But Lee knew he wasn’t up to standing a watch--and he couldn’t ask Shekhawat to stay awake all night. So, he put the idea aside.
After removing their snowshoes, and emptying their bladders, the men crawled inside. The tent, plus the warmth of his sleeping bag, was all Lee needed. His thoughts turned to hot chocolate, a beautiful woman, and the future. Sleep followed.
The next day was boring as hell. Beagle-One was working like a champ. And, according to Cato, “The Intel nerds are over the moon.” So, what Lee and Shekhawat had to do was stay out of sight. And neither one of them had any objection to that. They spent most of the day sleeping.
But when night fell, they had to emerge from the tent, pack up, and return to the snow-crusted PSGR. Lee did his best to leave the covering intact as he took the unit offline, replaced the battery pack, and put it back in service. ““Beagle-One to Dog-House. Over.”
“I read you,” Cato replied. “Over.”
“Signal check. Over.”
“Green as grass. Over.”
“Roger that, over and out.”
Lee was about to leave when he saw lights appear in the pass. Thousands of lights. They bobbed up and down, snaked into a curve, and disappeared. Was the PGSR capturing that? Of course it was.
But Lee was curious. So, he brought his night vision binoculars up to his eyes and continued to watch. Ten minutes passed. Then as the procession came back into sight Lee got an eyeful. He was looking at soldiers, hundreds maybe thousands of them, all wearing head lamps. No, Lee thought, not soldiers… Civilians. I don’t see any weapons. But why?
Then Lee remembered the Chinese Labor battalions of World War I. Most of the workers had been from Shandong Province, but they came from other locales as well, and were shipped all over the world to provide manual labor--and free Allied soldiers to fight.
Was he looking at something similar? Fostered by the Chinese government this time? That’s the way it seemed.
Much of the return journey was downhill, and the men were able to split the remaining load, making the trip more pleasant. They were still quite a way out when Cato spoke into Lee’s ear. “This is Dog-House. We see you. Over.”
So, the defensive PGSRs were working. And that was a good thing. “Roger that,” Lee replied. “Over.”
There was a warm welcome, followed by hot food, and a chat with Smith-Peet. “Well done,” the Brit said, as Lee finished his report.
“I have something to add,” Lee said. “The Chinese are marching thousands of what I believe to be civilian laborers over the pass towards India.”
Smith-Peet frowned. “To work on fortifications and the like?”
“That’s my theory,” Lee acknowledged.
“So?” Smith-Peet inquired. “If you saw it then people in Trishul saw it as well.”
“That’s right,” Lee agreed. “But our mission consists of more than collecting Intel. You were the one who said we should ‘defeat the Chinese if we can.’”
Smith-Peet smiled. “I said that? I should be more circumspect.”
“Yes, sir,” Lee agreed. “And you were correct. As I watched the laborers march west, I noticed that they were under guard. Not much of a guard mind you… Maybe one soldier for a hundred prisoners.”
“So, they aren’t volunteers,” Smith-Peet mused.
“No sir,” Lee agreed. “They aren’t. So, what will happen if we kill some of the guards?”
“Snipers,” Smith-Peet said. “Kill them and at least some of the laborers will run. That will force the Chinese to use lots of manpower chasing the escapees down. I like it.”
“So do I,” Lee said. “But there would be a cost. Some of the escapees will freeze, starve, or be executed.”
Smith Peet nodded. “You’re right. But, if we can slow the push, then more of our soldiers will survive. That’s how war works Old Stick. Make it happen.”
The task was easier said than done. The problem was a shortage of personnel. After enlisting Staff Sergeant Thapa’s help Lee was able to create a duty roster which would work. But only if every member of the group was willing to lend a hand. Jangchup agreed to train as a radio operator. Binsa became a combat medic.
So far so good. Lee went to find Kwan. She was with Ishya and the baby. “Babies throw up a lot,” Kwan said. “Don’t worry, he’s fine.”
Lee brought the subject up again once the two of them were alone. “So, the DL is doing well?”
“So far,” Kwan replied. “But I’d like to get him out of here.”
“Nothing would please me more,” Lee responded. “But…”
“I know,” Kwan put in. “The weather makes an air evac impossible.”
“Yeah, that’s what they tell me.”
“So, what’s up?”
“I need your help,” Lee said. “We’re shorthanded. And I’d like you to take responsibility for the fast reaction force. I know it’s way outside of your role, but you’re one of the few people who is here all the time, and the entire team knows you can handle a gun.”
“Sure,” Kwan replied. “I’m in. What’s behind the request? The PGSR thing?”
“In part,” Lee said. “But we have another mission now.”
Kwan listened as Lee told her about the column of laborers and the plan to set some of them free. Her expression was solemn. “Civilians are going to die. You know that.”
“Yes, I do,” Lee said. “And it troubles me. But, as the colonel put it, ‘that’s how war is.’ Allied lives will be saved.”
Kwan looked away and back again. “Yeah, I get that. The Chinese are looking for Bhadrapala. What will they do after we kill some of their soldiers, and turn hundreds, perhaps thousands of laborers loose?”
“They’ll look even harder,” Lee predicted. “That’s why I need you to take command of the fast reaction force.”
Kwan looked up at him. “I worry about you, Jon.”
Lee looked into her eyes. “And I worry about you.”
It was as close as either one of them could come to discussing the nature of their relationship. The one that could be, if things were different.
Evers arrived and the moment was over. “Cato got a download from Trishul. The Chinese move 500 laborers through the pass every 12 hours. I’d like to talk about where we’re going to place snipers.”
The next hour was spent going over maps and discussing procedure. The final plan was relatively simple. The force would deploy single snipers, rather than a sniper-spotter duo, as was the usual practice. That was dangerous in that the spotter’s function was to not only spot targets but provide security. But two men would leave more tracks and be more difficult to conceal.
Three snipers would go out, each to a different overlook, where they would spend at least two days. Or longer, if the area they were in was under intense scrutiny. Shekhawat and Mahto were natural choices since they were sniper qualified.
Lee chose himself for the third slot, not so much because of the quality of his marksmanship, but the need to lead from the front.
He left the tunnel immediately after sunset. His pack was relatively light. The load consisted of food, a sleeping bag in a bivvy sack, his pistol, and a British made L115A3 bolt-action rifle. It was chambered for .338 Lapua Magnum rounds, and equipped with Schmidt & Bender day scope. A thermal scope was mounted forward of the day scope, which would allow Lee to hit targets at night.
Lee’s night vision rig allowed him to follow a series of intersecting paths up a steep slope to the ridge above, then west and away from Beagle-One, lest his subsequent activities draw attention to the PGSR.
Then, having put a mile between himself and the Beagle, Lee paused to make sure that he had a clear line-of-sight onto the twisting-turning highway. And, thanks to the fact that a convoy was in sight, the green beret knew he was in a good position.
Concealment was not only a science, but an art that every sniper had to master before he or she could graduate from the school at Fort Benning. Lee lacked those skills but ho
ped that common sense would be sufficient.
That meant finding a hidey hole that would not only provide cover left and right, but conceal him from above too, since the Chinese were certain to employ drones and helicopters in an effort to find him.
After giving careful consideration to four possible locations Lee chose a crevice between two gigantic boulders. Top cover consisted of a ledge populated by shrubs. And by chucking the larger rocks into the back of the cave-like opening Lee managed to create a flat spot.
The next step was to unload the pack with food on the left and ammo on the right. After taking an awkward pee in the back of the cave, Lee placed the sleeping bag combo up front and slid inside. The warmth felt good.
By covering a flat rock with his mostly empty pack Lee made a rest for the rifle. He stared into the scope. The convoy was gone, but vehicles continued to pass by, often in clusters of two or three.
Lee used a handheld rangefinder to establish how far his bullets could go. The answer was approximately 1,200 yards. The rifle was effective to roughly 1,600 yards. So, range wouldn’t be a problem. But targets would be downhill from him, they’d be small, and they’d be in motion. Add the west to east crosswind and the task went from difficult to very difficult. But Lee was determined to try.
It was time to call in. “Viper-Six to Viper Eight. Over.”
“Eight” was Cato’s call sign, but Jangchup was the one who answered. “This is Eight. Over.”
“In position, over and out.” And that was that.
Lee checked the rifle, and checked it again. Then he ate a Mac and Cheese MRE. The food made him sleepy. But he couldn’t rest. Not until the job was done. So Lee used some of his water to brew coffee. It was bitter but the caffeine helped. Then all he could do was lie there as the minutes crawled by.
Finally, Lee fumbled for the tiny MP3 player he carried, and a pair of earbuds. He was listening to the sound track from Last of the Mohicans when the first firefly-like headlamps appeared. Lee put the earbuds aside as he brought the rifle up to his cheek. The stock felt cold. The sight picture panned across dozens of rising-falling bodies before coming to rest on a Chinese soldier. His rifle was slung and his head was down.
Lee had no choice but to put the crosshairs on the man’s left arm because the soldier was turned sideways. Would his bullet pass through the man’s arm and into his chest? Lee felt sure that it would.
You’ve got to compensate for both the side wind and for gravity, Lee cautioned. Plus, you need to lead him. So, raise the crosshair over his head and a skosh to the left.
Lee took a breath and held it. The trigger gave, the rifle kicked his shoulder, and the bullet struck. But not the soldier. A man beyond. The civilian jerked as the slug passed through his body, and he was starting to fall, when the bullet hit a woman. She collapsed in a heap.
Rather than scatter, as Lee assumed, they would, the slaves split into two columns and flowed around the victims. That was when Lee understood the truth. The rifle was suppressed. So, the people below didn’t realize they were being fired on. The soldier was kneeling next to the first body in an attempt to figure out what was going on.
Lee fired again. The second bullet hit the soldier between the shoulder blades and threw him forward. The laborers who hadn’t fled earlier did so. But a steep slope bordered one side of the road--with a sheer drop-off on the other. All they could do was run downhill. Some led the way. Others tripped, fell and were trampled.
Lee felt sick to his stomach as he witnessed the carnage. Smith-Peet’s words came back to haunt him. “That’s how war is Old Stick.”
A vehicle sped down the road. An officer? Or a noncom? Come to see what was happening? Lee thought so.
The 4 X 4 came to a halt. A figure got out. Lee shot him. And when a second soldier circled the vehicle to provide aid Lee shot him too.
Ironically the civilians were fleeing west, in the direction that the PLA wanted them to go, but five guards remained behind. And rather than take cover the way they should have, the soldiers were firing in every direction. They don’t have a clue, Lee thought, as he fed another magazine into the rifle.
The rifle jerked, and jerked again, causing two men to fall in quick succession. When the others ran for cover Lee let them go. He was sick of killing. And angry with himself for being so incompetent. Two civilians. It was his worst nightmare. But there was no way to put the wrong right. No way to do anything other than to thumb the transmit button, provide Jangchup with a terse “Mission accomplished,” and sign off.
Then like an animal retreating to its burrow Lee turned, backed into the cave, and entered his bag. The Chinese drones would come and come again. All he could do was wait, sleep, and dream. None of them were pleasant.
Tong was standing on the Tribhuvan highway at the exact spot where the first attack had taken place. There had been three in all. The first one, another two miles west of it, and a third one mile further on. They were sniper attacks. But to what end?
Two Uyghurs had been shot during the first attack, followed by a number of soldiers. But there hadn’t been any civilian casualties in the second and third attacks. So, ignore the Uyghurs, Tong told himself. They died as a result of incompetence or at the hand of a trigger-happy psychopath.
Focus your attention instead on the overall result of the attacks. Most of the Uyghur laborers were recovered. But some, about a hundred, are still on the loose. And three times that many soldiers have been sent to find them. That was the plan and it worked.
Will the Allied team try the same thing again? Of course, they will. As surely as a dog will lick its ass.
Tong turned to Sergeant Shi. “We’re going back. I need to speak with Major Wang.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tunnel Five, of the Nepal Railway Corporation’s K-Line, Nepal
Lee arrived at the tunnel to find that everyone was in a good mood. The effort to impede the Big Push had been successful, and the network of PGSRs was operating properly. All of which did nothing to make him feel better.
After taking a sponge bath, and changing into a different set of dirty clothes, he met with Thapa. Then, following approval of the duty rosters, Lee sat at an improvised table and chose an MRE from the stack that was kept there. He was spooning some sort of goop into his mouth when Kwan arrived. “I heard you were back.”
Lee forced a smile. “Humble though the tunnel is it beats a crevice between two rocks.”
Kwan’s expression was serious. “What happened?”
Lee shrugged. “I killed people, took naps, and listened to music. End of story.”
“No,” Lee insisted. “That isn’t the end of the story. I’m sorry you had to kill people. But that was the mission.”
Lee stared into her eyes. “My first shot was too high. The bullet killed two civilians.”
Kwan winced. “That’s unfortunate. Welcome to the club.”
Lee frowned. “What club?”
“The club all doctors belong to. What? You think we’re right every time? You think none of our patients die? Well, some of them do die. In most cases that isn’t our fault. But there are exceptions. There are times when, due to a lack of data, we’re forced to guess. And times when our skills fail us. Then someone dies and we spend sleepless nights asking ourselves ‘What if?’”
It didn’t take a genius to know that Kwan was talking about herself. That in spite of the almost brash confidence she displayed every day. “That never occurred to me,” Lee said. “What did you do then?”
“I got up the next day determined to never make that mistake again,” Kwan replied. “Then I went to work. Because maybe, just maybe, lives saved can even the scale.
“And that’s the situation you’re in,” Kwan added. “Lives were taken, but lives were saved. Don’t forget that.”
Lee nodded. “Thank you, Wendy… That helps.”
“Get some sleep,” Kwan said as she stood. “Doctor’s orders.” And with that she walked away.
Overlook 2
, high above the Tribhuvan highway
Lance Corporal Ganju Mahto was waiting when the sky began to lighten. Weak though the light from the half-seen sun was, it was significant nevertheless. Because Mahto had been chosen to make the first daylight attack on one of the Chinese labor battalions.
The privilege came with risks. If Mahto could see better, then the enemy could too. But Mahto’s hide was well camouflaged. And, thanks to the suppressor attached to his rifle, there would be little to no flash.
“Don’t push your luck.” That’s what Staff Sergeant Thapa had told him. “Three shots,” the noncom said. “Then you’re done.”
And that was fine with Mahto who had every reason to live. There was a girl named Devena who, if he survived, would be waiting for him. He would be a corporal by then, on his way to the godlike rank of sergeant, and a comfortable retirement someday. The thought of it made him smile.
Even though Mahto was prepared for a long wait there was no need. He heard the column before he saw it. In order to facilitate the movement of so many people the laborers had been taught to march. Left, right, left, right. Just like the days he’d spent in the training company at Shorncliffe, in Kent.
As hundreds of feet hit the ground a single thump was heard. So, there was no reason to be surprised when a 4 X 4 appeared. And there, marching behind the vehicle, was rank after rank of Chinese men and women. Muslims according to what Mahto had been told. All of whom were considered to be expendable by a country that feared them.
Mahto took aim. The first shot punctured a tire and sent the 4 X 4 swerving. The second shot nailed a guard. And the third shot killed a soldier stupid enough to exit the stalled vehicle. Three for three. Laborers scattered and guards fired at them.
Mahto was smiling when the Chinese 5.56X45mm bullet struck his forehead.
Tong was seated in the 4 X 4. He recognized the voice in his ear as belonging to Corporal Lin. “Tiger-Five. Target down. Over.”
Tong got out and gazed up at the heights above him. Since all of the previous attacks had originated from the south side of the highway it was natural to put the counter-sniper team on the opposing slope. He couldn’t see Lin, or the other members of the Thunder God Commando, but knew they were watching. “This is Tiger-One. Well done. Send the drone for a closer look.”
Red Dragon (Winds of War Book 3) Page 20
