Standing at the Edge

by William Alan Webb

  The horror of reality far outstripped her fears. It had all had such a feeling of inevitability, yet now her gentle son, who’d only wanted to spread his message of peace and love, had been blown to bits and her mind rejected the reality. Only after ten minutes of standing and staring did she walk to the ladder fixed to the building’s side.

  “You’re going to pay for that,” she said to the Chinese, who couldn’t hear her and wouldn’t care if they could. “You’re going to pay in blood.”

  #

  With nightfall coming on fast, the Chinese made a push to overrun the American perimeter defenses before dark. Colonel Lamar had no radio network to direct the battle. Instead, four children served as runners and carried messages to the outposts. All four were at least twelve and the oldest fourteen; everyone older than that held a rifle in a firing pit.

  Lamar stood in the doorway of the headquarters building, the only west-facing edifice not blocked or fortified, Junker Jane by her side. Somehow, having the scraper there bolstered her spirits, and they listened to the gunfire together. Large mounds of sand and dirt heaped against the outer walls gave some protection against bullets and shells. But the truth was, their makeshift defenses were just that, makeshift. Against modern weapons used by determined soldiers, they were little more than a nuisance. The blackened ruins of a building across a narrow street to the west wouldn’t give much cover, since the mounds of debris had been worn down by decades of wind and rain.

  Small arms fire broke out everywhere along the line of foxholes and gun emplacements. The Chinese tanks stood off at long range and blasted the defenders with high explosives, while the APCs traveled with and gave covering fire to the approaching infantry. Without warning, a geyser of flame lit the sky as a Carl Gustav round struck an APC square on its glacis plate. From the south she heard more explosions. The 67 defenders could only hope to hold up the Chinese until total darkness fell.

  Then she heard a sound that turned her stomach.

  “Oh, crap.”

  “Is that a helicopter?” Jane asked.

  Lamar pointed to the sky. Sunlight glinted from its surface as a helicopter flew in from the west. Although high enough to catch the last rays of the setting sun, it was low enough for Lamar to make out the intricate glasswork of the canopy. When it passed directly overhead, she realized it would land in one of the old parking lots to the east, and the only force available to keep its cargo of Chinese soldiers from attacking the southern defenders from behind was her and the children she’d kept back as runners.

  “Grab your rifles and follow me, kids.” Lamar didn’t have to tell Jane, who was already out the back door.

  #

  A huge dust cloud boiled on the horizon. Vapor held on as the desert slipped by underneath the Blackhawk, like the scenes of a movie being watched at too fast a speed. Early in the flight they’d seen wildlife scurrying for cover from the unknown creature in the usually barren skies, but falling night had turned the desert floor into a blur of gray and black shapes.

  “Are we flying into a dust storm?” he yelled over the whine of the turbines.

  “Negative,” the pilot said via the intercom. “Unknown vehicles appear to be deploying in the desert. We have a visual on the base and… hold on—” The intercom went dead for several seconds. “We have explosions to port ahead. Somebody’s catching hell. Looks like the Chinese are attacking the base from several directions. Wait… we have a bogie coming in from the west, appears to be a Chinese helicopter. Am holding here to assess the situation.”

  “Shit,” Vapor said to Claw. “We’re too fucking late.”

  “If somebody’s fighting back, there could still be a chance,” Claw replied.

  “What are we gonna do? We’re two guys.”

  “We’re two Zombies.”

  “Our main mission is to report the situation here, not go down with the ship.”

  “The only way to know what’s happening is to go down there and see for ourselves.”

  “Fuck!” Vapor scowled. “You’re as bad as Green Ghost at this risky shit.”

  Claw grinned. “Worse.”

  #

  Lamar hadn’t fortified the building’s rear. Aside from the lack of manpower, she hadn’t seen the need. Now it was too late. She spread the kids at four windows while she and Jane each took one of the two doors. The helicopter dropped off its cargo and got back into the air before they could fire on it.

  Several rusted-out cars still sat where their owners had left them half a century earlier. Long since drained of fuel and stripped of anything useful, they now made excellent cover. As the helicopter sped away, one of the teenagers opened fire, despite the enemy being out of range. Heavy counter-fire from Chinese troops hiding behind the wrecked cars shattered the window’s glass and frame. The teenager screamed and fell to the floor, blood streaming down her cheek, but neither of the women could spare the time to check on her.

  To make matters worse, a second helicopter landed, and Lamar assumed it disgorged even more men. The gloom of dusk made it hard to be sure.

  #

  Jane swallowed. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to retreat. With APCs supporting the enemy troops to the west and helicopters landing them to the east, they were trapped.

  In the darkness it was hard to see the Chinese at all, much less make out details, so when an RPG sparked flame and a rocket streaked toward the building, there was no time to react. The warhead hit the door Lamar was defending and blew it into small pieces. The blast knocked her backward. She fell to her knees and stayed there, shaking her head, ears ringing.

  “They’re coming!” Jane yelled. Dark shapes moved furtively toward the window, staying behind cover as much as possible. So much gunfire raked the building that the kids slid down with backs to the wall, too terrified to shoot back. That left Jane on her own when the Chinese rose and rushed toward her.

  #

  Chapter 70

  War is not only a matter of equipment, artillery, group troops, or air force; it is largely a matter of spirit, or morale.

  Chiang Kai-shek

  Sierra Army Depot, Herlong, CA

  1849 hours, April 20

  Vapor and Claw scrambled out of the Blackhawk onto the pavement, M-16s at the ready, but nobody shot at them.

  “The Cs must assume we’re their buddies,” Vapor said as the Blackhawk took off again.

  “Which gives us a short window before they figure it out. Whatever we’re gonna do, it better be fast.”

  The gunfire picked up in volume and both men flipped down their night vision goggles. It was time to go to work.

  #

  Jane fired the magazine’s last five rounds at a dark figure sprinting across the ten yards of open ground separating them. She heard him cry out and he went down, but she couldn’t tell where he’d been hit or how bad. She had stepped back out of the doorway and leaned against a wall to reload when something struck the outside wall and exploded, stunning her. Concrete dust hung in the air and stung her eyes.

  Quiet fell. The only sounds came from fighting in the distance. Jane coughed and blinked and tried to shake away the ringing in her ears. Then the figure of a soldier appeared in the doorway, its black outline stark against the faint light from outside. Her stupefied mind realized that he pointed his rifle at her.

  Crack-crack-crack.

  Jane’s sluggish brain identified the sound as the higher-pitched crack of an M-16. She watched the Chinese soldier jump as bullets struck him from behind. He slumped to one side before sliding to the floor.

  All she could think was what the hell?

  #

  The world had turned into the landscape of glowing greens so familiar to modern American troops, but with a level of detail only known by the elite forces equipped with the last generation of night vision goggles. Vapor knelt beside a rusted-out Ford F-150 with no hood and took aim at a green figure standing in the doorway of the building straight ahead. With his rifle set to full auto three-round bursts
, he aimed the laser pointer at the target’s head and squeezed the trigger.

  Flash suppressors kept their presence hidden from the other Chinese, who stood against the wall to either side of the doorway blocked by the body of their comrade. They looked around for the source of the incoming fire. Using hand gestures, Vapor told Claw to take the right hand group and he would take the left.

  Both men assumed the Chinese wore body armor. The standard American 5.56mm M-16 round couldn’t penetrate most enemy armor, and while a bullet had been developed that could penetrate it, Operation Overtime didn’t have any. So both men aimed for the heads.

  Their initial three-round bursts took down one C-man on either side, but also betrayed their position. The Chinese returned fire and a five-second firefight lit the night with tracer rounds and the sparks from ricochets. At the end of it, all the Chinese lay in heaps and Vapor bled from a nasty near-miss to the left temple.

  “Fuck, that hurts!” he yelled, bending over and touching his face. The blood on his fingers showed bright green.

  “Let’s get inside where we can pop a light and I’ll take a look at it.”

  “I’ll be fine, but we’ve gotta let Overtime know what’s going on here.”

  “You won’t be fine if I don’t stop that bleeding. Now, let’s—” They both cocked their heads at the sound of an approaching helicopter. “That doesn’t sound like a Blackhawk.”

  “No, it don’t.”

  “BH-1, is that you inbound to our position?” Vapor said into his helmet mike.

  “Negative, Vapor, we’re five miles east of you. Incoming aircraft must be unfriendly.”

  “Roger that.”

  “You good to go?” Claw said.

  “Never better.”

  They found kneeling positions where the bird sounded like it would put down. Twilight had deepened and the Chinese helicopter flew blacked-out. But between the sound of its rotors and its silhouette, they had no trouble finding their target.

  Both men opened fire at where they believed the cockpit to be. Return fire came from an open cargo bay door, but it went wild. Vapor shifted aim to where it had come from and someone screamed, then a body fell and slammed into the ground. Sparks flew as bullets hit the bird’s metal hull, but it continued hovering. Claw changed magazines first, seconds before Vapor did, and nearing the end of their second magazines, flames burst from the engine.

  Although nearly on the deck, the helicopter pilot pulled the crippled craft back into the air and limped off to the west. Black smoke smeared the blackening night. Both men stood panting as their adrenaline wore off.

  “Hey, listen,” Vapor said.

  “Yeah,” Claw said. “It’s gone quiet. Nobody’s shooting. The Chinese must have called off their attack. Maybe they don’t like the dark.”

  “Let’s hope not. C’mon, let’s get you patched up. You look like a Halloween decoration. Then we can call home.”

  #

  Chapter 71

  A leader is a dealer in hope.

  Napoleon Bonaparte

  Creech Air Force Base, NV

  2019 hours, April 20

  Green Ghost spent the next hour digesting information, asking questions, and trying to think of anything else he needed to know before reporting back to Prime. Kando showed visible fatigue by the time they were interrupted by Sergeant Wardlaw appearing in the office.

  “There you are,” said the sergeant. “May I speak to you outside?”

  “You can tell me here.” Glancing out the window, Green Ghost realized twilight had faded into full night. “I trust the general.” He didn’t add because I could kill him with one hand if I had to.

  Wardlaw’s dark scowl indicated how little he liked that idea. “Very well. Someone named Vapor needs to speak with you concerning the situation at Sierra. We set up the radio next door.”

  “I’ll be back.” Ghost jumped up.

  #

  “Go, Vapor,” Green Ghost said into the long-range radio’s phone-like handset.

  Vapor’s voice came back weak but with minimal interference. “You got me, G.G.?”

  “Talk louder.”

  “Better?”

  “Not really. Gimme a sitrep.”

  “We’re fucked!”

  Green Ghost closed his eyes and counted to three. In some ways, Vapor hadn’t changed since the fifth grade. “That’s not a situation report. I want details.”

  “You want details? Fine, here it is. We arrived in the area near dusk and found the base under attack from two sides, south and west; we couldn’t see up north but maybe there, too. Probably a battalion on each flank with armor support. When we came in, a Chinese helicopter was landing a team inside the defensive perimeter. We unloaded behind them and took ’em out.”

  “You got them all?”

  “All eight. There’s maybe fifty defenders, we haven’t had a chance to look over the positions, and they’ve got a lot of can openers.”

  “What kind of can openers? M-3s?”

  “Affirmative. Gustavs — they’re gonna hurt the C-people tomorrow morning but they can’t hold, G.G. We’re in a room with a bunch of kids and their C.O., who’s hurt. What?” He spoke to someone in the background. “The mother of that hot babe is here, too.”

  “Nado?”

  “Yeah, her. Her mom’s here with us. She says the Chinese are putting everything into taking this place. Gotta tell ya, bro, come dawn this place changes flags. If those Chinese are pros, they’ll take it in a matter of minutes. If they’re not, it’ll take a little longer. Best case, they might hold on for an hour or two.”

  “Runways?”

  “I’m told no; the Chinese got ’em already.”

  “Damn… all right, listen. You and Claw are not to be body-bag fillers, capeesh? Do what you can, but get out of there before the base falls. Bring Nado’s mom with you, and the C.O. and anybody else you can, but get the fuck out of there. If you get killed, I’ll be pissed.”

  “Not half as much as me.”

  #

  Chapter 72

  Never tell people how to do things. Tell them what to do and they will surprise you with their ingenuity.

  Lieutenant General George S. Patton

  Operation Overtime

  2041 hours, April 20

  Whatever was up, even Norm Fleming seemed worried about it. “Every second’s precious on this one, Nick.”

  “I feel like I live my life by a stopwatch.” Settled into his chair, Angriff took out the day’s first cigar but didn’t light it. “Go.”

  “Creech has a skeleton force spread over a wide area at the various airfields in the region. They’ve encountered the same horsemen we did, Rosos’ men, but so far have kept them away from the aircraft.”

  “Aircraft?” Angriff perked up at that word.

  “Yes, including a C-5 at Creech that might be flyable, but let me finish before we get into all that. Vapor is up at Sierra and he couldn’t raise our comms, so he called Green Ghost. Sierra’s under major attack by a Chinese armored regiment with only untrained troops and kids to fight back with. Somehow they fought off the first wave and it looks like the Chinese are waiting for dawn, but Vapor says they’ll be lucky to hold for an hour.”

  “What time is dawn up there?”

  “Zero six twenty.”

  “So that gives us nine hours to reinforce them, ten if we’re lucky.”

  “Eleven at the outside,” Fleming added.

  “If I had my pickup, light traffic, and no cops, I might just make that. But I don’t and there aren’t gas stations along the way, either. So do you have any suggestions?”

  “Green Ghost did, Nick, but it’s an order of magnitude above high-risk.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It all hinges on making that C-5 airworthy and getting fuel up there within eight hours. If we can somehow do that, we get the airborne battalion up to Creech and drop them into the combat zone.”

  “On the surface of it, that sounds insane.
But if I think about it too long, it’ll seem worse. What’s Plan B?”

  “It is insane, but there’s no Plan B. We can’t do it, but you asked for suggestions and that’s the only one that’s even remotely feasible.”

  Angriff stuck the cigar in the corner of his mouth and rose from behind his desk. Hands clenched behind his back, he stalked to his favorite spot, where he could see out the giant picture window to the desert below. “Do we have any four-engine fixed-wing pilots awake?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Angriff stuck his head out the door and called for Schiller. “Get Colonel Saw up here, pronto.” He ducked back inside. “Here’s what would have to happen for this to work—”

  “Are you seriously considering this?”

  “If the Chinese get their hands on Sierra, it’s game over. That’s ten times the firepower we’ve got. We simply cannot let that happen, so unless you’ve got a better plan, we’ve got to see what we can send up there before morning. Now, what’s the fastest road unit either here or in Prescott?”

  #

  2047 hours

  Master Sergeant Frances Rossi did what she always did when Tank Girl was away — she drilled her team like a racer’s pit crew. Speed was life, she said, but only if they did their jobs right. Her crew grumbled, but it had served them well during last year’s battles. Everyone in the hangar knew Tank Girl’s crew were the best, even if they’d never admit it. Only she knew that hard training also kept her mind off George Carlos and the secret she hadn’t yet told him.

  She’d been drilling them since 1500 hours and was about to dismiss them for the night when the buzzer went off at their work bay, followed by a voice on the intercom.

  “Crew Chief Rossi, if you’re there, please answer.”

  That had never happened before. Her heartrate accelerated from 60 to 150 faster than a Bugatti Chiron. Terror closed her throat. Had Tank Girl gone down? Was Carlos injured, or dead? An old-style telephone handset acted as both transmitter and receiver. She picked it up and flipped the switch.