Invasion: Alaska (60 page)

ARCTIC OCEAN

General Shin Nung shook his head as his radio officer informed him of the fleeing Mongooses, those that had been carefully winterized for fighting in the Arctic Circle.

“Let them go,” Nung said. Outside, the pack ice flashed past in a blur. It was dark and the stars glittered in amazing profusion. All around him roared a little over a hundred hovertanks. Behind followed thirty sleds with extra fuel, supplies and infantry. The formation was spread across the ice, moving like a winter armada of dark ships.

The hover’s engine-whine made speech difficult inside the vehicle. It was why Nung and his officers wore headsets over their ears and spoke into microphones.

“Sir!” shouted his communications officer, who watched a screen. “American strike-craft are zeroing in on us.”

“Of course they are,” Nung said. “It’s why they used their lasers to chase off our covering fighters.” He nodded. The Siberians had lacked such sophisticated hardware as the Americans possessed, but his tanks back then hadn’t been outfitted with such advanced munitions.

“Tell the troops to form up in a hedgehog formation and load their guns with Red Arrow anti-air rounds.”

Twelve minutes later, the American bombers made their charge, screaming across the ice from the front and two sides.

By now, the hovertanks had edged closer together by lance and by troop. Three hovertanks made a lance. Three lances made a troop.

As the Americans launched their air-to-ground missiles, the advanced defense radars on the hovertanks achieved lock-on. With the radars, the hovertanks used a new Interlock fire control system. It allowed twenty or more hovers to form into a single, anti-air defense, concentrating missiles, cannons and machineguns for attack. Once vulnerable to mass destruction from air, hovers and tanks created deadly destruction zones in a range up to 3000 meters. In lance volleys, 76mm guns fired Red Arrows rounds. The rocket-assisted shells whooshed upward after the American bombers.

There were hits all around. American missiles zoomed low and slammed into hovertanks. On the ice, hovers exploded into blazing fireballs, showering melting plastic, Kevlar, burning aluminum and bloody body-parts. Meanwhile, smoking bombers crashed from the sky. As it impacted, each bomber disintegrated into a mass of shrieking metal and splashed jet-fuel. The pack ice groaned as it splintered. Then red-hot sparks caused ignition so the fuel blazed fiercely, sometimes melting through the ice and exposing the dark water underneath.

Nung watched his screen as outer cameras recorded the bright points of destruction. Here more than elsewhere, the modern rule of combat prevailed. What one saw, one could kill. This was going to be costly. He struck his armrest. He—

“Sir!” the communications officer shouted. “The bombers are breaking off.”

General Nung sat up in his command chair. Was it possible the Americans possessed so few aircraft that they were unwilling to trade planes for hovers? On impulse, he lurched up to the commander’s hatch. Raising it, he shoved his head into the plastic-covered copula. It was colder up here, but the plastic bubble quickly filled with the compartment’s heat. He looked back into the darkness. Behind him, hovertanks burned on the ice. So did a few sleds. Fortunately, the majority of the taskforce kept advancing across the vast white sheet of terrain.

Sliding down from his copula and into the main cab, Nung asked, “Do they have anything else to throw at us? Or did a single taste of our anti-air rounds prove too much for the Americans?”

The communications officer listened closely to those sending information. He put a hand over one of his earmuffs before turning to Nung. “If my data is correct, sir, we took out nearly a third of their bombers. I don’t think the Americans liked that.” The man grinned. “Our Red Arrows are better than anything they possess.”

“We are Chinese,” Nung said, as if that explained everything. He turned to his special monitor. A quick count showed that he still had eighty-three hovertanks. That was more than enough for what he had planned. The Americans must be stretched to the breaking point. Yes, most of their aircraft would be on the Southern Front against Anchorage. He should have attacked sooner. That fool Yongzheng.

“One pass and the Americans bolted,” Nung said. Smiling, he added, “Who said these Americans aren’t Siberians? Well, let me tell you something. Whoever said the two aren’t the same is wrong. A frightened man always acts similarly—he runs away. The Americans are running. Gentlemen, we have them.”

PRUDHOE BAY, ALASKA

“Go, go, go!” roared the Marine at the bay door of the
whomping
helicopter. The whirling blades whipped up bits of ice and snow, and it blew down freezing air.

Paul jumped out in his winterized suit. His boots hit the pack ice with a jarring crunch, causing his teeth to click together. That was too close—he’d almost bitten off his tongue. Next time he’d remember to keep his mouth closed.

Red Cloud landed beside him.

“Don’t forget your launcher!” the Marine roared from the open door.

Paul nodded. The white winter suit was an amazing piece of equipment. They could have used something like this in Quebec. It covered him from head to toe like an old style knight. A lot of the suit’s outer skin was armor, but it was light. Even better, it had a temperature gauge, keeping him warm with a thermal heater. That took battery power, and that battery and mini-generator he carried on his back. There was even a Heads Up Display on his visor.

How the suits got shipped up here without troops I’ll never know. I don’t care. I’m just glad I get to wear it
.

Red Cloud and he wrestled a special TOW2 sled off the bottom of the chopper. Once done, Paul stepped into the pilot’s view and waved his arm.

The chopper’s engine roared with greater life and the blades whirled like mad. The machine lifted a little higher and banked hard. It would deposit two more TOW2 crews before it returned home to Dead Horse.

Here I am again, stuck on the ice again
.

“Don’t engage the motor,” Red Cloud said.

“Hey, I have ears too you know? I heard what Bullard told us before leaving.”

Red Cloud didn’t bother answering, but looked around. He pointed in the near distance.

Paul saw it, a small pressure ridge. “Perfect,” he said.

Each of them grabbed a line and towed their missile-launching sled into position. The winter suits were the latest. Their ATGM was as old school as it came. It was a long tube with controls and extra TOW2 missiles. TOW stood for Tube-launched, Optically-tracked, Wire command data link, guided missile. Actually, to be precise, theirs was a TOW-2B Aero. The special nosecone increased the missile’s range to forty-five hundred meters. The missile was simple to operate. You found the target on the scope and fired. The missile popped out of the launcher, ignited and sped toward the target at 278 miles per second. As one kept the optical sensor on the enemy, an electronic signal ran up the two trailing wires uncoiling from the missile and adjusted the missile’s flight as necessary. It carried a thirteen-pound HEAT warhead. Their M220 launcher had thermal optics so they could see the targets in the Arctic darkness.

After setting up the launcher, Paul waited, checking his watch. Then he stood up and lifted a flare. The orange light was bright in the darkness. A flare burned into existence to the left about fifty yards away and to the right of their position maybe seventy yards.

“I think they got our message,” Paul said.

“Yes,” Red Cloud said.

Paul cut the end of the flare so it would burn out faster and then dropped it.

“Now we wait,” Red Cloud said.

“Wonderful,” Paul said.

They didn’t have long to wait. Marine Captain Bullard had decided to play this one for keeps. He’d ordered the choppers to set up the thin line as close to the approaching hovertanks as possible. The single bomber pass had served two purposes. Firstly, it had kept the enemy occupied. Secondly, it had allowed them to set up the launchers in secret. Bullard had known all about the Red Arrow anti-air rounds, hating them immensely.

Paul remembered the captain’s words:
Keep it simple stupid.

The captain had gone on to explain the situation. They were stretching a line in front of the Chinese like a net to catch tuna. They were supposed to burn out as many of the hovertanks as they could. If the Chinese tried to go around them, they were supposed to hit them in the flank as they passed. The key was to kill hovers and later walk back if the choppers failed to survive to pick them up again.

There had been plenty of questions afterward, but none of those had come from Paul.

Red Cloud now tapped Paul on the shoulder.

“It’s payback time,” Paul said, as his gut tightened. Across the ice ahead of them approached a mass of the enemy, moving fast.

Red Cloud activated the M220 Launcher.

“This is for you Murphy,” Paul whispered. He watched through his scope, picked his target and waited until the target was at extreme range. The distance was a running green number in his scope. Four thousand five hundred meters was four and a half kilometers. That was about two and eight tenths miles away. That was a nice range, especially out here on this flat tabletop of pack ice. He waited as he let the spread-out Chinese formation come in a little closer.

“You ready?” asked Paul.

“Yes,” Red Cloud said.

Paul pulled the trigger, and in seconds, their TOW sped away. Then all over the landscape, more ATGMs lighted up as the missiles raced toward the forward hovertanks. Each missile uncoiled and trailed its twin wires, receiving constant course corrections. As fast as the missiles flew, it took time to speed over two miles. Enemy heavy machinegun-fire began almost immediately, but it couldn’t reach this far. Still, seeing those flashes was disconcerting. It was meant to frighten the TOW operators so they wouldn’t keep the optics on target. It made Paul’s heart pound, but he kept telling himself the machineguns lacked the range. Then the 76mm cannons began firing. The flashes were bigger, and the igniting shells moved in a flare toward them.

Paul tracked his chosen hover as he moved his optics. Then…
slam
, the missile impacted. There was brilliant flare of light on the ice over two miles away.

Before Paul could rejoice, a 76mm canister flashed near and exploded. Hot shrapnel scarred the ice, but the shell had missed.

More explosions occurred out there as Red Cloud grunted, lifting and loading another missile into the tube. When he was ready, Red Cloud slapped Paul hard on the right shoulder.

Paul thrust his eyes against the scope, choosing another hover.

Despite the TOW-2B Aero’s extreme range, the battle was short and intense. The hovers moved at combat speeds now, over seventy mph. The Chinese had the advantage of long association with their machines. The American ATGM crews were raw, even if most of them had former combat experience. Paul and Red Cloud did better than most of the others, scoring two kills. Every one of them out on the ice was a hard-bitten man, but panic set in among some of the teams.

“They’re not veering away!” shouted Paul, as Red Cloud loaded the fourth missile into the launcher.

“It’s an overrun,” Red Cloud said.

Paul could hear the lead hovers now. The machines were loud and they were fast, gliding like ghosts over the white plain. The 76mm guns boomed, and gouts of snow and ice showed where canisters scored hits. The wave of vehicles remorselessly moved against their thin line.

As Paul sighted the next enemy, machinegun bullets hammered nearby into the pressure ridge. Chips of ice sprayed, one of them stinging Paul’s cheek as it furrowed across. An exploding grenade flashed nearby, hissing its shrapnel over them.

“Down!” shouted Paul, who dove behind the pressure ride and hugged the ice. Red Cloud did the same. They crawled, moving away from their sled and tube-launcher. Each found a depression and froze. Paul did so because he remembered Bullard’s words.

“With these suits, you hide and freeze like a possum. They’ll never see you until you pop up later and cut them down from behind.”

Soon, the approaching hovers roared with deadly sound. The gliding machines were almost on top of them. Then a hovertank went into high gear as it whined with power, lifting higher as it topped over the pressure ridge.

Paul trembled as fear washed through him. He had his vow, but he didn’t want to die. He wanted to live, call Cheri later and talk to Mikey. He wanted to go home. What their side needed out here was more soldiers armed with grenade launchers, heavy machineguns and recoilless rifles. Then they would have obliterated these hovertanks. How had the Chinese commander known they just had TOWs? How had he known the best tactic was to smash through?

Enemy machineguns hammered nearby and hovertank guns thundered. It must be a slaughter.

I’m not going to die like a coward. I’m at least going to face the enemy
.

With a wrenching effort of will, Paul peeked up. The sight surprised him. The hovertanks were spread over a large area, but some had grouped together. Their guns roared, and canister shells exploded against the pressure ridge sixty feet away. Hot tracer machinegun rounds also blasted at the raised ice mound that ran for miles in either direction.