Winter Kill 2 - China Invades Australia

by Gene Skellig

  Satisfied that their understanding of the battle space in the northern sector was up-to-date, General Adams and Colonel Ferebee, in cooperative command of the Marines of the MAGTFA and three divisions of Australian militia and regular Army, turned their attention to the southern sector to update themselves on what had been passed to them from their counterparts in the CJTFHQ in Adelaide, in Sector South. Unlike the CJTFHQ in Katherine, however, the Generals running the show in South Australia had the Indians. Not only the initial expeditionary armored corps that India had first thrown into the fray, or what was left of it, but now a fresh, fully outfitted and now fully deployed Army comprised of two additional divisions of the Indian Army, and four newly formed infantry divisions that had been stood up by the Australians. Organized into two nearly identical Corps sized formations, each with a mix of Indian heavy armor and armored infantry regiments supported by a flood of Australian infantry regiments, the two corps of the Allied South Australian Army advanced on separate roads.

  The northern-most corps struck east into New South Wales along highway 32 from Broken Hill towards Dubbo; the second drove along the bottom of New South Wales along Highway 20, through Hay towards Waga Waga. The remaining forces, some five or six brigades of mixed origin, were held in reserve and as a blocking force on the remaining roads across Victoria into South Australia, and were well supported by artillery.

  The only American contribution to the Allied South Australian Army was contributed by Colonel Weir, back in Perth, and his assortment of Special Forces resources, tactics, Chinese intelligence and counter-intelligence resources.

  The most notable of these was the food-poisoning operation in Waga Waga, which resulted in a generalized reduction in the enemy’s ability to fight over the entire two weeks of the dual offensive. It had taken the PLA that long to trace back the salmonella and other strains of food contaminants back to Mr. Blias’ factory in Waga Waga before they were able to identify the lot numbers and food types that had been compromised with Clostridium Botulinium. Eventually the PLA medical authorities had realized the implications of the surge in cases of blurred vision, difficulty swallowing, respiratory problems, nausea, constipation, vomiting, rapidly increasing muscle weakness and, ultimately for many who were not given prompt medical attention: paralysis that started with head muscles and then worked its way down the body followed by respiratory failure and death. Once botulism had been confirmed, they had tried to get the word out for the soldiers of the PLA’s Army Group South, to have them test all of their food supplies and to treat for botulism toxin, but this had come too late.

  The most heavily affected units, the ones specifically targeted by Colonel Weir and Mr. Blias, were the 112th and 113th Mechanized Infantry Divisions of the 38th Group Army, deployed to Cobar and Bourke in the north of New South Wales, and the 195th Infantry Brigade of the 65th Group Army, in Hay, NSW.

  With over 60% of his front-line units suffering debilitating cramping and diarrhea at the critical moment, General Sheung, Commander of Army Group South, was suddenly faced with a catastrophe. Rather than being in a strong position to repel an understrength Allied offensive along the very predictable axis of advance into New South Wales, where at best the allies would have less than a 2:1 ratio in their favor, his forces were hit with this mysterious malady that had a 3:1 force-dividing effect. The end result was that the odds had suddenly changed to 6:1 in the allies favor.

  The numbers did not come near the actual catastrophe that he faced in the simultaneous crumbling of his front-line brigades at both the north and central NSQ battle areas. The allies once again used that reckless tactic that had become known as ‘Australian Rules Offensive”, rushing across the battle-space with no structure whatsoever, as if throwing everything they had into the mad rush to reach their distant ‘goal line’ objective. After crashing through the ass-wrenched PLA soldiers at Bourke and Cobar, the northernmost Australian and Indian force soon swooped down to make contact with his reserve units in Dubbo. Meanwhile the second front crumbled at Hay as the Aussies outran their Indian counterparts while they sprinted through the lightly PLA held territory, liberating no less than a half-dozen small cities surrounding Waga Waga before an effective response could be put forward.

  By the end of the assault, some two weeks after it had first began with the men of the 38th and 65th Group Armies falling prey to the sabotaged rations, General Sheung had lost over 30% of New South Wales. That the lost terrain was mostly snow-bound and of little use was not much consolation: the enemy now had the initiative. It seemed to General Sheung that the writing was on the wall. We are going to lose this war, he thought for the first time. And if that’s how I am thinking, imagine how much worse it will be for the troops. They’ll be lining up to trade their surrender for amnesty. Fucking Americans and their psychological warfare or whatever the hell they are doing. Why can’t they just fight like they are supposed to, with bullets and bayonettes?

  21

  A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH

  The war was not going well for his side. Major Fang could see it in the high morale of the Australian and allied soldiers whose faces he scanned. Every day he spent hours shuffling along the highway with other refugees, making his way towards Adelaide. Unlike the downtrodden remnants of a once comfortable nation that his fellow travelers were, Major Fang was not looking for a more viable place to live. He was looking for a particular face, the face of the man he blamed for helping Australia win the war – and win the war they surely would. It was evident in the cheerful, eager faces of the young men in trucks he passed, the men newly trained soldiers being transited to the front lines in New South Wales. They were eager to join the winning cause before the war was over.

  What he had learned by observing Chinese soldiers he had seen in the same trucks, coming in the opposite direction on their way to the processing camps, prison camps and labour party camps; these men were scared. Scared that they had been beaten and were now at the mercy of their enemy, scared that the promise of fair treatment that had bought their surrender would prove to be a lie, and scared that somehow they would wind up back in the lines, suffering the hardship of being a soldier for so many cold years.

  But most of all, Fang watched the faces of the white soldiers, looking for the face that he had burned into his mind.

  He had seen the man on a few occasions in the years since he had begun this, his final mission, but had not been able to get close enough to kill him.

  And then the opportunity presented itself to him on a silver platter on the day that Fang arrived in Adelaide. Fang had wandered around the bustling city in a state of bewilderment. He was occasionally stopped by police and some sort of citizens watch force, but his forged documents and well-practiced lies always satisfied them that this particular Chinese was ‘one of us’ and should enjoy the same freedom as any Australian or guest.

  And then Fang stopped to admire the beautiful architecture and stonework of a very elegant old building he had come across. His trained eyes continued their incessant scanning, and came to focus on a man climbing out of a military vehicle. The man turned to look Fang’s way, just for an instant, and then carried on towards the hotel.

  There was no doubt in Fang’s mind that it was him, the man that was responsible for great suffering, death, and defeat for so many PLA soldiers. The man whose actions often tilted the equation, subtly at times, more overtly at others, in favor of the smaller, less well equipped allied forces.

  And now Fang was only a few meters from him.

  Stalking like a predator, Fang followed the man as he walked into a hotel. He was out of uniform, and dressed very well.

  Fang followed him into the lobby, and tried to press into the crowded elevator a step behind the man, but he was held back by an attendant who had extended a gloved hand: “Sorry, mate, this one’s full, and for the wedding party only. You’ll have to take another lift.”

  Fang backed off, and watched the antique yet functional floor indicating arrow that silentl
y arced from “L” through “1” and “2” and so on all the way to “11”, where it stopped.

  After walking around the lobby for a few minutes to gauge the range of activities in the hotel, Fang had noted that there were few military personnel in the hotel, seemingly no more than 2 or 3 security personnel, and a great deal of well-dressed, likely very well-off, civilians.

  He also saw a schematic of the hotel, and formed a mental picture of the engineering details of the old building before heading up a fire-stairwell, bounding up the stairs two at a time with pure joy in his heart. I’m going to get him this time, no matter how many others I have to take out in the process, he thought.

  Once on the 11th floor, Fang quietly opened the emergency exit a few inches to look down the hall. He was just in time to see the man disappear into a room near the far end of the corridor.

  With nobody else in sight, Major Fang withdrew his favorite throwing knife, the one that had saved him years before at a checkpoint near Ti Tree, just north of Alice Springs.

  He listened at the door for a moment, his hand grasping the door knob. Through the partly open door he could hear a soft, familiar voice. It gave him pause.

  “You made it!” the beautiful bride to be said to the man who had just arrived. “I was so afraid that you wouldn’t make it in time, Sir.”

  “Come on, Wendy, you can call me Peter. Have I missed it?” he asked, I must be an hour late.”

  “Nope. We’re just about to start. We had a delay, the Blakely’s and the Yao’s were stuck in traffic, and there’s no way Rick and I are going to start without our best mates,” she said.

  “So where’s everybody else? I would have expected them to be here, but the concierge told me you were up here all alone. Jitters?”

  “Nothing like that. Wardrobe malfunction, but I got it sussed on my own. I was just about to head back to the Edinburgh Room when you knocked”

  Fang heard it. The woman and the target are alone, he realized. The man could be a problem, if he’s armed, but the woman will be nothing more than a nuisance. He pushed the door open quietly and moved in for the kill.

  Colonel Weir and Warrant Officer Wendy Hayman looked up just in time to see the sudden motion of the intruder’s throwing arm and the flicker of something shiny flying through the air.

  With a sickening sound, the knife struck Colonel Weir in the chest and struck bone.

  As the Colonel fell backwards onto the dresser, Wendy sprang across the room, her wedding dress flowing out behind her as if taken by the wind.

  Fang had momentarily fixated his eyes on his target, and had determined that the knife had missed by a few inches, striking the man dead center in his chest and becoming lodged in his sternum rather than into his heart as intended.

  The look on the face of the woman flying at him surprised him. He had not expected a woman in a wedding dress to be so aggressive, and was a moment too slow in turning to face the threat.

  Wendy smashed into him with her claws extended, tearing into his face.

  Fang registered pain all around his face as he rolled backwards, falling away from his attacker. But she held on, her beautifully painted nails now digging deeply into the assailant’s face, her thumbs digging up under his chin, slicing upwards in search of an artery. Falling on top of the man, Wendy felt pressure on her stomach as the man pushed up with his legs, trying to push her away.

  Had he still had use of his eyes, now both out of action as Wendy dug her index fingers into his eyes, he would have seen the absurd sight of the inverted woman now doing a momentary hand-stand, her fingers all dug into his face and neck and her energy focused on pushing her index fingers deeper and deeper into the soft tissue of his eyes. But what was even more ridiculous was the sight of her dress falling ‘down’ around her legs and torso, completely inverted as she was suspended above Fang by his futile attempt to push her off. The large bell-shape of her dress’s train now completely enveloped her attacker and her, with only her garters and stocking-clad legs visible.

  For a moment, as Fang’s struggles faded and Wendy continued the pressure on her fingers into his eye sockets, there was no movement.

  And then suddenly the door opened an a massive black man, dressed impeccably in his finest US Marine Corps dress uniform, Top Sergeant Rick Rideout wondered what the fuck is going on?

  “Wendy! Who have you got under there? Get off of him! Who is that? Is that you, Dickie!” Rideout shouted, as he pulled Wendy up by the ankles.

  The sight of blood all over Wendy’s chest and hands, and the terrible stains on her wedding dress were the first sign that something worse than a pre-wedding fling with her old lover was taking place.

  He looked at the Asian man on the floor, and deduced from the dark blood flowing out of the man’s eye sockets, and the blood on his bride’s hands, that this was a fight to the death.

  As the man tried to roll over, Rideout stomped on his stomach, and then stepped on one of the man’s hands.

  “You’re not going anyplace, fucker!” Rideout said, then looked at Wendy. “You alright? What the fuck happened here?”

  “I don’t know. He threw a knife at Colonel Weir. He’s an assassin, so I used my only weapon on him.” Wendy said, now standing over Colonel Weir, who was clearly alive, but laying back on the dresser, trying to hold still out of pain.

  Rideout looked at the man. “He’s Chinese. Maybe an assassin from the PLA?” then he leaned closer, seeing something on the man’s face. “That scar on his face. Could this be the guy who?”

  “Tried to kill Sunny Yao? Yes, I think that’s him,” said Colonel Weir, through his pain.

  “Mother fucker!” Rideout said, and then raised his foot high over Fang’s face.

  When Fang woke up he was in darkness.

  He could not tell if it was because his eyes had been gouged out or if it was because he was in a box, but as he felt around with his hands and legs, he quickly realized that blindness was the least of his problems.

  What is this, a coffin? Fang thought, as he felt the sides, top and ends of the softly lined rectangular box that he found himself within.

  Fang was on the verge of panic at the thought of being trapped inside a coffin, buried alive. But the sound of rain, no, shovels of dirt landing on top of this box, captured his attention.

  They’re burying me alive! “NOOOO! HELP! LET ME OUT OF HERE!” He shouted, the strain on his vocal cords at the intensity of his scream was simply primordial.

  Standing above the open grave, taking his time with the task, Top Sergeant Rideout thought he heard something from the coffin below. He paused to listen.

  “Is that the effect you wanted, Sir?” he asked.

  “Yes. Give him a few more shovel-fulls.”

  “No reason we can’t just keep filling the hole. He killed Jake, after all, and cut up Sunny Yao quite badly,” said Rideout. “On top of that, didn’t he kill a number of your agents over the years?”

  “Yes, he did. Quite a few, in fact. And Cheryl and I would take a small measure of satisfaction to know that he was dead. But we need him. We need him broken, ready to sing like a bird, to give us a watershed of names, dates, and facts. We need him for the war crimes trials back in the US, and to ferret out some of his kind still unaccounted for here in Australia,” Colonel Weir said, soberly.

  But the look on Weir’s face told Rideout that the Colonel was deeply conflicted. For a moment, Rick thought of ways to kill the Chinese spy now desperately screaming and kicking in his tomb, but put those thoughts out of his mind when Weir waved a hand, indicating that’s enough.

  “Mr. Clarke, you can have him now. Just make sure you don’t let him get away.

  “Are you kidding, Colonel? The man’s blind and broken.”

  “I don’t think you know what you are dealing with here,” Weir said, “Don’t underestimate this man, he’s capable of anything.”

  “Whatever you say. But by the time we’re done with him, and after the trials, he’ll spend the res
t of his life blind, confined to a box not much larger than the one you have him in now.”

  “That’ll have to do,” said Weir.

  22

  DEPARTURE

  The “package” had been a watershed. It had arrived on the Canadian maritime patrol aircraft, which made the round trip from Adelaide to the United States. For the extreme long-range mission, Captain Bass and his crew, Demon-72, had stripped the aircraft to the bone, removing some of the tactical work-stations and sonobuoy racks to reduce the weight and make room for a few extra passengers, barrels of fuel and essential spares. The Flight Engineer, Warrant Officer Poke, had carefully supervised the Australian technicians at RAAF Edinburgh to ensure that the removed equipment was treated with care, in case it would ever be re-installed in ‘his’ aircraft, but everybody knew that the age of antisubmarine warfare had long since come to an end. Not only was it likely that the world’s fleets of submarines were all but destroyed, unserviceable or abandoned; but also the supplies of spares, armaments and other resources needed to maintain or repair these warships were also a thing of the past.

  The aging antisubmarine warfare aircraft – tail number ‘111’, or ‘triple-sticks’ - was one of the few long-range aircraft still in operation, and it was the only one with the sophisticated navigation and communications equipment needed for the dangerous mission. And in this, its age was an advantage, as it still had a functioning inertial navigation computer, which had been left in the aircraft when the avionics had been upgraded to include GPS, now a completely useless navigation system.