The tour continued after that, and when it was over, Lee was left with the impression of a square protected by an intact wall on the south side, and berms to the north, east and west. The tower anchored the fort’s southeast corner, while American-made Stryker vehicles guarded the other three corners of the outpost, all of which were heavily armed.
The stretches in between the strongpoints were well-seeded with sandbagged fighting positions, light machine guns, and crew-served Mk 19 grenade launchers that could fire 40mm grenades at a practical rate of 40 rounds per-minute.
All-in-all FOB-17 would continue to be a tough nut for the Chinese to crack if, and it was a big if, the base could be supplied. So, Lee had every reason to hope that Gupta’s supplies would arrive safely.
After the tour the group returned to the basement where they ate MREs and lay down to get some shuteye before the stand-to scheduled prior to dawn. Kwan was nowhere to be seen and Lee wondered how she was doing as he drifted off to sleep.
The morning alarm consisted of a corporal walking through the basement banging on a garbage can lid. He, at least, seemed to be in a good mood. “Time to get up! Report to your posts. A new day awaits!”
Soldiers hurled insults and all manner of trash at him but the noncom grinned good naturedly. “Save your insults for the Chinese my friends, they will be here soon enough.”
Lee and the rest of his men were stationed on the east berm which typically took the worst beating. “Put your heads down!” a lieutenant shouted. “Aircraft from the west!”
The first A-10 arrived seconds later, strafed the hell out of the moonscape to the east, and pulled up. That’s when a second Hog arrived from the south and dropped two bombs just short of the wall. The explosions were loud and sent columns of dirt shooting up into the air. The north side of the perimeter came next, followed by a gun run to the west.
Two K-MAX drones appeared moments later. Both were carrying pallets of supplies which dangled from cables. That was sufficient to trigger a concerted attack from the east. The C-RAM answered with long bursts of fire which interdicted both artillery rounds and mortar bombs alike. Flashes of light strobed the early morning battlefield as the incoming weapons blew up.
Lee held his breath as the lead K-MAX took fire and began to lose altitude. Smoke was trailing behind the drone by the time it crossed over the perimeter and released its load.
Then, conscious of the fact that his K-MAX wouldn’t make it back, the pilot sent the machine forward to crash kamikaze-like onto an enemy machinegun position. Evers yelled, “Suck it,” and the men around him cheered.
The second K-MAX had arrived by then, dropped its pallet 20 yards from the first, and banked away. Then, freed from its load, the drone took off for the west. Lee released his breath. FOB-17 was still in trouble… But the fight continued.
The successful supply drop did a great deal to bolster morale, and Gupta was quick to distribute the candy bars and soft drinks that were included in the load. Lee had a can of diet coke. Ice would have been nice but it still tasted good.
Then the boredom set in. The hours seemed to drag by. Morning turned to afternoon as the sun inched across the sky. Snipers exchanged shots. The C-RAM stuttered every now and then. Contrails scratched the sky. The sun dipped into the west and darkness fell.
Lee ate most of an MRE, spent four hours as head of the fast response team, and went to bed at 0230. Dawn came too quickly as did the age-old tradition of a stand-to.
Gupta sent every able-bodied member of his force to their defensive positions as a ribbon of pink light stretched across the horizon. Then, as the orange-red disk began to edge up over the mountains, a lookout spoke over the PA system. “They’re coming! Hundreds of them!”
Lee elbowed his way to the top of the berm and brought a pair of binocular up to his eyes. The rising sun made it difficult to see. And that, Lee recognized, was part of the enemy’s plan. Attack with the sun at your back. A strategy as old as warfare itself.
Then he heard the boom, boom, boom of drums, and saw that two columns of soldiers were advancing toward the outpost. And that too was part of the plan.
The defenders could fire at the lead men, four per column, but couldn’t mow all the attacking force down. Except that the people marching toward him weren’t troops! They were Uyghurs! Men, women and children being used to mask the real soldiers who followed along behind. Lee thumbed his radio. “This is Viper-Six… Don’t fire! I repeat don’t fire on the people coming toward us. They are Chinese slaves. PLA troops are hiding behind them!”
Gupta was quick to respond. “Tiger-Six to Viper-Six. Are you sure? Over.”
“Yes,” Lee said, as he scrambled up and over the berm. “I’ll try to divert them to the north and south. Use drones to locate the PLA troops and take them out. Over.”
Lee expected to take fire, as he took the east side of the berm in a series of jumps, but there wasn’t any. And that made sense in an evil sort of way. The Chinese were waiting for the defenders to fire on the civilians. A mine exploded tossing a Uyghur woman high into the air, but the massed bodies kept coming, driven by the Chinese soldiers located behind them.
The columns were so close that Lee could see the fear in the eyes of those at the front... He pointed at the left-hand column before motioning it to the north. The words were in Mandarin. “Go around the fort!” he shouted. “The Sikhs won’t fire on you!”
Then, after giving a similar order to the second column Lee pointed south. The column turned. It couldn’t march in a straight line. Not with so many trenches, craters, and wrecked vehicles blocking the way. So, the column snaked south and turned west. The drums continued to pound, the sun inched higher into the sky, and mortar bombs fell to the east. The explosions threw bodies and parts of bodies high into the air.
That was when a frantic voice came over the radio. “They’re inside the wire! The Chinese are inside the wire! They’re coming up through tunnels! Over.”
The sounds of fighting came from within the fort as Gupta issued orders. “This is Tiger-Six. Even numbered squads will face out—odd numbered squads will face in. Pick you targets… Don’t shoot each other. Over.”
The truth was clear. The Uyghurs had been intended as a screen, but more than that, as a diversion! The PLA had been tunneling in under the fort’s defenses for weeks. Now they were attacking from below. Lee turned and scrambled up and over the top of the berm. Bullets snapped around him as PLA soldiers fortunate enough to survive the mortar barrage charged the outpost.
Lee was barely inside the perimeter when Chinese soldiers surged up and onto the berm behind him. Explosions rippled along the slope as a Sikh triggered the command detonated mines buried there. Bodies somersaulted through the air and a bloody rain fell onto the otherwise dry soil.
Wendy, Lee thought. I need to find Wendy. But that was impossible. At least 20 PLA soldiers were inside the compound--and more were arriving each second. Lee saw an eruption of soil, followed by the shape of a man’s head, as Chinese soldier hurried to exit an underground shaft.
Lee shot the intruder three times and hurried over to stomp on the dead man’s head. As the body fell Lee readied a grenade and let it fall. Then it was time to step back as the bomblet exploded.
Chaos reigned all around. Sikhs were fighting Chinese soldiers hand-to-hand, other Sikhs were firing to the east, south, west and north in a desperate attempt to hold off waves of enemy troops. Machineguns rattled incessantly, rifles banged, and even pistols came into play as the defenders struggled to hold the fort.
Evers shouted, “Behind you!” Lee turned to see three PLA soldiers topping the berm. They were silhouetted against the morning sky. He brought the M4 up and shot the Chinese soldiers from left to right. One, two, three.
Their bodies were still tumbling down the inside surface of the berm when another silhouette appeared and shot Lee in the chest. The bullet threw the green beret back, as a second slammed into his left thigh, and a third hit his head. Then lights
went out.
When Lee returned to consciousness it was to see the sky, the blurry image of the Sikh who was carrying the far end of his stretcher, and the burning C-RAM beyond. There was a series of explosions as some of the unit’s ammo cooked off.
Lee tried to speak, tried to rise, but couldn’t muster the strength.
They took him down a ramp into a side room. Someone was screaming, and another moaning in pain, as a medic gave orders. “He’s pretty bad. Take him into surgery.”
Lee watched the ceiling move and wondered if it was the last thing he’d see. The right side of Lee’s head hurt, and it felt as if he might float away.
Then there were lights, and the sound of distant voices, as they moved his body off the stretcher and onto to a hard surface. “Roll him,” a familiar voice said. “Do we have an exit wound? No? Roll him back.
“Get a pressure dressing on his leg. That can wait. Prep his chest but don’t get fancy. We’re going in after whatever made that hole.”
Kwan leaned in over him. Her surgical mask was hanging down onto bloodied scrubs. “Jon, can you hear me? I hope so… You’re going to be fine.”
The words that followed were mouthed rather than spoken. “I love you.”
Then Kwan was a surgeon again. “Put him out. We have work to do.”
A mask descended over Lee’s face, and he was trying to say “I love you too,” when the world faded to black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Mamallapuram, India
Allied Convalescent Center 26 was located along the east shore of the Bay of Bengal, well clear of the fighting that was still underway to the northeast. The complex had previously been known as the Radisson Resort, Temple Bay--and its 157 rooms were occupied by soldiers who were recovering from wounds rather than well-heeled tourists.
Army Captain Jon Lee was one of those soldiers. He was still using a cane during his morning walks, but the pain was less now and, according to an Aussie doctor named James Woolson, the discomfort would eventually disappear.
A scar would forever mark the place where a Chinese bullet had creased his skull, and another could be seen on the right-side of Lee’s chest, where Kwan had gone in after the 5.56mm bullet that nearly killed him.
What couldn’t be removed was the constant worry that plagued Lee’s mind. The fort was still in Allied hands. He’d been able to learn that much. And the Big Push had stalled. More than that the Chinese were being inexorably pushed east. But what about Cato? What about Evers? And what about the Gurkhas? Were they still alive?
And then there was Kwan. Lee hardly dared think about her lest the rush of emotion overwhelm him. Such were the green beret’s thoughts as he limped along the path next to the center’s meandering 27,000 square-foot swimming pool. Dozens of people were in the water exercising under the strict supervision of a physical therapist generally referred to as “Sergeant Pain.” Lee’s turn would come at 1400 hours.
The convalescents were usually assigned two-to-a-room. Lee had been sharing a villa with a French Legionnaire named LaVoie until the officer was declared “Fit to die” as LaVoie put it, and sent to East Africa.
That meant Lee had the spacious room to himself. A luxury he planned to enjoy by taking a lengthy nap. The door to Lee’s room was unlocked. A sure sign that the maid was at work inside. But, as Lee entered, he saw a military duffle on the floor--and heard the sound of the shower. So much for the nap, Lee thought. My new roomie is here.
Rather than lie down on one of two queen-sized beds, Lee eased himself into his favorite chair, and put his leg up on a coffee table.
After coming across a copy of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War in the resort’s tiny library, Lee was going to read it again. He opened the cover and began to read: “The art of war is of vital importance to the state,” Sun Tzu said. “It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety or to ruin. Hence under no circumstances can it be neglected.”
The voice, a female voice, was unexpected. And it sent something akin to an electric shock through Lee’s body as his head came up. Kwan had a towel wrapped around her hair and another around her body. Lee came to his feet. “You’re alive.”
Kwan smiled. “Yes, and so are you. Doctor Woolson tells me that you’re going to make a full recovery. But I’m not so sure.”
Lee frowned. “Why not?”
“Well, I’m a doctor. And doctors like to run tests.”
“Lab tests?”
“No,” Kwan replied as she came forward to enter his arms. “Physical fitness tests.” Her hand found him, and Lee laughed, as he scooped her up. “I think you’ll find everything is functional doctor… But let’s make sure.”
Later, much later, they went to dinner together. And that was when Lee learned that most of the Uyghur slaves had been able to make it to safety.
Sadly, Staff Sergeant Thapa had been killed in the fighting. But Pun and Shekhawat were fine, as were the green berets, although Evers had been wounded. “He’s on the mend,” Kwan said reassuringly. “And sends his best.”
As for the newly promoted Colonel Smith-Peet, he was touring with his holiness the baby Dalai Lama, whose escape from Nepal had been a cause for celebration everywhere, and a psychological victory for the Allies.
“So, that leaves you and me,” Kwan said, as their eyes met across the table. “What are we going to do?”
Lee grinned. “Conduct more tests.” Both of them laughed. And for that moment in time the world was whole again.
ABOUT THE WINDS OF WAR SERIES
In RED THUNDER, volume four of the Winds of War series, WWIII rages on as the Allies plan a daring raid the Kyshtym Copper-Electrolyte Works in the Chelyabinsk region located deep inside Russia. As the war heats up the Russian plant is producing significant quantities of Rhenium, a rare Earth element used to produce alloys for jet engines, filaments for mass spectrographs, and electrical contacts. And, according to a CIA agent named Cassandra, the Russians are going to move a large shipment of Rhenium out of the Kyshtym facility to Moscow in 24 days.
A decision is made at NATO headquarters in Brussels, Belgium. Rather than allow the Russians to transport the Rhenium to Moscow, where they will use it as part of the war effort, the Allies will create a pop-up infantry battalion, and send it into Russian territory to hijack the shipment. The Allied unit will be staffed with individuals drawn from a variety of countries, and various military organizations according to need.
The man chosen to lead the battalion is an army reserve colonel, and well-known actor named Alton Flynn; a man who, though famous for performing his own stunts and his magnetic personality, is also known to be a narcissist and a woman chaser.
But as one general puts it, “Flynn is just crazy enough to get the job done… Assuming we send a real soldier to keep him on the rails.”
The “real soldier” is Flynn’s XO, Major Marlo Martin—who’s known for her cool head. She, along with CIA Paramilitary Officer Dan Dean, and a battalion consisting of 300 strangers, are about to attempt the impossible. If they manage to succeed that, according to the Director of the CIA, “Will be a fucking miracle.”
About William C. Dietz
For more about William C. Dietz and his fiction, please visit williamcdietz.com. You can find Bill on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/williamcdietz and you can follow him on Twitter: William C. Dietz@wcdietz
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