Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5) (45 page)

“Get ready,” the driver said over the comm.

“What’s going on?” Chet shouted.

A monitor flickered, and then it came on. Why hadn’t the driver done that sooner? Jake shook his head, trying to wake up.

Tanks lumbered ahead of them. It would have been nice if Behemoths were here. These were nimble Jeffersons. They roared down a dirt road. Suddenly, they made a sharp right turn and headed into a cornfield. They smashed the tall stalks, no doubt heading for the village.

The IFV slowed down as it followed into the cornfield. Jake had seen miles of the corn as if this place thought it was Iowa. Soon, through the IFV armor, he heard fifty-calibers and 175mms firing. Muffled but still angry Chinese antitank guns barked back.

The IFV halted and the bay door lowered until it thudded onto the soil.

Jake and the others boiled out. Everyone wore body armor. Today, they left their packs inside the IFV, although each of them carried plenty of ammo.

“Let’s go,” Lieutenant Wans shouted. The platoon hurried after the Jeffersons. The soldiers faded off the tank-flattened corn lanes as they walked down rows, the stalks towering over them.

Soon, Jake reached the end of the field. Chet and Grant were near. The tanks fanned out as they approached a nest of brick buildings—the bothersome village.

“Okay,” Wans shouted. “We’re going in once the tanks stop firing. First we have to get closer.”

The 175mms boomed. The shells gouged the buildings, at times causing huge chunks to blow into the air.

“What is this place?” Jake said. In a bent-over crouch, he moved toward the village, if that’s what it really was. Maybe this was another processing plant of some kind.

“Cement,” Chet said. “This is a cement factory. I used to work in one during high school.”

“Great,” Jake said. “No wonder everything looks as if it’s made of concrete.”

The platoon reached mounds of sand, hiding behind them. The lieutenant glanced at his watch.

With assault rifle ready, Jake stroked the trigger. Flutters hit his stomach. They always did before a firefight.

The Chinese in the cement factory fired a barrage of mortars, RPGs and anti-materiel rifles at the tanks. The Jeffersons’ beehives blasted down most enemy shells. The flechettes never quite got everything, though. Penetrators from an antitank gun
clanged
against a Jefferson. The tanks began to pour oily smoke into the air—a hit!

At that moment, the tank gunners stopped firing their machine guns and cannons.

“It’s our turn,” Chet told Jake in a tight voice. “It’s up to us.”

He’s nervous. I’m nervous. We’re all scared. This is crap.

“Go!” the lieutenant shouted.

Jake and everyone else shouted like lunatics, jumped up and sprinted for the nearest buildings. His body armor clattered and his throat seemed to constrict so the air had a hard time going down.

Jake, Chet, Grant and the rest of the squad threw themselves down between each advance. They hid behind any cover available: collapsed walls, garbage piles, scrap metal and mounds of cement blocks.

The Chinese saw them. They poured fire at what seemed like point blank range.

Then the Jeffersons opened up again. Heavy shells scream at the enemy. Penetrators and antipersonnel rounds blasted against the buildings.

From on the ground, Jake stared at Chet in shock.

“Go!” someone shouted. “Go, go, go!”

Had that been the final Jefferson round? Jake didn’t know. He hoped so. With an inarticulate shout, he climbed to his feet and ran after Chet.

The RPG gunners were in the middle of the complex. Maybe the Chinese thought the Jeffersons would come in and allow them to pound the tanks from a height advantage. Heavy machine gun scored hits, knocking down advancing Americans.

Then Cowboy kicked a door open with his boot. Tiller hurled a mag-grenade into it. The thing exploded with a vicious
crump
.

The mag-grenade was new, heavier ordnance for urban warfare. It had a bigger-than-usual punch and was shaped like a policeman’s mag flashlight. For these kinds of fights, it was priceless.

The platoon used the shock of the last Jefferson salvo. With rifle butts or boots, they smashed into the buildings. The fighting was vicious and sharp, but the enemy didn’t have a hope now. The Chinese died in wild fusillades. A few stood and lifted their hands as high as they could reach. Chet, Cowboy and others gave them a burst of gunfire, and the enemy went down in heaps.

In savage, no-quarter battle, the advance continued. Half the cement factory had been cleared, with many Chinese corpses but some American dead too. A squad of RGP gunners lay with their rocket launchers, slaughtered by mag-grenades. Gant was particularly expert at it.

He yanked the pin with a swift pull, waited two seconds and hurled the death-dealing heavy weight more than thirty yards. Not too many in the platoon could do likewise.

Jake glanced around. Fires roared. They used incendiary grenades too.

Then a group of Chinese sprinted around the corner of a lane. They cradled RPGs, shouting like kamikazes.

Jake, Chet and Gant aimed their assault rifles, cutting them down. One man screamed in agony, clutching his groin. A second volley ended it.

A last stubborn knot of defenders poured heavy machine gun fire and an antitank gun from a squat blockhouse of concrete.

“How are we supposed to clear that?” Chet asked. “They’re in a fortress.”

As if in answer to his question, a Jefferson rumbled onto the main lane. The treads squealed as it rotated into position. Chinese heavy machine gun fire rattled bullets off the armor to no effect. The 175mm cannon elevated ominously.
Boom!
A tremendous blast, a tongue of flame and smoke sent a shell roaring at the enemy machine gunner. Half the blockhouse seemed to explode.

That signaled the end of the battle with yet another American victory. Even so, it had cost lives and too much ammo.

Jake figured Chet said it best as they climbed back into their IFV.

“You know what this feels like?” Chet said.

“I know you’ll tell us” Jake said, rolling his eyes.

“We kill them, but more Chinese reappear, right?”

“It’s a big country and the most populated on Earth.”

“Yeah,” Chet said. “That’s what I’m saying. These Chinese are video game soldiers. You kill one, but he comes to life again and attacks a few seconds later in a new place.”

Jake nodded. Yeah. That was a good point. The supply of enemy soldiers and militiamen seemed endless.

“I know how to fix that,” Grant said.

“Yeah, how?” asked Chet.

“Kill enough of them,” Grant said, “and you win.”

“Okay,” Chet said. “So where are the power-ups? And how much is enough?”

“I guess we’re here to find out,” Grant said.

Jake thought about that, and he decided they were both right.

JIANXIANG RESERVOIR, JILIN PROVINCE

The blitzkrieg is over
, Stan told himself.
This has turned into a slogging campaign
.

He stood outside his command Jefferson, training hi-powered binoculars on the shimmering reservoir water to the west.

The 10th Armored Division was near the G1 Highway, ready to continue the drive for Changchun. Once more, he spearheaded V Corps, which was at the apex of First Army. The Cherokee battalion seldom flew into combat anymore. Well, what was left of the attack helicopters anyway. The weeks of firefights had chipped away at their numbers. He had six ships left, and Stan planned to save them for later.

For that matter, he was already down to three quarters of his initial tanks. Frankly, he considered that an excellent record, considering how many engagements they’d been in already.

Stan kept the binoculars steady as he scanned the reservoir. He’d sent out his scouts. Those boys had gotten clever, and they’d learned to hide and run sooner. If their intelligence was right, a Chinese offensive was in the making.

A new division of Type 99 tanks had showed up, along with hovercraft and several infantry assault divisions, along with massed artillery. The number of soldiers impressed Stan.

In a way—intellectually—he sympathized with the Chinese. As a combat problem, their dilemma intrigued him. China needed time to gather overseas units and train a home army into shape. If they waited too long to really fight back, the Russians, Americans and Europeans would control far too much of the country. Therefore, the Chinese kept throwing ill-trained forces into battle.

We’re capturing tens of thousands, but it’s taking us time to deploy each time. Worse, it’s wearing down our machines, and the men, too
.

Pyrrhus once had that problem. He’d been a cousin through marriage to Alexander the Great. Pyrrhus had a well-oiled, tough army of Epirotes modeled on the Macedonian phalanx. The Romans of those days had conquered much of Greek southern Italy. Those Greeks had pleaded for Pyrrhus’ aid. He came, he fought hard battles against the Romans and beat them through clever tactics and war elephants. The trouble was that each engagement had cost him his best soldiers. After one of those wins, he said, “One more such victory and I am lost.”

The ancient battles of Heraclea and Asculum coined the word, “Pyrrhic victory.”

Russia and America had to avoid Pyrrhic victories here. They had to defeat the Chinese hard and fast. So far, Stan believed they had been doing that. Could they continue to smash the Chinese faster than the enemy could put up new forces?

Stan had an idea about that, so he had deliberately put the 10th Armored Division into what might appear as an enemy noose.

If the Chinese had enough air left or battlefield missiles, this could be suicide. Stan was betting the Chinese had too little of either. Instead, some clever general or marshal over there might want a clear-cut Chinese win for once. Well, here was their chance. That’s why Stan kept watching the reservoir. If he could tease the enemy hovers to try to flank him and cut him off…

“Sir,” Stan’s XO shouted. “There’s an artillery barrage coming.”

Letting the binoculars drop onto his chest, Stan sprinted for his tank.

For the next ten minutes, the Jeffersons endured Chinese artillery. The defensive net with 30mm and beehive flechettes proved their worth, knocking down most of the enemy shells that might have hurt the tanks. Still, the division didn’t get away unscathed. Two tanks were disabled, although the crews survived, sustaining one broken arm.

Stan had deliberately withheld his divisional counterbattery fire. He didn’t know if that convinced his counterpart over there. Possibly.

Soon, his scouts informed him that two Chinese infantry divisions had started toward his location on foot.

“No trucks?” Stan asked over the radio.

“Negative, sir,” the recon captain said.

“Can you remain hidden?”

“That’s doubtful, sir.”

“Then retreat,” Stan said. “You’ve done enough.”

A few minutes later, the XO came online. “General, Franks has spotted hovercraft.”

“On the reservoir?” Stan asked.

“How did you know they’d try something like that?” the XO asked.

“A hunch, I suppose. More like luck.”

“No, General. I’m not buying that. You’ve set us up as bait, hoping the hovers would do exactly that.”

“You win one every once in a while.”

The XO snorted. “If this works—”

“Don’t jinx us,” Stan said. “Wait until it’s over.”

The hovers came all right, two hundred and twenty-three machines. Stan figured that must represent two Chinese brigades worth.

“The hovercrafts are swinging wide, sir.”

“I can see that,” Stan said. He sat inside his command Jefferson, watching the various screens.

“Are you thinking to use our artillery on them?” the XO asked by radio.

“Not a chance,” Stan said. “I want the enemy infantry divisions sprinting here before I let the other side know how much artillery we really have left.”

“Will you use the Cherokees against the hovers?”

“No,” Stan said. “We’re going to fire the Jeffersons’ long-range penetrators.”

“The hovers will likely knock them down with antishell defenses.”

“Not if we fire in truly dense volleys and use a little artillery. Let’s get started. I want half the tanks lined up on shore.”

One hundred Jeffersons roared into life. Now, perhaps, they showed their true nimbleness. Soon, the shoreline glittered with American tanks. The cannons lifted for long-range fire, and the newest penetrators thundered from the 175mm cannons. At the same time, artillery shells pounded them.

The XO proved right about one thing. The Chinese hovers put up a solid defensive barrage of 25mm autocannon fire with computer-directed heavy machine guns. Many American rounds never reached the hovers. The shells were knocked down or deflected before they could test hover armor. Some did reach the enemy craft, however. The light armor proved inefficient against the sabot rounds, and Chinese vehicles blasted apart or flipped over and began to sink.