Invasion alaska ia 1, p.46
Invasion: Alaska ia-1, page 46
part #1 of Invasion America Series
During these past weeks, others in Anchorage and around the state had picked up their weapons and reported to the officers in charge of defending the city. A trickle of reinforcements from the bottom states had continued to enter the city from Fairbanks, often leaving for the approaching front. Now that front was just outside the city limits.
Two new laser battalions had set up their heavy equipment at the slowly repaired airport. One of those was a Canadian battalion. The lasers would make any Chinese aircraft and helicopter assaults pay a bitter price if they attempted to fly over the coming battlefield. The surviving American airmen knew all about the Chinese Red Arrow anti-missile rounds, as well as the bigger SAMs the enemy had brought forward with each lunge closer to Anchorage.
Despite the hard weeks of battle, the Chinese still had more numbers. What they lacked was reserves of munitions, fuel and even more soldiers. Worse, they were about to attempt the hardest type of warfare possible: storming a city.
“We’ll make this their Stalingrad,” Ramos told Stan.
The two officers had crawled to an overpass, using special trench telescopes to peer over the earthen lip and study the enemy line beyond.
“Are you sure you have your history right?” Stan asked.
“What do you mean?”
“The Germans almost drove the Russians out of Stalingrad. They were about to win the fight, when the Russians launched their biggest assault yet. The Russians smashed the Rumanians and Italians holding the extended front leading to the city. The Russians thereby encircled and trapped the German army fighting in the city. Where is America’s counter-offensive to save us from the Chinese?”
“Are you saying we can’t win?” Ramos asked.
“No. I’m just not sure I like your analogy.”
Ramos was quiet for a time. Then he glanced at Stan. “Intelligence says the Chinese have four to five times our number in fighting men. It’s probably just a matter of time before they take the city and send for Army formations from mainland China.”
“What does HQ say?” asked Stan. “Have they spotted new Chinese troop convoys crossing the Pacific?”
“Not yet. But it seems inevitable.”
Stan pulled down his trench scope and rolled onto his back. He wiped his mouth with his gloved hand. “We have problems, but so do they.”
“How do you know that?” asked Ramos, who continued to use the scope. The scope had a right angle at the top and was similar in principle to a submarine’s periscope, thus allowing a man to study the enemy without exposing himself to direct fire.
“Military history tells me that,” said Stan. “We just see our problems because we’re so focused on them. Our problems here are big, no doubt about that. But the enemy has his own set of problems. Sometimes it’s just a matter of whose will fails or whose nerves crumble first.”
“My nerves are close to shot,” said Ramos. “We don’t really have anything that can handle the T-66s. Fortunately, the Chinese don’t seem to have a lot of them, and that’s something. But I’ve read the reports. It seems the Chinese have scoured each battlefield, dragging any wrecked T-66 to the repair vehicles. That’s a serious problem when fighting a rearguard action as we’ve been doing for weeks. We always leave the battlefield in their possession. Their repair vehicles can pick up the broken tanks while we leave ours behind.”
“I’ve been thinking about those T-66s ever since we faced them in Cooper Landing,” Stan said. “I think the answer is obvious. We lure the monsters into the city and try to separate them from their infantry. Then you let my tanks take them on one at a time.”
“The T-66s will crush your Abrams.”
“In time they will,” said Stan. “So we have to make sure we take them out first.”
Ramos lowered his scope. “How can you sound so confident? I don’t get that, Professor.”
Stan shrugged. “It’s simple. If seven tri-turreted tanks come after me, I have to destroy seven tanks. If I destroy six, I lose. So I’ll try to destroy all seven and win.”
“If you’d told me that a few weeks ago, I’d have agreed,” said Ramos. “Now….”
Stan glanced at Ramos. The man still had dark circles around his eyes. The general had fought hard, bitterly hard in Moose Pass and later, but now he was exhausted from the endless battles.
“Have you even been home to sleep?” asked Stan.
“Didn’t have the time. There’s too much to do.”
“You ought to take a little time off this morning. The Chinese won’t attack yet. My guess is they’ll start by pounding us with artillery first. Use that time to recoup. We need you at your best, sir, not filled with morbid doubts.”
Ramos breathed the cold morning air. “Let’s get back to our vehicles. Then I’ll see.”
PRCN SUNG
Admiral Ling spoke to the Chairman via his computer screen in the supercarrier’s ready room. Commodore Yen sat out of sight to the side.
The Chairman appeared angry. Ling was weary and his bones ached this morning.
“I do not understand this delay,” the Chairman was saying. “The Army’s cross-polar taskforce has achieved its first objective: the town of Dead Horse and its accompanying oilfields. With the deep discoveries, it is presently the largest single oilfield in the world. The Navy with its lavish fleet and precision-drilled naval infantry has crawled these past weeks through an American wildness playground. Unlike the cross-polar soldiers, you have modern roads to carry your supplies, near total air superiority and more numbers of trained soldiers than the enemy has. Yet what do I hear? You constantly plead for more ships, more munitions, more soldiers and more fuel, always more, more, more.”
“I am pleased with the northern victory of Chinese arms,” Admiral Ling said. “Yet if I could point out, sir, they had enough fuel to—”
“Don’t speak to me about fuel!” the Chairman said. “A nuclear-tipped torpedo struck the polar taskforce. Snowmobile raiders afterward hit other supply dumps. Percentage-wise, I am told they’ve lost much more of their reserves than you ever had.”
“Sir,” said Ling, “most of our fuel requirements go to the fleet. The land—”
“Why haven’t you protected your tankers better?”
Admiral Ling hesitated. This was an odd situation for the richest oil-nation in the world. Because of Siberia, Chinese oil refineries brimmed with petrochemicals: diesel, kerosene and gasoline. What the Navy lacked was enough transport tankers to bring those fuels across thousands of kilometers of ocean to the battlefield. The Chinese merchant marine was too small and until only a few years ago, the Navy had never been designed as a blue-water fleet. As it was, the supply line had been stretched. Then the Americans had continually destroyed tankers, zeroing in on them with ruthless efficiency. That had created real difficulties. The torturous land route through the Kenai Peninsula only added to the supply nightmare.
“I have tried to protect our tankers, sir,” Ling told the Chairman. “The Americans are cunning, however. They have attacked our fuel transports, preferring to destroy them to carriers. Through espionage, CIA spies must have learned about our fuel troubles.”
“I hope you are not accusing anyone, Admiral.”
“Sir?” asked Ling, wondering what the Chairman was driving at.
The old man in the wheelchair leaned forward, staring at Ling through the screen. “My nephew has spoken to me.”
The Vice-Admiral, Ling thought to himself. Nepotism has crippled the war effort. I should have never agreed to this command while saddled with his fool of a nephew.
“My nephew has informed me that you gave him the toughest route and yet you withheld the needed soldiers,” the Chairman said.
“Sir, I must object. It is your nephew’s incompetence that has cost us dearly.”
“What are you saying?” the Chairman asked ominously.
Commodore Yen shook his head, but the bile in Ling from the Vice-Admiral’s blunders welled up in a rush.
“Your nephew first lost all his helicopters trying to storm Seward,” Ling said. “Next, his drive up Moose Pass has become a study in wasteful frontal charges. I could use those dead soldiers now as we attempt to grind down the remaining Americans. Then his bungling charge through the Junction that entangled our troops at the precise moment I—”
“I have heard enough,” the Chairman said. “This slander mars your reputation. You will not grind the enemy. That is not how you win. You must shock him, bewilder him by the power of your assault. Storm Anchorage with Chinese fury as General Nung took Dead Horse. Then I shall send you Army reinforcements.”
“I would rather that you send me fuel first, sir.”
“Bah!” the Chairman said. “My nephew has assured me he could take Anchorage like that.” The old man snapped his fingers.
Admiral Ling’s eyes bulged. He opened his mouth.
“Sir,” whispered an obviously worried Commodore Yen.
Admiral Ling turned to his friend and advisor, noticing the worry on Yen’s face. Ling closed his mouth, even as a vein on the side of his head pulsed with shame.
“Is there someone else with you in the room?” asked the Chairman.
Admiral Ling spoke in a mumble. “I shall take Anchorage, sir. I shall give China another glorious victory, another superlative feat of arms as I achieved in Taiwan.”
“…do you promise this?” asked the Chairman.
“It is already done,” said Ling, his humiliation turning to anger. Yet he was still practiced enough to contain his words. For the sake of his family in China, he must attempt to please this man in the wheelchair.
“Take Anchorage and all your sins will be forgiven,” the Chairman was saying.
“Yes, sir,” said Ling.
“Fail in your appointed task—”
“I have already said it is done, sir.”
Instead of anger at being interrupted, a slow smile spread across the Chairman’s face. “So you have, Admiral. So you have.”
In an instant, the screen blanked out.
Admiral Ling bowed his head. This was inexcusable. How could the Chairman speak to him this way? After all that he had done for China and done for the Chairman—no. This was unbearable, an insult. He turned to Commodore Yen. “That creature the Vice-Admiral….” Ling’s humiliation was too much now for speech.
“Sir,” Yen said, “You have given your word concerning Anchorage. How can you be so certain you can conquer the Americans?”
Admiral Ling ignored him. He adjusted his computer screen as he studied the situation. He kept noticing the huge fuel depots in Anchorage. The Americans had blown the Seward depot, but the ones here were different. These supplied the Americans. Therefore, the enemy could not afford to blow them. If he could capture the depots, it would solve his fuel problem.
Ling began to nod. He brought up battle charts and force readiness numbers. “I am beginning to see the way,” he said.
“Sir?” Yen asked.
“The Chairman has shown me the way. We must storm Anchorage before the Americans rush more reinforcements into the city. Our soldiers rested during the storm. We will now rush forward more supplies as our soldiers use speed, violence and fury to capture the Anchorage fuel depots.”
“They are on the other side of the city, sir,” Yen said.
“With the T-66s we shall smash through everything the Americans put in our way,” Ling said. “Call the ground commanders. I have new orders to give them.”
“May I suggest you first wait an hour, sir?” a worried-sounding Yen asked. “You have…endured hard words today. Maybe it is time for reflection first and action soon thereafter.”
Ling looked up and stared at the careful Commodore. “No, you may not suggest such a thing. What you may do is obey my orders.”
Yen’s neck stiffened. After a moment, he stood and saluted. “It shall be as you say, sir.”
* * *
Some time later, Ling read a brief report from his chief ground commander. The Chinese infantry officers outside Anchorage had received their orders as the last of the supplies at the front were divided up. More ammo and food came to the front at a trickle, as the majority of Highway One was still clogged with snow and ice. The officers returned to their sub-commanders, who in turn explained the attack orders to the junior officers. The junior officers spoke to the NCOs. Those gruff men told their soldiers how tomorrow they were going to bring glory to Greater China, win the campaign and the right for each of them to screw the girl of their choice once they returned home as heroes.
BEIJING, P.R.C.
Deep underground in his bunker under Mao Square, the Chairman spoke with Jian Hong.
“Did you listen to our conversation earlier?” the Chairman asked.
Jian nodded. He’d been ordered to listen. Didn’t the Chairman remember?
“That is how you light a fire under an ancient warrior,” the Chairman said. “Niu Ling conquered Taiwan for me. Now he will give me the rest of Alaska.”
“May I ask you a delicate question, sir?”
“You have given me the oilfields, Jian. You may ask me anything.”
“Did your nephew really say those things, sir?”
Some of the Chairman’s mirth evaporated as he stared at Jian.
I shouldn’t have asked that, Jian told himself. How could I have been so stupid?
“Yes,” the Chairman finally told him, “my nephew said those things.”
“Given that is true, sir, shouldn’t we place your nephew in charge of operations?” There, that ought to satisfy his touchiness.
“Don’t be absurd,” the Chairman said. “Now go,” he said, waving a feeble hand. “I’m tired. We shall talk tomorrow.”
A steel door swished up, and two Lion Guards looked in, giving Jian a hard stare.
Jian wanted to gush his apologies. He was still surprised about General Nung and his victory at Dead Horse. That victory—the other Ruling Committee members now gave Jian greater respect because of it. He knew, however, that the Chairman loved results, not weak words like “sorry” or “I shall do better.” By his response, the Chairman had shown himself sensitive about his family, particularly his inept nephew the Vice-Admiral. Jian would remember that.
“Good day to you, sir.” Jian said. “To victory in Anchorage!”
The irritated Chairman waved him away. The interview was over.
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Anna Chen rubbed her eyes as she sat at her desk. She was exhausted from too much work and a growing sense of guilt for what she had unleashed.
She’d moved out of her West Wing cubicle and no longer worked for the Third Assistant to the National Security Advisor. She no longer worked for Colin Green at all. Instead, she had her own West Wing office as the new Chinese Affairs Advisor to the President. She had a three-person staff and direct access to the President. During the continuing crisis, Clark spoke to her an average of three times a day, and that didn’t include the meetings.
Her guilt concerned the nuclear attack in the pristine Arctic environment. Now there had been a second attack. She dreaded the Chairman’s response.
It surprised her Clark hadn’t told her about the latest nuclear attack. She’d learned about it through Alfredo Diaz. He’d given her another memory stick, the information only hours old.
Anna clicked a button, replaying the information on her computer. A dark image leaped onto the screen. She was viewing this through the shoulder-cam of a 1st SFG A-Detachment master sergeant. By the shot, the Green Berets soldier must be laying on the pack ice. There were lights in the distance: a vast Chinese supply dump.
“It’s their main base,” the master sergeant whispered, likely into a microphone. “I count thirty snowtanks leaving it.”
Anna listened carefully, studying nuances this time.
“Give us the targeting coordinates.” The voice belonged to the USS Mississippi’s radio operator.
“Hey Sarge!” someone unseen said. Anna assumed it was another Green Berets. “You hear that?”
The scene changed, showing the breathtakingly beautiful night sky with its Northern Lights. The master sergeant must have looked up. Anna heard the unmistakable whomp-whomp of a helicopter.
“They’ve spotted us, Sarge!” A snowmobile started. “Come on! Let’s go!”
“You go,” the master sergeant said. “I’ve still got a job to do.”
Anna wanted to weep as she shook her head. No matter how many times she heard this, she still hoped somehow in her heart that he could escape.
Other snowmobiles whined into life. None of the others tried to argue the master sergeant out of his grim decision. That amazed Anna most of all. The others drove off, the sounds of their engines quickly dwindling.
“That’s it,” the radio operator said after a time. “We have it. Don’t wait around, Sarge.”
Onscreen, Anna witnessed the Chinese lights again, the distant supply dump. That changed as the master sergeant must have looked up. By the sounds, an enemy chopper moved toward him. Then there were sparks in the night. Anna realized now those were Chinese machine guns firing from the helicopter. She heard icy crunching sounds a few seconds later, the bullets striking.
Anna hunched closer, listening carefully.
“Damnit,” the master sergeant said. He must have rolled onto his back. Anna saw the barrel of a weapon appear as it aimed skyward. A second later, the master sergeant grunted, and the scene changed so Anna stared at the ice. In time, his blood trickled into view.
She fast-forwarded. In the distance was the sound of many vehicles.
The Chinese must be fleeing the base.
Suddenly, a nuclear explosion occurred and the video picture shook. It became intensely bright and a shrieking wind began. That wind howled across the pack ice until it stopped abruptly as the video ended.
