Invasion: Alaska

by Vaughn Heppner

  “That is a brilliant plan and analysis, sir. My single concern is—”

  “Is about your safety,” the Chairman said. “Yes, I know.”

  Frightened, Jian bowed his head. “I would never disagree with you, sir. But my greatest concern is for China.”

  “What is your point?”

  “Uh…uh,” Jian said. “What is the fastest way to General Nung?”

  “Very good,” the Chairman said. “I thought you were about to ask why I should send you instead of, say, Marshal Kao.”

  “I’m completely convinced that you have your reasons, sir, and that few of us could understand the brilliance of those reasons.”

  “Hmm, that is overly perceptive of you. Therefore, I will try to explain. My military commanders are like golf clubs. I used to be quite good at golf, you know.”

  “Your exploits on the greens are legendary, sir.”

  “Like golf clubs, one general is excellent for putts. Another is like a driving iron. General Nung is like a sand wedge, a fast attacker, one who yearns to lunge. I have waited in order to pick the correct time to use General Nung to make his lunge. I am a military genius, particularly when it comes to timing.”

  “The entire world knows of your brilliance, sir.”

  “No! The entire world believes that I fought a weak rump state named Siberia. I have read the books about the campaign. Many say that if Russia had the will to fight, they would have demolished the Chinese, meaning my brilliant concepts.”

  “The Europeans who wrote such drivel are small men, sir. Their obvious envy of you and your greatness disgusts me.”

  “I grant you they are small-minded,” said the Chairman. “But many still listen to them. My point is this: I have carefully selected my generals, often letting rivalries blunt their particular specialties. I do that for carefully thought out reasons. I cannot send Marshal Kao across the ice to do as I desire, because the marshal hates General Nung. Kao will continue to spite the hard-charger. You, on the other hand, will surprise everyone. Because I am old, they will believe I am making a mistake sending you. Do you realize that many see you as a failure, as a bright Party member who cannot carry heavy loads?”

  Jian nodded. He did not like the direction the conversation was going.

  “You will unleash General Nung. You will urge him to attack the North Slope now. We must demoralize the Americans by twin hammer-blows and end the war quickly. As the great Sun Tzu has said: If the campaign is protracted, the resources of the state will not be equal to the strain. Already, I have sent mass shipments of munitions to the invasion fleet. Tank rounds, anti-air missiles, laser fuel, their needs seem endless.”

  “May I ask another question, sir?”

  “If you can stand more truth concerning yourself,” the Chairman said.

  “Why not send a radio signal, urging Nung to this action? Is there a reason why I should travel across the ice?”

  “Indeed, Jian Shihong. So you may see what your handiwork has wrought. If you are to become the next Chairman of China, I desire that you have some inkling of what war brings.”

  “Sir?” whispered Jian.

  “Yes,” the Chairman said. “I have decided to groom you to take my place. You shall need a military exploit, however, to cement your position among the contenders. That is why I send you to General Nung. Once we are victorious there, people will say it was your genius that did it. I send you across the ice to give you a great victory to your credit.”

  “No one can take your place, sir,” Jian said, dropping to his knees and bowing his head.

  “…you are much wiser than I had suspected. Hmm, get up. Go, and hurry to the airport. Your supersonic jet leaves for Ambarchik Base in the hour. From there, you will fly to General Nung.”

  Jian bowed again, and he would have lauded the Chairman with more praise. But the old man’s chair sped toward another opening that appeared in the wall. The Chairman left the room. As the opening closed, the first steel door opened, revealing the two waiting security guards.

  Jian decided this was the wrong moment for reflection. He strode toward the two, wondering if he’d been wrong about the Chairman. Maybe instead of playing the old creature, the withered conqueror had been playing him. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and one that would require deep thought. First, however, he needed to survive this journey onto the polar ice.

  ARCTIC OCEAN

  After twelve hours of skiing, with a two-hour nap sandwiched between, Paul was exhausted. As they’d traveled, they’d seen more blinking red lights. Three times, they had hit the ice and lain motionless. One time, Red Cloud claimed to hear a chopper’s whomp. Paul had closed his eyes to help him concentrate, but all he’d heard was the steady moan of the arctic wind. Now it was different. Now they heard a plane revving its engines.

  “There,” Paul said, panting.

  They both hit the ice again. The revving grew louder, but still they saw nothing in the dark Arctic night. After several minutes of this, Paul leaned onto his side, halfway opening his parka.

  They had to be careful as they traveled. They had to make sure they didn’t sweat too much. If they did sweat, they had to air themselves out so the moisture didn’t freeze on their bodies and chill them. Paul had learned this winter rule in northern Quebec. It was even truer out here.

  Now in the darkness they saw the outline of a cargo plane as it lifted over a pressure ridge and climbed into the polar night. The engines roared, and the plane passed to their right. In time, the sound and plane dwindled, allowing them to hear the hidden camp.

  They climbed to their feet and skied to the pressure ridge. It was about twenty feet tall. Paul unhooked his boots from the bindings and laid his skis at the bottom of the ridge. He waited for Red Cloud then the two of them climbed the icy chunks. Soon, Paul eased to the top, peering over.

  “Are you seeing this?” Paul whispered.

  “Hovertanks, caterpillars, planes and supplies—what is going on?” asked Red Cloud.

  Paul unlimbered his assault rifle, propping it on the ice. He put his eye to the lens and began to study the night camp. There were lights strung up and headlamps from various vehicles. He also spied large piles of crates, big tents, a hovercraft park—ah. He noticed a long runway with blinking yellow lights on either side. Small bulldozers pushed snow and ice around it, making ice-walls.

  “How did the Chinese get here?” Paul asked.

  Like Paul, Red Cloud used the scope of his assault rifle to study the dark camp. “My guess is some of them drove across the ice from Siberia. The others were flown in.”

  Paul swore softly, and he began to nod. “Maybe it makes sense then their taking out our oilrig. Their line of advance must have taken them near the platform. They killed everyone there because they didn’t want anyone to know what they’re doing.”

  “How could they hide this from American and Canadian radar?” asked Red Cloud, “to say nothing about the airlines.”

  “Are you kidding? What airlines?”

  “Most international flights from Europe to America use the north polar route. It’s shorter going over the top than around. But even that is beside the point. Recon satellites could pinpoint these vehicles through infrared signature. And there are early warning radar stations in Alaska and Canada. Could the Chinese have attacked those stations to blind the North Americans?”

  “What if the international flights have stopped?” asked Paul.

  “That still leaves the recon satellites.”

  “What if the Chinese knocked down the satellites?” Paul asked. “I’ve read about that. Each country’s ABM lasers routinely destroy spy satellites flying over their heartlands. Why not knock them all down? And the radar stations—maybe the Chinese are using highly advanced EW.”

  “Electronic warfare?” asked Red Cloud.

  “Since taking Taiwan, invading the two Koreas and allying with Japan,” Paul said, “Chinese EW has leaped way ahead of American battlefield tech.”

  “
Radar is different,” Red Cloud said.

  “Remember the stealth fighters we used to deploy?”

  Red Cloud grunted.

  “Maybe the planes we’ve seen do something like those stealth fighters.”

  “I suppose it is possible,” Red Cloud said. “But why would China attack America?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “I do not either. I can’t believe such an attack is likely.”

  Paul laughed grimly. “I wouldn’t have thought it likely until White Tiger Commandos killed everyone at Platform P-53. Something has hit the fan. That’s for sure. Now here’s a Chinese base…what, two hundred miles from the Alaskan coast?”

  “The White Tigers destroyed an oilrig,” Red Cloud said thoughtfully, “and oil is the only international commodity northern Alaska possesses. Maybe this is a gathering force meant to destroy the Alaskan oilfields.”

  “Yeah. That would be my guess, too. The Chinese want to cripple the American economy. I wonder why they want to do that, however.”

  “It is always about power,” Red Cloud said, “which means money, which means one man stealing from another.”

  “That’s a pretty grim view, Chief. Sorry. Delete the last word. I meant to say ‘Red Cloud’.”

  Red Cloud looked solemnly at Paul. “We survived the slaughter at Platform P-53. We are brothers of the warpath.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you seen enough?”

  “Meaning what?”

  “We must hurry to Dead Horse and warn the Americans.”

  Paul chewed his lower lip. He was thinking about his promise to Murphy. “I don’t know. Two hundred miles on skis will take us at least ten more days. In ten days, all the Alaskan oilfields might be burning. We have to do something before that.”

  “Two men cannot attack the base.”

  “Actually,” Paul said. “Two men can easily attack the base. It’s doing anything useful that’s doubtful.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “That we get a radio out of there,” Paul said. “If Dead Horse is two hundred miles away, we could contact them.”

  “No one in Dead Horse would believe us.”

  “Let’s cross that bridge when the time comes,” Paul said. “For now, I want a radio.”

  “And how do we get this radio? Do we ski in and ask them?”

  “No. We crawl there and steal one.”

  “Do you truly think this is possible?”

  Paul recalled some of the things he’d done in Quebec. “Yeah, I sure do. Are you game?”

  Red Cloud turned away and stared up at the Aurora Borealis. Soon, he nodded. “After what they did at the oilrig, I want to make the Chinese pay.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Paul said, who had half-hoped Red Cloud would try to talk him out of this. He wanted to keep his promise to Murphy, but he also wanted to make it home to Mikey and Cheri. Could he do both? Well, he sure as heck was going to find out.

  ***

  After studying the enemy camp for over an hour, Paul Kavanagh and Red Cloud crawled across the pack ice like seals. They’d left the toboggan behind, left the backpacks, skis and assault rifles. Each had a knife. Red Cloud had a long Algonquin blade, a crude-looking thing that was similar to a Bowie Knife. Paul had a Gerber combat knife, a nasty thing with high-grade steel and mat-black paint.

  Paul had explained it like this: “If we have to use our assault rifles, we’re dead men.”

  “That is true,” Red Cloud said. “But if we are dead men, let us take some of them down to death with us.”

  “Forget that. If you want to act like a ninja you have to arm like one.”

  “We have our grenades: two fragmentation and one phosphorus grenade.”

  “I’ll take the phosphorous grenade,” Paul said. “You concentrate on your knife. Sneak into the camp, kill only as a last resort and sneak back out with our radio. We’ll let the air force do the killing.”

  “What air force?”

  “If it comes to that,” Paul said, “the American Air Force.”

  The two of them slowly crawled across the ice. Both knew that motion, particularly any kind of fast motion, caught the attention of the human eye.

  The polar camp had crate piles, big tents and bulldozer-made ice-walls. Between some of the ice-walls were huge tubular bladders containing something liquid.

  “I suspect diesel fuel,” had been Red Cloud’s guess.

  There were also smoothed lanes leading to the crate piles, to the tents and to other places. After an hour of study, Paul concluded the tents held supplies. This looked like a supply dump.

  “It seems foolish,” Paul said, “but I think they’re storing ammo and fuel close together.”

  “Maybe they’re not worried about an attack.”

  “That’s why I said it was foolish. You should always worry about that.”

  In the darkness, Paul and Red Cloud counted eight hovertanks, six small bulldozers and four Thunder-10 transport planes waiting to be offloaded. There were also two big supply helicopters. Red Cloud estimated about sixty Chinese, maybe twelve of them stacking supplies. The most interesting thing had been a laser caterpillar coming off a transport. From another plane had come a towed 30mm flak-gun. The two large devices were anti-air defense weapons, meaning that maybe the Chinese did expect eventual attacks. If that was true, it was even crazier to store fuel and ammo in the same supply dump.

  As Paul crawled across the ice, he kept his gaze un-focused. Most people could sense a person staring at them. Paul wanted to be aware of where the nearest Chinese were, but he didn’t want to stare at a man and make him feel uncomfortable.

  “As you crawl into their camp, you have to go somewhere else in your mind,” Paul had explained to Red Cloud.

  During the slow crawl, an unloaded cargo plane used the airstrip. It revved its engines, roared down the runway and banked north, heading up into the night sky.

  Just what did it mean that the Chinese were building a supply dump this close to Alaska? Just how big of a raid were they planning against the oilfields—given that was the Chinese desire? How did the attackers plan to make their escape? It was dangerous being on the ice. It was even more dangerous using heavy military vehicles and fighting on the ice.

  As he crawled, Paul shook his head. Don’t worry about that now. Just find your radio and crawl away.

  Paul neared one of the tents. It was big enough for a man to walk into and it was made of some kind of shiny synthetic material. It had pegs hammered into the ice and lines to keep the tent taut. There was a two-foot ice-wall here, a perimeter wall. Ever since they’d been unpacked from a transport, the Chinese bulldozers must have been busy.

  The eight hovertanks were on the other side of the camp where the airstrip was. Paul could hear bulldozers, although they were a ways off. Nearer the perimeter wall, he heard men speaking Chinese.

  Are any of these soldiers White Tiger Commandos? Does my promise mean I have to kill them now, or can I wait for a better time?

  Paul stopped so he lay motionless on the ice. From where he was, he spied the head and shoulders of three workers. They moved to one of the tents, which was approximately fifty yards away. One of them moved from his fellows, undid his fly and took a leak.

  Later, two soldiers reappeared. They carted what looked like an ammo crate between them. They moved the crate into one of the tents.

  How well will the ammo keep in this cold? The military had had trouble with that in Quebec. Thinking about that, Paul realized he was becoming cold. The ice hungrily sucked the warmth from his body.

  “We must move in,” Red Cloud whispered.

  It seemed like a bad idea to try it now, but frostbite was an even worse idea, especially frostbite along his belly. Without nodding or saying a word, Paul began crawling. He moved slowly, too slowly to keep warm.

  The Chinese would have spotted them except for three things: One, that perimeter wall gave them a bit of cover. Two, it was dark. And three,
the workers kept their heads down. The soldiers concentrated on the ammo crates more than their surroundings.

  Paul realized there were only two Chinese nearby. Just two men, two of the soldiers who had killed everyone at Platform P-53. As he thought about P-53, the old anger began to build in him. It roiled in his chest like a living thing and radiated outward to his limbs. It was hard sneaking around an enemy camp. It was even harder to kill a man in cold blood. To just get up and stick a knife into a man…most people could never do it. It did violence to their basic human nature. Paul had been trained, however, and he had killed before, but it was still hard for him to kill a man who wasn’t fighting back. He needed the anger in order to push himself toward what needed doing. So he thought of Murphy, and he told himself these soldiers had known about the killings and they had laughed about Murphy dying alone in a stalled cat.

  “Okay, you bastards,” Paul whispered. He was twenty yards away from the perimeter wall. He was freezing cold and he didn’t think these two were going to go anywhere else anytime soon.

  The two heavily-bundled Chinese moved to a new snow-caterpillar that had just pulled up between the rows of tents. That made it three Chinese now, including the cat driver, not just two. The soldiers moved to the back of the caterpillar. The former caterpillar headed away to the airstrip, probably to pick up another load.

  Three Chinese, I have to kill three men fast with a knife.

  Paul paused, and he unbuttoned his parka. He needed whatever advantage he could get. Slowly, he slipped out of the parka. An icy cold squeezed his ill-clad flesh. He clenched his teeth, drew his knife and waited for the moment to charge. Red Cloud moved beside him.

  The pair of soldiers returned and entered the tent with a crate.