Red Dragon (Winds of War Book 3)

by William Dietz

  The helicopters were Russian made Mil Mi-24 attack helicopters which could carry eight passengers each. Soviet pilots referred to them as “flying tanks,” because they were built to take a lot of punishment, and to dish it out as well. In this case that meant chin-mounted Yak-B Gatling guns, plus pylon-mounted 9M114 Kokon radio-guided anti-tank missiles, four per ship. And they, Wang felt sure, would crack the turtle’s shell.

  The team was prepared for an attack. Or as prepared as such a small group could be. There were 13 people in all. But of that number only 10 of them were soldiers. And that included Kwan, who might or might not be available for combat.

  But all of them had light “bugout” packs which were ready to go at all times, personal radios, and weapons for the combatants. And most of them were ready when the first missile struck the outside wall. They felt the explosion through the soles of their boots, heard a dull thump, and knew they were in serious trouble. An infantry assault on one end of the tunnel would be bad, attacks on both entrances would be terrible, and a successful effort to destroy the tunnel itself would be nothing less than disastrous.

  That’s why Smith-Peet had what he called “Plan Z.” And, as a second missile struck the wall, he put the plan into action. The last car on the west side of the tunnel was a passenger car, which thanks to many hours of work, had been converted into a rolling fortress. The inside walls were lined with railroad ties, steel plates protected most of the roof, and machineguns were mounted two to a side. “All aboard!” Smith-Peet shouted, as another missile slammed into the mountainside. Chunks of rock fell from the ceiling this time—and a shaft of early morning light streamed in through a hole in the wall.

  “Blow the charge!” Smith-Peet ordered. The C-4 charges were ready. And as they went off, the explosions destroyed the “plug” at the west end of the tunnel, and sent splinters of wood shooting outwards.

  There wasn’t enough room for a helicopter to land on the snow-covered tracks. So, Wang and the eight men riding with him had roped to the ground. And as they surged forward a second helo began to drop more troops behind them. Meanwhile, the same evolution was taking place at the east end of the tunnel. We have them in a vise, Wang thought, as he led his men forward.

  Then came was a series of explosions that sent daggers of wood flying through the air. A splinter struck Wang’s chest and threw him to the ground. As he lay there, staring at the helicopter floating above, he began to cry.

  Other men had been cut down as well, reducing the squad to only four, all firing their weapons into the dust and smoke that obscured the entrance to the tunnel.

  Smith-Peet was standing on the platform located at the back end of the car. A metal enclosure had been added to protect the otherwise vulnerable position. Bullets clanged on steel and ricocheted away. “Release the brake,” Smith-Peet ordered, as he fired through a slit.

  Staff Sergeant Thapa was unperturbed. “Sah, yes sah,” the noncom said, and he turned the big wheel. And somewhere, down below their feet, the car’s emergency brake was released.

  Nothing happened at first. But the car was sitting on a ten-percent grade. So gradually, like an old beast awakened from its sleep, the passenger car came to life. Metal squealed and a rocket launched grenade exploded as the boxy vehicle gathered speed.

  Smith-Peet could see through the rifle slit. And, as the smoke blew away, he saw bodies scattered across the tracks in front of him. Troops were visible beyond but, upon seeing the behemoth coming at them, hurried to get off the tracks. Smith-Peet fired at them and had the satisfaction of seeing two soldiers fall.

  Tears continued to stream down Wang’s face, as he managed to turn halfway over, and began to claw his way to safety. “No!” he shouted. “Stop! I order you to…” The sentence was punctuated by a scream as a rusty wheel severed both of the officer’s legs.

  Lee was standing on a platform with a FIM-92 surface-to-air missile resting on his shoulder. Thirty feet behind him Evers was doing the same. The weapons had been included in the K-MAX supply drop but had not been needed until then.

  The Mil Mi-24 fired a missile. But as with all radio guided missiles it was necessary for the pilot or gunner to keep his crosshairs on the target until the moment of impact. And as the helo was forced to bank or hit the mountain, the sight picture was lost, causing the Kokon missile to fly away.

  Not so with Lee’s heat-seeking fire-and forget Stinger. It homed in on the helicopter and exploded. A rotor flew off sending the helo corkscrewing into the canyon below. “Yee-haw!” Evers shouted. “Suck it assholes!”

  Tong along with two squads of eight men each had landed unopposed on the eastside of the tunnel by that time. A large wooden door blocked their way. The soldiers took cover as two explosive charges went off and hurled debris in every direction.

  Tong expected to face both machinegun fire and grenades as the smoke started to blow away. But nothing happened, until a series of muffled explosions was heard, followed by a loud boom.

  That was when Tong saw a smoking helicopter fall into the abyss on his left and knew that things weren’t going as planned. And where was Major Wang? The normally loquacious officer had been silent for quite a while.

  Sergeant Shi shouted, “Follow me!” and led his men into the tunnel.

  Tong hurried to catch up. Tracks led to a flat car with a generator sitting on it, a tank car which was presumably filled with fuel, and a line of stationary passenger cars. Light flooded in from the west end of the tunnel. And when Tong arrived there it was to see what looked like a slaughter yard beyond. A corporal came to meet him. “The enemy escaped on a train car, sir. And the helicopters are chasing it.”

  “Where is Major Wang?”

  “Dead, sir.”

  Tong looked up at the sky. Strangely, after snowing for days, it was clear. His eyes came back down. “Assign men to process the bodies. We’ll need names, ID tags, and photos.

  “And send a detail into the tunnel. Tell them to collect every piece of paper they find regardless of what’s on it. Computers, if any, should be handled with great care. Oh, and get video of the interior… Every foot of it. I’ll need that for my report.” The noncom hurried away.

  Tong went looking for a rock to sit on. Then, after fishing the pack of cigarettes out of an inside pocket, he lit one. It was a new habit and, if he lived long enough, might kill him. Tong smiled. But how likely was that?

  The passenger car was hurtling down a steep grade. Evers was thrown to one side as it entered a curve. The pursing helicopters disappeared for a moment, only to reappear in line, all banking in unison. What looked like sparks flew as the first ship fired its 12.7mm minigun. The pilot’s aim was good, damned good, as high explosive rounds followed the track toward the swaying train car and threatened to blow it off the tracks.

  Then Evers fired. And as the Stinger raced away, he ducked to get another launcher from Binsa, who was waiting below. Evers surfaced just in time to see his target explode.

  The ball of fire was just beginning to contract when the next attack helicopter blew through the steadily expanding halo of debris. That was a mistake. The second ship appeared to stagger as it hit something, faltered, and banked away. Flames poured out of the aircraft’s starboard engine as the pilot battled to maintain control.

  That left a single pursuer. Evers heard a tone and pulled the trigger. The helicopter pilot fired flares that were intended to lure the Stinger away from the attack ship, and the tactic worked. The missile chose to chase a flare. The result was a distant thud, and a puff of smoke, as the Stinger exploded.

  The helicopter continued to bore in. And that wasn’t all. The passenger car lost speed once the down grade became an upgrade. Then it rolled backwards and came to a stop. Cannon fire found the car and swept over it. The steel plates were enough to protect the occupants from one gun-run; Smith-Peet knew that the helo would circle around, and that the pilot was likely to fire rockets a second time around. “Get out!” Smith-Peet shouted, as he ran the length o
f the car. “Get out now!”

  Lee was carrying the remaining Stinger as he followed Ishya and the baby out through a side door. Bhadrapala was riding in a backpack, and inexplicably smiling, as he stared at Lee. Once outside the green beret found himself on a railway bridge. The narrow walkway ran parallel to the tracks and was there for the convenience of maintenance staff. A river boiled and jumped 100 feet below. “Watch out!” Shekhawat shouted. “The helo is coming back!”

  A pair of unguided rockets arrowed in. One of them hit the bridge—and the other missed. “Follow me!” Smith-Peet yelled, and ran west. Jangchup hurried to help Ishya while the rest of them brought up the rear.

  But once clear of the passenger car Lee turned to face the oncoming chopper. Rockets flared as it fired again, and Lee waited for them to hit, before pulling the trigger.

  The bridge sagged as a support gave way, Lee lost his footing, and was lying on his back when the helicopter exploded. Metal groaned and the bridge started to fold. Lee let go of the launcher as he felt himself begin to slide. He was pushing with his feet and trying to move uphill when a pair of hands grabbed his harness. “That won’t do,” Smith-Peet said, as he towed Lee to safety. “Well done Old Fruit. I think I’ll put you in for some sort of gong [medal].

  “There’s no rest for the wicked,” Smith-Peet announced cheerfully. “The enemy knows where we are. And once they regroup more aircraft will arrive. We need to clear the area and do so as quickly as possible. Staff Sergeant Thapa will be on point. Start walking.”

  Sim Bhanjyang Pass

  A full day had passed since the disastrous attack on the railroad tunnel. And after submitting a report to the regional headquarters organization, Tong had been ordered to report to Kathmandu for a one-on-one meeting with Colonel Xu. It wasn’t something he looked forward to, especially after all the negative comments by Major Wang, but there was no escaping it.

  Tong was the Thunder God Commando’s defacto XO, that in spite of the fact that he wasn’t regular army, and wanted to return to his duties with the MSS. And Tong planned to make that clear during the meeting with Xu.

  In the meantime, he was riding the 2014 Royal Enfield C5 “Desert Storm” motorcycle and enjoying the sense of freedom it provided. And that included the ability to ride east against the flow of traffic by weaving in and out of it.

  The process was both dangerous and messy. On more than one occasion Tong found himself in the wrong place, at the wrong time—which meant being doused with a sheet of freezing cold slush thrown his way by a passing truck. He was dressed for it though… And relished the challenge. So, bit by bit he worked his way east to Thaha, where he had lunch, before continuing on to Chitang to stay the night.

  All of the guest houses were full. So, the best Tong could do was to rent a mat on the floor of the local gymnasium. It came with a reasonably clean blanket. And that plus the clothing he wore was all Tong had to stay warm. Not that it was especially cold, thanks to the body heat generated by fifty or sixty people. The air was humid, heavy with the smell of wet wool, and so thick Tong could taste it.

  After six hours of sleep he was eager to get up and out. Breakfast consisted of a hot bowl of Thukpa (chicken noodle soup) purchased from a street vendor. The warmth of it felt good in Tong’s stomach as he freed the bike from three different locks and rode it to a PLA operated fuel bladder where he filled the tank.

  Then he was back on the highway. Traffic was flowing east at that point which made the ride to Chandragiri easier. From there it was on to Tinthana, followed by Kathmandu.

  Tong was tired and grateful for the tiny room at the PLA operated transit facility. That was where he spent the night. After a hot shower in the morning, he had breakfast with a mishmash of officers from every imaginable branch of the PLA. The chatter focused on the big battle that all of them felt was coming soon, the news that North Korea had formally joined the Axis, and the availability of prostitutes in Kathmandu.

  Then it was time to don a fresh uniform, clean his boots, and check his image in the cracked mirror. You look as good as you can, given the circumstances, Tong decided. Try not to say anything stupid.

  Taxies were in demand, but the local drivers liked to transport officers, who were more likely to tip. The cab was a tiny Suzuki Marutis, but adequate to Tong’s needs, and dropped him at the upscale Hyatt Regency.

  After paying the driver Tong made his way to the front entrance where a sergeant hurried to intercept him. “Good morning, sir… My name is Huang. My job is to provide visitors with assistance.”

  A special ID badge was hanging around Huang’s neck. And, since Tong didn’t have one, he was a visitor. As people came and went Tong could see that other greeters were sorting through the crowd. “My name is Tong,” he said. “I have an appointment to see Colonel Xu.”

  “Excellent,” Huang said. “Please follow me to the kiosk and I’ll check you in.”

  It took Huang no more than three minutes to check Tong’s ID, verify the officer’s appointment, and send him on his way. It soon became apparent that occupation forces had taken control of the entire hotel. Xu’s office was on the fifth floor and consisted of a two-room suite. What had been a sitting-area lounge functioned as a waiting room. Two officers were ahead of him. So, all Tong could do was sit down and wait.

  A full 45 minutes passed before the civilian secretary sent Tong into what had been a bedroom. It was furnished with a desk and three chairs. Tong came to attention and saluted. “Captain Tong, sir… Reporting as ordered.”

  Xu had a small frame and was, in Tong’s estimation, one of the many officers called out of retirement to perform administrative tasks. And that was fine except for one thing… The decisions that men like Xu made could have real-life effects on the battlefield. “Good morning,” Xu said, as he returned the salute. “Thank you for coming all this way. I know it isn’t easy, what with all the westbound traffic. Please have a seat.”

  So far, so good. Xu was a lot nicer than Wang had led him to believe. As Tong sat down, he saw that a manila folder bearing his name lay on Xu’s desk. That, he decided, could be good or bad. Xu cleared his throat and used a finger to push a pair of wire rimmed glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. “According to what I read, you are an MSS agent who wound up serving as an army officer largely because of a certain mission. A mission which has thus far been frustrated by a combination of bad luck and incompetence.” Tong didn’t like the sound of that. He started to sweat.

  “However,” Xu continued, “incompetence is what I would expect of my brother-in-law. But, according to your report, he died an honorable death. I will inform my sister.”

  Brother-in law? The conversation had taken an unexpected turn and Tong was trying to adjust. “Sir, yes sir. Major Wang died leading his men into battle.”

  Xu nodded. “Just out of curiosity, what did you think of the plan?”

  Tong shrugged. “I favored a different approach, sir. It was my recommendation that we torture the woman in front of the man who attempted to rescue her. Then, after extracting the necessary information, ground attack planes could have been used to destroy the tunnel and those in it.”

  Xu nodded. “Now that makes sense… Of course, had my brother-in-law been smart enough to listen to you he would be alive. So maybe it was all for the best.”

  Tong knew Wang and the dead commandos would disagree, but saw no reason to mention it, and didn’t.

  “Enough of that,” Xu said. “Let’s talk about you. The MSS is looking forward to getting you back and I’ll do everything I can to facilitate that. But, before we can turn you loose, I need to find a new CO and a new XO for the Thunder Gods. In the meantime, you will be in command. Please do what you can to rebuild the unit.

  “And, don’t forget your mission. I think we can assume that the Allies will use the baby Dalai Lama for propaganda purposes if they manage to smuggle the little bastard into India. And, since there’s been no sign of that, it seems safe to assume he’s in Nepal.”
r />   “Yes, sir,” Tong said, as he stood. “I’ll work on it.”

  “Good,” Xu said. “I could use more men like you. Your orders are available electronically—and a written copy will be sent to you.”

  Tong saluted and left. He could hardly believe his good fortune. Not only had he escaped any blame for what had been his idea, he was in command of the Thunder God Commandos. A position he planned to make very little of. Look busy and keep your head down, Tong told himself. As for right now, it’s time to find a girl, and have some fun. The sun was out, and Tong felt good.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  On a trail 45 miles east of the border with India.

  The group had been hiking for two days. And they were forty-five air miles away from safety. But the first stage of the mega battle that both sides had been preparing for was underway, and the air space over the border was so hotly contested, that it wasn’t feasible to send a Blackhawk to extract them. “We would need to provide it with two layers of air cover, plus some Apache escorts to have a reasonable chance of success. And we can’t spare all of those assets at the moment.” That’s what Major Raj told them and Lee believed it. The sky was filled with twisting-turning contrails as pilots from both sides fought for control of the sky.

  On one occasion the group saw a plane go down in flames. Cato heard the distress call from a pilot called Croaker. But no chute appeared, and the crash site was somewhere on the other side of a mountain.

  There was one piece of good news however… And that was the fact that the group had been able to avoid Chinese patrols. Credit for which belonged to the staff at the National Reconnaissance Office (NRO) in Washington D.C. They were the ones who took the information collected by satellites and drones, sifted through it, and gave the joint forces team recommendations on how to proceed.

  A price had to be paid however. There were times when a Chinese patrol or outpost blocked the group’s path. In order to avoid the enemy, the team had to circumvent the danger, adding distance and time to an already arduous journey.