CENTENNIAL, COLORADO
Soldier Rank Zhu and First Rank Tian knelt on the roof of a three-story, burnt-out concrete building in the heart of Centennial. The rest of the squad lay behind them, with discarded dinylon armor and jetpacks beside them. The men enjoyed a moment’s respite from the fighting.
Zhu and Tian scanned the destruction. The Americans had fought hard, and they still fought from building to building, from the sewers and from foxholes in what seemed like every front yard.
Centennial was a dirty, bloody mess. Shells screamed overhead and smashed into the ruins. Geysers of dirty snow, mud, wooden splinters and brick chips fountained upward and rained back down again, rearranging the mess.
Chinese artillery boomed continuously. Marauder light tanks clattered amongst the rubble. Gunhawks hovered high over fierce spots of resistance, pouring down chain-gun fire. Squads crawled from street-to-street, with their assault rifles barking. Always, American machine gun nests hammered back.
The glorious Rocky Mountains behind Greater Denver awed Zhu. They were so beautiful and majestic. The vast urban area spread out before him. Denver had skyscrapers just like Los Angeles. High in the atmosphere, fighters, bombers and drones left white contrails. Occasionally, one of the machines dropped like a pile of junk, as if one of the gods had emptied his trash bin.
The summons had come for them a week ago. Zhu had watched the quick build-up, the trucks coming every minute of every hour. It seemed like the entire Chinese Army had come for the main event. Tian had told him otherwise. Tenth and Fifteenth Armies were here, to take the great urban sprawl from these greedy Americans. The rest of Third Front kept going north.
“This one is going to be bloody,” Tian said.
“Another Los Angeles?” asked Zhu.
“No. We’re going to win this one.”
Zhu lowered his binoculars to glance at the thick First Rank. Tian had a wrestler’s bulky neck and sloping shoulders. A thick vein stood out in his neck.
“We beat the Americans in California,” Zhu said.
It was Tian’s turn to lower his binoculars. He motioned to Zhu, and they backed away from the edge of the building. Who knew when an American sniper might take a potshot at one of them? Tian lay back against his jetpack so his eyes peered up at the clouds.
Zhu did likewise against his jetpack.
“We killed a lot of Americans in California,” Tian said in a low voice. “But we did not win the campaign.”
“We took their city from them.”
Tian shook his head. “We were supposed to take the state, not just its biggest city.”
“We’ll take Denver,” Zhu said. “Then we’ll take this state just as we’ve taken New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas and Oklahoma.”
“Very good, Zhu,” Tian said in his mocking voice. “Can you recite all the other states we need to capture to win this campaign?”
“I cannot, no.”
“Listen,” Tian said. “I’ve seen the directive. We’re supposed to capture the most important slice of Colorado, Kansas, Missouri, Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, half of Montana, South and North Dakota and Minnesota. That’s ten more states. So far, we’ve taken five, and winter is now upon us.”
“We almost have the slice of Colorado and almost have all of Kansas and Missouri,” Zhu said. “That means we only have to take seven more states.”
“Only,” Tian said. “There’s a nice word: only.”
“The Americans have lost every battle. We’re winning.”
“They didn’t lose California,” Tian said.
Zhu sat up with a puzzled look. “You are sounding defeatist, First Rank. We are White Tigers. We never admit defeat.”
“Don’t preach to me,” Tian said, angrily.
“We are White Tigers.”
“Tired White Tigers,” Tian said.
“Bold White Tigers,” Zhu said. “Our dash, our heroics will win us the war.”
Tian lay back and heaved a sigh. “You’re incurable, Soldier Rank. If our armies were filled with Zhu Pengs, China could conquer the world. Alas, we only have ordinary mortals filling the ranks.”
“Have I ever shirked my duties?” Zhu asked.
Tian turned his head and stared at him. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re the stupidest man in China.”
Zhu blinked rapidly. How had he failed the First Rank?
Tian smiled at him, reaching across and slapping him on the shoulder. “You have to learn how to take a joke. You’re too serious.”
“Yes, First Rank,” Zhu said.
“That wasn’t an order. It was a suggestion.”
Zhu nodded, too embarrassed to know what to say. It was a welcome relief when the second lieutenant of their Eagle Team platoon blew a whistle and shouted at them to gather around.
Zhu, Tian and the rest of the squad hurried to their feet. Each White Tiger donned his armor and shrugged on his jetpack.
Soon, they crowded around the second lieutenant and his aide. The angry-looking second lieutenant knelt on one knee and spread a computer scroll before them. It showed a relief map of the surrounding terrain.
“The Americans aren’t letting go of this high-rise apartment complex,” the second lieutenant said, tapping the scroll. “As long as they control it, they can observe our flame-throwing tanks and armored bulldozers moving up. HQ also believes they’re using it to spot for their heavy mortars.”
“They want the Eagle Teams to take the high-rise?” Tian asked in a sarcastic voice.
The second lieutenant looked up at him.
Zhu was surprised, because the officer peered at Tian with what appeared to be worry. He’d never heard of an officer being afraid of his First Rank before. The idea seemed ludicrous.
“Yes,” the second lieutenant said. “HQ wants our Eagle platoon to storm the top of the complex. We’re to secure a landing for helo-ferried troops.”
“A direct assault is costly in Eagle Team lives,” Tian said. “We learned that in Los Angeles.”
The second lieutenant blinked several times. “The general has given us orders,” he finally said. “This will be an all-arms coordinated assault.”
“We should fly high and then drop straight down on them,” Zhu said.
The second lieutenant and First Rank turned to stare at him.
“The battle-taxis—” Zhu said.
“We aren’t going to use helos to make the attack,” the second lieutenant said. “We’ll jetpack over to the complex.”
Tian grinned at the second lieutenant. “The Soldier Rank has a valid point. We don’t have battle-taxis, but we have Gunhawk support, I assume.”
“Yes,” the second lieutenant said.
“Then we hitch a ride with them,” Tian said. “They lift us high, three or four thousand meters. We jump out and drop onto the complex.”
“If the Gunhawks do that,” the second lieutenant said, “they’ll be out of position to support you during the initial landing.”
Tian stared at the second lieutenant. The officer had only joined them a day ago when the lieutenant had died. This officer was younger than Zhu and must have been fresh out of Officer Cadet School.
“If we fly at the prepared Americans this way,” Tian said, moving his hand toward the second lieutenant. “They will get a bead on us and shoot us down. This country is a nation of duck hunters. We know this from experience. If, however, we come at the Americans like this”—Tian lifted his hand and let it drop straight down. “Then it will be much harder for the Americans to shoot us.”
“We’re not supposed to make such long drops,” the second lieutenant said. “It is dangerous and troops can lose control of their jetpacks that way.”
“We’re veterans,” Tian said. “We won’t lose control.”
Now that he thought about it, Zhu wasn’t so sure. A long combat drop in the suits was dangerous. He’d seen many Eagle flyers tumble out of control. It was tricky falling straight down. That was the best way to do it: letting yourse
lf drop and catching yourself with jetpack-power at the very last second. Of course, he much preferred that than flying horizontally at a machine gun nest.
In the end, the second lieutenant agreed to Tian’s adjustment.
“We’d better hurry, though,” the second lieutenant said. “The general wants us to assault the high rise in five minutes.”
“Tell him it will take fifteen to get into position,” Tian said.
The second lieutenant scowled at the First Rank.
Tian straightened and bowed his head. “This is my suggestion, sir,” he added.
The second lieutenant appeared to think about it. Soon, he nodded and motioned to his aide. The two of them walked off as the second lieutenant spoke on the radio.
Zhu turned to Tian. “You can’t talk to an officer like that.”
“I’m surprised at you, Soldier Rank. You just saw me do it. How then can you say I cannot do such a thing?”
“You should not,” amended Zhu.
“Ah. Now you’re saying something else. But tell me. Are you so eager to see Yan Luo that you want to fly into an American machine gun nest?”
“No.”
“Is my idea not better?” Tian asked.
Zhu admitted it was.
“Then why are you complaining?”
Zhu opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say.
“You are brave, Soldier Rank. But you need to temper your courage with foresight. We,” Tian indicated the squad, “should try to live as long as we can so we can fight for China. If you die stupidly, how does that help our nation?”
“I don’t know,” Zhu said.
“Neither do I. Now get ready. It looks like our rides on their way.”
Zhu looked up and saw two Gunhawks zooming toward the roof. They were bulky helos with heavy machine guns pointing downward near the nosecone and on each side by the bay doors.
Soon, Zhu climbed aboard through a bay door. So did the rest of the squad. The helo lurched up and up they climbed.
“Let yourself drop the first half,” Tian radioed the others. “But don’t wait too long to brake. Better to hang in the air for a short time than to splatter on the roof. Is everyone ready?”
There were choruses of yeses.
Several minutes later, the Gunhawk hovered high above the targeted complex. “Let’s go!” Tian shouted. “Jump!”
The Eagle flyers ahead of Zhu leaped out of the bay door and dropped from view. Then it was his turn. He jumped, and he made sure to aim his feet down. He had done this many times before, but it was still exhilarating.
Centennial spread out before him. For this second, it looked serene. Zhu concentrated on the high-rise apartment directly below. The landing zone was small: the roof of the complex. It looked like a postage stamp at this moment. He plummeted as he watched. Others plummeted with him. The attack suddenly struck him as suicidal. Look at the number of Americans on the roof. More boiled out of the stairwell. They raised their personal weapons skyward and fired.
A different Gunhawk poured chain-gun fire at the Americans. Dust rose on the roof. Some enemy soldiers tumbled. A few ran away. The rest continued to fire.
Beside Zhu, commandos ignited their jetpacks. They pulled up sharply from him. They would float down now. That presented a much easier target for the Americans. Zhu continued to drop. He wanted to get down on the roof fast, lie on his belly and shoot Americans. That was the only way to clear a roof. It was madness to attempt it while in the air. The flying soldier had two things to think about. The man with his feet on the ground or on a surface only had to think about one thing. It gave him the advantage.
Zhu plummeted and two other Eagle flyers plummeted with him. One of them must have radioed him. Zhu heard the noise in his helmet, but he ignored the message. Nothing mattered now but perfect concentration. Terror blossomed in his stomach. He ignored that, too. The grenade launcher—the man to his right triggered his. The roof rushed near and the enemy soldiers had grown into frightful menaces.
Now!
Zhu flicked on his Qui 1000s and let them roar with power. Straps cut into his legs. It felt as if the jetpack would rip him in half. The straps and belts held, and he slowed fast. The roof rushed up. Americans fired, and the White Tiger who had used the grenade launcher must not have turned on his jetpack in time. Like a meteor, he slammed against the roof and bounced. Americans turned toward him in shock. The dead White Tiger bowled over an American. The two went tumbling and they knocked over another enemy. At least the White Tiger had performed a useful combat service to his country by failing to brake.
Zhu clicked the grenade launcher. It spewed grenades, but he didn’t aim therefore some sailed off the roof. His feet crashed down. Zhu let his knees buckle and his armored body fell sideways. An American fired at him. It felt as if a giant smashed Zhu in the side. Fortunately, his dinylon armor staved off death by deflecting the bullet. He took another round, grunting in pain. Then Zhu found his assault rifle in his hands. He had no idea how it had gotten there. Methodically, from on his belly, he began firing bursts. More Eagle flyers landed. Gunhawks chain-gun fired sections of roof. It was chaos, madness—war!
The next few seconds were impossible for Zhu to understand. His face was screwed up with fear and faith, with horror and elation. He found himself on his feet, roaring words that didn’t make sense. He jammed the rifle against an armored American’s side and shot his way into flesh.
Then, as suddenly as the mayhem boiled over, it ended. The White Tigers had captured the roof.
“The stairwell!” Tian shouted. “Zhu, cover the door and shoot anyone coming out.”
Once more, Zhu dropped onto his belly. Enemies opened the door and American grenades sailed through at them. He fired, heard thuds, and the grenades went off on the roof. Speckles of shrapnel rattled off his dinylon armor, but he was okay.
From high above, two Gunhawks poured concentrated fire at the stairwell entrance. Zhu had a front row seat to annihilating destruction.
“Reinforcements are on their way!” Tian shouted. “We have to keep the Americans from getting up here.”
In the end, cargo helos disgorged Chinese infantry. They battled their way down the stairwell to begin taking this all-important apartment complex. Meanwhile, below, Marauder flame-spewing tanks and IFVs charged the building. If they could take the bottom floors, they would trap the American soldiers.
The cost in Eagle flyers proved high. The second lieutenant was killed. So was half of the platoon, although most of Tian’s squad had survived.
“This is just like Los Angeles,” Tian said, as he crouched beside Zhu. “It’s an inferno.”
Zhu was too tired to comment. He simply knelt, his mind a blank, glad that he had proved himself once again and had kept from acting like a coward.
DENVER, COLORADO
The helicopter’s blades began to turn as it sat on the tarmac. Inside the helo, Paul felt Romo tap him on the shoulder. He turned to his blood bother. The man was finally out of the hospital and ready to return to the field.
Romo pointed outside.
Paul saw a jeep careen toward the helo. It screeched to a halt and Captain Anderson of SOCOM jumped out. He motioned to Paul.
“I’ll be right back,” Paul told Romo. He slid open the door and jumped onto the tarmac. The chopper’s blades blew his hair. He ran to the jeep.
“Sir,” Paul said, holding out his hand.
“I wanted to say good-bye,” Anderson said.
They shook hands.
“Is General Ochoa still angry about the Mexican assassin?” Paul asked.
“He wished you could have disarmed him instead of giving him a metal beard,” Anderson said.
“Yeah, sure,” Paul said. “It would’ve been so easy to do, too.”
“I want you to be careful, Master Sergeant. Valdez is mental, and he’s not finished with you or your friend.”
“This war,” Paul said, “it’s making us all a little mental.”
Anderson shook his head. “I’m not crazy, though I don’t know about anyone else. Hey, I have a favor to ask you.”
Paul glanced at the jeep. He seemed to recognize the man sitting in the passenger side. The man had a hunter’s cap low over his eyes, making it hard to tell exactly whom it was. “Who is that?”
“Have you forgotten already?” Anderson asked.
“I’ve been busy.”
“That’s Mr. Knowles. You plucked him from Mr. Smith’s farmhouse, from a partisan meeting.”
“Oh, right. Is Knowles the favor?”
“Yes. I’m not too sanguine about Denver’s chances. It isn’t fair to Knowles for him to stay here.”
Paul wanted to ask if it was fair to Anderson. Maybe Colonel Valdez had done Romo and him a favor with the little hospital stunt. The Chinese wanted Denver. How long could the Army hold out here?
“Sure, I’ll take him,” Paul said. “But we’re not going south. We’re headed north to the Main Line of Defense.”
“Good luck, Marine. I hope I see you again.”
“You, too, sir,” Paul said.
They shook hands one more time. Then the captain motioned to Knowles. The older man climbed out of the jeep. He wore sunglasses, and he kept them aimed at Paul.
“You’re leaving here!” Anderson shouted. “I’ve managed to find you a ride out.”
“You want me to go with him?” Knowles asked, pointing at Kavanagh.
“It’s the only ride out for you,” Anderson said.
Knowles stared at Paul. Finally, he shook his head. “No. I’m not going anywhere with him. He’s…” Knowles didn’t finish the sentence.
Anderson licked his lips. “Don’t you understand? Denver isn’t going to—”
As Anderson talked, Knowles looked as if he wanted to give Paul the finger. He turned abruptly and headed back for the jeep, likely the reason Anderson had stopped talking.
“Guess he doesn’t like me much,” Paul said. “Can’t say that I blame him.”
“The fool,” Anderson said. “This is his chance to live.”
The words were like a knife in Paul. Was Anderson right about that? Was Denver doomed?
“I could knock him out again and drag him aboard,” Paul said.
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