Harrington stood, his six-four frame commanding the room without trying. “You asked how six hundred contractors help Taiwan survive. The answer’s simple — we don’t let it come to that.”
“Hmm. Deterrence is fine in theory,” Admiral Han said dryly, “but theories don’t stop landing craft.”
“No, sir, they don’t. But eighteen hundred cruise missiles do.” Harrington moved to the window, gazing out at mist-shrouded peaks slowly fading as the afternoon sun burned them away. “President Ashford didn’t authorize five billion dollars because he’s fond of scenery. The PRC is as big a threat to our country as it is to yours. Helping to defeat the PLA here helps ensure they won’t defeat us elsewhere.”
He turned back. “If Taiwan falls, the entire first island chain collapses. It leaves Japan exposed. Australia becomes isolated and ripe for the taking. Every shipping lane from Singapore to Seoul falls under the control of the PLA Navy.”
Defense Minister Kao leaned forward. “I mean no offense when I say this, but Washington has a history of abandoned allies.”
“Taiwan’s not Afghanistan, or Vietnam.” Harrington’s voice carried the weight of absolute conviction. “That presidential finding isn’t just a piece of paper. It’s a message to Beijing. If they cross the line, if they choose to wage war, we’re going to bleed them dry.”
“Your contract,” NSB Director Chao said carefully, “it covers combat operations?”
“Every contingency.” Harrington pulled a document from his jacket. “Article Seven, Section Three. ‘In the event of military aggression against the Republic of China, TSG personnel are authorized to engage in direct combat operations in defense of allied forces and critical infrastructure.’”
Lieutenant General Wu studied the contract language. “Mercenaries don’t typically sign up for last stands.”
“We’re not typical mercenaries.” Harrington’s jaw tightened. “Every TSG operator volunteered knowing the stakes. This isn’t about paychecks. They’re compensated well, but this is about more than money. My people see Taiwan as America’s front line. You fall, we fall. It’s simple math. We fight them here, so we don’t have to back home.”
President Ma moved back to the table. “Assuming your conviction matches your contracts, logistics remain problematic.”
“Which brings me to my next point.” Harrington leaned forward. “Mr. President, your strategic reserves need work.”
That statement was met with silence. Taiwan’s leadership exchanged nervous glances with each other.
“We’re aware of our limitations,” Ma said carefully.
“Three months of food and fuel might be decent for a typhoon. But they are insufficient for a siege, and a siege is what you have to prepare for.” Harrington kept his tone respectful but firm. “Technically, Beijing doesn’t need to invade. They can blockade your ports and wait for hungry citizens to demand surrender.”
“And what are you suggesting?” Admiral Han’s voice carried an edge.
“Six months minimum. Preferably nine if you can.” Harrington spread his hands. “I know it’s expensive. I know storage is limited. But hunger breaks nations faster than bombs; it always has.”
“The cost—” Kao began.
“Is nothing compared to capitulation.” Harrington met each leader’s gaze. “Double your grain reserves. Triple pharmaceutical stockpiles. Diesel, aviation fuel, ammunition — everything.”
“Storage facilities would be primary targets,” Wu commented.
“Of course they will. That’s why you distribute caches. Spread it out in mountain bunkers and civilian warehouses.” Mitchell pulled up a map showing potential sites. “We’ve taken the liberty of mapping over two hundred locations you could use. Spread the risk around and minimize the loss.”
“There’s another element,” Harrington added. “Food production. Every apartment balcony should have planters. Every park becomes a victory garden. Schools teach hydroponics.”
President Ma’s expression shifted — something between surprise and satisfaction. “Actually, in that department, we’ve made significant progress there.”
The military leaders straightened. This was news to some of them.
“Oh, do tell, if you can,” Harrington prompted.
Ma gestured to Chao, who pulled up classified imagery on his tablet, casting it to the main display. Tunnel entrances appeared, carved into mountainsides.
“We call it Project Morning Glory,” Ma explained. “We’re three years into development. Hydroponic facilities are housed inside hardened tunnels. They’re temperature-controlled, with LED growth lights powered by geothermal.”
The images shifted, showing vast underground chambers filled with vertically growing towers. Lettuce, tomatoes, beans, and rice sprouted in precise rows.
“Current capacity?” Harrington asked, genuinely impressed.
“As of now, twelve facilities are operational. Each produces enough fresh vegetables for fifty thousand people daily.” Pride crept into Ma’s voice. “Not enough for twenty-one million, but combined with reserves—”
“You double your timeline,” Harrington finished. “Outstanding. Why wasn’t this in our briefings?”
