“You need to get more than two, Harris.”
“I figure one for me, one for my dad.”
“China’s got about one and a half billion people. We can’t win trading them one for one.”
“That’s a fact, but I at least want two.”
“You want revenge, or do you want victory?”
“Victory is the best revenge.”
Edwards laughed as he exhaled smoke. “I like your attitude, Harris.”
Harris wanted to cry out, but he restrained himself. He wanted to be sure. After all the tank ID he’d done in SOI, it was still difficult to tell from a long distance. All those little details of a tank didn’t show up at three thousand meters. Basically you had to recognize the shape of your tanks and the shape of Prick tanks.
They were not ROC, not from that direction, and they sure as hell weren’t American. Harris was hit with the sudden realization of how essential this was. His adrenaline surged.
“I think we got Pricks. At ten o’clock. Headed east from west.”
Edwards threw his cigarette down. “You think, or you know?” Edwards’s awkward attempt to make conversation was done. He grabbed binocular range finders from the LSV and scanned the landscape. “Yeah, they’re T99s.” Both watched their enemy in silence for several seconds.
“That looks like armored cars and infantry too.” Harris’s adrenaline was making him chatty.
“That’s ’cause it is, Harris. Rear, my ass. Welcome to the goddamn front!” Edwards was ready for battle.
They were already positioned well on the high ground to see the valley and the draws for several miles out, but not so high as to skyline themselves. The PLA columns were emerging from a draw into the valley and moving into battle formations and, unbeknownst to them, had hit the extreme left flank of the First Marine Division.
“Blue Four Alpha, this is Bravo.” Edwards was on the mic. Harris stayed behind the gun.
“Go, Bravo.”
“Party crashers, ten o’clock.”
“Can’t get a visual,” Bohanan responded after what had been a painful sixty-second wait. “We got your position. We’ll come to you.”
Up to this point Harris had been wanting more than the small skirmishes he’d been involved in. Now, as the last gun team on the left flank, he had what looked like half the PLA in front of him. He felt cold. He felt fear. He felt ready for this.
“Harris, looks like you kill your first tank today.” Edwards seemed more relaxed with the impending battle than he had making small talk fifteen minutes earlier.
Adams drove up with Bohanan and Schmitt. Without prompting, Schmitt began scoping out their ten. Bohanan had the range finders out. Adams manned the SAW.
“Fuck yeah,” Bohanan exclaimed with extra Oklahoma twang. “Blue Leader, Blue Leader, this is Four. Over.” Harris hadn’t seen Bohanan that jazzed up since he’d won a big poker hand two weeks earlier.
“Go, Four.”
“Thermopylae. Say again Thermopylae. Over.” That was their code word for finding themselves deep in shit.
“Roger. Be there ASAP. Over. Out.”
“Saddle up, Marines! We got a fight on our hands. Adams, Schmitt, move down about twenty meters. If you do not have a visual, move your ass till you do.” Bohanan would have liked less foliage. They couldn’t advance far without losing a visual on the PLA. He would have liked more of a plain, but Marines worked with what they had, not with what they wanted. “Make these first missiles count, Marines. We ain’t gonna be able to move around much once they know where we’re at.”
Staff Sergeant Anderson arrived and got a visual on the PLA. He immediately gave orders for Second Section to redeploy, and notified the commanding officer of Charlie Company.
Harris had had a bead for some time, but was told to wait for orders. Anderson wanted the first volley to be as damaging as possible. Once the Pricks knew where they were, all hell would break loose, and they would not be able to maneuver without disengaging from the enemy and potentially losing a visual on them. That would not do. Their assignment was to protect the left flank of the First Marine Division and that took priority over their own safety.
Within fifteen minutes all of Second Section had repositioned themselves. All gunners had a designated target. No need to waste two missiles on the same tank. Anderson gave the order to fire. It only took twenty-five seconds for the PLA to discover their surprise flank attack was no longer a surprise.
Harris was stoked that Edwards let him stay behind the gun. It was the moment he’d spent the last eleven months of his life preparing for. He told himself that this first shot was for his dad. This one would even the score, but he was lying to himself. Harris’s first shot was for himself. Deep down inside, it was for himself that he wanted to kill one of those Prick bastards. It was for his sense of pride for his family, for his country, for his father that he wanted to kill the enemy that would destroy all that. When he got the order to fire, there was no way in hell he was going to let the crosshairs of his sight leave his target. He nailed the bastard right where the turret sat on the body. The turret flipped into the air as the tank exploded. Harris turned from the gun to see Edwards handing him another missile. He immediately reloaded the gun. Now that the PLA knew where they were, all hell would break loose. Within forty-five seconds he’d killed his second tank.
The PLA tanks were spreading out and firing in the direction of the TOW section. Explosions became a part of both battle lines. Artillery had been called in on the PLA. Soon after, PLA air support showed up. The jets screamed in low and dropped their payloads. The hillside the TOWs were on lit up.
Harris felt the earth shake and roar. He stayed focused on reloading and acquiring another target. The tanks, the armored cars, everything seemed to be headed their way. For his third shot he chose an armored vehicle, hoping it was loaded with infantry and would kill more ChiComs. No sooner had it hit than he had the spent missile casing out of the gun tube and Edwards was handing him another missile to reload.
TOWs from First and Third Section were starting to show up and deploy. Within seconds TOW missiles were screaming across the valley, destroying Prick tanks. American air support showed up. First jets hammered the Prick line, followed shortly by attack helicopters chewing up the advancing ground forces. Then PLA attack helicopters showed up, and a dogfight erupted in the air over the dog fight on the ground.
Harris had no idea how normal this was or how it compared to other battles. At the moment he didn’t care. There was a malfunction on his fourth missile and it had spiraled out of control. He only hoped it had taken some Pricks out wherever it landed.
More PLA were pouring out of the draw and headed towards the hill on which the TOWs deployed. Harris had one more missile, then two. Somehow, someway, Bohanan had brought over another missile. Harris made them both count. More Prick jets screamed by, firing missiles. Harris felt the explosions, but he was still alive. Somebody was screaming, someone had been hit, but it wasn’t him. He had to keep fighting. Anderson’s driver stopped by; he had a trailer of TOW missiles. He resupplied Harris and Edwards and headed back to where he came from. Before he made it one hundred meters, he was nailed by a Prick missile.
The heavy machine guns, .50-caliber M2s, and 40 mm Mk 19s had shown up, and not too soon. Prick infantry was starting to work its way up the hill and through the foliage. Harris could now hear small-arms fire around him. He fought the urge to shoot at the first thing he saw through his scope. He tried to look for vehicles with antennas, knowing they would be set up for communication and thus critical. With explosions all around him, this was hard. One was so close, that against his will, he dropped to the floor of the LSV. He felt the air around him move. His ears rang loud; he couldn’t really hear. Edwards was yelling at him. He could not understand specific words, but figured out he was to get his ass up and start shooting again. As he was getting up, Bohanan hauled another missile over to him, slapped him on the back and said something about kicking ass.
Harris reloaded and looked for another target.
He felt the explosion before he heard it. Even at the time it seemed very surreal for Harris; he was flying through the air before he heard the explosion that had caused it. He knew he had no control, he didn’t know how far he’d fly or how he would fall, but he told himself as soon as he hit he had to get up and keep fighting. Something deep inside told him he’d die if he didn’t.
The rim of his helmet hit first. His own momentum pulled his helmet down and smashed it into his nose. As well, his left shoulder took the brunt of the impact. His body skidded; his skin burned as he slid to a stop. Harris tried to jump up, but he fell down right away. His mind screamed get up, but at the time he couldn’t figure out which way was up. Harris felt like his head was going to spin off his shoulders. His ears rang; he could hear nothing else. He got up to his hands and knees, but then fell down face-first. Edwards pulled him up, yelling something that didn’t register with Harris. He looked to the LSV. Bohanan was dismantling the gun from the LSV’s gun mount. This was no easy task since the LSV was on its side.
Edwards began to assist Bohanan. Harris saw Schmitt struggling to remount his own TOW gun, his vehicle having been destroyed. He ran towards Schmitt with his head still spinning. Harris stopped short of an arm he noticed right in front of him. Through the blood and dirt he could see a tattoo of a black rose intertwined with a banner that read Death Before Dishonor. The right forearm belonged to Adams. Suddenly Bohanan was in his face.
“Go to your gun.” He pointed to Edwards. “Kill fucking Pricks!” Bohanan slapped him on the helmet and ran off to assist Schmitt. Harris ran back to Edwards and helped him ground mount and load the TOW gun. More jets were screaming overhead, but Harris was too busy to pay attention to them. They were no longer crucial to what he had to do. His head buzzed, he could see blood on his hands, but he didn’t feel any pain.
Edwards fired another missile. Despite checking his back-blast area, someone had run into it by the time the missile fired. Harris heard the scream over the missile and saw the burned body writhing on the ground. Harris ran over to apply first aid, but when he saw the charred body, he didn’t know what to do. The wounds were way beyond a bandage. Edwards caught up with him.
“Hey, dumb shit!” Edwards pointed back at their gun. He said more, but Harris didn’t hear him. He didn’t need to. His job now was to kill; all else was a distraction.
Small-arms fire broke up the conversation as both men hit the ground. A Prick attack helicopter buzzed over them, firing at the Marines. Another TOW gunner took the PLA attack helicopter down. Both men ran back to their TOW gun. They reloaded the gun and Edwards fired. Harris helped him reload. The valley in front of him was filled with smoke and fire. Their line was receiving small-arms fire. The PLA was advancing towards them. The .50 cals and Mk 19s poured rounds into the trees in front of them.
“Our other gun is toast. Harris, cover us with the SAW.” Bohanan was back. He and Edwards manned the TOW gun. Harris glanced over and saw Schmitt, now about ten meters away, on the other SAW. Harris dismounted the SAW from the wrecked LSV, checked the ammo belt, and flipped down the weapon’s bipod. Through his scope he could see PLA infantry was starting to make its way through the brush and up the hill. They were closing in.
Everything seemed to be exploding. Harris could feel them more than hear them at this point. PLA mortar men had zeroed in on the Marine position. Harris heard aircraft; not knowing if it was PLA or American, he paid it no mind. He fired five- to six-round bursts on anything he saw moving in front of him. In the chaos and the fear, his training kept him grounded. He briefly considered finding a better spot to shoot from, and just as quickly dismissed it. With everything getting shot up, he figured one spot was as good as another at this point. At that moment his priority was to kill, and let his death come as it may.
Harris loaded his fourth of five drums of belt ammo for the SAW. Fear started to creep into his mind. How much longer could he keep this up? Harris shoved the fear out; it was worthless right now. A series of eruptions tore through the brush that was concealing the PLA. Marine artillery had zeroed in on the Pricks, and now they were paying for it. Harris found it a beautiful sight; it gave him hope. He picked his targets. He wanted no refuge for his enemy. He wanted to kill them all while the killing was good.
Just as he was loading his last drum, Edwards fell in next to him with more ammo. Harris figured he’d run out of missiles. It wasn’t the time to ask about it. The artillery had stopped and a minute later Marine attack helicopters flew in and lit up the ChiComs.
We got air superiority, Harris thought. We got to have a chance here. Harris could see rounds coming into the PLA from the east. He scanned his scope in that direction. First Tank Battalion had arrived. It was also around that time he noticed more Marines on the ground. He didn’t know what company they were from, but was glad to have them.
The ChiComs were not advancing, nor were they retreating. The artillery fire was devastating the Pricks, but they were gutting it out. This was the most resilience Harris had seen from the PLA up to this point in the war, but now they were getting hammered. Everybody had a breaking point. Harris figured the PLA had to be coming up on theirs.
Let them stay. Better to kill them than let them live to fight another day. Harris was so preoccupied with the PLA troops in front of him, he jumped and nearly screamed when a light armored vehicle began firing its twenty-five-millimeter cannon ten feet to his right.
Light Armored Reconnaissance had shown up. This seemed to give the outnumbered Marines a bit of an edge. Many Pricks began to fall back. Those that didn’t were killed. The Marines began to advance.
Second Section was ordered to rally around the blue smoke. Edwards and Harris worked their way back. They ran into Bohanan and Schmitt, glad they were still alive. As they approached the blue smoke signal, Harris was happy to see Hastings.
“Hey, buddy.” Harris smiled. Hastings didn’t smile back. Harris reached into his pocket to get a pack of smokes for himself and Hastings. He found that his hands were shaking so bad that they hardly functioned for him. However, he managed to get two cigarettes lit and gave one to Hastings.
“I’m the only one left from First Squad,” Hastings responded in a flat quiet voice. Harris fought the temptation to ask “what?” in case he’d heard wrong. He knew he hadn’t. Second Section had been hit hard. There were a lot of deaths that day.
By the time Staff Sergeant Anderson roll-called the twenty-two Marines in Second Section, TOW Platoon, eight had been killed. Another three were wounded and were med-evaced out. Hastings’s squad had been hit the hardest. Sergeant Jackson, Sellers, Grey, and Forest were all killed. He was transferred to Sergeant Washington’s second squad. It was just a three-man TOW squad now, with Tooley and Reno as two of the wounded. Sergeant Crespo’s third squad was down to two men, MacIver and Reese. Dennison was among the wounded. Gomez and Saxton were among the dead.
The section was left with two working LSVs at the moment, not counting Anderson’s. These were assigned to the reconfigured Second and Third Squads. Fourth was gonna have to hump it for the time being. They headed out with the rest of Charlie Company to the northwest. That was the direction the PLA was falling back. That was where the enemy was.
Chapter Sixteen
“Liddell, you lucky bastard, you did it!” Ragnarsson exclaimed, looking at his battle map and absorbing the report. As good, as relieved, as he felt, he regretted saying it out loud in front of his staff. It wasn’t just luck that carried the day. “I’ll take First Marines and Divine Providence any day against those communist sons of bitches!”
It was moments like these that made Ragnarsson proud to be a Marine. Shanghai had fallen. More like they had surrendered. Similar to their experience along the coast with many of the industrialized and Westernized cities of eastern China, Shanghai was happy to become part of the ROC as long as business, more or less, could continue as usual. Turning the east coast of China in
to a giant “Hong Kong” of the old days was a tempting prospect to many commissars who saw the potential for greater autonomy, profits, and personal power.
To add to the success of the Shanghai Campaign, First Marines had annihilated a PLA force about twice its size. His report was that First Battalion had spotted the PLA force emerging out of a mountain pass that would have attacked First Marines’ rear had they not intervened. The regiment then proceeded to repel the attack and then pursue them as they attempted to retreat through the pass. Air and artillery proceeded to turn it into a slaughter.
What bothered Ragnarsson the most in the report was that few of the PLA forces surrendered, even when facing annihilation. To him this fact confirmed what he had always suspected and, in fact, had counted on for the Shanghai Campaign: that the industrialized east would quickly capitulate. However, he thought the farther north and west the Allies advanced they would encounter a more fanatical enemy.
Chairman Mao Zedong had commented on his losses and his desertions during the Long March, when the Red Army was nearly destroyed by the Nationalists and on the run in 1934–1935, as shaking the gold from the dust. Ragnarsson had studied Zhang Min. He figured Zhang to be a clever, ruthless old bastard that would tap into that history. The Allies had chosen East China for the very reason of its vulnerability of the local leaders’ loyalty to their personal power and wealth over the People’s Republic of China. Ragnarsson’s gut told him the character of this invasion was in the process of changing. That the hardest fighting was yet to come.
Once again General Secretary Zhang Min met with his generals, minus General Wang Tao. Zhang was irritable. He had not been sleeping well. He longed for good news; he longed for success. Yet success avoided him, and he had not had any really good news for the last five years. His Sino-American War had been a disaster. Far from his promise of a dominant China controlling Asia and the Pacific, the People’s Republic was invaded and the PLA was in retreat. Even now he was fighting for the survival of his political career.
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