Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5)

by Vaughn Heppner

  Stan blinked first, pulling back. He didn’t want to lose all his armor. The Chinese tank commander gave chase, big T-66 monsters leaving the expressway to follow the retreating Jeffersons.

  As Stan lurched about his command tank, he gave an order he didn’t want to. “I need the Cherokees.”

  The last six attack helicopters of his maneuver battalion lofted, racing into the engagement from the flank. They hovered sixty feet above the ground, and their Hellfire IIs began to slow down and then destroy the heavily armored tri-turreted tanks.

  The Chinese tankers were professionals. Unknown to Stan, they had come from Japan. Chairman Hong had used some of his best soldiers to watch the Japanese. The Chinese tankers tonight loaded their cannons with antiair rounds. The next salvo brought down two Cherokees.

  “General, do I have your permission to break off?” the battalion commander asked.

  Stan drew a deep breath. He was gaining separation with the T-66s. “Negative,” he said. “Fight it out.”

  No reply came back, but the four Cherokees fought a death match with the land battleships. They launched Hellfire IIs, Hydra-80s and poured bullets with their chain guns. It was a laser light show…while it lasted. Four more Chinese super-tanks died, and another six lost their treads.

  Then the last Cherokee crashed against the ground.

  American heavy artillery hammered the T-66s. The Chinese commander managed to drag four of the disabled T-66s with the other tanks, taking them back to the ring expressway and into the city. The rest died to artillery.

  The Chinese tank commander lost half his super-tanks, but he beat back the first American attempt to get onto Changchun’s front porch.

  The city still awaited the invaders, defying them to take Manchuria’s second most important urban center.

  Stan mourned his dead soldiers and aviators and the loss of the Cherokees. It had been a difficult decision. Yet he knew one thing: without the Jeffersons, they were never going to conquer Manchuria.

  He pulled back as V Corps regrouped.

  That night, Stan inspected his division, talking with colonels, captains, lieutenants and sergeants. He took the pulse of their morale. With a shrewd eye, he studied the shape of their vehicles and the men’s bearing. They still had fight left. The machines were in decent shape.

  Around four o’clock in the morning, he sat outside his command Jefferson, staring at the stars. He drank hot coffee from a thermos.

  As he often did, he reviewed historical parallels. This one seemed obvious: Beirut in 1982 when the Israelis invaded Lebanon. The Israeli Army swept aside the Palestinians and others as they raced for the capital. They stopped outside the city. Yes, the Jewish leaders had political reasons for doing so, but there had also been military reasons too. In a big city, determined men with small arms could create a hell world even for some of the best soldiers in the world. The Germans learned that in Stalingrad.

  The Chinese mean to fight here. They’re trying to slow us down with siege warfare.

  Stan frowned. How many excellent troops did the Chinese have in Manchuria? For weeks now, the enemy had used inferior soldiers and guerillas to try to absorb the invasion.

  With a snap of his fingers, Stan jumped up. He sprinted to a jeep, climbed in and raced for General Taylor of V Corps.

  A groggy Taylor eyed him an hour later. “Do you know what time it is?”

  They stood in a modern schoolhouse. Nodding, Stan pulled out a computer scroll, spreading it out on the teacher’s desk.

  “Do you know what I think?” Stan said.

  Taylor frowned. His eyes were very red. Finally, he shrugged.

  Stan manipulated controls. Chinese formations began to appear on the map, which showed Changchun and the surrounding countryside.

  “Look at the enemy formations in the city,” Stan said.

  “I’ve been looking at nothing else for hours today.”

  “You heard of my encounter with the T-66s?”

  “I did. I’m not sure I approve—”

  “Never mind what I did,” Stan said. “The point is the Chinese have made a mistake.”

  “What mistake?”

  “They’re trying to turn Changchun into an invincible fortress,” Stan said.

  “From our first encounter near the city, it sounds like they’re doing it, not just trying.”

  “That’s not my point. They’ve only used second-class formations so far. The reason is obvious. They’re trying to buy time while they train more soldiers. Now, suddenly, they’re using their first class units. That’s the key to Changchun’s defense. Look. They hope to embroil us in costly city warfare. It’s the right idea. Yet I think they’ve put too many of their best formations here.”

  “I’m still not tracking your idea,” Taylor said.

  “We bypass the city.”

  Taylor shook his head.

  “If the Chinese have put their best troops in Changchun, let’s encircle the city and leave a guard to watch them. Meanwhile, we race deeper into China, into Liaoning Province. Let these best troops whither on the vine.”

  “The main roads go through Changchun. We’re going to need it for logistical reasons.”

  “Bypass it,” Stan said. “Use other routes.”

  “Why do you think that’s such a brilliant idea?”

  “You and I both know Hitler should never have gone into Stalingrad. He didn’t need to. He could have ringed it with artillery, cut it off and bypassed the place. Instead, he hammered at the city with good German soldiers who knew how to maneuver in the field. In a city, the side with more willpower or guts usually wins. In Changchun, the civilians with rifles will help to make it hell for us. Instead of doing any of that, we neutralize some of China’s best troops, just by keeping them there. That will make it easier on us later in Liaoning Province.”

  “Yes…” Taylor said. “I’m beginning to like it. The Chinese need time to train their new troops. But we’re not going to give them time. They’ll have to put them into battle too soon because we bypass Changchun and don’t give them any time to prepare the next defenses.”

  “If we attack fast enough,” Stan said.

  “Yes…” Taylor said. “That’s an interesting idea. Still, it will take a lot of balls to bypass such a huge fortress. We would be leaving some good formations in the city. If they ever broke out…”

  “We’d have to leave enough behind to make sure that didn’t happen.”

  “Which would also weaken us,” Taylor said.

  “Some,” Stan said. “But we’d be leaving behind secondary troops, lesser soldiers. If we storm Changchun, we’re going to lose our best men.”

  Taylor nodded. “It’s a good idea. But so what? We don’t make strategy.”

  “I think it’s time you called up General McGraw,” Stan said. “Tell him…tell him this is my idea. Tell him grinding us to death for Changchun is stupid when we could get the whole thing.”

  Taylor eyed Stan. Finally, he said, “Let me think about it.”

  “Meaning no disrespect, sir, but I wouldn’t think too long. We have to act fast. That’s the only way we’re going to take Manchuria.”

  Taylor turned away, staring at a wall. In time, he regarded Stan. “I want you to stay right here. I’ll call McGraw, and then I’m going to let you explain it to him as you just did to me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Stan said.

  From Military History: Past to Present, by Vance Holbrook:

  The Invasion of Manchuria, 2042

  2042, July 15-22. Beyond Changchun. The Russians and Americans made a momentous decision concerning greater metropolitan Changchun. Despite the fact that the main Manchurian road and rail net went through the nexus of greater Changchun—the Chinese Auto City—the Allied High Commands agreed to bypass and the ring the city with artillery and garrison troops. Instead of going into “Fortress Changchun,” they besieged it and decided to starve the city into submission, leaving over 150,000 Chinese soldiers and several hundred t
housand citizen-riflemen inside, along with eight million civilians. This tied down over 200,000 Russian soldiers and 40,000 Americans. Yet it saved both armies from massive casualties and from becoming bogged down in house-to-house fighting in the city.

  The road and rail sub-routes beginning in the Manchurian Plain would bypass the Changchun road and rail nets as they poured supplies to Allied forces. The Russian 7th Army Group (820,000) together with Russian Ninth Army (85,000) and the US 3rd Army Group (123,000) began their approach to Liaoning Province, the heart of Northeast China’s industrial basin. After several days delay and watchful worry over Changchun, the Allied offensive continued south.

  -13-

  Drive on Shenyang

  CAMP XI 5, LIAONING PROVINCE

  Cramps twisted Jake’s stomach as he crawled toward the enemy minefield. He knew what caused the pains: stark fear.

  It smelled like rain tonight, with heavy clouds covering the moon and stars, which made this doubly dangerous. There was still enough ambient light for his night vision goggles. But if it began to pour…

  He slithered across grass, his head slowly swiveling back and forth, as he studied the enemy’s positions.

  Jake’s fear included the terror of awful maiming: losing arms and legs or hands and feet. The worst would be to his cock and balls. He dreaded that. If he missed a mine, crawled over it and boom—there went any lovemaking with a beautiful babe of a wife. Of course, his guts would likely be blown away too and probably his legs. To Jake, those things were just as bad as dying. He’d seen enough maiming and death to last him the rest of his life.

  He slithered forward faster than before, and the cramps made his face twist with pain. He should have told the lieutenant about the stomach cramps, how they made it almost impossible to think.

  “No,” he mouthed. He couldn’t let Chet and Grant down. They didn’t want to do this either, but they crawled to his right and left, along with the rest of what remained of the squad.

  Jake wore body armor, a dark commando poncho that blocked his infrared signature and blackface so his skin didn’t shine and give him away. For this little get-together with the enemy, he had a Remington battle shotgun with a nice drum magazine attached. There was nothing nice about tonight, though. It was a murder mission pure and simple.

  Okay, my man, you can do this. If your gut hurts, screw it. I’m going in anyway.

  The Chinese kept pouring troops north to block them. Mostly, the enemy soldiers were frightened young men mixed with a few old farts. They had weapons, though. The inexperienced slobs knew just enough to dig and die in place while Chinese artillery and rockets did their best to kill Americans. US High Command, or somebody lower down the food chain, had hit upon a new way to baptize these newbies into the conflict—infiltration tactics combined with night slaughter.

  Jake had done this twice before. He hated it because it meant crawling through minefields, cutting razor wire and fooling Chinese sensors and night guards. One of these times, there was going to be a breakdown, and that might mean the finish of the squad and the larger platoon.

  When does this end? Harbin, Changchun and now we’re invading Liaoning Province. If we capture Shenyang, will the war be over for us? When is it someone else’s turn?

  Jake didn’t know the answer, and he realized he shouldn’t be thinking about it now.

  Concentrate on the mission.

  He kept slithering across grass until a link in his ear beeped. That made sweat drip into his eyes so it stung. He wiped his orbs, trying to clear them. He was here, at the minefield. Jake exhaled and flipped down a one-eyed visor. It gave him a videogame schematic, and for the next several minutes, he contorted himself around plastic-coated devils buried in the ground. Yeah, plastic sons of bitches so no one could detect them. The device on his helmet used the explosive in the mine to locate its position and warn Jake about it on the schematic. Behind him, Chet, Grant and the others did the same thing. No one lifted the mines. That was too dangerous. Like a deadly and peculiar tide, the Americans flowed toward combat with the newbies.

  Jake saw the first outpost, with a Chinese kid manning a machine gun. Two things struck him about the nest. One, there was no razor wire, thank God. Second, there was only one sucker, not two or three as they usually had. The one man chewed a wad of gum so Jake could hear him smack his lips. Even so, without his fancy poncho, Jake knew he’d be cooked because Chinese sensors would have spotted him by now.

  Why does it always have to come down to this?

  Jake disliked knives. He’d read somewhere that sociopaths loved daggers and sticking people. The US Army had those. He was starting to think that Chet might be one. The missions never bothered him: the killing, the blood, the stink of combat. Chet scanned his porn and grinned every time he learned they were going in hand to hand. Something might be wrong with his friend. The lieutenant had warned Chet before to make sure he didn’t overact during combat.

  No worries tonight for Chet, Jake thought. The mission was a sociopath’s wet dream.

  The next two minutes seemed like a lifetime of worries, stomach cramps and inner dialogues. Finally, Jake worked behind the machine gun nest. Slowly, he rose to his hands and feet and then stood up in a crouch. He slid a black-coated blade from the sheath on his chest. As taught, he crept toward the gum-chewing kid. Jake never knew what gave him away. The kid turned, and his eyes went wide with terror.

  Don’t let him yell!

  Like a cougar, Jake leaped the distance as he thrust his knife as if it were a rapier. The blade went into the soldier’s mouth. The kid’s eyes opened horribly wide, and he grunted, choking. Jake’s jump caused him to collide with his lighter opponent, and he knocked him down. Jake fell on top, but lost his grip of the knife.

  The kid bucked wildly. Groaning, Jake grabbed the soldier’s throat, squeezing as hard as he could. Hands thrust at his face. Fingers clawed his nose and made it into his mouth, wriggling around.

  Jake knocked one arm away. Then he grabbed the bloody knife handle, yanked the blade out and stuck the man in the throat. Hot blood jetted Jake on the face.

  “You bastard,” Jake hissed. Using his sleeve, he wiped his checks, mouth and cleared his eyes. The first time that had happened, he’d vomited. He didn’t do that tonight. But it did flip a switch in his mind. He was supposed to wait before he took out his shotgun and went to town. No way, José. It was clobbering time.

  “Jake,” Grant whispered.

  Something else had taken over in Jake, and his stomach quit cramping. Shrugging the Remington from his shoulders, he charged toward the Chinese tents. Before he made it three strides, someone tackled him from behind. They both went down, Jake’s right cheek slamming against grass.

  “Wait for the rest of us, you idiot,” Chet whispered into Jake’s left ear. “You’re going to get everyone killed if you go Rambo on us.”

  The fury evaporated, and Jake realized he’d been about to charge in alone. Tremors washed through him.

  What’s wrong with me? Am I becoming a sociopath too?

  “This is a lousy war,” Jake muttered.

  “It ain’t so bad,” Chet said. “Of course, I wish we’d get some pussy sometimes. Maybe we should start using some of these Chinese women as whores.”

  “No rape,” Jake said, shaking his head.

  “It ain’t rape when they like it. Come on. We’ll pay them first. Think about it. These women will finally have some American boys, some real men. They might want to pay us before it’s over.”

  “Everyone is through the minefield,” the lieutenant said over the links. “Let’s move into the kill zone.”

  That meant all the outposts had been neutralized. There was a nice sanitized word for you: neutralized. It never spoke about enemy blood spraying a soldier in the face. It didn’t say nothing about gut cramps and fear. No sir, we neutralized them, just erased them like a blank page. So nice, so very nice, thank you very much.

  Jake, Chet and Grant spread out and advanced
on the Chinese tents. One good thing about these half-trained soldiers was that their officers kept them all bunched together for better command and control. Just as pigs in a slaughterhouse weren’t allowed to run around unsupervised.

  “This is like a turkey farm,” Chet said.

  “I suppose,” Jake said, as he accidently kicked a stone, which clattered against a half-buried boulder. He froze, but no enemy outcry sounded. So far, none of the Chinese suspected a thing.

  Like the others, Jake knew the importance of the mission. If the platoon could take this base without artillery, and some other platoons other forward camps, then American tanks were going to drive through and hit a Chinese assembly area farther south. Hit them where it hurts and do it real quick like so they don’t even know it’s happening. That’s how they were going to win this war.

  “Use the white phosphorous grenades,” the lieutenant said over the link.

  Jake readied his shotgun. Chet and Grant dug out a grenade each. Both of them had played baseball in high school and were better at lobbing these things than Jake.

  “Do it,” the lieutenant said.

  Grenades sailed through the dark night. Others come from different directions of the compass.

  At the last minute, Chet turned and said, “Take off your night vision, dummy.”

  Jake tore off his goggles. Then the white phosphorous grenades exploded and tents began to burn. Almost immediately, Chinese soldiers began to scream and shout in terror.

  Jake ran forward, pumping a shell into a chamber. The first enemy soldier ran naked out of his burning tent.

  BOOM! Jake blew a hole in the man’s chest. As if a bowling ball had struck him, the man crashed onto the ground and began to shriek. The most murderous part of the mission had begun. BOOM! BOOM! Jake killed the naked man, shutting him up.

  Then Corporal Jake Higgins forgot about his worries as the bloodlust boiled in his brain. Together, he and his buddies began to slaughter the helpless enemy soldiers.