Invasion: Alaska (56 page)

“You’re a nest of traitors without even the manhood to stick together!” the lieutenant snarled. “You all sicken me.” He waved his gun. “Shackle them. We’re going to take them down to interrogation and find out exactly how and why this treachery occurred. I promise you that.”

It was then that Captain Han began to shout incoherently, cursing the lieutenant, China and most of all the Space Service.

THE GULF OF ALASKA

America
Strikes Back!

(Reuters) At a terrible loss of pilots and aircraft, the United States Navy struck at the Chinese Invasion Fleet yesterday. It was reminiscent of the Battle of Midway, as the gods of war must have blessed the bold. The two air wings went in low, flying a mere fifty feet above the
Pacific Ocean
. They slipped through the outer Chinese radar-net and caught the middle defense-zone ships asleep. Those ships were seventy kilometers from the carriers. Our aircraft sank the two cruisers, a helicopter-carrier and four destroyers.

That opened the way through the Chinese air defense for a mass barrage of American cruise missiles. Those missiles helped give
America
its greatest victory thus far in the war.

The air-battle in the Chinese primary zone was a different affair. The massed might of seven supercarriers faced the two American air-wings. Not since World War Two against the Japanese has such an aerial duel taken place in the
Pacific Ocean
. Chinese pilots, EW and missiles proved a tough match for our brave airmen. American planes were lost at an estimated rate of two-to-one Chinese aircraft. Despite such losses, the remaining attackers bravely zeroed in on the big supercarriers.

Captain Danny Wright came in low, arming his Gladius-6 air-to-ship missile. With a shudder, the ship-killing missile dropped from his underbelly and ignited. The short flight-time and wave-top attack meant the Gladius-6 burrowed deep into the Chinese carrier. The explosion was among the three direct hits recorded by our pilots, and a fourth strike sinking a non-carrier vessel. As the last Navy pilots streaked for Alaska, with Captain Danny Wright among them, the cruise missiles arrived. They caught the Chinese pilots landing on their carriers to rearm and refuel. Three more hits were recorded, with the sinking of the Chinese supercarriers
Cho En Li
and
Mao Zedong.
Like our own carriers, the Chinese flattops can often sustain two or even three hits before sinking. The remaining carriers limped away, several of them damaged. The Chinese Invasion Fleet took a pounding in a heroic display of U.S. Navy courage and determination.

Unfortunately, the two U.S. Navy carriers launching the brave attack were hit by a brutal Chinese counter-strike. After a long battle with damage-control, the two
U.S.
carriers sank, along with the escorting destroyers and cruisers. It was a bitter blow, but the Navy gave a shot to the chin against the Chinese invaders.

The fight continues, but now the Chinese know that neither the Navy, the Army, the Marines nor the incredible Alaskan National Guard will surrender. It is a fight to the finish, and the Chinese will learn their lesson as the Japanese and the Germans learned it long ago. You can hit
America
by surprise and get in several good blows, usually by underhanded means. But in the end,
America
will arise victorious as the last nation standing
.

NINILCHIK, ALASKA

Lu Po, the hero of the San Francisco raid, had returned to where he and his White Tiger Commandos had originally landed in Alaska. It was a cold day, with the wind blowing and snow swirling.

Rumors had already made the rounds that Admiral Ling was angry. The Americans had struck at the fleet, sinking two carriers. Many Chinese air-superiority fighters had also crashed into the ocean. Others were heavily damaged. Perhaps as bad, Lu had heard that a fuel tanker had gone up in flames during the attack, as had two munitions vessels. That had increased nervousness in High Command about the continued American harassment-attacks on the Kenai supply lines.

Suppress the partisans with vigor
. That order had popped up on Lu’s email yesterday.

In his snow-camouflaged combat suit, Lu presently stood under evergreens near the road as several of his Commandos threw ropes over the lowest and heaviest branches. Four Americans knelt nearby, two of them teenage boys. There was a woman among them, the reason his men were only using three ropes. His team would take the woman to a detention center.

Lu glanced at the Americans on their knees in the snow. One was much older, the father likely. Yes, one of the boys and the girl resembled the old man. The father whispered earnestly to the three youngsters. The smallest had tears in his eyes. He was the weakling of the group. The older teenager glared at the White Tigers. That one had fire. All of them, including the woman, had their hands tied behind their backs. These four were partisans, formerly armed with civilian weapons. There had been a Colt .45, a Winchester lever-action and two Remington shotguns. Lu had been amazed at the amount of ammunition each of the Americans had been carrying.

The four had poured sugar into several trucks and shot at Chinese soldiers. There had been far too much sabotage lately. Even before the American air strike on the fleet, High Command had become concerned, especially with the continued attack on supply dumps and trucks.

That is why they called for us. The White Tigers can deal with any situation
.

Even better, partisan-hunting behind the front meant he didn’t have to face professional soldiers but these winter warriors. Look, the smaller boy was crying aloud as his tears dripped to the snow. The boy and the father should have thought of that before they dared pick up rifles against the occupation.

Lu filled his lungs with cold air. He saw that everything was ready, so Lu Po snapped his fingers.

White Tigers lifted the three males to their feet and chased them with bayonets to the ropes. The youngest screamed, and struggled to free hands. The father spoke even more urgently to that one.

“It’s too late for that,” Lu said, as he strode to them.

Several White Tigers threw nooses around the three necks.

“Don’t hang my little brother!” the oldest teenager shouted.

Lu snapped his fingers.

White Tigers pulled, hoisting the three gurgling partisans into the air as their legs kicked.

The red-haired woman, with tears streaking down her cheeks, watched in horror. Then she stared at the White Tigers staring at her.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” she whispered.

Before Lu could answer, his belt-computer beeped. He unclipped it and checked his messages. There was another, more dangerous partisan band fifty kilometers from here. Command wanted his White Tigers to take care of it. There were helicopters coming to pick them up, but no one to take the woman to a detention center.

Lu clipped the small device back to his belt and regarded the woman. “You will have your wish,” he said.

She stared at him dumbly.

“Hang her,” said Lu. “We have bigger prey to hunt. Hurry, we must leave at once.”

STERLING, ALASKA

Rubbing his arms in a vain effort to get warm, Militia Sergeant Bill Harris looked at his ragged, ill-fed band. He had thirteen shivering men huddled under cold pines in the snow with him. Several coughed all the time and had runny noses and sad eyes. They’d been on the run in the wilds for too long and with too little food. Some wore duck-hunting camouflage gear like him, meaning they were also Militiamen. One was a pilot who had survived his ejection. He’d broken bones in his left hand and wore a heavy, dirty wrap over it. Three were National Guardsmen. The interesting and most fit member was an old hunter. They had been eating his dwindling stocks of freeze-dried food for the past few days. Without the old hunter’s cunning, they would have died of exposure or been captured by patrolling Chinese.

“Build a fire,” the old hunter said.

The pilot shook his head. Despite his broken hand, he was an aggressive young man. “We can take a little cold, but if the Chinese see us warming ourselves by a fire we’re dead.”

“I don’t like them hanging people either,” the old hunter said. “But we’re not going to do much more if we’re all sick. We need to be warm for a while and regroup.”

“Make the fire,” Bill told the old hunter. He was sick of shivering, and he was dead tired. Tramping through the snow in the wilds, with Chinese chasing them—it amazed him how the tiredness sank into his bones. It gave him a new appreciation for David when King Saul had chased him through the deserts of Israel. The next time he gave a sermon on those passages, he would add these experiences to make the Bible come to life for his parishioners.

“I still don’t understand who put you in charge,” the pilot said.

“Bill is a sergeant,” Carlos said from where he squatted.

“Yeah?” the pilot said. “Well, I’m a captain.”

“Bill’s led the group successfully,” Carlos said. “We’ve destroyed thirteen trucks full of supplies. And he rigged the perfect bobby-trap with Chinese artillery shells, blowing up two IFVs and their naval infantry. What have you done again?”

“I got myself shot down because it was three against one,” the pilot said angrily. “Look, I don’t want to hang from the trees. If we do anymore now, they’re sure to send the patrols after us into the woods, where we’ll probably freeze to death.”

Bill had seen Americans hanging from trees. It had shocked him even more than the invasion itself. The dangling corpse had been in plain sight along the highway. He’d worked near and had read the placard around the neck. In block letters the Chinese had written, ANY PARTISAN CAUGHT WITH A WEAPON WILL HANG. He had stared at those letters, thinking about having his arms tied behind his back and a rope looped around his neck. Something dark had entered his soul then. The Chinese wanted to play rough. He’d nodded. He would play rough all right.

“If the Chinese are hanging people,” Bill now told the others, “it means they’re desperate. It means the attacks behind enemy lines are taking a toll. I say we increase that toll.”

“What are you suggesting?” the pilot said. “Have you seen the latest convoys? They’re guarded by infantry fighting vehicles.”

“That’s right!” said Bill. “That’s another sign we’re hurting them. They’re pulling back combat vehicles from the fight to make sure they get enough supplies to the front. Now we have to hit them even harder.”

“I hope you’re not talking about slipping into the big supply dump near Sterling,” the old hunter said. He clicked a lighter, touching the flame to wadded paper crumpled under a teepee of broken sticks.

“They’ve seen that supply depot,” the pilot said, jerking a thumb at the National Guardsmen. “They said it’s guarded pretty tight.”

“The smart thing is to stick with what works,” Bill said. “I don’t want to get greedy and try to swallow too much. The idea is to nibble them like mice.”

“That’s great,” the pilot said. “Mice.”

Bill sympathized with the young man. Chinese tanks were better than American ones, just as Chinese aircraft were better than American fighters. It must be a terrible feeling to be shot down behind enemy lines. He hated the fact that he’d been left behind. Sometimes he just wanted to pack it in and try to walk back to Anchorage. Remembering that hanging corpse wouldn’t let him do that.

“Mice can burn down a house by nibbling enough electric wire-lining,” Bill told the pilot.

“And how does that apply to us?” the pilot asked.

“It should be obvious.”

“What should we attack next?” asked the old hunter.

Bill squatted beside the crackling sticks. He held his stiff fingers before the flames. Even the trickle of heat felt wonderful, like hope. How much longer could they do this? He was out of aspirin now. He wanted that almost as much he wanted more food. Soon, they would be out of food, too, and their .50 caliber ammo was running low. They had plenty of shotgun shells and .30-06 cartridges. He forced a grin onto his tired face. These men needed hope. The old hunter had been right. They needed this fire.

“I’ve been thinking of a spot, said Bill, as he dug out a worn map. “We’ll set up the M2s there and wait for a rich target like Robin Hood and his merry men.”

“So now we’re archers?” asked the pilot, squatting beside him and holding out his good hand to the flames. He stared at Bill. “I wish you’d make up your mind. Mice, men wearing tights, I need to get back to our side and see if I can get another fighter.”

Their side, Bill nodded. It would be nice to go home. It would be glorious. But right now, he was David on the run from Saul. This was the hard time when he had to prove himself.

“Build up that fire,” Bill said. “Then let’s get everyone around it. We have some hard planning to do.”

GIRDWOOD, ALASKA

Stan’s tank rattled-clanked-squealed its way along the road as it towed another Abrams. The towing was hard on his tank, but he couldn’t leave this one behind and there was no other way to move it. It gave him three M1A2s, the last of their heavy armor.