Red Dragon (Winds of War Book 3)

by William Dietz

  His first stop was at a prepay gas station. A bored looking woman sat in a tiny kiosk. “Ration card,” she said, as Tong offered his money.

  Tong didn’t have a ration card. He offered a five-dollar bill instead. “Here it is,” he said with a wink.

  The woman made it disappear. “How much do you want?”

  “A thousand rupees.”

  “Use pump three.”

  After filling the tank Tong checked to see what was stored in the motorcycle’s built-in tool box. The answer was an oily rag, a pair of pliers, and a screw driver.

  Then it was time to cruise the back streets until Tong found a bike parked by some shrubs and a trash bin. It was a simple matter to switch license plates and depart for the community of Digura Jot. It was late afternoon by then, and nightfall was only hours away.

  The bike was underpowered by Tong’s standards. But it was still fun to ride, and as the suburbs fell behind him, Tong found himself out in the country with farmland to the left and right. Or what had been farmland.

  Now it was a desolate place dotted with wrecked military vehicles, trenches, barbed wire and empty gun emplacements. All of which suggested a hard-fought battle followed by a mutual withdrawal. Forever? No, that seemed unlikely.

  Tong passed a huge temple on the right. An enormous gold Buddha sat atop it, one hand raised, as if in a blessing. For Tong? No, he thought, for anyone other than me. The monument was untouched however, as if both sides had been careful to spare it.

  More farmland lay beyond. And as the river got closer the destruction became worse. The road ran straight as an arrow. But it was littered with wrecks that forced Tong to weave in and out between them. A flatbed truck loaded with fifteen or twenty people went by in the opposite direction at one point. Where had they come from? There was no way to know.

  It was nearly dark by the time Tong passed through the remains of Digura Jot. The town had been obliterated. Crater overlapped crater. And that forced Tong to proceed slowly. His headlight probed ahead of him, which meant that smugglers, if any, would see him coming—but it hardly mattered. The engine was loud enough to be heard all around.

  Then the dirt track veered to the left and took Tong out across what he judged to be a flood plain. And there, twinkling in the distance, were half a dozen lights. As Tong drew closer, he realized that the lights were campfires. The soft glow threw light onto military-style tents, piles of equipment collected from the surrounding battlefield, and a flatbed truck similar to the one he’d seen earlier. Were the trucks functioning as buses? To transport the people who made their way across the bridge? Tong thought so. And, if they could cross, he could too.

  Tong stopped well short of the fires, turned the bike off, and deployed the kickstand. Then he drew both pistols and held them muzzles down along the sides of his legs. Three men emerged from the shadows. One was wearing a PLA helmet, another was sporting a night vision device, and the third had a bandage wound around his head. All were armed with assault weapons and silhouetted by the firelight. “You!” the man in the middle of the group said loudly. “Come here!”

  Tong raised the right-hand pistol and shot the man in the head. Then he switched to full-auto. The hand gun jerked wildly as Tong fired, but it didn’t matter. Not at relatively close range. A hail of bullets knocked the other men off their feet.

  Some of the female onlookers screamed. Then they ran, often with one, two, or three children in tow. Tong let them go.

  After replacing the empty magazine Tong returned the weapon to its holster. Next, with the other pistol in his left hand, the agent made his way forward to where the man with the night vision device lay.

  Tong paused to look around, saw no threats, and knelt long enough to pull the equipment off the dead man’s head. After that it was a simple matter to put the night vision monocular on and follow a well-trodden path along the sand-drifted road. A bullet riddled sign announced the bridge up ahead. The greenish structure gradually took form as he drew closer.

  Tong thought the span was intact at first. But, as the assassin drew closer, he saw that wasn’t the case. A twisted mass of metal stretched across the river.

  At that point Tong had to face his fear. Because if there was a fate worse than falling off something high, and landing in a swiftly flowing river in the darkness, Tong couldn’t imagine what it was. But that was a chance he’d have to take.

  Tong holstered the second pistol, leaving both hands free prior to stepping onto the sway-back plank that led out to a concrete pillar. The wood sagged as Tong inched his way forward. It felt good to step onto solid cement.

  But another challenge was waiting, and that consisted of a four-foot gap which Tong would have to jump to reach the section of steel plate on the far side. And there was very little space in which to get a running start. But Tong took advantage of what there was, took three running steps, and jumped. Metal rattled as he landed.

  Careful, lest he fall, Tong stepped onto a beam that slanted upwards. Pieces of red cloth had been tied around uprights to mark the correct path. And it wasn’t long before they led Tong off the beam and onto a horizontal section of steel that disappeared into the darkness.

  There were no handholds on either side. Just sheer drop-offs with the rushing river below. Tong could hear the water burbling and chuckling as it swirled around a concrete support column. Don’t look down, he told himself. Place one foot in front of the other.

  Arms outstretched, Tong took a step out onto the beam. A breeze was blowing from the north. He wobbled, managed to recover, and took another step. Foot-by-foot and yard-by-yard Tong made his way over the chasm until he could step onto a section of pavement.

  And that’s where the bird-pecked body lay. The man was face down at the center of what had once been a pool of blood, but had since dried into a brown halo, which would eventually wear away. There was no telling who he was or why he’d been killed. Nor did Tong care about anything other than reaching the far end of the badly mangled span.

  After traversing 30 feet of concrete Tong arrived at the point where the next slab slanted down to rest on the railroad tracks that ran under the road. He was halfway down the slope when he heard a whistling sound, followed by a loud car-ump, as an artillery shell fell on the already mangled bridge.

  What remained of the structure shook madly causing Tong to lose his footing and land on his butt. As the assassin slid downwards there was the very real risk he’d miss the single railroad track and tumble into the river. Tong rolled to the right and came to a stop as his feet made contact with a wooden tie.

  Then another shell struck the bridge and Tong heard metal groan. He struggled to his feet. Run! He thought. Run like hell. Some of the ties were missing. So, it was best to scamper along the rails themselves, relying on speed and coordination to stay upright.

  Tong could see lights ahead. More campfires? He had no way to know as his feet found a level stretch of track complete with ties.

  There was a BOOM followed by a pressure wave that threw Tong forward. He landed hard. Metal creaked, groaned, and the bridge began to shriek as countervailing forces ripped the span apart. Tong shouted the orders out loud to himself. “Get up! Move!”

  He was running full out, arms pumping, when the span collapsed into the West Rapti River. And that’s when Tong tripped and fell. He was about to rise when a combat boot landed on his back. “Well, look what we have here,” a voice said in Mandarin. “A smuggler. Maybe Lieutenant Wei will let us use him for target practice.”

  “No,” a second voice said, “I won’t. Captain Xiao will want to interrogate him. Search him.”

  It was only a matter of seconds before the PLA trooper found the pistols, the grenades, the extra magazines--and three ID cards. All of which bore Tong’s photo over different names. Lieutenant Xiao made use of a flashlight to examine one of them before directing the beam of light into Tong’s eyes. “Who are you?”

  “Contact your battalion level Intel officer,” Tong replied as t
he pistols were removed from their holsters. “Tell him that you are holding Red Dragon eight-four-seven.”

  An artillery shell landed in the river, exploded, and threw a column of water high into the air. Xiao didn’t bother to look. “Take him to the command bunker and place him under guard.”

  Tong didn’t bother to object. Doing so would be pointless. It would take time for the local commander to contact battalion staff, and for them to contact the MSS, and for them to respond. In the meantime, Tong could take a pee, get something to eat--and celebrate the fact that he was still alive. He went peacefully.

  After being interrogated by an intelligence officer, who clearly didn’t believe the minimal amount of information the agent gave him, Tong was placed in a stockade where PLA miscreants of every description awaited their various fates. Some sought to victimize Tong.

  That stopped when the agent chose to make an example of a thief named Wu. A headbutt sent Wu staggering backward, a chest kick put him down, and a foot on Wu’s chest kept him there. Tong removed the boot and offered a hand. Wu took it, jumped to his feet, and bowed to the other prisoners. They laughed and the incident was over. No one bothered Tong after that.

  The stockade was open to the elements. It rained, dirt turned to mud, and the only thing Tong could do was sit on an empty bucket--and wait for the misery to end.

  A day and a half passed. And Tong was beginning to wonder if the bureaucratic beast had forgotten about him, when a guard called his name, and sent him off to take a shower. The water was cold and ran brown with dirt. A new PLA field uniform sans insignia, and a pair of boots in Tong’s size, were waiting for him after he toweled off.

  Once dressed, a guard escorted Tong out of the stockade to the point where two soldiers and a CSK-131 light tactical vehicle were waiting. “Good afternoon, sir,” a sergeant said. “My name is Shi. Major Shan Wang sent us here to pick you up.”

  “And who,” Tong inquired, “is Major Wang?”

  Shi frowned, as if everyone should know who Wang was, and apologize if they didn’t. “Major Wang commands the Leishen Thunder God Commando Airborne Force,” Shi replied.

  Although Tong hadn’t heard of Wang, he was familiar with the Leishen Commando group, which though not as well known, was said to be on a par with organizations like the Green Berets, the British Special Air Service, and Russia’s Spetsnaz.

  Shi had a special ops patch on his sleeve. Tong extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sergeant. And you too Corporal.”

  After shaking hands Shi got behind the wheel, Tong sat in the passenger seat, while the corporal manned the pintle-mounted machine gun in back. A road led east from the point where the bridge had been. But the road had been cratered and cracked by heavy equipment usage. All of which made for a bumpy ride.

  Tong saw Chinese troops. Lots of them. Some on bulldozers, some driving graders, all working to do what? Maybe a soldier would know but the purpose of their labors wasn’t obvious to Tong. Trucks were arriving though… And all were heavily loaded.

  After what felt like a long ride, but was actually not more than five or six miles, the CSK-131 arrived at a badly damaged factory. A sign hung askew. It read, “Khatri Designs.” A textile mill? Tong thought so. But that was in the past. Now, from all appearances, it was a military encampment. The perimeter was protected by a much-repaired cyclone fence.

  A Chinese LD 2000 SHORAD (Short Range Air Defense) unit, similar to the American C-RAM systems, was parked inside the wire, ready to defend the complex from incoming rockets, artillery and mortars with its seven-barreled 20mm Gatling-style cannon. A low one- story concrete building was visible beyond.

  There was a hand lettered plaque attached to the gate. The image on it consisted of a stylized sword and thunderbolt. It seemed that the Thunder God Commando was anything but shy. And, Tong wondered if that description would apply to the unit’s CO as well.

  A sentry pulled the gate open and Shi drove through. Tong was expecting some sort of security check but there was none. Not for Sergeant Shi anyway.

  The utility vehicle took them past the LD 2000, and over to the building, where a huge sliding door had been opened for them. The interior was partially lit by evenly spaced skylights. Mechanized textile looms occupied most of the floor to the right while a raised loading dock ran along the left side of the CSK. Shi brought the vehicle to a stop and got out. Tong did likewise. A set of stairs led up to the top of the dock. Why am I here? Tong wondered. I should be on my way to Beijing. More than that, I want to go to Beijing.

  A corridor led past offices to a door labeled “Plant Manager” in English. It was open, but Shi paused to knock, and announce himself. “Sergeant Shi and Mr. Fan Tong.”

  Tong took note of the fact that Shi knew his actual name and felt free to use it. Was that an error? Or had a decision been made for him to operate in the open? There was no way to tell.

  The reply came quickly. “Enter.”

  Shi stood to one side. Tong entered. The officer seated behind the desk had what looked like a cap made out of black hair. Not a single hair was out of place.

  The man had narrow set eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. They were turned down at the corners. A foreboding appearance indeed. But as he rose to circle around his desk a smile appeared on his lips. “Agent Tong… I’m Major Wang. It’s an honor to meet you! Welcome to the Thunder God Commando.”

  Wang’s grip was firm to the point of being painful. “Thank you, Major,” Tong replied. “I hope you’ll excuse my ignorance, but I’ve been out of touch with my department for days. Can you give me any news regarding the other members of my team? And when we’ll be heading back to Beijing?”

  “Please,” Wang said, as he returned to his chair. “Have a seat.”

  Tong sat on a rolling office chair. He could tell that Wang was stalling. Why?

  Wang formed a steeple with his fingers. “I’m sorry to say that I have some bad news for you. Agent Han Hoi was intercepted by Indian police. He fought bravely but was killed.”

  Tong’s spirits fell. Hoi was the member of the team he relied on the most, and felt closest to. “And Wu?”

  “She crossed the front line about 50-miles south of here and vanished. I assume she’s in Beijing by now.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Tong said truthfully.

  “And you’re wondering about yourself,” Wang suggested.

  “I am,” Tong admitted.

  “That’s quite understandable,” Wang replied. “The answer is that you have been seconded to my battalion--with the temporary rank of captain.”

  Tong didn’t want to be a captain in the PLA but couldn’t say that. “I see. May I ask why?”

  “You may,” Wang replied. “Together with your team you killed the Dalai Lama, and by doing so, eliminated an enemy of the people. Unfortunately, you will almost certainly have to kill him, or an individual purported to be him, again.

  “In fact,” Wang continued, “we have reason to believe that the Allies are about to search for the reincarnated Dalia Lama. That’s rubbish of course… Especially since the real Dalai Lama has been found in Tibet.

  “But the Allies will claim that incarnation is fake, and theirs is real. And, if enough Buddhists believe them, it could cause unrest in China—and shift worldwide public opinion against us.”

  Tong had heard it all before. “So, I’m to find the baby and kill it.”

  “Yes,” Wang replied. “But there’s likely to be additional work for you as well. Now that we have pacified Bhutan and Bangladesh, it’s time for what some of our leaders call ‘The Big Push,’ meaning the effort to take full control of India.

  “The plan is for the 47th Infantry Division to enter Nepal via the border crossing at Kodari. From there they will follow Highway HO3 to Kathmandu. But the trip will be difficult.

  “HO3 is one of the most dangerous highways in Nepal due to extremely steep slopes on both sides of the road from Bahrabise onwards. Landslides are common when it rains
. And, if the Allies insert special operators into this area, they could make the situation even worse.

  “That’s where you come in. Even as you carry out your primary mission you, and your men, will almost certainly have opportunities to support the Big Push.”

  “My men?” Tong inquired.

  “Yes. Sergeant Shi will help you select a squad of eight men, all of whom will be Thunder God Commandos, and therefore the best-of-the-best.” Wang stood, circled the desk, and offered his hand. “Welcome to the PLA.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Hathwat, Nepal

  The nunnery in Hathwat was one of the oldest in Nepal. It was located on the top of a hill, and practically invisible in the darkness. It had an emergency helo pad, centered in a triangle of brightly burning fires, all of which threw sparks up into the air.

  The Mi-17’s pilots made use of their night vision gear as they circled the hilltop, their eyes searching for any sign of an ambush. “I see a group of people,” the pilot said over the intercom. “But none appear to be armed.”

  “That would be Abbess Jeetjang and her nuns,” Jangchup put in.

  Lee hoped the lama was correct. He had a headset and spoke into the mike. “Go ahead and land,” he ordered. “But tell your door gunners to keep their eyes peeled.”

  Lee made eye contact with Jangchup as the helo touched down. “You can leave the aircraft,” Lee said. “But everyone else will help unload.”

  The soldiers formed a human chain and passed box-after-box to the door. Kwan stood and watched until Lee ordered her to help.

  Once all of the supplies were off Lee went forward to visit the pilots. “Thanks for the ride fellas. Have a beer at the O-club for me.”

  All three of them knew that the trip to Trishul would be iffy. And the pilots might not make it. But there was no reason to say so.

  After thanking the gunners Lee jumped to the ground and went over to stand by a fire. The air was cold and the heat felt good. Flames jumped and sparks swirled as the helicopter took off. The engine noise was dying away as Lee turned to Jangchup. “The Chinese have night capable surveillance planes not to mention drones. So it’s important to move everything off the pad and under cover.”