Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5) (33 page)

Finally, with the sun peeking over the horizon, several artillery pieces boomed, lonely but impressive sounds. Maybe thirty seconds later, the entire north erupted with thunderous roars. The ground shook, and Chet sat up with a shout.

“It’s starting,” Jake told him.

Chet gazed at him open-mouthed. Soon, he scrambled to his feet and took his place around the dinghy.

Lieutenant Wans came by, a stocky man with an unshaven face. “Ten minutes,” he said. “Make sure you have everything in place.”

“We’re still crossing the Amur?” Jake asked.

Wans glanced at the inflatable before stalking off.

“Ask as stupid question,” Chet said.

Ten minutes passed, and no order came down. Finally, twenty minutes later, whistles blew.

Jake, Chet, Grant and the others grabbed the rope around the rubber dinghy. Their packs lay inside, along with their assault rifles, RPGs and a light machine gun.

“One, two, three, heave,” Jake said.

Using the rope, they lifted the dinghy off the ground and crashed through the bulrushes, flattening the long stalks. On either side of them, the rest of the platoon did likewise with their inflatables. The men rushed down to the northern shore of the Amur River.

Low rolling hills stood on either side of the broad river. It might have been an idyllic scene, if not for the violence to come.

Jake’s boots squished in mud. He was in front. With a heave, he threw the craft toward deeper water. Some of the others did likewise. The dingy splashed into the cold river, and Jake clambered aboard.

They were doing it. This was for real. Manchuria, gateway to China, baby.

As the others settled into place, Grant used his left thumb, starting the small outboard. It
ring-ring-ringed
to life like an angry lawnmower.

“Let’s go!” Chet shouted.

Jake settled in front, kneeling, and he nestled his assault rifle on his lap. The dinghy pushed forward through the black water. Then it went a little faster. The current caught the craft, trying to take them downstream. Grant compensated, heading for their landing zone marked on their map.

I’m crossing the Amur River into China. We’re really going to pay them back for coming to America
.

All across the river, rubber boats moved for the Chinese shore. What’s more, the entire landscape on their side, the Siberian north, churned with movement. Tanks, IFVs, trucks, jeeps, military SUVs and marching men headed for pontoon bridges. All the while, American artillery pounded the Chinese shore and beyond. Explosions erupted over there and fires blazed.

“Look!” Jake shouted. He pointed at a house on the far shore. It blew apart with spectacular violence. Finally, the destruction was taking place in enemy territory, in Asia. It felt great. For years now, Jake had watched American buildings go down. Smaller sheds over there burned like marshmallows over a fire.

The Amur River was wide. Jake recalled his dad telling him about the old days in the 1960s. The communist Chinese and Russians used to have border skirmishes along this river. Now China faced the onslaught of United Europe, Russia heading the Slavic Coalition and a mad-as-hell United States of America.

Let’s see how the Chinese like them apples
.

The outboard sputtered for a moment. Jake turned. With his open hand, Grant gave the engine a whack. It resumed its buzz and the boat surged ahead once more.

“This is it,” Jake told Chet. “We’re invading.”

“We haven’t reached there yet,” Chet said.

“Cheerful attitude.”

“Just calling it like I see it,” Chet said with a smirk.

Jake breathed the air. He smelled burning wood and the gasoline of their outboard. Chet was scared. Heck, so was he. They were going back to war again, but in a different part of the world.

We’re not in Kansas anymore
.

Halfway across the river, Chet shouted at Jake. “What in the heck is that?”

Jake glanced at Chet. The soldier pointed toward the enemy shore. With a start, Jake realized a young kid stepped out from behind some bulrushes on the Manchurian side. The kid wore a wide-brimmed straw hat and waved to them.

“He’s crazy,” Chet said. “Doesn’t he know what those artillery shells are? They’re pulverizing his side.”

Jake nodded. The kid must be loony.

“Better shoot him.”

Jake turned around in shook. “
You’re
crazy. I’m not shooting an unarmed kid.”

“You never heard stories about Vietnam?”

“Come on,” Jake said. “Are you kidding me? You want to gun down a little kid? We’re soldiers, not barbarian Mongols fighting under Genghis Khan.”

“You’d better wise up, Jake. This is China. We’re not liberating them from anything, but invading their stinking country. Don’t doubt they’re going to pull every trick in the book they can.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this.”

Along with a swarm of others, the dinghy headed for shore, and Jake kept his eyes peeled for enemy soldiers. He kept turning back to the kid, who continued to move his hand up and down. Was the kid a lookout for Chinese infantry? That seemed unlikely. Any Chinese grunt would be a nutcase to be out here, but one never knew.

“This is stupid,” Chet said. “I’m finishing this.” He lifted his assault rifle, aiming at the kid.

“No!” Jake said, grabbing the end of the barrel and pulling it down.

“You idiot!” Chest shouted, ripping the gun out of Jake’s grip. “Don’t ever grab my rifle again.”

A different dinghy neared the watching kid. He couldn’t be any older than ten, maybe eleven years. He stood on a rise of ground, watching as if enthralled.

Suddenly, to Jake’s horror, the kid pulled a hand grenade out of a pouch at this side. He struggled with the pin.

“Shoot him!” Chet shouted. He raised his rifle, the muzzle even with Jake’s head, and he fired.

The reports were deafening, and Jake jerked away, covering his ears.

The kid tossed the grenade underhanded. It sailed through the air and splashed just short of the nearest dinghy. A column of water blew harmlessly into the air. Then several Americans shot the kid at once.

Jake swore. He didn’t want it to be this kind of war. At the same moment, an ancient machine gun opened up over there. It was hidden in the higher reeds. The machine gun sounded like a wounded woodpecker. That still made it deadly. Bullets stitched the water, the spouts rapidly closing toward their dinghy.

“Jump!” Chet shouted, and he leaped, rocking the craft.

Jake snarled as he squinted at the reeds. A glint of metal showed him where the enemy had set up. He released his assault rifle, twisted around and grabbed an RPG lying in the middle of the boat.

Grant shifted the outboard, driving the dinghy out of the path of bullets, which zipped past them. The hidden enemy machine gunner swiveled his weapon. Jake could tell by the waterspouts traveling back toward them. He brought the RPG to his shoulder, having become something of a marksman with these.

Beside him, a soldier grunted painfully. Blood sprayed, a splash of it striking Jake’s neck, hot and sticky. The infantryman pitched backward, making the dinghy rock. Enemy machine gun bullets struck the next passenger. Foolishly, none of them wore body armor. None of them had wanted to be dragged underwater and drowned the first day of the invasion.

I’m never going to make that mistake again
.

Jake sighted on the glint and pulled the trigger. The shaped-charge grenade
banged
, flying at the machine gunner and team. Jake tossed the launcher into the water and picked up this assault rifle. Hunkering low, he emptied his magazine at them, even though they had the distance.

The warhead exploded near enough that after the smoke cleared, the Chinese were either dead or gone, deciding to relocate.

Now American mortars from the north shore swept the enemy hills. They should have done that earlier, but it was a first day’s balls-up. Smoke billowed onshore and fragmentation shells flattened bulrushes. Fires started, more smoke billowed and Jake began to fear the mortar teams would kill them along with the enemy.

Lieutenant Wans must have been in contact with the mortar teams, or the captain was. When their dinghy was fifty feet from shore—far too close in Jake’s opinion—the mortar rounds quit raining.

“Get ready!” Jake shouted.

The inflatable entered the drifting smoke. It was like traveling through fog. It felt alien, like some other planet. Jake’s gut churned, and he peered everywhere, but he saw nothing but smoke. Finally, the boat struck mud. Chet reappeared then. It turned out he’d been hanging onto the rope around the boat.

“Welcome to China,” Jake said.

“You should have shot the kid,” Chet said, his clothes soaked.

“I guess so.” Jake grabbed his equipment. The others grabbed theirs. After a brief conference, they agreed the smart thing was to put on their body armor. It took time, but Jake felt better with it in place.

By then, most of the smoke had cleared. The kid lay nearby, still wearing his straw hat.

“Let me show you something,” Chet said.

Together, they went to twisted, bullet-riddled kid. It turned out he had a wrinkled face and lacked teeth.

“That ain’t no kid,” Chet said. “He was some ancient Chinese dwarf masquerading as a kid. What a prick.”

The truth made Jake feel better. He didn’t want to have to shoot children. Even so, this old man’s friends had killed Americans. The platoon had to find those machine gunners and make the bastards pay. That was the reason for the broad front river crossing. The US 3rd Army Group wanted a clear and protected path for what would in time become a long supply route. They would cut a wide swath to begin with and funnel down later.

After an hour’s search, the platoon found the Chinese barricaded up on a hill. Jake and Chet crawled toward Lieutenant Wans hidden behind an old tree up the slope.

“Up there,” Wans said, pointing.

The hill had an old shed up there and some trees. This looked like grazing land, with most of the slope green grass with occasional bushes. Sandbags lay low to the ground near the top of the hill, making strongpoints. A heavy machine gun slid out of a firing loop, blazing away at them.

Jake ducked low. The other two kept behind the ancient tree. The machine gun still sounded like a woodpecker, and the bullets thudded harmlessly against the tree trunk.

“Must have been a number of teams along the river,” the lieutenant shouted. “Saboteurs maybe. Well, no sense getting any of us killed taking them out.”

On the radio, Wans spoke to the captain. The captain relayed his words to a mortar team on the north shore. Soon, shells rained down on top of the hill, and the Chinese quit firing.

“Pinpoint accuracy this time,” Wans said. “I think that did it.” He radioed. The shelling stopped and Wans said, “Let’s go. See if we got them all.”

Jake and Chet led the way, hurrah. With his body armor and pack, it made the trudge uphill work. Clutching his assault rifle, Jake kept his eyes glued to the top. Foot by foot he headed higher. His stomach soon ached he clenched it so tightly. This was a lot different from driving a Behemoth.

At the top, they discovered something amazing. The mortar shells had indeed killed every Chinese soldier or militiaman. The foxholes had been far too shallow to make much of a difference.

“Amateurs,” Lieutenant Wans said shortly.

“They are now,” Jake said.

The lieutenant with the five o’clock shadow at nine in the morning asked, “What’s that mean?”

“If we give them too long, I bet they get better.”

The lieutenant studied him. “Are you always so cheerful?”

“Been through the school of hard knocks one time too many,” Jake said.

“All right, jawing isn’t going to get us anywhere,” the lieutenant said. “Let’s pack it up and keep going. We’re supposed to be ten miles south by nightfall.”

Jake shouldered his rifle and turned to Chet. “We’re doing it, my friend. We’re invading.”

“Feels better than defending, I have to tell you.”

Jake thought about it, and he nodded. It surely did at that.

CENTRAL VALLEY PASS, HEILONGJIANG PROVINCE

Colonel Stan Higgins had become Brigadier General Stan Higgins, commander of 10th Armored Division, part of V Corps.

Instead of bulky Behemoth tanks—they all remained in the good old US of A—the 10th used Jeffersons as its main battle tanks. Tonight, however, Stan sat in an observation helo to monitor modified Cherokee attack helicopter. They were an improvement over the old Apaches, much more deadly and mobile.

The 10th Armored Division spearheaded V Corps drive into Heilongjiang Province. V Corps was the tip for First Army.

The key to capturing Manchuria was the large central valley containing the prized cities of Harbin, Changchun and Shenyang. Each of those cities was the capital of its province. They were one on top of the other: Heilongjiang Province, Jilin and Liaoning. Around the country-sized valley ran a large circle of mountains of various sizes and ruggedness, which protected the central vale from west, north, east and southeast.