosses know the news: Mao is dead." He is still smiling as he takes his seat in the jeep, the Lieutenant dumbfounded into silence.

      Clean this all up for me, Lin demands, no mirth remaining in his voice.

      He doesn’t offer an or else.

      He doesn’t have to.

      Office of the First Vice Premier, Zhongnanhai, Beijing

      People’s Republic of China

      September 10th, 1971

      Marshal Lin Biao was at his desk in Beijing when the message reached him.

      So the

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