“I would like to return to service,” he said in a quiet voice.
“Very well,” she said. “Then I am required to inform you of a surprising development. My superiors believe this information will heighten your enthusiasm for combat, although after speaking to you I have my doubts. Know, Captain Han, that you have achieved one of the highest kill-rates. If by the end of the conflict, you have achieved the highest kill ratio, you will be promoted to major.”
“Oh,” he said. Then he realized she might mark him down for lack of enthusiasm. He forced a smile. “I am delighted to hear this. I will perform to the satisfaction of the Space Service.”
“Hmm,” she said, as she tapped her computer-stylus against her slate. “This is against my better judgment, but my superiors are interested in knowing if you would rather return to controlling Marauders or go back to controlling recon drones. We have found that it is wiser for the remote-controllers to gain proficiency in one area rather than spreading his talents. Because you are rated an expert at each, you now have this choice. The greater need, however, is for good Marauder controllers.”
“I love China with all my heart,” said Han, “but I would prefer the recon drones. They are more like the space vehicles I was trained to fly.”
The major frowned, making notes on the slate. “Very well, Captain Han, you have made your choice. I’m not surprised you ran back to controlling recon drones. Because of that, I am recommending that you be watched even more strictly than before.”
That sounded ominous, and Han feared for his future, but he wasn’t going to change his decision. He dreaded another death-shock and he would do just about anything to avoid receiving it.
***
Nine hours later, he was back in the Nexus Center. They had honored his request, and he now controlled a fleet drone from a pit. The two former techs continued to work with him.
Han wore a VR helmet and twitch gloves. His long-endurance drone was high in the air, taking the place of a regular recon satellite. This close to America, such recon satellites were easy targets for the North American ABM Lasers. Because of that, the invasion fleet had come to rely on the high-flying drones for advanced reconnaissance in the outer zones.
The techs had explained it to Han so he understood the importance of his mission. There was growing evidence the Americans would stab at the fleet. Therefore, Admiral Ling had moved his ships and spread out his recon net. The techs had explained to Han the various dangers. The Americans had several weapon’s platforms to use against the fleet, particularly against the seven supercarriers. First, were aircraft, whether carrier-launched or land-based. Next were cruise missiles, which were a form of aircraft electronically controlled by a battle-computer. The same defensive basics would protect the fleet from both aircraft and cruise missiles. There were also ASBM-attacks and submarine assaults via cruise missiles or torpedoes.
Han’s role as a remote-controller of a recon drone was as an early-warning tripwire against aircraft and cruise missiles. The Navy had another means for spotting torpedo-launching subs.
The Chinese carriers had moved well away from the Kenai Peninsula. The admiral had taken his ships farther south and westward, giving the fleet a greater cushion. Many of the naval strike-craft battling for Alaskan air superiority used airbases behind the present Chinese line-of-advance.
The seven carriers had three protective zones. The first was the primary zone. It extended forty to fifty kilometers from the carriers and their escorts. Ship-borne sensors monitored this zone. Electronic weapons defended the carriers. There were jetfighters, surface-to-air missiles, guns and jammers to blind cruise-missile homing systems. Helicopters and ships also gave off carrier-like signals to try to fool the enemy weapons into firing at them instead of the more critical aircraft carriers.
Carrier-launched patrol-craft monitored the middle zone. The carriers’ fighters were the chief defenders here. However, if given enough warning time, ships would attempt to maneuver into position, interposing themselves between the enemy and the carriers. Those defensive ships would then use primary zone weapons and tactics to defeat the enemy.
The last and largest zone was the outer one. It extended seven hundred kilometers and beyond. Satellites, land-based patrol-craft and stationary sensor-systems gave advanced warning. In lieu of satellites, long-endurance, high-flying drones had taken their place. The techs had informed Han that the outer zone was probably the most important. It gave the fleet needed warning time in order to launch attack-craft against cruise-missile launchers (ships or submarines) and against enemy carriers before the enemy got into an attack position. It also gave warning time to send defensive ships into position between the enemy and the precious carriers.
Han had listened to their explanations, given the correct responses and entered the pit. The moment he donned the VR helmet, however, he silently vowed to himself that he would avoid all death-shocks.
They care nothing about me. I must save myself or lose my sanity as they shock me into imbecility.
What did he owe China anyway, if China did nothing to look after him? Was he supposed to give up everything he valued for a concept?
No!
It was ludicrous for anyone to think he would. So what if he was Chinese? Did that mean he let other Chinese shock him? He wasn’t crazy, but they were making him so. Yes, he could understand the reasoning behind the shocks. Maybe mild ones would help. But they had gone too far. The simulation of death….
They’re killing me.
Well, he would no longer have any part of it. If they were going to threaten him…he’d have to watch out for himself, that’s all.
Han sat in the Mukden pit, in the padded chair, twitching his gloves. He saw things from the drone’s perspective—far below was the Pacific Ocean. There were wispy clouds and way down he spied the choppy water. Even though he was in the pit, he seemed to soar in the heavens and let himself relax.
From time to time, he shifted and rerouted certain key monitoring systems aboard the drone. Nothing must alert the watching techs, certainly not active radar readings. If he used the drone’s radar to spot something deadly, the Americans would know. If the Americans knew, they would launch missiles at him. If the missiles destroyed the drone, he would receive the death-shock. Therefore, the reasoning was obvious. He must remain quietly unaware of anything. That meant shutting off passive systems as well. For if the techs saw anything strange on their boards, they would force him to turn on the active radar.
With great computer cunning, Han put a repeater pattern before his active systems, and then he shut them down. The techs would never suspect. Later, a few minutes before he came out of the pit, he would reactive the systems.
“It is quiet today,” a tech said some time later.
“That makes me suspicious,” said Han.
“Our boards show nothing unwarranted. Why are you suspicious?”
“Are you kidding?” asked Han. “I spoke with the psychiatrist. She showed me why it is important I do my task no matter how painful it might be to me.”
“That is a wise attitude, Captain. The talk did you good.”
“I realize now how important my task is,” Han said.
“Good. Now less talk and give more attention to detail.”
“I agree,” said Han, who within his helmet smiled hugely to himself.
An hour later, Captain Han spied movement far below the drone. It made his heart race. He quickly changed his flight pattern and focused his cameras on a different part of the grid.
“Are you well, Captain?” a tech asked. “Your health monitor shows that your heart-rate has increased.”
“That is interesting,” said Han.
“I see nothing on the boards,” the other tech said.
“What frightened you, Captain?”
“A stray thought concerning my personal life,” Han said. “It is nothing.”
“Keep your mind focused, Captain. Your session ends in another two hours. Worry ab
out your personal life then.”
“Yes, sir,” said Han.
“Humph,” said the tech. “He’s acting strangely.”
The other tech didn’t say anything to that, so Han no longer worried. He had set up a visual pattern for himself and for the techs on their boards. In other words, he’d blinded the recon drone. If his heart rate would give him away, he’d be content to look at nothing so that didn’t happen. Just as long as no machine death-shocked him anymore. Then he could begin to relax and regain his normal cheery composure.
Thirty-five minutes later, an alarm went off in the chamber. It shook Han awake from his semi-slumber. He blinked groggily in his helmet as the techs shouted at each other.
“Captain Han! Captain Han!” one of them shouted at him. “Check your systems. Are they active?”
“Yes, yes,” said Han, “of course they are.” Frightened, he began to reengage each of the systems. Perhaps he was too sleepy. He didn’t do it with as much skill as he’d demonstrated when de-activating them.
“What are you doing?” cried a tech.
“What’s the matter anyway?” asked Han, who glove-twitched furiously. “Why all the alarm?”
There was silence from the techs as Han began to twitch with greater awareness.
“What’s this, Captain?” a tech shouted. “You just switched one of the drone’s settings.”
“You must be mistaken,” said Han.
“He’s turning the systems on and off,” the other tech said in wonder.
At that moment, there was loud banging, like a door striking a wall. Feet pounded on the chamber’s floor and equipment clattered against what sounded like body-armor. Thoroughly frightened, Han tore off his helmet. An enforcer-lieutenant entered the room and pointed a gun at him, with three other scary-looking sergeants doing the same thing.
“What’s the matter?” cried Han.
“Sabotage!” shouted the lieutenant, his muscular face a blotchy red color.
Han looked up at the bewildered techs.
“The American carriers used your recon corridor!” the lieutenant shouted. “Their aircraft are attacking our carriers as we speak! Captain Han, you are under arrest as a CIA spy. So are you two! You filthy traitors sicken me.”
“No, no!” shouted the shorter tech. “It was all Captain Han’s fault. Without our knowledge, he de-activated his drone’s sensors.” The man pointed at Han down in the pit.
The lieutenant stepped up to the tech. With his gun-holding hand, he smashed the man across the forehead. The tech crashed to the floor, moaning and clutching his bleeding head.
“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 b
efore 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.
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