Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5)

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Wait with me,” Tang whispered. “But stay at attention.”

  “What happened?” she whispered.

  Tang looked down at her, and it seemed he would say nothing more. Instead, he looked forward and whispered, “You were lucky. He was planning a rape session that you would not have survived. I’ve seldom seen him so enraged.” As he spoke, Tang never grinned, never looked down again. He kept peering ahead as his lips barely moved. “Events are becoming strange,” he added.

  In silence, Shun Li absorbed his words.

  “Gentlemen,” Hong said from the head of the table. “I am here to inform you that events move in our favor.”

  Several marshals shifted uncomfortably.

  “Yes,” Hong said. “I understand your mood. You are glum, and there are concrete reasons for this. The enemy has secured Harbin in record time. The Russians and Americans rush supplies from Siberia to the city, building a forward supply dump. They have already reached Jilin Province and clearly head toward Changchun, hoping to repeat their performance in Harbin. However, I would like to point out that once again our lines have stiffened. We have moved yet more masses of secondary troops into place and forced the enemy to expend precious munitions against them.”

  “Leader,” Marshal Kiang said. He wore a dark uniform as he fidgeted with a pair of black-rimmed glasses. Otherwise, he was an average-looking sixty-year-old. “May we view the facts as they stand?”

  Shun Li blinked rapidly. She expected Hong to order the marshal shot. Instead, Hong meekly inclined his head as he sat down.

  Marshal Kiang stood, and he held a control in his right hand. He pointed it at a screen, pressing a button. A strategic map of North Korea, Manchuria, Outer Mongolia and southeastern Siberia appeared. Blue units were Chinese. The enemy was red.

  “Let us speak close to home first,” Marshal Kiang said. “The enemy has conquered Heilongjiang Province and begun his penetration of the next layer of Northeast China, Jilin Province. As troublesome to us, Russian forces have swung through the rest of eastern Siberia. As the Americans raced to Harbin, Russians have captured the old, Soviet Far Eastern Province from us. They reached Vladivostok as the people rose against our garrison, stabbing them in the back, as it were.”

  “I am aware of all this,” Hong said.

  Marshal Kiang used the clicker to circle Vladivostok on the strategic map. “I believe the Russians plan is to launch an offensive from here, driving to the Tumen River Valley and crossing into North Korea along the coast and finally reaching its capital of Pyongyang.”

  “Through the Hamgyong Mountains?” asked Hong.

  “It will be difficult terrain, but the Russians have paratroops and airmobile brigades.”

  “Our missiles and lasers battalions—”

  “Yes,” Kiang said, interrupting the Chairman. “By sending reinforcements there and precious antimissile units, we should be able to secure the coastal route. In my opinion, we must. If the Russians can cross the Hamgyong Mountains and reach Pyongyang, they can strike at Shenyang from the southeast. Clearly, the Russians would attempt this as the rest of the invaders attacked out of a conquered Jilin Province. That would give us two directions we had to protect, from the north and the southwest. Further, if the Russians can reach Pyongyang that will give them yet another supply route into Northeast China.”

  “I disagree with your fantasy scenario,” Hong said from his seat. “The invaders will never reach Shenyang, because we will stop them in Jilin Province, in Changchun. It is my belief that we cannot let the enemy reach Liaoning Province. Too much of our heavy industry lies there.”

  “Leader,” Marshal Kiang said. “I have studied your original proposal of wearing out the enemy with inferior forces first as we gather our primary military. Then we strike the invaders a hammer blow once they have spent their first great strategic impulse. May I say that it was and is a brilliant idea?”

  Hong sat a little straighter as he made a depreciative gesture, his fingertips fluttering.

  “Your suggestion now to rush massive reinforcements into Jilin Province strikes me as…as premature,” Kiang said.

  “With Harbin’s relatively easy capture,” Hong said, “we cannot let Changchun fall with the same ease.”

  “I agree. We must make it a bitter struggle for the enemy through Jilin Province.”

  “We’re agreed then?”

  “Not quite,” Kiang said. “Please, permit me to explain.”

  “Yes, of course,” Hong said.

  “The enemy expends every effort to rush supplies from Europe and Russia along the Trans-Siberian rail-net,” Kiang said. “They stockpiled as much as they could in eastern Siberia before the invasion. I believe they gathered enough fuel and ammunition for four, possibly five weeks of intense combat. Afterward, they will begin to struggle. The Trans-Siberian rail net will not be able to feed them the same quantity of supplies. That is when they will have expended their first strategic impulse.”

  “We are in the third week of the invasion and already they move for Changchun,” Hong said.

  “Yes. We must weather their initial gust. We were weak and they were strong. They weaken day by day, however, as we strengthen hour by hour. Harbin, Changchun, their falls are unimportant as long as we can set up the enemy for a truly devastating blow.”

  “The world watches us fall back before their onslaught,” Hong said. “Our allies watch, some with fear and others with hidden joy. This display of weakness hurts our prestige, which is a political matter. If we show too much weakness, the Indian League might change their mind. We could not withstand their entry into the fray.”

  “I agree to a point, Leader. Yet to appear strong initially and then weaken because we lose choice units won’t help us in the end. Such decisions to go to war often take time. That means our coming display of strength will make the Indian League, the entire world, take stock of our invincible might. Sometimes, one must take one step back to take two forward.”

  “A Russian spoke those words,” Hong said with distaste. “Their prophet Lenin, I believe.”

  “Let us attack the invaders with power when their supply situation becomes critical,” Kiang said. “I think we should continue to use secondary, militia and guerilla forces as you gather the Chinese Army on the southern border of Liaoning Province. I also suggest that you send several elite formations into the Changbai Mountains. We should stop the Russians out of Vladivostok before they can reach the Tumen River Valley.”

  Shun Li couldn’t believe this. Kiang couched his words with honor, but he dictated military strategy to the Chairman. Incredibly, Hong nodded.

  “The situation is different in Outer Mongolia,” Kiang said. “The AI Kaisers have proven insufferable antagonists. They give the enemy a bitter battlefield advantage. Because of the Kaisers, the Germans and Russians have reached the Inner Mongolian defenses. I suggest heavier numbers of antimissile lasers and more particle beam destroyers there.”

  Once more, Chairman Hong nodded in acquiescence.

  “We may need to divert several divisions of T-66s there as well,” Kiang said.

  “Agreed,” Hong said.

  Marshal Kiang cleared his throat. “As painful as it is for me to say this: overall the Allied invaders have superior equipment, morale and tactics than we do. We must arm the people in the cities and invite the barbarians to take each fortress in turn. Even if the invaders attempt this in small numbers, the Allied nations will soon find entire armies embroiled in siege warfare with our people. Then China’s Army can strike each battle group one at a time, obliterating them in turn.”

  The chamber grew silent as Chairman Hong pondered the suggestion. Finally, he looked up, saying, “That has been my own plan all along.”

  “Arming the people with machine guns, assault rifles and grenades?” Kiang asked.

  “Under East Lightning supervision,” Hong said.

  “I’m suggesting they do so under Army control and at times under their own supervision. O
ur invasion of North America showed us the truth of city warfare that goes back to Stalingrad and beyond. Lightly armed but highly motivated troops in urban terrain can force heavily armed and better-trained soldiers to slow down to a crawl in grinding house-to-house warfare. That means weeks, possibly months of attritional battles. By arming the people, we gain millions of soldiers. In the end—because of our intense urbanization and sheer numbers—it will prove an impossible task for these barbarians.”

  Shun Li waited for the marshal’s death sentence. He might be speaking the truth. But handing out arms to the people gave them power. The great Mao Zedong himself said that political power comes out of the barrel of a gun. The marshal’s suggestion was unthinkable in Hong’s Nationalist-Socialist China.

  To Shun Li’s vast surprise, Chairman Hong nodded once more.

  What happened while I was away? How has the Army done this in three short days?

  The rest of the meeting continued in the same vein as Marshal Kiang outlined the next steps in China’s coming defense.

  CAIYUANZIZHEN, JILIN PROVINCE

  Jake’s head nodded as the IFV carried the squad at full speed toward a village outside Caiyuanzizhen. The lieutenant had told them there was an important pocket of resistance that needed infantry help to dig out. Their battalion had been selected once again. How wonderful.

  Jake chewed crappy Chinese gum. He’d run out of his jawbreakers some time ago. After a long yawn, he fought to keep his eyes open. His jaw muscles were sore from trying to chew this tough junk.

  The capturing of Harbin more than a week ago had been cause for celebration. The first provincial capital had fallen. Changchun of Jilin Province was next as the army group barreled for Shenyang, Liaoning Province. Three capitals to take Manchuria, the invasion had been going nicely so far.

  That had been then. So much could change in nine days. It was July 3 and this IFV compartment was hot.

  “How about we open some vents,” Jake said.

  “Hey!” Chet shouted, banging on a wall.

  Belatedly, air conditioning vents opened and cool air began to flood the packed quarters. The sound of the engine worsened. Something must be wrong with it.

  Jake yawned again. Spitting the wad of gum into a piece of paper—a surrender flyer—he crumpled it and shoved it into a pouch.

  Things had begun changing after Harbin. Sure, he was a lowly grunt. But he kept his eyes open. It seemed as if the enemy High Command had suddenly gotten smarter, craftier, whatever. The Chinese still poured away troops as if they were water, but the speed of the next Militia Army’s arrival had slowed the American and Russian advance. It also seemed as if the number of guerillas had increased. So far, it meant that many more Chinese dead. Yet how long could American and Russian supplies continue giving the soldiers enough ammo and fuel? Food was easier. You just looted Manchurian stores.

  A jar told Jake the IFV went off road.

  “Hey!” Chet shouted. “How about giving us a heads-up first?”

  The new IFVs lacked vision ports. Neither Jake nor the other liked that. It helped keep out bullets and smaller ordnance, but no one knew what was going on outside.

  “Get ready,” the driver said over the comm.

  “What’s going on?” Chet shouted.

  A monitor flickered, and then it came on. Why hadn’t the driver done that sooner? Jake shook his head, trying to wake up.

  Tanks lumbered ahead of them. It would have been nice if Behemoths were here. These were nimble Jeffersons. They roared down a dirt road. Suddenly, they made a sharp right turn and headed into a cornfield. They smashed the tall stalks, no doubt heading for the village.

  The IFV slowed down as it followed into the cornfield. Jake had seen miles of the corn as if this place thought it was Iowa. Soon, through the IFV armor, he heard fifty-calibers and 175mms firing. Muffled but still angry Chinese antitank guns barked back.

  The IFV halted and the bay door lowered until it thudded onto the soil.

  Jake and the others boiled out. Everyone wore body armor. Today, they left their packs inside the IFV, although each of them carried plenty of ammo.

  “Let’s go,” Lieutenant Wans shouted. The platoon hurried after the Jeffersons. The soldiers faded off the tank-flattened corn lanes as they walked down rows, the stalks towering over them.

  Soon, Jake reached the end of the field. Chet and Grant were near. The tanks fanned out as they approached a nest of brick buildings—the bothersome village.

  “Okay,” Wans shouted. “We’re going in once the tanks stop firing. First we have to get closer.”

  The 175mms boomed. The shells gouged the buildings, at times causing huge chunks to blow into the air.

  “What is this place?” Jake said. In a bent-over crouch, he moved toward the village, if that’s what it really was. Maybe this was another processing plant of some kind.

  “Cement,” Chet said. “This is a cement factory. I used to work in one during high school.”

  “Great,” Jake said. “No wonder everything looks as if it’s made of concrete.”

  The platoon reached mounds of sand, hiding behind them. The lieutenant glanced at his watch.

  With assault rifle ready, Jake stroked the trigger. Flutters hit his stomach. They always did before a firefight.

  The Chinese in the cement factory fired a barrage of mortars, RPGs and anti-materiel rifles at the tanks. The Jeffersons’ beehives blasted down most enemy shells. The flechettes never quite got everything, though. Penetrators from an antitank gun clanged against a Jefferson. The tanks began to pour oily smoke into the air—a hit!

  At that moment, the tank gunners stopped firing their machine guns and cannons.

  “It’s our turn,” Chet told Jake in a tight voice. “It’s up to us.”

  He’s nervous. I’m nervous. We’re all scared. This is crap.

  “Go!” the lieutenant shouted.

  Jake and everyone else shouted like lunatics, jumped up and sprinted for the nearest buildings. His body armor clattered and his throat seemed to constrict so the air had a hard time going down.

  Jake, Chet, Grant and the rest of the squad threw themselves down between each advance. They hid behind any cover available: collapsed walls, garbage piles, scrap metal and mounds of cement blocks.

  The Chinese saw them. They poured fire at what seemed like point blank range.

  Then the Jeffersons opened up again. Heavy shells scream at the enemy. Penetrators and antipersonnel rounds blasted against the buildings.

  From on the ground, Jake stared at Chet in shock.

  “Go!” someone shouted. “Go, go, go!”

  Had that been the final Jefferson round? Jake didn’t know. He hoped so. With an inarticulate shout, he climbed to his feet and ran after Chet.

  The RPG gunners were in the middle of the complex. Maybe the Chinese thought the Jeffersons would come in and allow them to pound the tanks from a height advantage. Heavy machine gun scored hits, knocking down advancing Americans.

  Then Cowboy kicked a door open with his boot. Tiller hurled a mag-grenade into it. The thing exploded with a vicious crump.

  The mag-grenade was new, heavier ordnance for urban warfare. It had a bigger-than-usual punch and was shaped like a policeman’s mag flashlight. For these kinds of fights, it was priceless.

  The platoon used the shock of the last Jefferson salvo. With rifle butts or boots, they smashed into the buildings. The fighting was vicious and sharp, but the enemy didn’t have a hope now. The Chinese died in wild fusillades. A few stood and lifted their hands as high as they could reach. Chet, Cowboy and others gave them a burst of gunfire, and the enemy went down in heaps.

  In savage, no-quarter battle, the advance continued. Half the cement factory had been cleared, with many Chinese corpses but some American dead too. A squad of RGP gunners lay with their rocket launchers, slaughtered by mag-grenades. Gant was particularly expert at it.

  He yanked the pin with a swift pull, waited two seconds and hurled the
death-dealing heavy weight more than thirty yards. Not too many in the platoon could do likewise.

  Jake glanced around. Fires roared. They used incendiary grenades too.

  Then a group of Chinese sprinted around the corner of a lane. They cradled RPGs, shouting like kamikazes.

  Jake, Chet and Gant aimed their assault rifles, cutting them down. One man screamed in agony, clutching his groin. A second volley ended it.

  A last stubborn knot of defenders poured heavy machine gun fire and an antitank gun from a squat blockhouse of concrete.

  “How are we supposed to clear that?” Chet asked. “They’re in a fortress.”

  As if in answer to his question, a Jefferson rumbled onto the main lane. The treads squealed as it rotated into position. Chinese heavy machine gun fire rattled bullets off the armor to no effect. The 175mm cannon elevated ominously. Boom! A tremendous blast, a tongue of flame and smoke sent a shell roaring at the enemy machine gunner. Half the blockhouse seemed to explode.

  That signaled the end of the battle with yet another American victory. Even so, it had cost lives and too much ammo.

  Jake figured Chet said it best as they climbed back into their IFV.

  “You know what this feels like?” Chet said.

  “I know you’ll tell us” Jake said, rolling his eyes.

  “We kill them, but more Chinese reappear, right?”

  “It’s a big country and the most populated on Earth.”

  “Yeah,” Chet said. “That’s what I’m saying. These Chinese are video game soldiers. You kill one, but he comes to life again and attacks a few seconds later in a new place.”

  Jake nodded. Yeah. That was a good point. The supply of enemy soldiers and militiamen seemed endless.

  “I know how to fix that,” Grant said.

  “Yeah, how?” asked Chet.

  “Kill enough of them,” Grant said, “and you win.”

  “Okay,” Chet said. “So where are the power-ups? And how much is enough?”

  “I guess we’re here to find out,” Grant said.

  Jake thought about that, and he decided they were both right.