Warlords

by William H. Weber

  “Why have you attacked us?” John asked.

  “We were attacked first,” she answered. “We have the right to defend ourselves.”

  “You say we attacked you first?” John spat. “That’s a lie.”

  Huan grew quiet and he realized that as far as foreign media was concerned, the People’s Republic of China was a closed system. The government could create any story they wanted and probably even supply the doctored digital video to convince the population that retaliation was necessary. Hadn’t Americans accused a former president of doing the same thing?

  “How was it you attacked us?” he asked her.

  “A Jin-class nuclear submarine off the coast of Washington State launched a CSS-N-5 Sabbot armed with a super-EMP warhead. The missile detonated high in the atmosphere over Kansas, destroying the communication, power and transportation network on the continent.”

  John nodded, feeling numb. It was one thing to speculate about what had happened and another thing entirely to have the plan laid out before you.

  “And how long after did your army reach American soil?”

  “One month.”

  “Why so long?”

  Huan reached for the cup of water and this time John let her drink. When she was done she put it down and spoke. “We had to wait for the nuclear fallout to clear.”

  “The what?”

  “The Russians used nuclear warheads to take out each of your missile silos so they couldn’t respond.”

  John swallowed hard. “How many nukes did they use?” he asked.

  Huan shook her head. “I don’t know. Dozens. Mostly in the Midwest.”

  “Lord have mercy,” he said, feeling the room spinning out of control. It made sense, but one always assumed getting nuked wouldn’t go unnoticed. Perhaps the military brass he’d spoken to hadn’t bothered to mention it, since news that the country’s missile silos had been hit with nukes might demoralize the population.

  “There’s something else I need to ask you,” John told her. “I’ve heard rumors about prison camps behind enemy lines.”

  “I don’t know anything about those,” she answered quickly. Huan’s eyes found his and the look of shame John saw confirmed not only that the camps were real, but that the atrocities being committed there were far worse than he’d imagined.

  Chapter 27

  The convoy of heavy diesel M35 transport trucks containing Brandon and Gregory along with a dozen other soldiers rumbled west along the 104 on its way to the front. The M35 was an old vehicle Brandon was told had last seen action sometime before the Vietnam War, but had been thrown back into service since many of the newer transports no longer worked. The military had seen fit to begin protecting weapons platforms such as tanks, APCs, jets and helicopters against EMP strikes, but had failed to do the same for the vehicles that brought the fuel and parts that kept them all running. It was a colossal oversight and one it seemed that armies around the world were guilty of.

  Back in Dyersburg before they left, O’Brien had led the boys to the quartermaster who had issued both of them a uniform. There hadn’t been anything that quite fit Gregory and so he’d been forced to roll up the cuff of the smallest fatigues available.

  The quartermaster’s next question to Brandon had been his familiarity with using an M4 rifle. He explained that he’d fired an AR-15 many times, a handful of which had been in combat.

  “Well, this one goes full auto, son, so you better be careful,” the quartermaster had admonished.

  “Yes, sir,” was Brandon’s sheepish reply.

  As they headed for the M35, Gregory looked like he’d just had the guts ripped out of him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t I get a weapon too?” he asked.

  Brandon put an arm around his shoulder. “They’ve given you a much more important job. Those soldiers need that ammo delivered pronto or it’s game over.”

  The little speech wasn’t doing much to convince Gregory and Brandon couldn’t blame him. If the tables were turned, he’d have been devastated too.

  Not ten minutes later, they were rolling down the 104, the culmination of what they’d travelled all this way to do. The butterflies in Brandon’s stomach had just started to subside when the first artillery shell whistled overhead and exploded a mile behind them. A thick orange and yellow fireball billowed into the air, followed a second later by the sound of the explosion.

  A soldier sitting next to Brandon was chewing gum, his eyes vacant, his uniform covered in dry mud. The soldier pulled on a dying cigarette before flicking it over the side. “Here we go again,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Brandon inquired.

  The name tag on the soldier’s uniform read Dixon. “Those ChiComs always start with an artillery barrage before an attack. Probably a tactic they got from the Russians. It’s a bad tell, if you ask me.”

  “A bad tell?”

  Dixon glanced over at Brandon. “How old are you, kid?”

  “Fifteen. Well, nearly.”

  “Recruiting toddlers, is that what the army’s come to?” That was when he leaned forward and saw Gregory sitting one seat over, the pants of his uniform rolled up. “Lord have mercy.”

  “You never answered my question. What’s a tell?”

  Dixon laid his head back as another shell swept over and detonated somewhere out of sight.

  “Well, you’re too young to play poker, kid, but a tell’s a dead giveaway. Sorta like a fighter who always leads with a left hook before he goes in for an upper cut. Those Chinese have been trying to fight their way across the Mississippi for the last few days now and every time we keep beating ’em back.”

  “Maybe with all these reinforcements we can hold them off forever,” Brandon said and immediately realized he probably sounded like a real noob.

  “We’re gonna be there any minute, kid. Just lie back and enjoy the peace and quiet while you can.”

  •••

  The artillery barrage only intensified once they reached the front lines. But now shells weren’t sailing overhead, they were landing all around them, throwing up mounds of dirt and deadly shrapnel.

  Each truck had a staff sergeant who stood and ordered the soldiers off the vehicles on the double. Each group was assigned to a specific fortified trench and that was where they headed now, many of them running at full tilt, dragging rucksacks with the few pieces of equipment they were given.

  The staff sergeants led the way, corralling their soldiers and shouting at them to move it or lose it. No one needed any added incentive to scurry for cover—the artillery barrage was more than enough.

  The layout here looked far more like something out of World War One than it did a modern battlefield. Maybe even a low-tech version of the Maginot Line Brandon had learned about in history class.

  They were halfway there, the land around them churned up from repeated barrages, devoid of trees and greenery, when the artillery stopped and the helicopters swept in. A dozen Z-10s strafed the area with fire from their 23mm chain guns. Brandon grabbed Gregory by the waist and dove behind a gabion as the massive rounds peppered the area, killing dozens.

  From a series of fortified positions along the front, the slightly outdated M163 Vulcan Air Defense Systems lit up. Essentially Gatling guns mounted on an M113 chassis, they made a whirling sound a split second before they erupted with devastating effect. At once, four of the enemy choppers were shredded in the sky, falling to the ground in clumps of twisted metal. One by one they fell from the sky before the few that remained retreated across the river to safety.

  Brandon rose and couldn’t believe the number of dead. They’d been caught out in the open and paid a heavy price. A boy no older than twenty lay a dozen yards away, clutching at something pink spilling out of his belly. Most of the others were far less fortunate, many with wounds so ghastly they were hardly recognizable as human beings. Medics swarmed out from the trenches and ran to those in need. Brandon went to the soldier with the gut wound,
grabbed him by the uniform and proceeded to pull him to safety.

  “Are you gonna help or what?” he asked a stunned-looking Gregory. “Grab him by the wrist and pull.”

  Almost on autopilot, Gregory did as he was told.

  Finally they reached the entrance of the trench where a medic emerged and took over. If there was such a thing as a baptism by fire, this was it.

  Even after entering the relative safety of the covered trenches, Brandon’s hands continued to shake. This new area was dim and smelled of damp earth and sweat. Planks of wood laid along the ground were designed to keep feet dry. Around him, soldiers were rushing in every direction, several staring out the gun ports that looked out over the river.

  A whistle came from out of the darkness. “Hey, kids. This way.” It was Dixon, standing by one of the gun ports. Brandon and Gregory went to him. “You stick here with me and keep an eye out for those Chinks. They should try to cross at any minute.” He turned to Gregory. “Where’s your rifle?”

  “I don’t have one,” Gregory whimpered.

  “He’s been assigned to ammo duty,” Brandon explained.

  “Well, there’s a depot in trench delta, about thirty yards that way. You just be sure to keep the supply flowing nicely for anyone who needs it.”

  Gregory saluted and then went off.

  “No, that way,” Dixon called after him.

  Gregory stopped, looked back and then changed direction.

  “Damn kid’s gonna get us all killed.”

  “He just wants to do his part,” Brandon said defensively. “I’m sure there are plenty of others who should be up here and chose to stay home instead.”

  “Hmm, you might have a point there.”

  “Contact, twelve o’clock,” a voice called out.

  Dixon glanced through the gun port and swore. “What’d I tell ya, kid? Here they come.”

  Brandon fell in beside him and looked out for himself. With all the trees along the river blown away long ago, the line of sight was extensive. And what Brandon saw now took his breath away. Hundreds of Chinese ZBD-08 infantry fighting vehicles (IFV) and Type 99 main battle tanks (MBT) pushed into the far side of the river.

  “They’re killing themselves,” Brandon said out loud.

  “No, kid,” Dixon shot back. “Those guys can swim.”

  A moment later, American M777 howitzers miles from the front opened fire, creating high towers of water with every miss and an orange blast and a cheer from the soldiers in the trenches with every hit.

  “Looks like a lot of them are making it across,” Brandon said, fear rising in his voice.

  “I can see that,” Dixon replied.

  Just then they heard the roar of planes flying over them. These weren’t jets, they were something else. Brandon ran to the trench opening and peered into the sky. Transport planes crossed overhead, some going down in flames after being shot down by US anti-aircraft batteries. But the planes weren’t the biggest threat, it was what they were carrying. Slowly the skyline behind their position filled with paratroops. Brandon ran back in and told Dixon what he’d seen.

  “Have they landed airborne units like this before?” Brandon asked. “Is this part of their tell?”

  Dixon spat on the ground, looking worried now for the first time. “No, this would be something new. They’re trying to cut us off and unless we can stop ’em, this whole front line may be about to crumble.”

  Chapter 28

  “I won’t be able to keep Moss from hurting you again if you’re holding out on me,” John told Huan.

  She was trying to be strong, he could see that by the way she struggled to maintain eye contact with him, but the lack of focus in her expression told him her mind was somewhere far away. While her body might be trapped, her mind could go where it pleased.

  John rubbed his hands together. “Are you married, Huan?”

  “I am.”

  “I’m sure you miss your husband a great deal, don’t you?”

  Her expression didn’t waver.

  “What about kids? You have any?” John paused to let her answer, and when she didn’t, he went on. “I’ve got two myself. Son and a daughter. Twelve and fourteen. She’s been traumatized something fierce by a laundry list of things I won’t get into, but staying put in her room drawing pictures and writing stories is pretty much all she’s been up to these last few days. My wife says it’s just a phase.” The finger of his left hand tapped a quickening rhythm on the table. “And for some reason my son got it into his mind he wanted to be a soldier and sneaked off to the front with a friend. Twelve years old and ready to throw his life away, can you believe it? I may not see him again because of what he’s done. Not unless we can track him down and get him back. It’s a thought I have a hard time accepting, Huan. Hard to face, you know what I’m saying?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Any parent, no matter what their kids have done, shouldn’t have to face the chances of never seeing them again. I’m sure you feel the same way. You wanna see your husband and children again, don’t you?”

  Her gaze fell to his tapping finger before she found his eyes again.

  “Don’t you?” John shouted.

  “Yes,” Huan whispered.

  “Of course you do. We understand each other better than you think. We may be on opposite sides of the fence, you and I, but I think there would be many things that we agree on. Believe it or not, I want you to see your family again, Huan. So far you’ve been pretty forthcoming, all of which is helping to get you home, one step at a time. But when I asked you about the camps you clammed up. I don’t wanna see you backslide, Huan. I’m the only one rooting for you here, so you don’t wanna lose me as your ally, but I need the whole truth or so help you God.”

  Huan swallowed and her throat made an audible clicking noise. “If I tell you what you ask, you’ll let me go?”

  “Maybe not just yet, but I’ll do what I can to convince the others. Your cooperation or lack thereof is what they’ll look at first.”

  “All right. What do you want to know?”

  John stopped tapping and leaned in. “That’s more like it. The camps, Huan. Where are they and what are they being used for?”

  “There are many.”

  “Then let’s start with the closest one.”

  “West of Jonesboro.” The way she spoke the name it sounded like Joanboro.

  “Jonesboro, Arkansas.” That was exactly where David Newbury had located it, which meant she was probably telling the truth.

  Huan nodded.

  “And what purpose does the camp serve?”

  “POWs, but that is only a small part. Most of the inmates are political prisoners, forced laborers and citizens who require re-education.”

  “By forced labor you mean slave labor.”

  Huan nodded reluctantly. She had a conscience, probably the only reason this interrogation was going anywhere. John was thankful, since the alternative would have been increasingly brutal forms of torture and resulting intelligence that would have been questionable at best.

  “What are they making?”

  “Things to help the war effort.”

  Hearing it reminded John of Germany’s camps during the Second World War.

  “And what about the re-education you mentioned?”

  “Following conquest, the United States will be divided into two major zones of control. One controlled by China, the other by Russia.”

  “And what about North Korea? What will they get?”

  “Canada.”

  “Wow. I guess that’s one way to do it.” This whole conversation was starting to feel surreal, like children arguing over starting positions in a giant game of Risk. “So your government wants to wring capitalism out of the Americans under its control?”

  “We are also capitalist, don’t forget. It is notions of democracy that must be erased.”

  John was nodding, trying not to look as agitated on the outside as he was feeling on the inside. �
�I don’t think that’ll be as easy as your people think.”

  “Maybe not, but General Wei Liang is quite confident.”

  John’s expression changed. She’d let slip the name of a major player and he wanted to get as much info on this person as he could. “Who’s General Liang?”

  “The supreme commander of all Chinese and North Korean forces. Once the United States is defeated, General Liang will become the military governor of the People’s Republic of China occupation zone.”

  “But how have you determined the zones of control?”

  “That will be determined after the defeat.”

  John scratched at the stubble on his chin. If what Huan was telling him was true, then the enemy was doing to the United States what the Allies had done to Germany during WWII. In those final weeks of the war, a race of sorts had begun to gobble up as much territory as possible, a contest which the Russians had won.

  It also meant that tensions were likely to exist in the current alliance between China and Russia. Just as in the past, each nation was now attempting to outmaneuver the other in order to claim the biggest piece of the pie once hostilities ceased. At the very least, this new piece of information meant General Liang was a man of some ambition. And John knew very well the way ambition had a habit of blinding men until it was too late.

  “It seems to me,” John said, “as though North Korean forces have been resigned to a secondary role.”

  “They have,” she admitted. “Their primary objective is to guard the supply routes and operate in the rear.”

  “I see.” Cracks certainly existed in what was beginning to look like a fragile alliance. And given the right pressure, even a small crack could lead to a catastrophic failure.

  But Huan had one more secret to divulge, one even John hadn’t been ready for.

  “There is one other thing about the internment camps I have not told you. A rumor, although I have heard it from a reliable source.”