Paul and Romo had been on this particular mission for a full twenty-four hours. Like moles, like rats, they had moved past many Chinese outposts and concentration points. Now they approached the southern portion of Poway, a place they had escaped days ago—in what seemed like another lifetime.
The Chinese ruled the skies. The Americans in Poway lacked UCAVs, fighters, bombers, anything that flew. Tac-lasers, SAMs and linked tank defense-nets were the only way to halt the Chinese from flying wherever they wanted. Word had come to them that more American air was transferring to SoCal, but that would take time.
Word had also come down that the Americans in Escondido were all out of time. It was escape today or they would never have another chance to do so. The Chinese had made it through San Gorgonio Pass and were pushing into Greater San Bernardino.
“There,” Romo whispered.
Paul crawled beside his blood brother. They were commandos. Thus, this mission had fallen to them.
“Do you see?” Romo whispered.
Paul pulled out special binoculars. They were linked to his computers and they allowed battalion HQ to see what he saw. What he saw just now was an assembly area for more…
“Special infantry,” Paul whispered. He loathed the zombie troopers. It appeared that the Chinese gathered their men for what would likely be another attempt to drive the Americans out of Poway.
“Receiving,” an operator whispered in Paul’s ear through his implant.
“Activating laser,” Paul whispered in his throat microphone. He already held a laser designator and aimed it in the middle of the assembly area.
He didn’t have long to wait. Thirty-four seconds later, the beginning of a highly accurate American mortar bombardment hit the assembly area. Shrapnel exploded and mowed down enemy combatants.
“That’s it,” the operator told Paul through his ear-implant. “The Colonel says he wants you two back at HQ.”
“Negative,” Paul said. “We’re out here now. We might as well stay and feed you more information as it comes.”
“I’m relaying that. Oh.”
“What is it?” Paul asked.
“Ah…the Colonel has been listening to your transmission,” the operator said. “He told me to tell you that you’re not suicide soldiers. You’re Americans. You’re to get back here as quickly as you can. That’s an order.”
Paul and Romo traded glances. They both knew Poway would be their grave. The Chinese simply had too much.
Disengaging his throat microphone, Paul asked, “Well? What do you think? Do we go or stay? As far as I’m concerned, I’m sick of crawling.”
Romo took his time answering. Finally, he said, “It would be a shame to give up now, not after all we’ve been through. Let us return to our line.”
Paul stared at the special infantry groaning on the gory assembly area. A few tried to crawl away. American mortar shells continued to rain death. He wasn’t dead yet, but the rearguard wasn’t going to last forever against the Chinese. He was so tired, just sick of crawling, shooting, watching people die. Yet…he’d never given up before. Was this the place to call it quits? If he did, he would never see his family.
You’re never going to see them away. The Chinese have as good as killed you.
Paul scowled. That sounded like quitter thinking. He’d never been a quitter before, why start now just because things looked bleak. Yeah, he might never see his wife again, but at least he was going to try until the very end.
“What the hell,” he said. “Let’s go back and stick it out until they put a bullet through our brains.”
As he said that, a bitter well of determination rose up. Yeah, he was sick of fighting and he was weary. It just never ended. But he was going to see his wife again and see Mike. If he gave up, some Chinese soldier would rape Cheri and shoot his son.
Not while I’m alive, damnit. “You ready?” he asked Romo.
The assassin looked at him with his dead eyes. There was a flicker in the center of them, something dark and deadly.
“Si,” Romo whispered. He shouldered his assault rifle and began to crawl through the rubble back toward the American lines.
RIVERSIDE, CALIFORNIA
With the others of the Eagle Team, Fighter Rank Zhu huddled around First Rank Tian. The thick-necked First Rank showed them a computer scroll and outlined the plan.
The White Tiger commandos stood outside a Safeway grocery store. Behind them in the street, artillery thundered with each salvo, the shells screaming overhead. They bombarded the Americans in another part of Riverside. T-66s waited in the parking lot, black-uniformed tankers sitting on their monsters, smoking looted American cigarettes.
“The enemy has stiffened here,” the First Rank said, tapping the scroll.
Like the others, Zhu nodded. They no longer referred to him as the rookie. He had become one of them through the blizzard of endless combat. Their flight equipment was piled to the side, waiting for the next mission to begin.
“The Americans believe these buildings will act like bunkers,” Tian explained. “We will show them otherwise.”
In the past, Zhu might have grinned. He’d wanted to show the others he was good enough. He was too tired these days to worry about such a thing. They had made six…no, seven combat drops since the beginning of the campaign. Many of the commandos were dead. In fact, so many had died in the battle through San Gorgonio Pass that three-quarters of their squad were originally members of other squads. The Eagle Teams had paid a bitter price in blood helping to pry open the pass.
“Zhu, are you listening?” Tian asked.
“Yes, First Rank.”
“No more stims for you,” Tian said.
The others chuckled, even though it wasn’t funny. One of the Chinese secrets to continual assaults was good stims that didn’t turn the user silly, at least not until four days of continuous use.
Zhu had been on stims for three days already. They all had. Otherwise, they would have fallen asleep on the spot. Soon now, they would have no choice but to lie down and sleep, or risk using stims and accept the consequences.
“Are there any questions?” Tian asked the group.
Zhu began to scratch his face, letting his nails dig into the skin.
“Fighter Rank!” Tian said.
Zhu dropped his hand, and he discovered that several of his fingernails had become bloody. What was wrong with him?
“How many stims did you take this morning?” Tian asked.
Zhu shook his head. He couldn’t remember.
“Stay close to me, Fighter Rank.” Tian seemed embarrassed saying it.
“Yes, First Rank.” Zhu wondered what would make the First Rank embarrassed. It was strange.
“Gear up,” Tian said. “It is almost time to begin.”
Zhu bandaged his face first. Then he began to don his jetpack and other equipment. It took time. Meanwhile, First Rank Tian inspected each of the commandos.
As Tian slapped Zhu’s jetpack and tested one of the straps on his chest, the First Rank said softly, “You must be more careful, Fighter Rank.”
“First Rank?”
Tian tugged a strap harder than necessary. “Too many died in San Gorgonio Pass. It was a bloodbath.”
“But we won,” Zhu said.
Tian released the strap and scowled at him. “Don’t be a hero, Zhu. That is an order.”
“Have I done something wrong?”
“You skinny fool,” Tian hissed. “I’m sick of seeing my friends die. When you joined us you were so wet behind the ears it was painful. Then you became a real tiger in combat, a White Tiger.” Tian shook his head. “Who would have believed it? The others are dead now but for us two. I won’t die here. My mother read my horoscope before I left China. I will survive, and it will be a sorrow to me. Now I’m beginning to understand what she meant. I do not want you on my conscience, Fighter Rank.”
“Yes, First Rank.”
A ghost of a smile appeared on Tian’s face.
“You still don’t understand. You are a fool, Zhu, and you’re skinny and it makes no sense you should survive where the others have died. How have you managed this miracle?”
“I don’t shirk my duty.”
Tian looked away. “No. You have a death wish. Because of that, Yan Luo laughs at you just like the rest of us used to do.”
“That is not true. I do not want to die.”
“No?”
“I want to live, but I want to fight well even more.”
Tian slapped him on the shoulder. “You have believed everything the instructors told you, Fighter Rank. It is a marvel. During this flight, I want you to stay close to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, First Rank.”
“You are to guard my back. That is an order.”
“Guard you?” Zhu asked.
“I have too much to worry about and oversee during a fight. To have to guard myself every minute of the fight while I’m doing it, no, I’m not a wonder child.”
Zhu stood straighter. “Ah, I understand. Yes, I will guard your back, First Rank.”
“I’m counting on that,” Tian said with a nod. “Now, hurry to your helo. We’re about to lift-off.”
***
Fourteen minutes later, the air taxis lifted with the Eagle Team members in place on the poles. Behind them, Gunhawks lofted to provide fire support.
Zhu watched entranced. This never failed to awe him. As the rotors turned faster, the ground dropped away and the city soon looked like a toy set. Radio chatter played in his headphones. Artillery opened up and a company of special infantry attacked the American line.
“Proceed to your grid coordinates.”
“Roger,” the air taxi pilot said.
Zhu’s gut lurched as his helo headed back down into the battle. Around him, other helicopters zoomed for the large buildings a block behind the main enemy defenses. The American infantry had found large buildings to fortify. Clearing them in the old-fashioned way took time and blood or it took the buildings’ destruction through artillery or tank fire.
“Now!” Tian said.
Zhu released his handlebars and jumped hard. He activated his jetpack and thrust away from the deadly blades. Then he dropped with his fellow Eagle Team soldiers. The top of a seven-story building rushed up. The tactical plan was simple. Grab several large buildings behind enemy lines: let the Americans know they had been cut off and trapped. First, they were going to have to secure this building.
“Fighter Rank, you’re too far ahead,” Tian said through the headphones. “Slow your descent and wait for me to land.”
“Yes, First Rank.” Zhu applied thrust. As his jetpack hissed, the heavy straps pulled at his shoulders. Others dropped faster now, and they landed on top of the building. Immediately, the commandos shed their jetpacks and raced for the stairwell.
The Army wanted Riverside fast, and using the White Tiger Eagle Teams was one of the secrets to getting it as soon as they wanted it.
Then the roof of the building rushed up, and Zhu touched down. He yanked his straps and the jetpack fell away with a clatter of noise. Grabbing his assault rifle, Zhu checked his impulse to follow the others already pouring down into the building. He must guard the First Rank’s back.
A moment later, a bulky trooper landed beside him. The White Tiger shed his pack and flipped up his visor. It was Tian. He shouted orders into his throat microphone, constantly checked the computer scrolls attached to him and he strode toward the stairwell.
“Cover my back,” he ordered Zhu.
Zhu raced into position, with his assault rifle ready. If the Americans came for Tian, they would first have to get past him. What a great honor the First Rank gave him. Zhu swore a silent oath then that before Tian died, he would die first protecting him.
White Tigers forever! In his mind, Zhu was finally and truly one of China’s greatest elite soldiers. This position of honor from First Rank Tian proved it.
MURRIETA, CALIFORNIA
Stan was near the junction of I-15 and I-215. Five of the Behemoths were slated to head up I-215 to Perris and Riverside beyond. According to Colonel Wilson, SoCal Command had decided to split the regiment. They needed something to stop the Chinese advance. The enemy was chewing through Riverside too fast. The Behemoths were to give the Chinese something to think about and would provide anti-air protection for the last-ditch defenders.
“That’s a mistake, sir,” Stan said over the radio to Wilson. Each of them waited in their carrier-cab. Stan’s tank had engine trouble again. Because of that, his tank would soon begin the slow journey to Corona.
“It’s out of my hands,” Wilson told him.
Stan studied his netbook. “Our Behemoths operate better when used all together like a closed fist. You need to explain that to General Larson, sir. We can’t allow the Chinese to nibble one of our greatest tactical assets away, namely, these super-tanks.”
“This is war, Captain. Sometimes there are no good choices.”
Stan almost replied to that. Then he thought more carefully. Wilson was right and it showed him the Colonel had changed. Wilson wasn’t Mr. Martinet anymore. Battle had transformed his outlook to something more rational.
“Yes sir, you’re right,” Stan told him. “It’s just…”
“I don’t like the order, either. I’m not sure we’ll see those men again in this world.”
Stan swallowed hard. He’d been training with the Behemoth crews for some time. What an awful thing. The others had kept their tanks running and because of that, the Army had likely signed those men’s death warrants by sending them against the Chinese in Riverside.
“We’re leaving,” Jose said, climbing into the cab. The cushions compressed beneath his weight, making crinkling noises.
Soon, Stan heard the carrier’s engine rumble. With a lurch, they began the slow, fifteen mph crawl for Corona. Beside them on the highway, Americans marched and others rode bicycles. The Chinese were coming, and SoCal Command was rushing this remnant of Army Group SoCal to Los Angeles.
Good luck, Stan thought toward the handful of Behemoths off to engage the Chinese Tank Army.
“Who’s going to lead them, sir?”
“I am,” Wilson said.
Stan sat blinking in the cab. “You, sir, you’re leading the charge?”
“My tank is still in top running condition. It has always been the best-maintained Behemoth in the regiment.”
“But sir…”
“By the way, Higgins, I spoke to General Larson. On my recommendation, he has promoted you to major. Major Higgins, you have command of the regiment until I return. I want you to keep those tanks alive and I want you to stop the Chinese from taking our cities away.”
“Sir…I…”
“You know more about tank combat than the rest of us, Major. You take care of the regiment.”
“Yes sir. I will. I…wish you Godspeed, sir. You’d better come back to us.”
There was a raspy laugh. “You’re a good man, Major. I respect you.”
“I respect you as well, sir.”
“Thank you, Major. I know in the past I may have been a—”
“Please, Colonel. You can tell me when you get back.”
“Uh…yes, I suppose those sorts of things are best said face-to-face, aren’t they?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Good-bye, Major.”
“Good-bye, Colonel Wilson. Give them hell.”
BEIJING, PRC
Jian Hong stood outside the main, open-air polar bear cage of his extended zoo. It consisted of a giant pit, with rocks and a pool. A large concrete ditch fronted that and up here was the iron rail where Jian rested his hands.
The large mother bear swam in the water of the pool with her two cubs. They looked like giant swimming dogs.
“The breeders say she is my best mother,” Jian told the Police Minster.
Xiao Yang, the Police Minister, was lean and wore a black uniform. He wore thick glasses an
d possessed strangely staring eyes. With his hands behind his back, he craned his neck, as if it was impossible for him to see the bears otherwise.
Jian tightened his grip on the black-painted rail. He sighed before glancing around. Tall Lion Guardsmen stood by the baboon enclosure. Since the last assassination attempt, he had doubled the number of his security personnel. It always comforted him seeing them.
“Why are you here, old friend?” Jian asked quietly. “I know you do not care for animals.”
“You have excellent polar bears, Leader.”
“Please,” Jian said. “You do not need to pretend.” He smiled as he said it. Xiao didn’t need to pretend, but if the Minister of Police feared Jian, that showed he wielded true power. The fact of Xiao’s fawning made him feel good. It still surprised Jian how far and how fast he had climbed. It was because he had dared to strike at precisely the right moment.
“Despite my lack of understanding concerning your pets,” Xiao said, “the bears still seem healthy to me. It is my policy to attempt to see a situation as it is, not as others would have me believe it to be.”
“You are being cryptic, old friend. There is no need for that between the two of us.”
The Police Minister’s tongue appeared as it wetted his lips. They were always wet looking, his lips. It was rather repugnant now that Jian thought of it. The man was repugnant, but he had his uses and he ran the police with an iron hand. Fortunately, the man was transparent, at least to someone with Jian’s perceptiveness. It meant Jian could trust Xiao, at least to a point.
After Foreign Minister Deng, Xiao was the most dangerous man in China, making him the third most deadly. Clearly, as Leader, Jian knew himself to be more dangerous than any of the others. Hadn’t he risen to the very top? “Risen” was perhaps the wrong word. He had climbed over the dead and grasping to reach the pinnacle of power on Earth.
Jian would do anything he needed in order to keep power. That included shooting old friends if the time ever came.
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