“Do you think we’re going to survive this one?” Jake asked.
“Sure,” Chet said, as he turned the page. “We survived the nukes. We can survive anything.”
“Maybe we used up all our luck surviving the Red Dragons.”
“No,” Chet said. “Luck is like a muscle. The more you use it, the better it gets.”
“That’s why we’re on this train then, because we’re lucky?”
“I don’t know. Don’t sweat it so much. Relax.” Chet turned the page.
Jake scowled. He wished he could just sit back, looking at swimsuit issues, not worrying about anything. The nuke, getting sick, getting rail-thin, and surviving for months in a Detention Center cell—it had changed him. The Detention people had stolen something essential from him.
They took my heart. They made me see how everything is BS. It’s just one group of goons after another doing whatever they want because they can.
The Chinese had invaded America. Now US soldiers had to make sure the Chinese couldn’t come back. But what Jake really wanted…
I want to break the Detention Center system. I want to stop penal battalions. How do I do that in Manchuria? I’d rather be stalking through Colorado, shooting Militia guards and their officers.
As he watched pine trees flash past, Jake nodded. He was going to have to survive Manchuria. He didn’t see how he would. China was a huge land. But he was going to have to survive and get home. Then he was going to use what he’d learned these past few years…
From now on, I’ll tell the people in charge exactly what they want to hear from me. I have to survive this. Then, when I get my chance, I’m going to kill someone important.
Jake grunted softly. He’d started out protesting the President, holding up a sign as a college kid and marching around shouting slogans. That hadn’t worked. They’d sent him into the Militia. The next time he protested, he’d use violence to let the powerful know he meant it. I’m going to go Jefferson on them, go George Washington. It’s time our country was really free again.
BEIJING, CHINA
Shun Li listened in silence, knowing this was an eventual death sentence for her. What did I do wrong? Why doesn’t the Chairman trust me anymore?
The full Ruling Committee met on the second floor in the Cho En Li Building in Mao Square. The old Navy Minister was gone, the spot filled with one of Hong’s new creatures. A young general in his fifties was the new Army Minister. Just like the old days, Lion Guardsmen lined the walls, with submachine pistols in their fists. Hong was in complete control again and he meant to stay there.
The Chairman stood at the head of the table. He wore a black suit, saying, “I trust Shun Li implicitly. She has been a wise Police Minister, and she has seen us through very difficult times. It is why I am doing this. Mother China needs her talents, and Shun Li will march in obedience to the call.”
“Gladly and happily,” Shun Li said.
“Her absence from the capital will only increase my burdens,” Hong said. “But I am no different from the lowliest peasant. When China summons me, I obey. Therefore, as of today, I will take upon myself the duties of Police Minister.”
Several Ruling members glanced at Shun Li.
Her face felt frozen as fear bubbled in her. She had returned from Australia to a debacle. The terrible Russians had fooled everyone. She had an impulse to bray with laughter and point out that the Chairman had trusted Konev. China would not be in this predicament if the Chairman had accepted defeat in North America. Instead of stuffing troops there, he should have put them into Kazakhstan and Siberia.
“Shun Li,” Hong said, “after the meeting you will head to the Northeast China Front. There, you will become the Guardian Inspector of the East Lightning Department heading the guerilla action. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the importance of your post. I expect extreme brutality from you. Your people will turn the Chinese into mud. They will clog the wheels and tracks of the enemy machine, using their flesh and blood if need be to stall the Russians and Americans.”
As he spoke, Hong eyes shined. “The Russians and Americans yearn for their old positions of power. But their day has long set. It is China’s hour.” He laughed, a devilish sound. “I accept this invasion and rejoice in it. Finally, our Russian enemy has revealed himself. He has thrust his head into a trap. The defensive form of warfare is stronger than the offensive. We have learned that in North America. Now, I envision trapping the Russian Army and annihilating these paltry Americans. After we have dealt with them—”
Chairman Hong frowned. “Yes, Industry Minister?”
A small old man lowered the arm he’d been holding up. “I wonder, Chairman, if you mean to use all Northeast China as a trap, or only the most northern province of Heilongjiang.”
Shun Li nodded. Northeastern China, or Manchuria as the old people called it, was composed of four provinces: Heilongjiang, Jilin, Liaoning and part of Inner Mongolia. The most important province, the heart of Manchuria, was Liaoning Province, which bordered old North Korea on the Yalu River.
“Speak freely,” Hong told the Industry Minister. “Explain yourself.”
The old man bobbed his head. He hadn’t been on the Ruling Committee long, nor would he last if he kept interrupting the Chairman. “I expect we shall lose Harbin.”
“Get to the point,” Hong said, testily.
“Our heaviest industry lies in Northeast China, Leader. I know you know this.”
“Of course I do.”
“We must stop the Russians before they reach Shenyang and rip into the heart of Liaoning Province. Otherwise, tank production will take a terrible dip.”
“Do you seek to instruct me in military strategy?” Hong asked.
“Certainly not, Leader, but I feel I must point out the importance of Shenyang and Liaoning Province. It accounts for thirty-two percent of our tank production and twenty-nine percent of our artillery—”
“I am well aware of the importance of Liaoning Province. Why do you think I’m sending Shun Li to the front?”
“We’ve heard of your work in Australia,” the Industry Minister told her. He coughed, and it sounded as if he had phlegm in his throat. Was he sick? “You broke the Australian resistance with a firm and steady hand.”
Lies, Shun Li thought to herself. I played a part and have been branded as a mass murderer for it.
Hong graced her with a grin. “She will excel in Northeast China, instilling her will into my East Lightning generals.” The Chairman turned to the fifty-year-old Army general. “Will your soldiers fight as zealously?”
“Yes, Leader,” the Army Minister said. He had been one of the toughest defensive fighters in North America, a man noted for his harshness and inflexibility. “I have a program mapped out for them.”
“Excellent,” Hong said. “Now—” He raised his eyebrows. “Shun Li, you have a question?”
Normally, she would never ask it, but the Leader had arranged this beforehand. He could have told her about the demotion then. Why had he sprung it on her like this? How had she failed him?
“Shun Li?” Hong asked.
She cleared her throat. “Leader, why don’t we ferry home some of our elite formations out of Mexico?” As she spoke, Shun Li noticed how several ministers leaned forward or opened their eyes a little wider. Hong must have known this would be on their minds, but who would dare to ask him such a question? Clearly, he wanted to lay the idea to rest.
Chairman Hong frowned at Shun Li, as if he disliked the question. “I have honored you with your new post,” he said.
“I thrill at the chance to serve China in my new capacity,” she said.
“I’m beginning to wonder if that’s so,” he said. “You seem to desire the Army to save you from your task. No. The Mexico-based soldiers will remain in North America for several reasons. For one thing, it is better to fight the Americans there than here.”
“But you just said it was good the Russians fight us here,” she said.
“Have a care, Police Minister.”
She looked down, berating herself for being careless. Maybe it was better to leave the Chairman’s close orbit. Too many people around him died.
“The Americans fear us,” Hong said, “because they fear our Army in Mexico. For too long, they have hidden behind their oceans. We are ready to spring to the attack once again. It is a matter of timing now. I was going to save this information for later, but I wish to inform all of you that the South American Federation has agreed to fully supply our forces in Mexico. That means our merchant marine will no longer make the dreaded journey to the Mexican coast. The American submarines have grown too thick for us. We need a breathing spell while we increase the number of our drone tenders. That is the other reason why we don’t bring home the troops. The Americans would sink too many transports, drowning useful Chinese soldiers. No. We will strike again in North America, never fear. Instead of losing those transports in North American waters, we will use them to ship home nearer garrison troops from Indonesia, the Philippines and Japan. The trained soldiers will swell our continental numbers.”
He sipped from a glass of mineral water, setting it down with a clunk. “We need time, just a little more time to prepare. If our soldiers already in place combine with fierce guerilla resistance, we can buy enough time to gather a large army. That force will keep the Russians and Americans out of Liaoning Province.” He faced Shun Li. “That is why you must instill the guerilla forces with terrible resolve. If that means throwing their bodies before enemy tanks…that is what they must do for China. If that means igniting hidden nuclear weapons, why, we will not hesitate to do so. This invasion will fail because the Russians and Americans will run out of time. Then we will swarm them to death with our numbers.”
Shun Li closed her eyes. She was becoming a guardian inspector once again. Australia had been bad. This was going to be terrible. Chairman Hong was returning to a Mao Defense of China, at least until the country rebuilt its home army. This was going to be a deadly game of distance and speed.
AMUR RIVER, SIBERIA
On the first day of the Manchurian Invasion, Jake figured everything would be down to a science, especially with the American veterans.
He’d had known it wouldn’t be so, but he hadn’t expected such a screwy beginning.
The sun crept up from the east before the artillery in their sector opened up. The tubes were supposed to have started two hours before dawn. No. They were late. Only the ground-attack planes and drones had started on time, roaring over them in the dark.
The platoon waited for the signal from company headquarters. The men huddled behind long bulrushes, the lazy Amur River hidden from sight. Each team had a six-man inflatable with a small motor in back.
As they waited, Chet kept checking the time.
“Don’t bother,” Jake told him. “When you hear the artillery you’ll know it’s for real.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Chet said. He kept checking until finally he lay down and closed his eyes, going to sleep.
Jake winked at Grant. The lanky black man just nodded. He looked zombie-tired, as he hated waking up in the dark.
Finally, with the sun peeking over the horizon, several artillery pieces boomed, lonely but impressive sounds. Maybe thirty seconds later, the entire north erupted with thunderous roars. The ground shook, and Chet sat up with a shout.
“It’s starting,” Jake told him.
Chet gazed at him open-mouthed. Soon, he scrambled to his feet and took his place around the dinghy.
Lieutenant Wans came by, a stocky man with an unshaven face. “Ten minutes,” he said. “Make sure you have everything in place.”
“We’re still crossing the Amur?” Jake asked.
Wans glanced at the inflatable before stalking off.
“Ask as stupid question,” Chet said.
Ten minutes passed, and no order came down. Finally, twenty minutes later, whistles blew.
Jake, Chet, Grant and the others grabbed the rope around the rubber dinghy. Their packs lay inside, along with their assault rifles, RPGs and a light machine gun.
“One, two, three, heave,” Jake said.
Using the rope, they lifted the dinghy off the ground and crashed through the bulrushes, flattening the long stalks. On either side of them, the rest of the platoon did likewise with their inflatables. The men rushed down to the northern shore of the Amur River.
Low rolling hills stood on either side of the broad river. It might have been an idyllic scene, if not for the violence to come.
Jake’s boots squished in mud. He was in front. With a heave, he threw the craft toward deeper water. Some of the others did likewise. The dingy splashed into the cold river, and Jake clambered aboard.
They were doing it. This was for real. Manchuria, gateway to China, baby.
As the others settled into place, Grant used his left thumb, starting the small outboard. It ring-ring-ringed to life like an angry lawnmower.
“Let’s go!” Chet shouted.
Jake settled in front, kneeling, and he nestled his assault rifle on his lap. The dinghy pushed forward through the black water. Then it went a little faster. The current caught the craft, trying to take them downstream. Grant compensated, heading for their landing zone marked on their map.
I’m crossing the Amur River into China. We’re really going to pay them back for coming to America.
All across the river, rubber boats moved for the Chinese shore. What’s more, the entire landscape on their side, the Siberian north, churned with movement. Tanks, IFVs, trucks, jeeps, military SUVs and marching men headed for pontoon bridges. All the while, American artillery pounded the Chinese shore and beyond. Explosions erupted over there and fires blazed.
“Look!” Jake shouted. He pointed at a house on the far shore. It blew apart with spectacular violence. Finally, the destruction was taking place in enemy territory, in Asia. It felt great. For years now, Jake had watched American buildings go down. Smaller sheds over there burned like marshmallows over a fire.
The Amur River was wide. Jake recalled his dad telling him about the old days in the 1960s. The communist Chinese and Russians used to have border skirmishes along this river. Now China faced the onslaught of United Europe, Russia heading the Slavic Coalition and a mad-as-hell United States of America.
Let’s see how the Chinese like them apples.
The outboard sputtered for a moment. Jake turned. With his open hand, Grant gave the engine a whack. It resumed its buzz and the boat surged ahead once more.
“This is it,” Jake told Chet. “We’re invading.”
“We haven’t reached there yet,” Chet said.
“Cheerful attitude.”
“Just calling it like I see it,” Chet said with a smirk.
Jake breathed the air. He smelled burning wood and the gasoline of their outboard. Chet was scared. Heck, so was he. They were going back to war again, but in a different part of the world.
We’re not in Kansas anymore.
Halfway across the river, Chet shouted at Jake. “What in the heck is that?”
Jake glanced at Chet. The soldier pointed toward the enemy shore. With a start, Jake realized a young kid stepped out from behind some bulrushes on the Manchurian side. The kid wore a wide-brimmed straw hat and waved to them.
“He’s crazy,” Chet said. “Doesn’t he know what those artillery shells are? They’re pulverizing his side.”
Jake nodded. The kid must be loony.
“Better shoot him.”
Jake turned around in shook. “You’re crazy. I’m not shooting an unarmed kid.”
“You never heard stories about Vietnam?”
“Come on,” Jake said. “Are you kidding me? You want to gun down a little kid? We’re soldiers, not barbarian Mongols fighting under Genghis Khan.”
“You’d better wise up, Jake. This is China. We’r
e not liberating them from anything, but invading their stinking country. Don’t doubt they’re going to pull every trick in the book they can.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this.”
Along with a swarm of others, the dinghy headed for shore, and Jake kept his eyes peeled for enemy soldiers. He kept turning back to the kid, who continued to move his hand up and down. Was the kid a lookout for Chinese infantry? That seemed unlikely. Any Chinese grunt would be a nutcase to be out here, but one never knew.
“This is stupid,” Chet said. “I’m finishing this.” He lifted his assault rifle, aiming at the kid.
“No!” Jake said, grabbing the end of the barrel and pulling it down.
“You idiot!” Chest shouted, ripping the gun out of Jake’s grip. “Don’t ever grab my rifle again.”
A different dinghy neared the watching kid. He couldn’t be any older than ten, maybe eleven years. He stood on a rise of ground, watching as if enthralled.
Suddenly, to Jake’s horror, the kid pulled a hand grenade out of a pouch at this side. He struggled with the pin.
“Shoot him!” Chet shouted. He raised his rifle, the muzzle even with Jake’s head, and he fired.
The reports were deafening, and Jake jerked away, covering his ears.
The kid tossed the grenade underhanded. It sailed through the air and splashed just short of the nearest dinghy. A column of water blew harmlessly into the air. Then several Americans shot the kid at once.
Jake swore. He didn’t want it to be this kind of war. At the same moment, an ancient machine gun opened up over there. It was hidden in the higher reeds. The machine gun sounded like a wounded woodpecker. That still made it deadly. Bullets stitched the water, the spouts rapidly closing toward their dinghy.
“Jump!” Chet shouted, and he leaped, rocking the craft.
Jake snarled as he squinted at the reeds. A glint of metal showed him where the enemy had set up. He released his assault rifle, twisted around and grabbed an RPG lying in the middle of the boat.
Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5) Page 26