Invasion: Alaska (41 page)

“I found another three crews dead,” Nung said. “This delay is killing us. We need to move, to make the crews work.”

“Move in this nightmare?” asked Yongzheng. “Are you joking, General?”

The commissar’s tone infuriated Nung just as much as the insulting question.

“You’ve heard the signals,” Nung said. “There’s heavy fighting near Anchorage. We need to attack the North Slope while the others hit the south coast. We can’t let the Americans use their interior position to shift troops as needed.”

“We are attacking,” said Yongzheng.

“No. We’re grounded in the middle of the Arctic Ocean.”

“Well, certainly we are at this moment,” said Yongzheng. “Once this horrible weather ends, we shall continue our advance.”

General Nung shook his head as he made a fist. “We need to gather all our supplies in the caterpillar-haulers, form a fast taskforce and thrust our way to the North Slope.” He made a boxing motion to illustrate his meaning.

“Please, I’m well acquainted with your theories. There is no need to demonstrate.”

“We’re losing time just sitting here,” Nung said.

Yongzheng shrugged.

Nung turned away and clenched his teeth.

“Please, your theatrics are amusing and help pass the time, but I’m sure they’re not good for your blood pressure. You must relax and save your zeal for the moment we meet the Americans.”

Nung whirled around as he dropped a hand onto his holster.

The bodyguard half rose from his chair. His dark eyes were fixed on Nung.

“No, no,” said Yongzheng, with a waving gesture. “Relax, Mingli. The General merely exhibits his frustration. I agree with him that this weather is most infuriating. When it subsides, I’m sure we’ll move quickly.”

“We cannot ‘move quickly’,” Nung said between his gritted teeth.

“Ah, yes, I keep forgetting,” said Yongzheng. “The weight of our vehicles demand low speeds as we travel over the pack ice. Too fast and the vehicle rocks the water under the ice, creating waves that could possibly destroy the ice. You see, General, I was well briefed before joining your expedition.”

“Let me unleash the hovertanks,” Nung said. “They can move with speed, without creating any wave-action. From here, it’s a short hop until they reach the North Slope.

Commissar Yongzheng examined his fingernails. “How many of the hovertanks have broken down already?”

“Fourteen,” Nung said.

“Incorrect,” said Yongzheng. “Please, General, I know you’re a stickler for facts. I would prefer if you used them while addressing me.”

Nung struggled to control his temper. He was the military man. This police creature knew little about combat and winning wars. It was said the hovertanks were finicky vehicles, prone to breakdowns. That’s why they needed the best crews with an onboard mechanic added to each vehicle.

“I’m waiting for your answer,” said Yongzheng.

“Thirty-seven,” Nung finally said, “but we’ve fixed many of them.”

“Your techs patched up the hovertanks?”

“They’re mechanics,” muttered Nung, “not techs.”

“Ah, yes, your precision makes itself known once more. Thank you for the correction.”

“Fourteen, thirty-seven,” Nung said, “the number doesn’t matter. We need speed to dash to the North Slope.”

“But that’s simply absurd,” said Yongzheng. “If thirty-seven hovertanks have broken down so far, how many will break down before you reach Alaska? Given the geometric proportion of the number of breakdowns the farther we travel, I would estimate an eighty percent loss of your machines by the time they reach the enemy coast. You cannot take the oilfields with a mere twenty percent of your hovertanks.”

“Firstly,” Nung said with heat, “I can. Secondly, only fifty percent would break down.”

“What is your reasoning?”

“Speed and surprise is a force multiplier. Only a handful of units are needed then. Once I’ve captured the oilfields, you can use the heavy air-transports to land garrison forces.”

Yongzheng shook his head.

“But—”

Yongzheng lifted a long-fingered hand. “I have my orders and you have yours. This blizzard changes nothing. High Command wishes for a methodical advance across the ice. If you dash for the oilfields, American bombers will demolish your pitiful force. You need fighters to cover you and snowtanks to provide muscle for the battle.”

General Shin Nung crashed into an empty chair. He hated this weather, the useless deaths and the East Lighting commissar with veto power. It
would
be a risk dashing over the ice with hovertanks. If this blizzard had hit a hovertank taskforce…he might have lost everything. They would need an open window of good weather, but only a short one if every hovertank moved at maximum speed. This slow, methodical advance, it meant they spent far too much time on the ice. If he were the American commander, he knew of ten different ways to stall them out here and possibly destroy them. The ice was an enemy. It wasn’t simply another form of road. Every minute they remained on the pack ice, the potential for disaster increased. He could give China the greatest possibility for victory, but they had saddled him with small thinkers.

Why am I always surrounded by the ordinary when extraordinary commanders are required?

He’d broken through and dashed to Yakutat during the Siberian War. He’d ended the conflict by dealing with problems directly and twisting the elements to suit him. Maybe it was time to do that here. It entailed risk, not only a military risk but also a political one.

Marshal Kao had given him Commissar Yongzheng to spite him. Maybe it was time to gamble everything—life and career—on one bold throw of the dice. The Chairman would reward a victor. If he failed in this assault by their methods, Kao and his clique of mandarins would sacrifice him anyway. They would use any excuse to squash what they could only envy.

Nung touched his holster. By adding a little more pressure to his fingers, he could unsnap the flap. The desire to draw his gun and shoot was nearly overpowering.

“Turn up the heat,” Yongzheng told his bodyguard.

The man grunted as he got up and went to the temperature control.

“I have more vehicles to inspect,” Nung said.

“Away with you then,” said Yongzheng, gesturing with his hand.

Nung rose and lurched for the door.

“Oh,” said Yongzheng, as if it was an afterthought. “I forgot to tell you. There was a radio message concerning, hmm, our situation.”

“We’re supposed to keep radio silence once we’re this far across the pack ice,” Nung said.

“Yes, yes, but this message was different.”

Nung waited for Yongzheng to tell him.

“I’m afraid I’ve detected that explosive mind of yours plotting for something grand,” said Yongzheng.

General Nung frowned.

“Because of that, I asked my superiors to take your wife and children into protective custody.”

“What?” shouted Nung.

Yongzheng shrugged. “It sullies our working relationship, I’m sure. But it might also clarify the situation. General Nung, you are an active general, well-suited to battle. That is a wonderful trait for a fighting commander. But it makes one in my position nervous. I have thwarted your desires a few too many times. This blizzard and the eternal darkness, it is maddening, and might induce one to madness. Therefore, I would formally like to let you know that my sudden demise will result in your wife’s untimely death. It is an awful thing to say, and I’m sorry to say it. But there it is—a new working relationship between us.”

“You…you
monster
,” breathed Nung.

“I accept your epitaph for my horrid action, as it’s well-deserved. But please, let us keep that between ourselves for now and spare the troops such descriptive words. Save the name for your memoirs.”

Nung leaned against the hatch. His wife and children—his desire for victory oozed away. He shook his head.

“This cannot be,” he said.

“It leaves a bad aftertaste, I agree,” said Yongzheng, and his eyes were bright as they latched onto Nung.

The general noticed. Many considered him brash and arrogant, but he was also perceptive.
The monster enjoys this. He enjoys my grief. He likes to break a person’s spirit even as he pretends he doesn’t
.

“I understand,” Nung managed to say. “I will do my utmost to insure your survival.”

Commissar Yongzheng frowned, and he cocked his head. “You must also achieve victory for the homeland.”

“That is my honor, Commissar.”

The frown deepened. Then Yongzheng flicked his hand. “Go on then, check your vehicles. Make sure we survive this dreadful weather.”

General Nung opened the hatch and staggered into the freezing, brain-blasting blizzard. His wife and children—maybe everyone in the High Command and in the government were monsters. He gripped the towline and dragged himself away. Once this was over, he’d gain his revenge.

Nung shook his head. He couldn’t even think those thoughts for now. He would have to bide his time and wait for his chance. If it came, he would strike at his tormenters then—and crush them thoroughly as one would a poisonous spider. Until then, he would wait, seeking his one chance. Before that occurred, however, he’d have to keep his taskforce alive in this bitterly alien environment.

COOPER LANDING, ALASKA

Stan stood beside wounded Major Williams. The commanding officer was stretched out on two fold-up tables of the data-net. There were dead soldiers littered nearby, here behind the two guarding slopes. One of the dead included the master sergeant of the communications net.

There had been a lull in the fighting for the granite hills guarding this small section of the Number One Highway. Already, American reinforcements had been rushed forward along the highway. They climbed the hills to take the place of the dead and dying. Each new soldier carried a heavy pack stuffed with ammo.

On the two fold-up tables, a bloody bandage covered half the major’s face. A standing medic used his fingers to probe Williams’ black-and-blue torso.

Major Williams winced. “Careful, man,” he whispered.

“You have broken ribs, sir,” the medic informed him.

“Inject me with painkillers,” Williams said.

“Sir, I need to send you back to a medical unit.”

Clenching his teeth, Williams strained and grasped the medic with his good hand. “You listen to me, soldier. The Chinese are coming back. I need to be on my feet by then.”

“You’ll be dead if I inject you with—”

“I don’t have time to argue with you,” Williams whispered. “Look around. There are lots of dead soldiers. Why? Because they held their positions. Because they threw back the Chinese. We stopped them cold and that’s buying us time for reinforcements to arrive from the mainland states.” Major Williams gave the medic a nasty leer. “We’re all dead-men here. It’s just that a few of us don’t know it yet. Now inject me with painkillers so these men can see I haven’t deserted them.”

Turning pale, the medic snatched a vial from the medkit on his belt. Using his index finger, he flicked the vial and inserted a needle into the yellow drug.

Williams watched the procedure. Now he lay back with a groan and he turned his head so he could see Stan with his good eye.

“How many of your Abrams are left?” Williams wheezed.

“All of them,” said Stan.

“Don’t worry. That will change.”

“Sir?” asked Stan.

“The Chinese have to break through,” the major said. He scowled fiercely as the medic stabbed him with a needle. “Get back to your tanks. I don’t know what the Chinese have—”

“Sir!” the last data-net operator shouted, as he leaped up from his fold-up chair. “The Chinese destroyed our 155s with low-level bombers.”

“We weren’t going to keep our artillery forever,” Williams said. “The Chi-Navs are better than us at counter-battery fire.” His eyebrows thundered. “Okay, we’re down to the mortar-teams, but at least we have a new infusion of blood with—what are those men?”

“Sir?” asked the data-net operator. “Oh, I see what you’re asking.” He glanced at the soldiers climbing the hills. “They’re National Guardsmen, sir.”

“Good boys, the National Guardsmen,” Williams said, looking at Stan. “Listen, Captain, you keep your tanks in reserve on those slopes behind the trenches. The Chinese have a surprise and it ought to be coming soon.”

“What have you heard?” asked Stan, who failed to hide his worry.

Williams grabbed the edge of one of the fold-up tables and pulled himself to a sitting position. “One of our fighter jocks saw it,” Williams said. “It was huge, he said, before the Chi-Navs knocked the jet-jock out of the air. He told us the monster had three turrets.”

Stan felt faint. “One of the Chinese multi-turreted tanks, sir?”

“Can your Abrams knock it out?”

“If it’s the T-66, it has two hundred millimeters of Tai composite armor in front. That’s near the limit of what our sabot rounds can penetrate, if they hit perfectly.”

Stan knew the key to the coming fight were the APFSDS rounds: Armor-Piercing Fin-Stabilized Discarding Sabot. After being shot out of the 120mm smoothbore gun, the skin of the sabot round dropped away during flight. That gave greater velocity to the remaining spent uranium ‘bullet.’ To increase penetrating power, the bullet was actually a long, thin rod. Unfortunately, long thin rods tended to tumble in flight instead of going straight. It was the reason for the fins, to stabilize the spend uranium rod. That hardened rod slammed against the enemy at hyper-velocity, boring through the armor. Whatever made it into the enemy compartment was usually enough to kill the crew or cook off any shells lying around, and
those
killed the crew. The Abrams only had ten such sabot shells in each of the ten tanks.