“Identification,” the sergeant ordered. Tan complied. The sergeant’s demeanor reminded him more of the PRC than the ROC. Still, he obeyed. Tan had been raised to comply with authority and did as he was told, no matter the manner in which it was done.
“What is it?” Tan’s wife was waking up. The children were still asleep.
“Nothing, dear, go back to sleep,” Tan tried to reassure her, but failed. He saw the look of fear on her face.
“Out of the car,” the sergeant ordered. Armed soldiers had surrounded the car. Only when Tan had stepped out did he notice the ugly, V-shaped scar on the sergeant’s face. Tan felt embarrassed when the sergeant caught him staring at it.
Tan Li had always been compliant, as he was raised to be by his parents, to the Communist Party. Secretly, he had never liked communism. It delivered nothing of what they promised. Prosperity and justice in the PRC depended on who you knew, what family you were in, and/or your political authority. Throughout his life he’d seen the People’s Republic of China take from the Chinese people and take from neighboring nations. Yet still, the communist government always wanted more. The PRC always justified this in the name of past injustices done to them. Tan had always wondered how people who had done nothing but take from others could be a victim. However, in the People’s government it was illegal to express that thought. Doing so could get him arrested, perhaps killed, and what good would that have done? Instead he had kept his eyes down, his mouth shut, and complied with the People’s government. He didn’t know if the Republic of China would prove to be any better or not, but the promise of a free democracy had appealed to Tan; so he worked to become a citizen in good standing with the Republic of China.
When Tan stepped out of the car, another soldier nudged him over to the side of the road. Another soldier got behind the wheel and drove the car over behind a large military truck.
“Sir, where are they going?” Tan spoke up out of concern.
The man with the V-shaped scar responded by striking Tan across the face with a metal baton and knocking him to the ground. Before he could even fully comprehend the pain and what was happening to him, Tan was kicked repeatedly in the ribs. His instinct was to curl up into a fetal position. The blows kept coming. Tan’s mind raced to think of what he could have done to warrant this, until the screams of his wife reached his ears. He realized too late that he’d done nothing to warrant this, other than encounter evil. Tan rolled onto his knees and tried to brace himself up with his arms. A boot came down on Tan’s left elbow, snapping the joint. Tan cried out with pain, but still tried to raise himself. Then a boot connected with his chin, shattering several teeth and jamming his lower jaw back towards his ears. Completely unconscious, Tan fell forward and landed on his nose and right cheekbone. Both broke from the impact.
“He’s done.” Liu stopped Private Chen from kicking the unconscious man. They could now hear the children scream, along with the mother, and the laughter of their comrades. They left the traitor of the People on the side of the road to see what their colleagues had accomplished.
The woman was pleading for mercy as the soldiers ravaged her body. The children cried and screamed as they watched from the car. The woman’s pleas infuriated Liu. Who was she to plead for mercy? Here she was with her nice clothes, her car, her family, all acquired while others suffered. Here they were out as a family, enjoying time together during a time of war. North of the Yellow River, people sacrificed and suffered. Not only had this couple done nothing for the People, they had betrayed the People by living for themselves.
“Enough!” Liu shouted. His size and his presence made him seem much older than his seventeen years. The soldiers of his squad froze, waiting for his next command.
Liu walked over and grabbed the woman by the hair. She still attempted to maintain what was left of her modesty in the presence of her children. The feeble attempt only angered Liu all the more. In front of the children he slit the woman’s throat. He let her body fall to the ground as it went through its final death convulsions. He ordered the children to be put in the front cab of the truck with him and the other soldiers in the back. They had done what they needed to do; now it was time to leave before the situation got more complicated.
“Children”—Liu attempted to soothe the crying children—“this is your lucky day. For today you have been rescued by the People’s Liberation Army. We will take you away from this place and these people who would corrupt you, and take you back to your people where you belong. Don’t cry for those villains back there. The People are your parents now. They will tell you what you need to know. They will give you what you need. They will train you how to serve. Don’t cry, good fortune has found you at last.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Harris was in direct sunlight. He was uncomfortably hot. The new body armor was supposed to be more effective and more breathable. Harris thought the breathability was doubtful; he’d have to get shot before he’d know how effective it was.
“Only if you’re lucky,” he mumbled.
“What’s that?” Edwards barked. He was on edge, and for good reason. Lately, they had come to expect the occasional sniper or improvised explosive device on what had become known as “meals on wheels” missions.
“Just mumbling to myself.”
“Stay sharp, Harris.”
“Roger that.” Harris said it, he knew it, but he didn’t feel it. Harris was suffering from low morale. It had been just over a year since First Marines had pushed across the Yellow River. The battle front had not moved an inch north since then. For the last several weeks Harris had woken up wishing he was out of the Marine Corps and could go home to his family. He hated the thoughts. He knew he’d done the right thing. He knew the fight he’d joined, the fight his father and friends had died in, was righteous. He’d signed on to fight for the duration, because he wanted to see this fight through to the end. In boot camp, General Ragnarsson had stated the objective of defeating the People’s Republic of China. Now the president was trying to negotiate with them. Harris could grasp the destruction of a tyrannical government, but he could not grasp the objective now. Nor could anyone else. Even the officers had to give long, obtuse answers when asked what the purpose of a mission was. Everyone caught certain buzzwords or phrases, like: “building cultural bridges,” “create foundations of understanding,” or “benevolence tactics.” Harris had yet to hear anyone of a higher rank be able to specify exactly what those were, or how they would win the war. If the president did not want to win the war, why was it being fought?
General Hinneman was more interested in talking than fighting. President Harmon seemed more interested in investigating potential war crimes than defeating the PRC. Over the course of the last year, Harris had come to the conclusion that this war would not be won. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want it, but there was no indication from the current leadership that there was a strategy for victory. Harris struggled to push these thoughts from his mind. They could come to no good. He could not afford to have low morale; his life, his buddies’ lives, depended on it.
A year ago the PLA had been on the run north of the Yellow River. Now, patrolling north of the Yellow River was something to be dreaded. The Allied forces, as per the agreement in the peace talks, were not camped north of the Yellow River. However, Allied forces were allowed to deliver food and medical supplies to towns and villages south of Beijing. For the last six months these missions had become increasingly dangerous. His TOW platoon had lost five Marines in the last six months to snipers. Two of them, Gordon and Wilson, were from Second Section. TOW platoon had lost three gun teams due to IEDs, two from First Section and one from Third. Harris didn’t see the point of driving in to deliver food or medicine to some village every so often, and lose Marines in the process. Why not destroy the enemy and let the killing come to an end? After that they could give away food and medicine to the people that needed it. At least until a new group of bad guys brought it to an end.
&nbs
p; On these missions he felt like they were sent out as target practice for the PLA, not that the PRC ever took responsibility. The ChiComs claimed it was local militias just trying to defend their homeland. This line had played well with the American media and was now the daily mantra on TV news and the Internet.
A year earlier Harris would have thought the American people would reject that sort of thinking, for they had up to that point. Now, even his own mother had asked him what exactly was going on over there when they last talked. She seemed very concerned that he would get caught up in some sort of violence against noncombatants and perhaps get into some kind of trouble. Indeed, she had updated him on the very public court-martial going on stateside of a Marine infantryman who had shot and killed a Prick, witnessed by an American reporter, who had claimed it was unnecessary. All Harris could do was tell her not to worry and not to believe anything she heard on the news.
There had been a lot of scuttlebutt that those that had signed up for the duration would be allowed to terminate their enlistments, but as of yet it had just been rumors. Edwards said it wouldn’t happen.
“If the president won’t kill the enemy, then she’s got to scare them into quitting. How’s she going to do that if she lets damn near the whole Marine Corps go home?” Edwards had argued. Harris thought he had a point. President Harmon seemed to be trying to win a war by showing their enemy how likable Americans were, while threatening to attack them if they didn’t comply with her. Harris didn’t like it. Marines were still dying, but instead of moving north towards Beijing, they moved east and west along the Yellow River.
Lieutenant Kai was glad to be out in the field again, although he wondered how effective distributing food and medicine to villages was to the war effort. His view, and that of several of his fellow officers, was that this was something to do after they had defeated the PRC, not something to do in order to defeat the PRC. However, his duty was to implement orders given, not create strategy, so he strived to keep a positive attitude. So far American leadership had been brilliant, why would the new American president turn away from that?
Kai had recently returned from one week of leave visiting his family in Taiwan. The attitude there was not as positive. Many, including Kai’s father, now saw the United States as hampering the war effort. Others were afraid that if the PRC were not destroyed, it would come back to destroy the ROC.
Kai understood those fears, but could not actually envision that happening. The PLA could not compete with the Allied forces. He, personally, had seen many Chinese happy to be liberated from the control of communism and excited to participate in democracy. How could this lead to a defeat? Even now as he oversaw his men distributing food to these villagers who had been ravaged by war, he could see their smiles. He had experienced their appreciation; why would they reject democracy now?
Even if the Allies were not advancing north, Kai thought some of the work they were doing was good. The people in this village were in need of food. He saw their smiles and he heard their appreciation. The old and the young would find it difficult enough to survive in the summer. Winter could be impossible.
Kai heard an ear-piercing scream. He spun around, his hand reaching for his pistol, but saw it was just several small children kicking a soccer ball around, playing. Kai smiled; the scene of carefree joy did his heart good. Turning back to the line for food, a young man caught Kai’s attention. He appeared to be in his early twenties, a rarity in this region where young men were either fighting for the PLA or the ROC. There was little room for neutrality along the Yellow River. Kai noticed the young man had a severe limp and a nasty V-shaped scar on his cheek. Kai thought perhaps the man might be a wounded veteran, but for what side?
“Hello. Good morning.” Kai walked by to engage the young man. He thought he could perhaps judge the man’s standing by his reaction. Instead, the young man blankly stared at him with his mouth open. Kai thought the young man must be severely retarded, and his mental slowness had gotten him injured in the course of his agricultural labor. Kai thought the man too stupid to survive combat.
Harris used his TOW sight to look for potential threats to Charlie Company’s heavy machine gunners surrounding the small village below. In turn, the machine gunners were covering ROC troops that were distributing food to the villagers. Even in the heat of the direct sun, Harris found himself craving a cigarette. He sat back from the TOW gun and efficiently dug out a cigarette and matches. Within seconds he had it lit and was enjoying the first inhale with the taste of sulfur from the match. He was about to put his eye back to the day sight when he noticed the black spot in the sky.
“Shotgun!” Harris demanded.
“Where?”
“Two o’clock. Scott, drive slow, drive casual. I want to get in range.” If Pricks were watching, Harris didn’t want to tip them off that he’d seen their “eye in the sky.” He slipped on amber-colored glasses to cut down on the sun’s glare.
“Blue Leader, Blue Leader,” Edwards called on the radio, but before there could be any reply, they all jumped from an unexpected explosion. Harris aggressively searched for the site of the explosion, but could see nothing. He heard nothing other than the chatter on the radio, but he let Edwards worry about that.
“What do you see?” Edwards demanded.
“Nothing,” Harris replied. Scott kept driving in the same direction. Another explosion. This time Harris instantly picked up that it came from the village. They all heard machine-gun fire and soon saw smoke, but still no visual on an enemy. A bit prematurely, Harris fired the twelve gauge at the PLA drone. It flew away, but began to sink. Harris hoped he had damaged it. He fired again and nailed it. As if the shot was a cue, there was another explosion. It came from the hills to his right. Jefferson’s and Cortes’s squads were in that area. Harris saw smoke, but that was it. While looking around, he saw a flash, heard a bang, and another explosion in the village. An antitank rocket was fired into the village. He heard the explosion, but did not know if it hit its target.
“Stop!” Harris ordered and kicked the back of Scott’s seat in case he hadn’t heard him. Harris scanned the area where he’d seen the flash. He spotted Pricks reloading an HJ-12 antitank missile. Without word, without warning, Harris fired his TOW and took them out before they could get another shot off.
Machine-gun fire erupted from the village, but Edwards ordered Scott to cut a hard right and gun it. Harris had missed what was said on the radio. He ditched the empty tube and slid down from the gun to get another missile. It was a difficult process in a fast-moving LSV crossing rough terrain.
“Fuck that, use the SAW,” Edwards ordered. “Cortes’s LSV is hit.”
Harris spotted the dead vehicle. It was getting blasted. He spotted tracers coming out of the foliage. He began laying down fire in that direction. Scott pulled right next to the LSV. Small-arms fire rained in on them. Harris hunkered down as much as possible behind the turret’s armor and laid into the woods with the SAW. The drum ran out and Harris scrambled to reload. Scott fired the M5 rifle from the driver’s seat. Edwards jumped out, firing the twelve gauge, and ran to the downed LSV. He dragged back a bloodied Metzer and threw him in the back. Harris hated being this exposed in one spot for this long, but knew they weren’t leaving until they got all their guys. A high-explosive TOW missile struck into the tree line with devastating effect, but small-arms fire from both sides kept up. Edwards had dragged Braddock back to the LSV. Harris realized none of them were moving under their own power, and Edwards went back for Cortes. Harris cursed when he realized he had to replace another two-hundred-round drum. His five- to six-round bursts were becoming indistinguishable. Edwards flung Cortes from over his shoulder into the backseat of the LSV.
“Go! Go! Go!” Edwards screamed, although Scott did not have to be told. He had already hit the gas.
The windshield was cracked from small-arms fire. Scott was nearly driving blind, but even if he couldn’t see well, it did not slow him down. However, the flat tires
did. The LSV’s tires were designed to run when flat, but it did inhibit performance. Even at that, Harris could tell the LSV was working too hard to be going that slow. The engine had to have been damaged. Harris prayed that the engine would at least get them out of range of enemy fire.
“Come on, hang in there!” Scott yelled as if he could will the engine to perform better.
Harris jumped back into the turret to fire the SAW.
As the LSV slowed down, forty-millimeter grenades dropped into the Prick riflemen. They were getting backup from a Mk 19 gunner. Another high-explosive TOW missile was fired into the Prick line. As long as the LSV’s engine kept running, they could limp out of there. Harris noticed another TOW gun team about two hundred meters to his left, firing their SAW. Harris ducked down into the LSV to get another drum. Their mortality crossed his mind. It angered him that they could all get killed today on some meals on wheels mission. Not winning the war, not saving American lives, but delivering food into enemy territory.
Harris didn’t notice the American attack helicopters until after he had reloaded another two-hundred-round drum and began firing again. It was not a moment too soon. The LSV managed to limp away, but would not make it back to base. Hastings and Riccardi’s vehicle pulled up next to them. Hastings and Harris laid down cover fire from their SAWs as Edwards, Scott, and Riccardi began to move the wounded into Hastings’s vehicle. Renoir and Jacobs pulled up and covered them as well. The helicopters were a Godsend; they were more than the Pricks could handle.
Edwards motioned Harris into Renoir’s vehicle. With their own vehicle empty of personnel and essential gear, Edwards placed a white phosphorus “Willie Pete” grenade on top of the weapon system to destroy it. Then he jumped into Renoir’s vehicle with Harris. Jacobs punched the accelerator.
Edwards turned around to face Harris from the front seat.
The Last Marine Page 23
