It happened on March 3. The sky over the East China Sea was cloudless. At the Taoyuan airbase of the Chinese Air Force in northern Taiwan, a radarman on the morning shift was stretching his legs after almost four hours of fruitless watch at the screen. It was already 9:45 a.m. In another 15 minutes he would be relieved. "Looks like another uneventful day," he thought to himself.
Even as he was thinking, a black speck leaped onto the screen. It was heading straight for northern Taiwan. The young man quickly reached for the emergency telephone. Trying to control his excitement, he reported to the duty officer in the operations room.
Almost instantly, the base commander's voice spoke tersely through the public address system. "Everybody to battle stations! Unidentified plane sighted flying this way." Before the sound died away, the airbase had become a hive of activity. Ack-ack gunners raced to their positions. Eight standby pilots dashed to their fueled F-86 Saberjets in two jeeps, sirens screaming. In less than three minutes they were airborne and headed for the Taiwan Straits to intercept the intruder. There was jubilation among ground personnel as the sleek fighters rocketed into the air.
The Encounter
It didn't take the experienced pilots long to spot the lone craft flying toward them at an altitude of about 12,000 feet. It was a MIG-15, an object they had been hoping to find on many a disappointing patrol. Overjoyed, they readied their guns for the kill.
Strangely, the MIG did not panic. It continued its course as if unaware of the CAF intercepters. In another instant, three flares in brilliant orange, green and red shot out of the plane. At the same time the craft rocked from side to side. The CAF defenders instantly knew the plane was defecting. The flares and wiggling were a part of CAF instructions to Communist airmen seeking freedom. The CAF planes formed a protective umbrella over the MIG-15 and guided it toward Taoyuan.
Base personnel already had been informed by the time the nine planes came within sight of the field. At a signal from the control tower, the MIG-15 let down on a designated runway while the CAF planes circled overhead. The silvery Communist plane taxied to a stop amid shouts of "good landing." It was 10 a.m. Ranking officers of the base were waiting at the end of the runway.
As the CAF Saberjets began descending, the plastic canopy of the MIG-15 was pushed back. Out of the cockpit stepped a leather-jacketed, fur-capped figure. He was slight and ruddy faced. A CAF wing commander stepped forward with outstretched hands. They were firmly gripped by the pilot.
"Sir," the young MIG-15 pilot said as he dropped his hands and came to attention, "my name is Liu Cheng-sze, a second lieutenant of the 16th Group of the Sixth Air Division. I took off from Luchiao this morning to join my free countrymen in Taiwan."
Surrenders Pistol
He took off his Russian-made pistol and handed it to the wing commander. Turning to the rapidly gathering throng, he said, "I'm happy to be with you. Now I'm a free man."
Liu was greeted by Chen Chia-shang, commander-in-chief of the Chinese Air Force (File photo)
A thunderous cheer broke out. Many of the airmen tossed their caps into the sky. As soon as the cheer died down, Lt. Liu asked, "How is President Chiang?" "He is fine," replied the wing commander. Lt. Liu broke into a broad smile. Then he was escorted to the snack bar for lunch.
In Taipei, President Chiang was presiding over an important meeting at the Presidential Office. Shortly after 10 a.m., an aide tiptoed into the room and whispered something into the President's ear. The solemn features relaxed. Turning to the conferees, he announced: "Gentlemen, I have some good news for you. I have just been informed that a MIG-15 landed in Taoyuan for defection a while ago."
The announcement set off a chorus of happy comments from the elder statesmen. Even President Chiang himself, who is not in the habit of giving way to emotion, repeatedly said "hao, hao (good, good)."
The man on the street soon shared in the jubilation. Less than an hour after Lt. Liu's landing, the news was carried to every corner of free China via radio and newspaper extras. There were deafening firecracker explosions. Taxi and pedicab drivers forgot about prospective passengers. Shoppers gathered by loudspeakers that were blaring out the news. A queue outside a movie theater melted away as its members gathered around newsboys.
On the offshore islands of Kinmen (Quemoy) and Matsu, defenders greeted the tidings with hurrahs and backslapping. Psywar units lost no time in relaying the news to Red soldiers on the Fukien coast through powerful loudspeakers. "I'll bet you a pack of cigarettes our long wait for a return to the mainland is about over," a machine gunner confidently told his companion. "I'll bet you two packs you are right," came the answer.
Peasant Family
The man responsible for all the rejoicing is only 2S years old. The youngest of three children in a poor peasant family at Tientung, Kwangsi, he lost his father early. When the Communists overran the mainland he was studying in a village school. His mother, elder brother and sister eked out a meager living in the fields.
Like most peasants, the Lius regarded the Communist takeover as a mere "dynastic change" that had nothing to do with the people. Furthermore, they were poor even by Communist standards. So arrival of the Reds brought little change in their lives. They even received a small plot of uncultivated land during the "land reform." But the acquisition was not welcomed warmly. Poor as the Lius were, they were honest folk. They did not believe in taking what belonged to others.
The Lius were especially disturbed by the fact that many heads had rolled before the land distribution. They were also disgusted by the mob trials. "Some of the victims were real 'bad eggs,'," Lt. Liu admitted. "However, many of them were generous and kind people."
Execution of Teachers
Young Liu entered a middle school in 1953 and became a member of the Communist Youth League. He was not enthusiastic about the honor, he joined the League simply to conform. His lukewarm espousal of Communism was further dampened one day when his beloved Chinese language teacher, Tung Sze-wen, was arrested by the Communists as a "reactionary." The Reds buried him alive and severed his head for public exhibition over the city gate.
"I never recovered from the shock," Lt. Liu said. "Mr. Tung had been so gentle and kind to us. I couldn't imagine he could have done anything bad."
More executions followed. By the time he graduated from the middle school in 1956, only two of the original teachers were left. Replacements were mostly Communist cadres or fellow-travelers.
Upon graduation, Liu was advised by a Communist cadre to apply for admission to the air force cadet school. "You are intelligent and have a good background. Don't miss the chance," he said.
Liu demurred because he had been dreaming of a college education. But the cadre insisted. "If you don't follow my advice, you will regret it for the rest of your life," he warned.
Liu applied. Despite stomach trouble acquired from extracurricular work on the collective farms without regular meals, he passed the physical examination for air force cadet. He was admitted to the Fifth Aviation School at Chinan. Incidentally, this is the same school in which Shao Hsi-yen, who defected with an AN-2 last September, received his training.
Family Tragedy
The material level of life for an air force cadet was far higher than that of ordinary people. But Liu was not happy. He often received letters from his mother complaining of hardships on the collective farm and of the scarcity of food. His brother and sister could not help her because they had their own families to support. One day in 1957 he got a letter from his brother saying that their mother was dead. The cause was not mentioned.
As the youngest, Liu had always felt a strong attachment to his mother. He was grief-stricken. He asked a home leave to attend her funeral but was turned down. "There is no place for softness in a socialist society," the school authorities said. Besides, cadet training was entering an important phase. That meant no leave.
The young cadet felt bitter. This was sharpened by suspicion that his mother had been killed by slow starvation. "She had always been healthy. I could not believe illness was the cause of her death," he explained.
Indoctrination Fails
Despite heavy doses of indoctrination, Liu kept his mind uncorrupted. Asked how he did it, he replied that he had a brain capable of "independent thinking." Besides, he added, "I could not reconcile what I was told with what I saw." He related an incident to illustrate this point.
During the "great leap forward" movement, Liu was quizzed by the commissar of the cadet regiment on the "record yield" of food in one of the communes. Liu replied he did not know, although he had read in the newspapers that the "correct" answer should be 15,000 kilograms per mow (roughly one sixth of an acre). The commissar punished him by ordering him to read a month's file of old papers and then repeated the question. Liu, however, still insisted he had not found the answer. Finally the commissar had to point out the underlined figure to "convince" him.
"Of course, he did not convince me," Liu recalled. How could he? I came from the farm and knew the capabilities. However efficient they were in juggling figures, Communist statisticians could not make the land obey their orders."
Naturally, the young cadet could not afford to take such liberty often. While his aversion to Communism deepened with the passage of time, he remained outwardly obedient and hard working.
Narrow Escape
When the "bloom and contend" period came along, Lt. Liu was as skeptical as anybody regarding Mao Tze-tung's real motive. He remembered the old Chinese proverb: "Those who know the time and tide are true heroes." So at first he played safe. But the Communist cadres kept saying that to be frank in criticizing the party's shortcomings was doing the party a good turn, and that there would be no reprisals.
Taking the bait at last, Liu poured out his grievances in cautious terms. He blamed the agricultural cooperative and the unified buying and selling system for robbing the peasants of their earnings. He wondered whether the party was really working for the interest of the proletarian class. If so, why did so many people suffer from hunger and disease? He was still feeling the hurt of his mother's death.
Liu was one of those listed as guilty of "deviation" during the anti-rightist campaign that followed. He underwent half a day of humiliating self-examination before fellow cadets. Since there is no such thing as human dignity under Communism, he abused himself and promised to mend his ways. The cadres threatened to send him to the dreaded Manchurian concentration camp known as the "Northern Frontier." Fortunately, his youth and "good background" saved him. He was pardoned and permitted to stay in the cadet school.
This Communist "magnanimity" did not earn Liu's gratitude. "How could I thank them for luring me into the trap in the first place?" he said. The incident led him toward the decision to escape.
In early 1960, just a few months before his graduation Liu sensed something had gone wrong. Cadets were suddenly required to undergo a period of intensive indoctrination. That had been done before. But to interrupt flight training at such a late date was unusual. By chance, he learned of the secret. He got hold of a party circular reporting that a pilot had flown a MIG-15 to Taiwan from the Luchiao airfield. However, the circular did not mention that the defector was killed after his plane crashed in northern Taiwan.
Escape Possible
"I read the news with ecstasy," Lt. Liu said. "It meant escape was possible in spite of all the obstacles."
Upon graduation in August, 1960, Liu received his commission and was assigned to Luchiao as a MIG-15 pilot. His spirits soared. The big base on the southern coast of Chekiang was only a 15-minute jet flight from Taiwan. Freedom appeared within reach.
At Luchiao, Lt. Liu was highly successful in posing as a loyal member of the "people's air force." The Communists not only failed to detect his secret intention but were fooled into persuading him to join the party. But he delayed decision with excuses. "I wanted to keep my name clean," he said.
Although he himself refrained from becoming a card-holding Communist, he persuaded a fellow pilot and good friend to become one. The motive was simple, he said. Through the friend, he could learn of inner party doings. Also, to be associated with a full-fledged Communist meant good cover for his plan to defect.
Radio Broadcasts
Listening to radio broadcasts from Taiwan is common in the Communist air force. Lt. Liu joined other pilots in the furtive game. He often excused himself from movies to listen to such broadcasts. Despite heavy jamming, he could pick up a few words here and a few sentences there. Piecing the fragments together, he got a fairly complete story. He learned of President Chiang's assurance of pardon to all Communist defectors and the Chinese Air Force call for surrender.
CAF mechanics are checking the Russian-built jet fighter (File photo)
As he was waiting for his chance to get away, Lt. Liu got another piece of good news from the radio. It was Shao Hsi-yen speaking over the CAF broadcasting station in Taiwan. He was telling the Communist pilots how he and Kao Yu-chung flew to South Korea from the Chiaochow airfield last September.
"We flew from the Shantung Peninsula and' reached ... "(Here Shao's voice was interrupted by jamming).
"I thought they landed in Japan," Lt. Liu said. "I knew their biplane could not reach Taiwan. But that doesn't matter. All I cared was that they had made it."
Too happy to keep the secret to himself, Liu passed it to his Communist friend. The latter, however, severely admonished him. "Why can't you keep your mouth shut?" his friend scolded him. "You know how dangerous it is if they know you have been listening to broadcasts from Taiwan."
"I won't tell anybody else," Lt. Liu replied.
Worsening Situation
The food situation on the mainland was growing steadily worse. The monthly ration was cut to six pounds of rice and two ounces of bran oil. From the barracks, Lt. Liu could see a rapidly increasing number of fresh graves at the public cemetery nearby. Many who died were victims of starvation. Adding to the general unrest were widespread rumors of imminent invasion from Taiwan. Handbills wishing long life to President Chiang were distributed by unknown hands in the villages. Superstitious rumors foretelling the birth of a new "emperor" ran like prairie fire. Lt. Liu decided he could wait no longer.
The chance came quickly. On March 2 Lt. Liu was notified that he would take off for solo flight training the next day. This was the chance of a lifetime. For several hours that night he lay in his hammock, sleepless. He thought of his brother and sister. Would they be punished for his defection? Perhaps not, he told himself, because they were simple peasants. Besides, they couldn't be worse off.
He thought of a girl he had dated only once. It was not because she was unattractive. Knowing that he would sooner or later try to get away, he had avoided seeing her often for fear of being trapped by love. He was sorry to leave her behind. But that couldn't be helped. He fell asleep after he had settled all the arguments he posed for himself.
Lt. Liu awoke late the next morning but in high spirits. He put on his best flying jacket (cotton padded) and pulled on an extra pair of unpatched socks. The Communist propagandists had often told him Taiwan was plagued by material shortages. Although he did not believe them completely, he wanted to be prepared for a new life of "freedom in poverty."
Flight to Freedom
The weather was perfect. The fuel tanks were full. Lt. Liu climbed into the cockpit with alacrity. As soon as his plane gained altitude, he could not help casting a last look at the unhappy land he was leaving. "So long, Luchiao," he said to himself as he turned his craft southward.
For the first few minutes Lt. Liu flew along the mainland coast on his prescribed flight path. As he neared Foochow, he turned seaward. His heart beat faster as the mainland coast quickly receded.
Lt. Liu reached for the map pocket. The map was not there! In his excitement before boarding the plane he had forgotten it. He had only a vague idea about the location of Taiwan. Over the vast sea there was nothing to guide him.
Then over the far horizon, Lt. Liu saw something. Eight glistening specks in close formation grew larger and larger. They were the CAF Saberjets from Taoyuan. His heart leaped. It was then he fired the flares and wiggled his plane. He felt grateful that his signals were recognized. He knew that from that moment, his safety was assured.
Lt. Liu spent his first night on free soil in a CAF hostel in suburban Taipei. He was tired but too happy to fall asleep. It was past midnight when he dozed off. He was awakened by the crow of roosters shortly before five in the morning. The sound surprised him. He had not heard it for several years.
"The barking of dogs and the crow of roosters," he explained later, "had become childhood memories to me. Since the introduction of the commune system, dogs and chickens have disappeared on the mainland."
After a morning shower Lt. Liu put on a new business suit, the first in life. He was taken to the Yangmingshan Park for a stroll. It was Sunday. About 50,000 gaily dressed people crowded the scenic spot to see the cherry blossoms and the azaleas in full bloom.
"It is a paradise!" he exclaimed.
"I used to see big crowds like this during the 'great leap forward' movement back on the mainland," he said. "But the conditions were poles apart. Compared with this, the mainland crowds were chained slaves."
More surprises were in store for him. He was plainly confused by what he saw when he took a walk along Taipei streets that afternoon. The heavy traffic, the well-stocked shops and the happy expressions impressed him deeply. The prosperity, he said, was beyond his "wildest dream." In contrast with what he saw in Taipei, such big cities as Shanghai and Peiping are "dead," he said.
Press Conference
Returning to his quarters that evening, he was informed that he was to give a press conference the next day. It was another remarkable experience for him. "Have you prepared a statement for me?" he asked a CAF information officer in bewilderment. The officer said no, then patiently explained what a press conference means in the free world. "You just say what you want to say. Tell the reporters what you know. There will be no one interfering with you."
"What! No prepared statement. On the mainland nobody can give a press conference without an officially approved script," Liu explained.
The press conference of March 5 was one of the biggest ever held in Taiwan. More than 150 Chinese and foreign newsmen jammed the CAF Officers Club to hear him tell his remarkable story. The conference included a gift presentation ceremony. A wealthy Taipei businessmen had learned Lt. Liu did not have a wrist watch. He bought the most expensive one that could be found in Taiwan, a solid gold watch worth US$500. Another gift was a pair of Parker 61s. A restaurant owner presented him with a huge cake together with a card good for a lifetime of free meals. An electric appliance firm promised to furnish his house when he gets married.
Lt. Liu was overwhelmed. "How can I repay your kindness? I certainly do not deserve all this," he said.
Mammoth Parade
Half a million people turn out to greet Liu during a mammoth parade on March 10 (File photo)
Public interest reached its height a week after the defection. Riding in a jeep at the head of a 100,000-man parade, he was cheered by half a million people along the five-mile Taipei route. The motorcade was repeatedly halted as spectators broke police lines to touch Liu. Weighed down by three huge garlands, he bravely maintained his standing posture throughout the three hours.
With a steady grin, Lt. Liu shook so many hands that his own grew sore. He raised both arms in the sign of greeting as the crowds shouted his name.
When it was all over, Taipei streets were buried under exploded firecrackers, confetti, buttons, handkerchiefs, unmatched shoes and whatnot. It took the sanitation squad days to clean up.
Back at his quarters that night, Lt. Liu asked a CAF officer to help him check the gifts thrown into his jeep along the parade route. Glancing over the huge piles around him, the young pilot said he could not use it all in a lifetime. "I'll send some of these things to the needy," he said. The gifts included edibles, clothing, jewelry, cosmetics, toys—and a live rooster. There was a card attached to the cage that held the rooster. On it were written these words: "A happy childhood memory and a reminder of your new freedom-from the Taipei Women's Association."
On March 13, CAF Commander Gen. Chen Chia-shang commissioned Liu as first lieutenant and handed him 1,000 ounces of gold, a gift from the government. After Gen. Chen pinned the CAF pilot wings on his new sky-blue CAF uniform, Lt. Liu pledged to fight Communism "to my best ability and to the bitter end."
After the ceremony Lt. Liu drove to the Bank of Taiwan and converted the gold into local currency. He deposited the bulk of it and kept enough for a radio and camera.
Asked what he would do with the rest of the money, he frankly admitted he did not know. "You see, I have been a poor farm boy all my life. I came here for freedom, not for money. All I can say is this. I'll spend the money wisely," he said.
Why so much enthusiasm over the defection of a single MIG-15 when the Peiping regime is known to possess several thousand of them? The reason was succinctly voiced by Lt. Liu's fellow alumnus Shao Hsi-yen. Greeting him in Taipei, Shao said, "Your successful flight to freedom may be likened to a big political bomb. It has blasted a big hole in the Bamboo Curtain. The hole will become larger and larger until the whole curtain is torn down."
A more eloquent explanation was given by Philippine Ambassador Narciso Ramos. Commenting on Lt. Liu's defection, the dean of the Taipei diplomatic corps said, "Lt. Liu's daring escape in MIG-15 was a magnificent act of courage. It was both an act of defiance of Communist authoritarian rule and an expression of faith in freedom and democracy. Unlike those weaklings in certain areas of the free world who would rather be Red than dead. Lt. Liu has shown that he would rather be brave than slave."
Noting Lt. Liu's youth, the Philippines diplomat said, "He was only 12 when the Communists overran the mainland. Therefore, in all of his adolescent life, when he was at a tender and easily impressionable age, he was exposed to nothing else but Communist indoctrination and propaganda. That he would rather now be a free man than be a Communist is proof of the inadequacy of Communism to satisfy the yearnings of the youth of China. It is the hope of the free world that the Chinese youth behind the Bamboo Curtain will not fight for Communism, but for freedom when the hour to strike comes.
Ultimate Collapse
"The Communists have been saying all along that the capitalist countries, meaning the democracies, are doomed because 'they carry in them the seeds of their own self-destruction.' This is a delusion that has not happened and will not happen. The democracies will not die because they are sustained by the life-giving spirit of freedom. It is the Communists who are digging their own graves because of their cruel deceptions and their brutal treatment of human beings. They have tried in vain to crush the spirit of man, but in doing so they have only succeeded in laying the foundation for their ultimate collapse."
Ambassador Ramos expressed hope that more defecting Communist pilots such as Lt. Liu will hasten the downfall of Communism on the Chinese mainland and in other parts of the world. Judging from what has already happened, chances for realization of this hope are improving. After his defection last year, Shao Hsi-yen predicted more Communist pilots would risk their lives to escape. Lt. Liu's defection came less than six months later. When he himself reached free soil, Liu made the same forecast. Although he called for careful planning of full-scale military action against the Communist regime on the mainland, he said he had no doubt of a mass revolt among the people and the Red armed forces when the counter-offensive begins.
These are Lt. Liu's words: "I don't underestimate their (Communists') tight control over the people. But the situation is like a boiler without a safety valve. When the pressure inside is built to a certain degree, the boiler will explode. On the mainland that critical point is already near. It only remains for the free world to make a crack in the boiler. And BOOM—it goes!"