Invasion: Alaska

-16- Ice War

General Shin Nung of the Chinese Cross-Polar Taskforce paced outside on the pack ice between several of his snowtanks. Impotent anger gripped him. It had for several weeks now. Why had they even given him command of the taskforce if they allowed East Lightning Commissar Ping veto power over his decisions?

The commissar was militarily a fool, not to mention a coward. The Americans had used a nuclear torpedo, destroying a forward supply base. Chinese submarines now hunted the Americans under the pack ice. So far, it had kept the enemy from using another such weapon. Meanwhile, American Special Forces driving snowmobiles had raided other supply dumps. Those teams likely also spotted for the submarines.

Because of nuclear weapons, Nung’s fighters and bombers flew from base camps hundreds of kilometers away from where they should be. It took them longer to reach the North Slope now and engage the American aircraft. Because of the distance, the Chinese planes had a much shorter window over the targets. Nung had ordered the airstrips moved closer, but the Air Force general in charge of the planes had refused, saying he couldn’t risk it until the American snowmobile teams were destroyed. Foolishly and by now predictably, Commissar Ping had agreed with the man’s cowardly decision.

Nung had an insane desire to draw his pistol and empty the clip into the ice. Despite the nuclear-tipped torpedo and snowmobiles, Commissar Ping had insisted they follow Army doctrine on a cross-polar assault.

Yet why bother with forward supply dumps now? It would have been better by far to allow the supplies to gather in one location four hundred kilometers from the coast. Once the tail coiled up and the formations gathered, they would spring to Dead Horse and ANWR. It was a risk, and the American submarines might find the large base and launch their torpedoes. But with everything in one locale, every spotter and helicopter could comb the ice for the snowmobile teams. Locate and destroy. As it was, the crafty Americans used the many seams between small formations to slip here and there. To be sure, they had killed seven such snowmobile teams already, but the American submarines kept launching more.

Taunting Commissar Ping had insisted they scatter the taskforce in order to make it difficult for the Americans to take them out with a single blow. What had happened instead was a hopeless muddle, with too much fuel used scattering units and transshipping supplies back and forth in a useless game of chess with the Americans. Now supplies were drying up and they were no closer to the Alaskan coast.

Nung shook his head as a cargo helicopter came in from the north for a landing. The last thing he wanted to do now was enter the command tank with Ping. He loathed the East Lightning commissar. All these fine vehicles given him to command and he was shackled in their use. It simply made no sense!

He had done a Hannibal, referring to the ancient general who had brought his elephants and cavalry over the Alps. The alpine, winter trek had cost Hannibal dearly, and it had cost the cross-polar taskforce. The deadly weather and extreme distance had brought endless headaches and equipment failures. Now the supplies from Ambarchik across this stretched line had dropped to a trickle. That had surprised Nung most of all. He had left Lieutenant-General Bai in charge back at base. What could have happened to turn Bai into such an incompetent?

Heavyset Nung stared at the command snowtank. These specialized vehicles were a marvel of Chinese engineering. Each snowtank had two main sections connected by a hydraulic ram. To facilitate climbing snowy slopes such as awaited them in Alaska, the center of gravity was just back of center. Normal tanks would flip or slide on such snowy terrain, quickly rendering them helpless. The snowtank had four independent track sections that helped stabilize the vehicle. The tracks themselves were rubber-rimmed to prevent the wheels turning the tracks from freezing. The articulated tank with its aluminum alloy treads and high-adhesion track-cleats allowed it to travel forty kph on hard ice or flat rock. The snowtank’s rear compartment was armed with an ATGM-launcher. The front used the same type of cannon as the hovertanks: a 76mm gun with rocket-assisted shells. The snowtank was built light, with a ground pressure of two psi, one third that of a Marauder tank.

The cargo helicopter from the north had landed. The side door opened and men rushed out, shouting his name.

General Nung sighed and waved. Now what? Soon, the men stumped near. Nung looked in shock. Despite the parka, hood and goggles, one of the men reminded him of Bai, his logistics master back at Ambarchik Base. Then the man shouted his name, confirming his identity.

“Bai?” asked Nung. “What in blazes are you doing here on the ice? You’re supposed to be back at Ambarchik, making sure I receive my supplies.”

Bai told him an incredible tale. It began with Ruling Committee Minister Jian Hong sending Bai out here to give a verbal for-his-ears-only command. The longer Bai talked, the more incensed Nung became.

“They’re berating me for not attacking?” Nung said at last, his face feeling like an oven, he was so angry.

“Yes, sir,” said Bai. “By the way, sir, I’m also to report that your wife and son are safe. East Lightning no longer has them.”

Nung blinked, with his mind awhirl with a hundred questions. Finally, he thundered, “Why in the name of Mao didn’t you radio all this to me?”

“It was the Chairman’s orders, sir. This could only be relayed to you by face-to-face contact. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner, but my plane crashed and we waited days for rescue. Then my next plane was left stranded at an airstrip as we awaited more fuel. Here at the end, I had a hard time discovering which of these little bases you were at last.”

Nung ingested Bai’s story. It encapsulated what had happened to the entire taskforce. What had started out so well had turned into a tangled fiasco. Distance plus equipment-failure plus an alien terrain— “If you’re out here,” Nung said, “who is running my supplies back at Ambarchik?”

“I believe that Minster Jian Hong has taken that upon himself, sir.”

Nung wanted to shout. The Ruling Committee itself was sabotaging his efforts? He shook his head, trying to clear it of anger. They actually accused him of cowardice. They accused him of holding back when all this time he’d wanted to attack.

“Come with me,” Nung said in a thick voice. He strode for the command snowtank. Bai trotted after him, with the others he’d brought trailing behind.

“What are you planning, sir?” asked Bai.

Nung removed his right mitten and drew his pistol. The metal was freezing cold, but that felt good now. Nung could no longer speak and his eyes seemed to spark with emotions. He fumbled with the hatch, clicked it and opened the way into the command-tank. He squeezed through.

Commissar Ping played cards with his bodyguard. The commissar looked up, and he must have seen something on Nung’s face. Ping dove as he shouted for his bodyguard to save him.

Nung’s pistol barked three times. The bodyguard with eyes like oil slid to the tank’s floor.

Ping was openly weeping. His mouth moved, but Nung couldn’t hear a thing because his ears were still ringing from the shots. Maybe the commissar finally found it impossible to taunt him, found it impossible to articulate the words he attempted to speak.

“Give me one of your sayings now!” roared Nung, his breath misting.

Once more, Commissar Ping tried to speak.

Smiling with malice, Nung raised his pistol. A deafening boom sounded. He kept firing until he was out of bullets. Then he shoved the pistol into its holster. Ping’s corpse was a bloody, twisted pile of meat. Nung climbed out of the tank and turned to a stunned Bai.

“They want me to attack?” Nung asked.

Bai only seemed capable of nodding.

“Then I name this as our central depot,” Nung said. “You’re in charge of supplies.”

“The American submarines…” said Bai.

“I know all about them,” Nung said. “We’ll widen our defensive cordon.”

“You’re going to attack how, sir?”

“It won’t be anything fancy. A two-tier wave assault will do it. The hovertanks will go in immediately, with the snowtanks following as fast as they can. All the while, our air will pound the Americans and our helicopters will drop infantry onto the North Slope.”

“You’re too far away to do that from here,” said Bai. “And if you start now, the hovertanks will outstrip the snowtanks by days.”

“I said it isn’t fancy,” Nung said. “The way we’re set up it is either stay on the ice and wait for the Americans to explode it out from under our feet, or fight and die against the enemy. Well, I’m going to choose the third way.”

“What is that, sir?”

“Fight and break through to the oilfields,” Nung said.

“Can we hold the oilfields once we take them?”

“We’ll worry about that once they’re ours. Until then, it’s just a moot question. Maybe our very capturing of them will cause the Americans to surrender. It’s what happened with the Siberians.”

Bai licked his lips.

“Don’t tell me that the Americans aren’t Siberians,” Nung said. “I’m sick of hearing that.”

Hastily shaking his head, Bai said, “No, no, of course not, sir. To the North Slope, and victory over the Americans.”

Nung’s eyes gleamed. At last, he could do things his way. He was badly out of position thanks to Commissar Ping and Army High Command that had saddled him with the mincing coward. But he wasn’t going to complain. He was going to attack fast the way it should have been done in the first place.

“It’s the Chairman, sir,” the communications officer told Jian Hong. “He’s asking for you personally. He must know you’re here.”

Jian swallowed. “I will take the message in my office.”

He noticed the rest of the officers of the communications staff staring at him. Forcing heartiness into his bearing, Jian glanced around. As soon as he closed the door behind him, however, Jian closed his eyes.

How I am supposed to play this? I never imagined that Bai was such a bumbling idiot and couldn’t find his way to Nung. He’d been waiting a long time to hear that everything proceeded as planned. What had happened to that fool Bai?

Licking his lips, Jian told himself that instead of Bai it could have been him lost out on the Arctic ice. It was a logistical nightmare keeping such a large body of troops supplied with their daily needs over thousands of kilometers of pack ice. The Army generals who had concocted this mess had no idea of the foolishness of their plan.

Jian shook his head. There was no way to explain all that to the Chairman now.

You need your wits, Jian. This is the moment.

He sat down, cracked his knuckles and ran a hand through his hair. Then he turned on the monitor. The sickly Chairman regarded him on the screen.

Jian bowed with grave respect.

“It has been some time, Comrade,” the Chairman said.

“I have been hard at work carrying out your command, sir.” With those words, Jian realized that he would lie to the end. If needed, he’d make sure that everyone here who knew of his deception died. Yes, he’d slip their corpses through the ice. Let the seals and polar bears eat their carcasses.

“I am glad to see that you are safe after such a harrowing journey,” the Chairman said. “Yet why haven’t I heard about any victory-news from you? Why did you sit so long on the pack ice?”

“I have lit a fire under General Nung, sir. I have also reorganized the supply situation. It was a—”

“Do not tell me what you did. Tell me when Nung is going to give me the oilfields. You’ve seen him. You’ve judged his competence. Has the American nuclear attack rendered him and the taskforce immobile?”

“I have taken pains,” Jian said, “to render the American submarines useless.”

“Explain that to me.”

“Firstly, sir, our submarines hunt the American vessels under the ice. Secondly, I have spread out the supply depots, making the targets unworthy of their limited nuclear torpedoes.”

“How does that help you attack Alaska?”

“We have carefully moved into attack position, sir,” Jian said. He hoped that was true.

The Chairman squinted at him, creating a thousand wrinkles on that old face. “You are to return to Beijing immediately. I want face-to-face news of Nung and news of conditions on the ice. As you no doubt have learned, a terrible storm blocks us from the final assault against Anchorage. Once the storm passes, Admiral Ling will hand me Anchorage, which he assures me will give us the rest of the state. If your General Nung can take the oilfields at the same time, I believe the Americans will capitulate.”

“I couldn’t agree more, sir,” Jian said.

“I want you here when the Americans plead for peace. If you’ve done your part and truly unleashed Nung, all will be well.”

“Yes, sir,” Jian said, bowing and wondering how he could free himself from this mess.

“Until tomorrow, Comrade, I wish you well.”

Jian bowed once more. When he looked up, the contact was broken. He turned and blinked at a wall. It had a tiny porthole window, showing the bleak winter landscape outside. He hated Ambarchik and the endless headaches involving Army supply. It was time for a purge here. It was good more of his personal security team had arrived. Yet he must do this carefully. He would have to think more on the matter.

So much depended on what Nung achieved. Why didn’t the general attack? What was going on over there?

During the last few days in the Arctic darkness, General Shin Nung had gathered his hovertanks from the outlaying bases. He had them topped off and added fuel pods to each. Then he’d readied sleds as backups.

“Some of the snowtanks must follow us as you gather more fuel,” Nung told Bai in a command caterpillar. They were in the primary base, four hundred kilometers from the North Slope. “After we leave and as soon as you can, send those fifty tanks after us. Then top off the next fifty as soon as you can gather them together.”

Nung had been hard at work reversing Ping’s dabbling, pulling in the many soldiers, vehicles and planes from the scattered bases. The nuclear attack had frightened the commissar. Well, it didn’t frighten him. Nuclear just meant a bigger explosion, nothing more.

“If we remain stationary at this base for too long,” said Bai, “the Americans will pinpoint our location. Then it will be the end of the polar taskforce.”

“It’s a risk,” admitted Nung. He had thought about that last night. “Use half the helicopters and keep them on air patrol. Before you launch the last tanks, send every helicopter to the North Slope. Land as close as you can to the oilfields.”

“Sir, if we fly that far, the helicopters won’t have enough fuel to make it back to base.”

“We’ve reached the point in the campaign where it will be a one way journey for the helicopters. I need soldiers in Alaska now!”

“Supplies for them—”

“The helicopter-borne soldiers will carry enough supplies to storm the American bases,” Nung said. “Our soldiers can then feed off the captured stores. The need for hot food and shelter will spur our men to acts of heroism.”

Bai grew thoughtful. “Can I ask where you will be during all this, sir?”

“I’m riding in the saddle, as the Russians call it. I will lead from the front, as a tank commander should. In other words, I’ll go in with the first wave of hovertanks.”

“Yes, General,” said Bai.

Nung knew that look. Bai didn’t like it, but his logistics officer had never appreciated his smash-through tactics. “Once you’ve topped off the last snowtanks, you will return to Ambarchik Base. Talk the Politburo minister there into rolling up the long tail across the ice. With the loss of so many cargo planes and caterpillar-haulers, I cannot see how we can keep the stretched line intact.”

“That would cut you off from supplies, sir.”

“How very perceptive of you,” Nung said. “I have learned a valuable lesson this campaign.”

“Would you care to share it with me, sir?”

“You should understand the lesson better than I.” Nung concentrated. “This is a nightmare land. The limitations of vehicle speed, particularly the snowtanks, the vicious cold and the blizzards—it eats a mechanized army. It devours men, supplies and machines. The longer one remains on the pack ice, the worse the situation becomes. I do not believe it is possible to keep our forces in North Slope Alaska supplied for long, at least not across the ice and not with darkest winter coming. What one can do is move fast, taking everything in one fell swoop. Unfortunately, our hovertanks are too delicate for such a long crossing. I wish now I’d used my sleds and caterpillar-haulers to haul my hovertanks as close to Alaska as I dared. I’ve had to cannibalize nearly half our remaining hovers just to keep the other half viable.”

“How will we re-supply you then?” asked Bai.

“Submarines and icebreakers seem like the vessels of choice.”

“What you’re saying, General—this is no longer a taskforce meant to conquer the North Slope, but to raid it.”

“Maybe you’re right,’ Nung said. “Whatever I do, I start today.”

“You will need air cover,” said Bai.

Nung nodded. “See to it, but make sure you launch the first fifty snowtanks. If you find that you cannot, then send thirty tanks. I want something coming to reinforce what I take.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Good luck, Bai,” Nung said.

“Good luck to you, sir. I dearly hope you grab the oilfields as you grabbed Yakutsk in Siberia.”

“That, my good friend, is exactly what I intend to do.”

“It’s like this,” the Marine captain told the hard-eyed civilians seated in the room. They wore parkas and woolen hats, many cradling rifles between their knees. “We can wait for the enemy to hit us in Dead Horse and maybe blow the wells. Or we can attack the Chinese on the ice and finish it out there.”

Paul Kavanagh glanced around at the others in the room. Everyone sat on benches, as this was a makeshift church in a Quonset hut. The Marine captain stood in front of the podium, not behind it where a priest or preacher would have been. Some of the seated were like Paul and Red Cloud, Blacksand mercenaries. Some were simply local hard cases.

After the nuclear explosion, Pilot Pete had taken them to Dead Horse. The Marine captain had “interviewed” Paul and Red Cloud for several days. After being cleared, Paul had wanted to call his ex and son, but there was no connection to the outside world except by Marine radio.

Captain Bullard presently glared at the assembled civilians. He was a typical-looking Marine. He seemed a little older and was tough, with an I-can-kick-your-butt kind of attitude showing by the way he stood. In his talks with the man, Paul had found Bullard easy to deal with because the Marine told it like it was.

Bullard now puffed out his chest, scowling at the crowd. “I know this is going to surprise you. There’s been a foul-up because everything in terms of reinforcements is going to Anchorage. No matter what else happens here, the President and the Joint Chiefs want our boys to keep the Chinese from taking Anchorage. Seems like our naval counterparts from the East have fought through everything the Army and Alaskan National Guard could throw at them. Therefore, everything in terms of reinforcements is landing at Fairbanks. The mother of all snowstorms is blanketing Anchorage and the Kenai Peninsula that the Chinese have been using as a springboard. The storm will let up any day now, and then the last battle for Alaska will take place. At least, that’s how Fox News is playing it and we know they never make mistakes.”

There was a laugh and several snorts from the crowd.

“What’s any of that got to do with us?” Paul asked from the back.

“You used to be in the Marines, isn’t that right?” asked Bullard.

“Yes, sir.”

Captain Bullard swept his gaze over the others. “This man fought in Quebec, if I remember what he told me, against the French-Canadians.”

“Yeah,” Paul said.

“In fact, you fought against men like your boss, Red Cloud.”

More than one person on the benches turned to stare at Paul and Red Cloud.

“Listen up,” Bullard said, “and I’ll tell you what that has to do with us. The Army shipped us some of their new winter fighting suits. Unfortunately, they forgot to add any soldiers with them. Now I have a handful of Marines, and most of them have to keep guard here on orders of the Joint Chiefs. But I need warm bodies to shove into those suits so they can help me kick butt against the Chinese. We have a few planes here, and they’ve spotted over a hundred hovertanks converging on Dead Horse. There’s probably more behind them. I want to stop those lead hovers before they disgorge Chinese infantry onto Alaskan soil.”

“Hovertanks,” Paul said. “They’re made for maneuvering on the ice.”

“Thank you oh so much for the update,” Bullard said. “What I want to know, Marine, is whether you have any balls left. Or did they get frozen off on your little stroll across the ice?”

Paul thought about Murphy staring out of the snowcat’s window. He thought about his promise. “Are these winter suits any good?” asked Paul.

“Do you want to find out?”

“Yeah,” Paul said. “I do.”

“What about you, Red Cloud? Are you going to let a Marine outdo a French-Canadian?”

“I’m Algonquin.”

“Same question then,” Bullard said, “just put whatever you said in place of French-Canadian.”

Red Cloud glanced at Paul.

“You don’t have to do this,” Paul whispered.

Red Cloud gave him a ghost of a smile. “We are brothers of the ice. Where you fight, I fight.” He turned to the captain. “I will don a winterized suit.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Bullard said. “What about you others? Do any of you have balls, or are you a bunch of sissies who want to wait for the boy-raping Chinese to come and squeeze you?”

“Are we walking out to meet them?” asked Paul.

“Not a chance. We have a few Marine choppers. We’ll use those to put you down at exactly the right spot.”

“I have one request after we’re done,” Paul said.

“Name it.”

“I want to use your radio to patch through to California to talk to my wife and kid.”

“If you’re alive after the little skirmish, you have my word on that.”

Paul nodded, deciding he liked the blunt captain. He wasn’t so happy about going back on the ice, but the vision in his head of Murphy staring out of the cat’s window didn’t give him much choice on the matter.

The pack ice high over Prudhoe Bay was at the extreme range of the ABM lasers in China, at least while using their protected space-mirrors. Those mirrors were situated over China’s heartland, thereby keeping them well out of range of all American weapons except for killer satellites. The ABM lasers had shot down every high-flying, long-distance GPS drone the U.S. Air Force had sent up in this region. It took time, however, for the Chinese to locate a newly-launched drone.

The latest GPS drone now flew at the edge of the North Slope, miles high in the atmosphere. Through passive thermal and infrared sensors, it spotted the hovertanks. They moved rapidly across the frozen Beaufort Sea as they approaching the Alaskan coast.

The drone’s remote-controller activated its radar to get an exact fix on the hovers. Because of the radar, it discovered the Chinese fighters flying combat air patrols to the rear of the hovertanks and the bombers farther behind them. The remote-control station was in Fairbanks, Alaska. The ice-age blizzard over Anchorage was less powerful here, making it possible to use the runways. The controller waited for C-in-C Sims to make his decision from the CP in Anchorage.

General Sims examined the data, he said, “This is it: the attack we’ve been dreading.” He lowered his chin onto his chest as he thought through the implications. When he raised his head, he said, “Launch the Reflex fighters.”

“How many of them, sir?” his Air Chief asked.

Sims spoke softly as he said, “All of them.”

The Air Chief swiveled around to stare at him.

Half the nation’s Reflex air-superiority fighters had been flown to Fairbanks. Fighter was a misnomer, as each jet was larger than a Galaxy cargo plane. Each carried an ultra-hardened mirror on the bottom of the aircraft, the reflex of the unique battle system. The laser came from the nearest, nuclear-powered ABM station. That laser would bounce its beam off the plane’s hardened reflex mirror, which when calibrated exactly should hit and destroy the target. The pulse-laser was so powerful, however, that it quickly burned through the hardened reflex mirror. That made the giant fighter inoperable until a new mirror was fit into place. The first Reflex fighter moved down the extra-long runway. A handful of others waited their turn. Afterward, an AWACS would follow, and then two electronic warfare drones.

The primary function of Chinese COIL planes and American Reflex fighters was to destroy theater and tactical nuclear missiles during flight. The secondary function was to destroy cruise missiles. Lastly, they targeted enemy aircraft and drones.

The Reflex fighters lifted from Fairbanks and climbed into the atmosphere, gaining the needed height. Then the nearest ABM station was called and its giant pulse-laser readied.

The first battle for the North Slope began fifteen minutes later. A strategic ABM laser in Xing Province of China stabbed its beam into the heavens and reflected off a space-mirror. In seconds, it cut down the American recon drone.

Nine and a half minutes later, the American Reflex fighters struck back. The giant station outside of Fairbanks shot its ferocious beam off the first airborne mirror. Like a banking billiard ball, the laser flashed across the state and over the pack ice. The first pulse stabbed into the Arctic night and burned down a Chinese fighter. The second pulse missed, while the third blinded a Chinese pilot, causing his J-25 Mongoose to veer off-course. Those pulses caused a warning light to flash inside the first Reflex fighter, telling the crew that the mirror had taken damage. With each proceeding pulse-strike, the odds would increase of a burn-through against the plane. The ABM station was informed of this as the pilot banked the giant plane and began the long approach back to base. The next airborne reflex mirror moved up, and the sequence started again.

Unaware that the Americans only possessed a handful of reflex planes, the Chinese fighters on CAP over the hovertanks engaged afterburners. They hit the deck, jinking wildly and speeding back to base. It meant that for a short time, anyway, the hovertanks lacked air cover.

General Shin Nung shook his head as his radio officer informed him of the fleeing Mongooses, those that had been carefully winterized for fighting in the Arctic Circle.

“Let them go,” Nung said. Outside, the pack ice flashed past in a blur. It was dark and the stars glittered in amazing profusion. All around him roared a little over a hundred hovertanks. Behind followed thirty sleds with extra fuel, supplies and infantry. The formation was spread across the ice, moving like a winter armada of dark ships.

The hover’s engine-whine made speech difficult inside the vehicle. It was why Nung and his officers wore headsets over their ears and spoke into microphones.

“Sir!” shouted his communications officer, who watched a screen. “American strike-craft are zeroing in on us.”

“Of course they are,” Nung said. “It’s why they used their lasers to chase off our covering fighters.” He nodded. The Siberians had lacked such sophisticated hardware as the Americans possessed, but his tanks back then hadn’t been outfitted with such advanced munitions.

“Tell the troops to form up in a hedgehog formation and load their guns with Red Arrow anti-air rounds.”

Twelve minutes later, the American bombers made their charge, screaming across the ice from the front and two sides.

By now, the hovertanks had edged closer together by lance and by troop. Three hovertanks made a lance. Three lances made a troop.

As the Americans launched their air-to-ground missiles, the advanced defense radars on the hovertanks achieved lock-on. With the radars, the hovertanks used a new Interlock fire control system. It allowed twenty or more hovers to form into a single, anti-air defense, concentrating missiles, cannons and machine guns for attack. Once vulnerable to mass destruction from air, hovers and tanks created deadly destruction zones in a range up to 3000 meters. In lance volleys, 76mm guns fired Red Arrows rounds. The rocket-assisted shells whooshed upward after the American bombers.

There were hits all around. American missiles zoomed low and slammed into hovertanks. On the ice, hovers exploded into blazing fireballs, showering melting plastic, Kevlar, burning aluminum and bloody body-parts. Meanwhile, smoking bombers crashed from the sky. As it impacted, each bomber disintegrated into a mass of shrieking metal and splashed jet-fuel. The pack ice groaned as it splintered. Then red-hot sparks caused ignition so the fuel blazed fiercely, sometimes melting through the ice and exposing the dark water underneath.

Nung watched his screen as outer cameras recorded the bright points of destruction. Here more than elsewhere, the modern rule of combat prevailed. What one saw, one could kill. This was going to be costly. He struck his armrest. He—

“Sir!” the communications officer shouted. “The bombers are breaking off.”

General Nung sat up in his command chair. Was it possible the Americans possessed so few aircraft that they were unwilling to trade planes for hovers? On impulse, he lurched up to the commander’s hatch. Raising it, he shoved his head into the plastic-covered copula. It was colder up here, but the plastic bubble quickly filled with the compartment’s heat. He looked back into the darkness. Behind him, hovertanks burned on the ice. So did a few sleds. Fortunately, the majority of the taskforce kept advancing across the vast white sheet of terrain.

Sliding down from his copula and into the main cab, Nung asked, “Do they have anything else to throw at us? Or did a single taste of our anti-air rounds prove too much for the Americans?”

The communications officer listened closely to those sending information. He put a hand over one of his earmuffs before turning to Nung. “If my data is correct, sir, we took out nearly a third of their bombers. I don’t think the Americans liked that.” The man grinned. “Our Red Arrows are better than anything they possess.”

“We are Chinese,” Nung said, as if that explained everything. He turned to his special monitor. A quick count showed that he still had eighty-three hovertanks. That was more than enough for what he had planned. The Americans must be stretched to the breaking point. Yes, most of their aircraft would be on the Southern Front against Anchorage. He should have attacked sooner. That fool Ping.

“One pass and the Americans bolted,” Nung said. Smiling, he added, “Who said these Americans aren’t Siberians? Well, let me tell you something. Whoever said the two aren’t the same is wrong. A frightened man always acts similarly—he runs away. The Americans are running. Gentlemen, we have them.”

“Go, go, go!” roared the Marine at the bay door of the whomping helicopter. The whirling blades whipped up bits of ice and snow, and it blew down freezing air.

Paul jumped out in his winterized suit. His boots hit the pack ice with a jarring crunch, causing his teeth to click together. That was too close—he’d almost bitten off his tongue. Next time he’d remember to keep his mouth shut.

Red Cloud landed beside him.

“Don’t forget your launcher!” the Marine roared from the open door.

Paul nodded. The white winter suit was an amazing piece of equipment. They could have used something like this in Quebec. It covered him from head to toe like an old style knight. A lot of the suit’s outer skin was indeed armor, but it was light. Even better, it had a temperature gauge, keeping him warm with a thermal heater. That took battery power, and that battery and mini-generator he carried on his back. There was even a Heads Up Display on his visor.

How the suits got shipped up here without troops I’ll never know. I don’t care. I’m just glad I get to wear it.

Red Cloud and he wrestled a special TOW2 sled off the bottom of the chopper. Once done, Paul stepped into the pilot’s view and waved his arm.

The chopper’s engine roared with greater life and the blades whirled like mad. The machine lifted a little higher and banked hard. It would deposit two more TOW2 crews before it returned home to Dead Horse.

Here I am again, stuck on the ice.

“Don’t engage the motor,” Red Cloud said.

“Hey, I have ears too you know? I heard what Bullard told us before leaving.”

Red Cloud didn’t bother answering, but looked around. He pointed in the near distance.

Paul saw it, a small pressure ridge. “Perfect,” he said.

Each of them grabbed a line and towed their missile-launching sled into position. The winter suits were the latest. Their ATGM was as old school as it came. It was a long tube with controls and extra TOW2 missiles. TOW stood for Tube-launched, Optically-tracked, Wire command data link, guided missile. Actually, to be precise, theirs was a TOW-2B Aero. The special nosecone increased the missile’s range to forty-five hundred meters. The missile was simple to operate. You found the target on the scope and fired. The missile popped out of the launcher, ignited and sped toward the target at 278 meters per second. As one kept the optical sensor on the enemy, an electronic signal ran up the two trailing wires uncoiling from the missile, adjusting its flight as necessary. It carried a thirteen-pound HEAT warhead. Their M220 launcher had thermal optics so they could see the targets in the Arctic darkness.

After setting up the launcher, Paul waited, checking his watch. Then he stood up and ignited a flare. The orange light was bright in the darkness. A flare burned into existence to the left about fifty yards away and to the right of their position maybe seventy yards.

“I think they got our message,” Paul said.

“Yes,” Red Cloud said.

Paul cut the end of the flare so it would burn out faster and then dropped it.

“Now we wait,” Red Cloud said.

“Wonderful,” Paul said.

They didn’t have long to wait. Marine Captain Bullard had decided to play this one for keeps. He’d ordered the choppers to set up the thin line as close to the approaching hovertanks as possible. The single bomber pass had served two purposes: It had kept the enemy occupied and it had allowed them to set up the launchers in secret. Bullard had known all about the Red Arrow anti-air rounds, hating them immensely.

Paul remembered the captain’s words: Keep it simple, stupid.

The captain had gone on to explain the situation. They were stretching a line in front of the Chinese like a fishing net. They were supposed to burn out as many of the hovertanks as they could. If the Chinese tried to go around them, they were supposed to hit them in the flank as they passed. The key was to kill hovers and later walk back if the choppers failed to pick them up again.

There had been plenty of questions afterward, but none of those had come from Paul.

Red Cloud now tapped Paul on the shoulder.

“It’s payback time,” Paul said, as his gut tightened. Across the ice ahead of them approached a mass of the enemy, moving fast.

Red Cloud activated the M220 Launcher.

“This is for you, Murphy,” Paul whispered. He watched through his scope, picked his target and waited until it was at extreme range. The distance was a running green number in his scope. Four thousand five hundred meters was four and a half kilometers. That was about two and eight tenths miles away. That was a nice range, especially out here on this flat tabletop of pack ice. He waited as he let the spread-out Chinese formation come in a little closer.

“You ready?” asked Paul.

“Yes,” Red Cloud said.

Paul pulled the trigger, and in seconds, their TOW sped away. Then all over the landscape, more ATGMs lit up as the missiles raced toward the forward hovertanks. Each missile uncoiled and trailed its twin wires, receiving constant course corrections. As fast as the missiles flew, it took time to speed over two miles. Enemy heavy machine gun-fire began almost immediately, but it couldn’t reach this far. Still, seeing those flashes was disconcerting. It was meant to frighten the TOW operators so they wouldn’t keep the optics on target. It made Paul’s heart pound, but he kept telling himself the machine guns lacked the range. Then the 76mm cannons began firing. The flashes were bigger, and the igniting shells moved in a flare toward them.

Paul tracked his chosen hover as he moved his optics. Then…SLAM, the missile impacted. There was brilliant flare of light on the ice over two miles away.

Before Paul could rejoice, a 76mm canister flashed near and exploded. Hot shrapnel scarred the ice, but the shell had missed.

More explosions occurred out there as Red Cloud grunted, lifting and loading another missile into the tube. When he was ready, Red Cloud slapped Paul hard on the right shoulder.

Paul thrust his eyes against the scope, choosing another hover.

Despite the TOW-2B Aero’s extreme range, the battle was short and intense. The hovers moved at combat speeds now, over seventy mph. The Chinese had the advantage of long association with their machines. The American ATGM crews were raw, even if most of them had former combat experience. Paul and Red Cloud did better than most of the others, scoring two kills. Every one of them out on the ice was a hard-bitten man, but panic set in among some of the teams.

“They’re not veering away!” shouted Paul, as Red Cloud loaded the fourth missile into the launcher. They had missed once.

“It’s an overrun attack,” Red Cloud said.

Paul could hear the lead hovers now. The machines were loud and they were fast, gliding over the white plain. The 76mm guns boomed, and gouts of snow and ice showed where canisters scored hits. The wave of vehicles remorselessly moved against their thin line.

As Paul sighted the next enemy, machine gun bullets hammered nearby into the pressure ridge. Chips of ice sprayed, one of them stinging Paul’s cheek as it furrowed across. An exploding grenade flashed nearby, hissing its shrapnel over them.

“Down!” shouted Paul, who dove behind the pressure ride and hugged the ice. Red Cloud did the same. They crawled, moving away from their sled and tube-launcher. Each found a depression and froze. Paul did so because he remembered Bullard’s words.

“With these suits, you hide and freeze like a possum. They’ll never see you until you pop up later and cut them down from behind.”

Soon, the approaching hovers roared with deadly sound. The gliding machines were almost on top of them. Then a hovertank went into high gear as it whined with power, lifting higher as it topped over the pressure ridge.

Paul trembled as fear washed through him. He had his vow, but he didn’t want to die. He wanted to live, call Cheri later and talk to Mikey. He wanted to go home. What their side needed out here was more soldiers armed with grenade launchers, heavy machine guns and recoilless rifles. Then they would have obliterated these hovertanks. How had the Chinese commander known they just had TOWs? How had he known the best tactic was to smash through?

Enemy machine guns hammered nearby and hovertank guns thundered. It must be a slaughter.

I’m not going to die like a coward. I’m at least going to face the enemy.

With a wrenching effort of will, Paul peeked up. The sight surprised him. The hovertanks were spread over a large area, but some had grouped together. Their guns roared, and canister shells exploded against the pressure ridge sixty feet away. Hot tracer machine gun rounds also blasted at the raised ice mound that ran for miles in either direction.

Red Cloud also looked up. The two exchanged glances.

The hovertanks blew a path through the pressure ridge. Big sleds with ski-mounts in the front and tracks in the back burst through the openings. Some of the sleds were obvious tankers. Others must carry ammo and the last were infantry carriers.

“Let’s wait until they pass,” Paul said.

Red Cloud answered by hugging the ice again. Paul followed his example. This wasn’t like Quebec. There, if you lay on the ice for any amount of time you began shivering. Here, their winter suits kept them warm because of the thermal heaters built into them.

Paul checked his watch. Less than fifteen minutes had passed. The sounds of the hovertanks and sleds lessened as the rearguard rapidly moved away.

“Now!” shouted Paul. He jumped up, ran to the sled and put his shoulder against it. Surprisingly, it had survived intact. In seconds, Red Cloud was helping him, grunting and heaving. They turned it, and Red Cloud loaded up another missile. Paul sighted, grinning fiercely in his enclosed helmet. He pressed the firing stub.

The seconds ticked by. An orange fireball was his reward. It lit up the night in a whoosh of flame that towered higher than he could believe.

“We must have gotten one of their fuel vehicles!” Paul shouted.

Another ATGM hissed in flight, the bright contrails showing its path. Canister shells exploded in the ice several hundred yards away. The racing TOW missile lurched and harmlessly smashed into the pack ice. The Chinese had slain its operators.

Red Cloud loaded their last missile.

Paul sighted and fired, but this one missed. Fortunately, the range had already gotten too far for the Chinese to fire back.

In a matter of a few more minutes, the enemy was simply a field of bright specks. It didn’t take long until the Arctic night blanketed the world with its darkness. The only bright points were the burning hovers and sleds behind them. It put a thick stink of oily smoke in the air.

The Chinese had burst through their net, taking losses, but far from being stopped.

As that thought settled in, Paul said, “We’re stuck out on the ice again.”

“Maybe we were meant to die out here,” Red Cloud said. “Maybe our fate lies here.”

Paul thought about that. Finally, he said, “Our sled has a little motive power. Let’s go see who else is left alive. Then we’ll start traveling for Dead Horse.”

Red Cloud peered at him through his ballistic glass visor. The Algonquin looked tired, although his eyes seemed harder, more determined than ever. He nodded.

“Unless you want to help fate and stay out here to die,” Paul said.

“No. I will fight to live and live to fight.”

“Sounds good,” Paul said. He himself fought to fulfill a vow and to survive long enough to make things right with his ex. He could see now that he hadn’t tried hard enough with Cheri. He would woo her again. He would…if he could make it home.

“Ready?” asked Red Cloud.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

General Shin Nung swore viciously as another bomber zoomed out of the Arctic sky, launching its missiles. First, a Red Arrow slammed into the American aircraft, causing an explosion in the sky. Then a nearby hovertank exploded, killing it and the nine soldiers riding outside the vehicle.

That’s when the American artillery began pounding the location. The shots created great flashes of light on the horizon. Those flashes showed where Dead Horse, Alaska was, their key objective. As the shells screamed down, exploding over the tundra, Nung’s command hover shuddered and shell fragments rattled against the vehicle’s armor.

Nung swore. He was in a foul mood. He had been ever since the deadly TOW2 missiles had struck his force out on the ice. It had been a costly battle, a nasty surprise. Only fifty-one hovertanks had made it past Cross Island and to the North Slope. Every time he thought about those flashing missiles hitting another hovertank—

Nung struck his armrest again. He had to put that battle behind him and concentrate on here. Technically, they had made it to the oilfields outside of Dead Horse. If Nung had desired, he could have begun blowing the wellheads. What he wanted was Dead Horse, though, the enemy airbase and garrison stationed there. Once he had Dead Horse, the victory would be his.

If he had air cover, the few America jets couldn’t have rushed down at his vehicles in a near suicidal frenzy. The helicopters couldn’t have shot their Hellfire missiles at his sleds. The hovertanks had destroyed most of airborne attackers, but at a bitter cost. The combined total of enemy assaults had destroyed nearly half of his original attacking vehicles.

He kept thinking if, if, if…if Commissar Ping this, the High Command that, the nuclear-tipped torpedo….

He shook his head. War wasn’t a matter of ifs but of dids. He’d made it to the American coast. Now he was going to smash through and take Dead Horse. Then it would be just a matter of waiting for the snowtanks to complete his conquest.

“Go in by lances!” Nung shouted into the microphone. “Infantry, follow on ski.”

Dead Horse was on a flat tundra plain surrounded by American bunkers and command posts. The enemy had mortar-teams and artillery inside the town. Nung had speed, tired hover-pilots and cold soldiers. There wasn’t any finesse to the assault.

The smallest formation among the hovertanks was a lance: three vehicles. Three hovertanks would stop on the cold tundra to provide over-watch fire, tracking, plotting and shooting at anything that moved. A different lance sped to an outcropping, using every fold in the terrain to escape destruction. From the hovertanks slid off Chinese infantry. Some set up mortars and began peppering the Americans.

Then a shell found Nung’s hover. The scream of twisted metal began it. The vehicle slewed wildly and with a terrific thud crashed against a snow bank. Nung grunted as he slammed against his restraints. Groggily, he looked around. The communications officer was dead, his head a bloody mess. The pilot’s arm was broken as the man sobbed quietly.

“Sir, sir,” squawked from the radio.

Nung lifted a mobile com-unit, tucking it under his arm. Then he staggered for the escape hatch. Upon exiting and sliding down the side of the vehicle, he winced as another hovertank howled near. The vehicle came to a stop beside him as it blew snow everywhere. Five riding soldiers slid off.

It was freezing cold out here, colder than it had been on the ice. It stung Nung’s face and his neck. His teeth began chattering. With an effort of will, as he shoved aside the pain, he shouted, “What are you doing? Don’t stand around me. We’re exposed.”

He forced himself to move, wading through snow until he got to more solid ice. After establishing control over thirty soldiers, he shouted, “Get down!”

He had better reflexes than the others did as he heard the whine of shells. The American artillery had zeroed in on the wreckage. Some of the shrapnel sliced a few of the slower soldiers. Their oozing blood looked like a sluggish stain of ink in the darkness. With another effort of will, Nung tore his gaze from the twisting soldiers. He didn’t have time for them now.

“Advance, keep advancing!” he roared into the communications unit he wore like a backpack.

With his voice lashing them, the last hovertanks continued their advance. 76mm shells, Chinese mortars, ATGMs and RGPs pounded the base that rose up like an Eskimo’s igloo in the distance. Occasionally a thunderous flash appeared there, another artillery tube firing its hated shells.

Shin Nung floundered through the snow, shaking off any helping hands. The Chairman had thought him lacking in attacking zeal. They had accused him of cowardice.

“Attack!” roared Nung, mist pouring from his mouth. It was so cold. “Kill the Americans!”

The Battle of Dead Horse was another meat-grinder. The Chinese traded blood and vehicles for ground. The hovertanks dwindled in number as they floated over the ice, amazingly swift in this land of cold. In the end, though, the Americans simply lacked enough men, enough shells, bombers and ammo. The Chinese assault carried through into the streets of Dead Horse. The massacre began then, the shivering Chinese too bitter after surviving the Arctic nightmare to grant any mercy.

The last assault took place as Chinese explosives blew open the way into the Marine command post, a half-buried bunker. In the last room, Captain Bullard fired at point blank range, killing two Chinese soldiers. Then Bullard’s automatic was empty and he drew his bayonet. The Marine captain charged, roaring his challenge. Chinese bullets riddled the body until it thumped onto the bloody floor. The Battle of Dead Horse was over, and the Chinese were victorious.