Our Next Great War

by Martin Archer

  It was not to be.

  ****** Captain Jerry Carpenter

  Late in the afternoon our unhappy little band of hungry Russians and Americans crossed the valley and began moving up the other side through the trees. A few minutes later, Vern and I were following the long Russian skirmish line of searchers into a particularly heavy stand of trees. Vern and I were wearing the field jackets Generals Evans and Safford had taken off and handed us when they boarded one of the Russian helicopters to go back to headquarters.

  Suddenly there was a brief rattle of gunfire and one of the Russian kids walking off to the right of us flopped over backwards without saying a word.

  I hit the ground along with everyone else. There was a very brief silence followed by heavy firing all up and down the Russian line. It was the knee jerk reaction of green troops; the two or three I could see looked to be aiming at the tops of the trees instead of into them. Then there was lots of shouting and swearing, obviously “cease fire” orders, from the Russian officers and the handful of senior NCOs.

  I watched as one of the Russian officers who had greeted Chernenko when we landed yesterday, the young one, came running along the line to my right yelling at his men. He was obviously telling them to stop firing when there was another burst of firing and he cartwheeled down right in front of us. I could hear rounds whooshing overhead as I crawled forward to check him out. Nope. No hope. He’s gone.

  “You okay, boss?”

  “Yeah,” I called back to Vern. “You?”

  “I’m okay. What ya think?”

  “I think we found the Chinese and need to keep our asses down.” Jeez. This is exciting.

  “You got that right.”

  ******

  “Well that’s that, thought Lieutenant Bao. They know where we are.

  “Sergeant Shen. Order the men to pull back about three hundred meters and take defensive positions behind the bigger trees. We’ll break contact and pull back to our base camp as soon as it gets dark and their helicopters can’t see which way we’re heading.

  “And bring me the anti-aircraft missile Private Hong is carrying as soon as it gets dark. I’ll carry it from now on.”

  ******

  Our three helicopter gunships repeatedly raked the area in front of the Russian line until the sun went down, and periodically for some time thereafter until they ran out of ammo. It was a very impressive show—and totally useless because they couldn’t see the Chinese and neither could we. They were probably long gone.

  Vern and I and all the Russians spent the entire cold night shivering flat on the ground and worrying that the gunships would shoot us up in the dark. It was worrisome because we had no flares to mark our positions and we didn’t know if the Chinese were coming at us in the dark or not. None of the Russian troops had night sights on their weapons.

  Several times during the night a nervous Russian began firing and everyone else got spooked and joined in until the officers could stop them. Towards morning a helicopter arrived and began dropping flares about a mile ahead of us where its crew thought there might be a Chinese position. But we still couldn’t see anything and neither could the helicopter crew.

  There was a lot of shouting and blowing of whistles as the first light of dawn came up and a long line Russians once again began to slowly and carefully move forward. I motioned emphatically for Vern and our Russians to stay down and we all did.

  Vern and I finally stood up when the Russian line got far enough ahead of us; I was stiff as a board and my teeth were chattering. The field jacket General Safford took off and gave me before he left helped but it sure wasn’t enough.

  Ivan the interpreter was nowhere to be found. Then a runner came up and motioned for us to follow him. He led us to Chernenko who was walking with one of the Russian captains about fifty yards behind the slowly advancing line.

  Chernenko shook his head in disgust as we walked up.

  “Gone. The Chinese are gone. The pulled out in the night. So far we’ve found a couple of very dead Chinese and one very seriously wounded man who must have been lost in the darkness and abandoned. They were probably hit yesterday afternoon when the gunships raked the area to our front.”

  “Now what, Colonel,” I asked.

  “We are going to go forward and try to make contact, of course.” Sounds like the right move to me. Vern agreed.

  ******

  The Russians moved very slowly and very carefully throughout the morning as we followed the tracks of the Chinese and the terrain got rougher and rougher. Nothing. The ever-present helicopters searching in front of us couldn’t find anything either.

  Everything changed about mid-day as the line of Russians swept across an open meadow area towards another big stand of trees. There was a loud bang as a shot was fired somewhere off to our left, and then two more shots.

  Vern and I hit the ground and looked at each other. So did our little band of troopers even though most of the Russians just stood there and watched; our guys had been told to follow our lead and do whatever we do. We went down so they did too.

  “Was that one of ours or one of theirs?” I asked.

  The answer came in an instant as the Russians on the left opened a ragged volley of return fire.

  “Well the Russians seem to think it was one of theirs,” Vern replied with a bit of irony in his voice. A few seconds later the two helicopters patrolling over the forest three or four miles in front of us suddenly swing around and come back towards us. The other one seems to have disappeared. Probably went back to refuel again.

  We were up on our elbows watching the two choppers come towards us when two thin streaks of smoke flashed out of the trees behind them and rise towards the helicopters. They didn’t have a chance. One exploded in a great ball of fire and the other staggered drunkenly towards the ground in ever widening circles.

  “Oh shit,” grunted Vern as we put our heads back tight against the ground and looked at each other.

  Sporadic firing started up all along the Russian line and some of the Russian troops instinctively stood up and started to run towards the crash sites. This time there was a Chinese response, a big response; I could see the flash and flames of small arms fire coming from the tree line ahead of us and to our left.

  ******

  “We’re too exposed here,” I shouted to Vern. “We’ve got to get into the tree line.” He nodded and began crawling.

  I began crawling forward and to the right. After I’d gone about thirty yards, and scrapped up my knees and elbows pretty good, I looked back and could see Vern and most of our little band of Russians crawling along behind me. I couldn’t see many of the other Russians but those few I could see don’t seem to be moving, although some are firing back—mostly into the air from the way they’re holding their weapons.

  We need to run some weapons training for these guys when we get back to base. Aim the fucking things.

  A couple of minutes later I crawled into the trees and lay flat on the ground behind a tree trunk while I tried to catch my breath. Vern was about twenty yards away and a half dozen or more wide-eyed Russian teenagers were on the ground between us. The guy closest to me has clearly pissed his pants and lost his rifle. But at least he had the good sense to follow me as he’d been ordered instead of staying out in the open to get shot. Okay now what?

  “If we stay close to the tree line we’re likely to get shot by the Russians,” I shouted to Vern. “So we’ve got to move into the trees a bit more.” He gave me a thumbs up and began crawling forward and to his right. I motioned for the Russians to follow him and began crawling deeper into the woods myself.

  After a bit I got off my belly and began to move slowly forward in a very low crouch. I was about twenty yards to the left of Vern. The Russians repeatedly bunched together behind us despite my periodic pointing at guys and waving for them to spread out. I’m more like to get shot by one of these guys than the Chinese. So I waved them forward until we were more or less in a line.

&
nbsp; The sound of the firing got softer and softer and more and more to our left as we moved deeper into the trees. Finally, I waved to Vern and the Russians to indicate I want them to make a sweeping turn to the left. It was time to go hunting.

  After a few yards I stopped everyone and, staying low, went from man to man spacing out the Russians and checking the readiness of their weapons. Six of them were now in two man teams between me and Vern; one of the Russian kids was at each end of the line teamed with me and Vern; and the one guy with no weapon was following about ten yards directly behind me.

  We started moving cautiously through the trees after Vern and I finish checking everyone’s assault rifle to make sure it was loaded and ready to go with the safety off. Damn, this really is exciting.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Russians increase their efforts.

  According to the satellite photos, Russia’s run-down naval base on the Black Sea at Krasnodar Krai was humming with activity for the first time since the end of Turkish War. To everyone’s surprise, Turkey responded to America’s pleas and promises by unexpectedly giving permission for the Russian remnants of the once mighty Black Sea Fleet to transit the Bosphorus and Dardanelles. It was the first time Russian warships have been allowed passage in many years. Maybe it’s General Bezman’s way of thanking us for saving his ass at the hotel. Or maybe it’s just that the Turkish generals like the idea of the Russians and Chinese killing each other.

  The Russians didn’t have many functioning ships in the Black Sea, just three guided missile frigates, a couple of big landing ships, a couple of attack subs, and some smaller surface vessels. According to the photos, they were also loading a number of sea-going civilian ferries that had been pressed into service. The fleet had been significantly larger a few months earlier but much of it had been based at Sevastopol and had been claimed by the once again independent countries of Ukraine and Georgia just as it had when the earlier Soviet Union fell apart.

  The activity around the two landing ships, the Saratov and Orsk, appeared to be particularly intense. Both were loading armored vehicles and troops bound for Vladivostok half the world away. They would be escorted by the three similarly overloaded missile frigates. And although their captains didn’t know it yet, and probably never would, they would also be escorted by several American attack subs. The current plan was for them to be refueled at sea by one of our navy’s fleet oilers based in Osaka, the Sacramento, before they entered the Sea of Japan.

  Thirty-six hours later the Russian crews and the troops they were carrying marveled at the lights of Istanbul after the little convoy passed in the night through the Bosphorus and into the Marmara Sea.

  We heard about the civilian ferries being allowed to pass through the Bosphorus with troops and equipment but, for some reason, neither General Danovsky nor I found out about the equipment and troops on the Black Sea frigates and landing ships until they were halfway to China. Everyone assumed we’d been told by someone else. But every little bit helps and we hoped the troops and equipment they were carrying would reach Vladivostok in time to make a difference.

  ****** General Richard Evans

  I looked up from trying to help Susan put a “yucky” worm on her hook when I heard the splash and my son's shout as a fish broke the surface of the pond.

  “Wow... I think you’ve got a big one, John Christopher…Don’t jerk…Reel him in… very slow. ..Good boy… You’ve got him.”

  Little John’s eyes were as big as saucers as his fish flopped around on the grass. “Can I show it to Mom?” He asked.

  “Sure. And tell her that Dad said you’d caught a nice fish for our dinner. She’ll be really proud of you….And tell your mom that I said that if you ask her real nice she’ll show you how to clean it… Whoa. Wait a minute. Let’s get him off the hook first.”

  Twenty minutes later a laughing Ann asked, “Did you tell John Christopher I was supposed to show him how to clean that thing?”

  “Yes,” I confessed with a guilty smile. Caught.

  “Well,” she smiled back with a wicked grin, “I told him that the rule in this family is that whoever catches the fish has to clean them and that you would show him how. He’s waiting in the kitchen, sweetie. And then two light bulbs need to be changed in the hallway ceiling.”

  It is so good to be home.

  ******

  A helicopter landed in the pasture in front of the house and flew me through the rain to Brussels in the morning. Tony Perelli and I are going to spend much of the day going over the decisions needed to conduct the almost normal business of a newly peaceful NATO. Tony is the American deputy commander. He stands in for me when I’m in Russia or otherwise not available.

  Our big effort of the moment is to see that all the NATO troops, and particularly everyone’s dead and the wounded still in the military hospitals, are transported back home as quickly as possible. As far as I’m concerned it’s happening too slowly for the American troops, but there is nothing much that can be done to speed up the process since the White House released the civilian airliners back to the airlines.

  Turkey seems to be doing okay. The Turkish refugees have pretty much already gotten back to their abandoned homes and businesses and the recovery seems to be going more smoothly than expected—helped, probably, because the Turks have so much experience with refugees.

  Winning the war together has certainly brought our allies closer, at least temporarily. According to this morning’s Le Monde newspaper there is even talk among the bureaucrats of European Union of requiring its member states to give up control of their finances and adopt a common budget. It doesn’t seem like a very good idea to me. What will they do if Germany needs more spending to fight unemployment and the French need less to fight inflation? I bet the Brits are glad they finally exited from the the EU and got out from under its increasingly absurd regulations.

  Where there was real unity already was in the determination of Germany and France not to provide assistance to the Russians. There was no way they were going to get involved in the fight between the Russians and the Chinese. Even the Brits abandoned the idea; they had joined the United States in repudiating the treaty Secretary Hoffman negotiated with Russia, but they did not step back in unofficially the way we did.

  On a somewhat brighter side, the Turks were continuing to return the unused Israeli missiles The Detachment supplied to them even though they knew we intended to send them to the Russians.

  Turkey's senior general at NATO and I talked about the Turkish returns as we walked into our two o’clock NATO briefing. I admitted to him that it would not have surprised me at all if Turkey had dragged its heels about returning the SAMs and ATMs in order to hurt Russia. And he admitted he wasn’t happy about his president's order to do it—but said he understood and agreed with our concern about letting the dictators of lawless China get even more powerful.

  ******

  Lieutenant Bao was scratching the lice in his crotch with his left hand and watching his front with binoculars held in his right when heavy firing suddenly broke out on his left.

  “We’re being flanked,” he instantly shouted. “Fall back to the rally point.”

  It was in an isolated location about ten kilometers to the rear on the west side of the mountain behind us. None of the Chinese had ever been there, but the lieutenant had told them how to find it by looking at the top of the mountain. They were trained and understood.

  The Chinese troops immediately picked up their packs, at least some of them did, and started desperately running to the rear. They poured through the heavy trees in front of us—and those coming from the left side of the Chinese line became vulnerable and easy to hit as they ran right along the front of the little skirmish line of Russians which suddenly materialized on their right.

  Thirty or so of the Chinese closest to us, the ones we could see as they came across our front, were easy pickings. Vern rarely missed and the Russians and I did almost as well—most of the Chinese nearest t
o us didn’t make it through our fire.

  The remaining Chinese farther out ran like hell and quickly disappeared into the distant trees. Suddenly it became very quiet; not a sound in the forest except the distinctive metallic clicks as new magazines were inserted into some of the Russian assault rifles.

  I was smiling as I turned around to check out the teams between me and Vern. And that lasted until I saw the unarmed Russian kid who had been dutifully following along behind me. He was flat on his back in a pile of pine needles looking at the sky with unblinking eyes. Shit.

  After a long pause while we carefully searched the forest in front of us and listened to the running footsteps of the last of the Chinese, we began moving slowly and carefully forward.

  Almost immediately there was a burst of fire from Vern and a brief scream. Everyone froze and I quickly stepped behind a tree trunk—and tripped over a root sticking out of the ground and damn near let go of my weapon as I fell and smacked my face into a protruding tree root. I desperately scurried backwards on my hands and knees to get behind the tree.

  Whoa that hurts. Breathe deeply. Get a hold of yourself.

  ******

  It wasn’t until almost two hours later that Chernenko and the main force of Russians finally reached us. There was almost a friendly fire exchange as they slowly moved through the trees and approached us.

  After more than a little shouting back and forth, the first of Chernenko’s nervously advancing main force came into the clearing where we were gathering the dead and wounded Chinese and their weapons. Our guys were more than a little puffed up about their success and there was a lot of loud hand-waving explanations and pointing at the dead and wounded Chinese.

  The happy chatter slowly tailed to a halt and turned into curses as Vern walked into the clearing with our dead Russian teenager slung over his shoulder. Willing hands reach to out to lower him to the ground amidst the muttered curses of the new arrivals.