a vein on the side of his head pulsed with shame.
“Is there someone else with you in the room?” asked the Chairman.
Admiral Ling spoke in a mumble. “I shall take Anchorage, sir. I shall give China another glorious victory, another superlative feat of arms as I achieved in Taiwan.”
“…do you promise this?” asked the Chairman.
“It is already done,” said Ling, his humiliation turning to anger. Yet he was still practiced enough to contain his words. For the sake of his family in China, he must attempt to please this man in the wheelchair.
“Take Anchorage and all your sins will be forgiven,” the Chairman was saying.
“Yes, sir,” said Ling.
“Fail in your appointed task—”
“I have already said it is done, sir.”
Instead of anger at being interrupted, a slow smile spread across the Chairman’s face. “So you have, Admiral. So you have.”
In an instant, the screen blanked out.
Admiral Ling bowed his head. This was inexcusable. How could the Chairman speak to him this way? After all that he had done for China and done for the Chairman—no. This was unbearable, an insult. He turned to Commodore Yen. “That creature the Vice-Admiral….” Ling’s humiliation was too much now for speech.
“Sir,” Yen said, “You have given your word concerning Anchorage. How can you be so certain you can conquer the Americans?”
Admiral Ling ignored him. He adjusted his computer screen as he studied the situation. He kept noticing the huge fuel depots in Anchorage. The Americans had blown the Seward depot, but the ones here were different. These supplied the Americans. Therefore, the enemy could not afford to blow them. If he could capture the depots, it would solve his fuel problem.
Ling began to nod. He brought up battle charts and force readiness numbers. “I am beginning to see the way,” he said.
“Sir?” Yen asked.
“The Chairman has shown me the way. We must storm Anchorage before the Americans rush more reinforcements into the city. Our soldiers rested during the storm. We will now rush forward more supplies as our soldiers use speed, violence and fury to capture the Anchorage fuel depots.”
“They are on the other side of the city, sir,” Yen said.
“With the T-66s we shall smash through everything the Americans put in our way,” Ling said. “Call the ground commanders. I have new orders to give them.”
“May I suggest you first wait an hour, sir?” a worried-sounding Yen asked. “You have…endured hard words today. Maybe it is time for reflection first and action soon thereafter.”
Ling looked up and stared at the careful Commodore. “No, you may not suggest such a thing. What you may do is obey my orders.”
Yen’s neck stiffened. After a moment, he stood and saluted. “It shall be as you say, sir.”
Some time later, Ling read a brief report from his chief ground commander. The Chinese infantry officers outside Anchorage had received their orders as the last of the supplies at the front were divided up. More ammo and food came to the front at a trickle, as the majority of Highway One was still clogged with snow and ice. The officers returned to their sub-commanders, who in turn explained the attack orders to the junior officers. The junior officers spoke to the NCOs. Those gruff men told their soldiers how tomorrow they were going to bring glory to Greater China, win the campaign and the right for each of them to screw the girl of their choice once they returned home as heroes.
Deep underground in his bunker under Mao Square, the Chairman spoke with Jian Hong.
“Did you listen to our conversation earlier?” the Chairman asked.
Jian nodded. He’d been ordered to listen. Didn’t the Chairman remember?
“That is how you light a fire under an ancient warrior,” the Chairman said. “Niu Ling conquered Taiwan for me. Now he will give me the rest of Alaska.”
“May I ask you a delicate question, sir?”
“You have given me the oilfields, Jian. You may ask me anything.”
“Did your nephew really say those things, sir?”
Some of the Chairman’s mirth evaporated as he stared at Jian.
“Yes,” the Chairman finally told him, “my nephew said those things.”
“Given that is true, sir, shouldn’t we place your nephew in charge of operations?”
“Don’t be absurd,” the Chairman said. “Now go,” he said, waving a feeble hand. “I’m tired. We shall talk tomorrow.”
A steel door swished up, and two Lion Guards looked in, giving Jian a hard stare.
Jian wanted to gush his apologies. He was still surprised about General Nung and his victory at Dead Horse. That victory—the other Ruling Committee members now gave Jian greater respect because of it. He knew, however, that the Chairman loved results, not weak words like “sorry” or “I shall do better.” By his response, the Chairman had shown himself sensitive about his family, particularly his inept nephew the Vice-Admiral. Jian would remember that.
“Good day to you, sir.” Jian said. “To victory in Anchorage!”
The irritated Chairman waved him away. The interview was over.
Anna Chen rubbed her eyes as she sat at her desk. She was exhausted from too much work and a growing sense of guilt for what she had unleashed.
She’d moved out of her West Wing cubicle and no longer worked for the Third Assistant to the National Security Advisor. She no longer worked for Colin Green at all. Instead, she had her own West Wing office as the new Chinese Affairs Advisor to the President. She had a three-person staff and direct access to the President. During the continuing crisis, Clark spoke to her an average of three times a day, and that didn’t include the meetings.
Her guilt concerned the nuclear attack in the pristine Arctic environment. Now there had been a second attack. She dreaded the Chairman’s response.
It surprised her Clark hadn’t told her about the latest nuclear attack. She’d learned about it through Alfredo Diaz. He’d given her another memory stick, the information only hours old.
Anna clicked a button, replaying the information on her computer. A dark image leaped onto the screen. She was viewing this through the shoulder-cam of a 1st SFG A-Detachment master sergeant. By the shot, the Green Berets soldier must be laying on the pack ice. There were lights in the distance: a vast Chinese supply dump.
“It’s their main base,” the master sergeant whispered, likely into a microphone. “I count thirty snowtanks leaving it.”
Anna listened carefully, studying nuances this time.
“Give us the targeting coordinates.” The voice belonged to the USS
“Hey Sarge!” someone unseen said. Anna assumed it was another Green Berets. “You hear that?”
The scene changed, showing the breathtakingly beautiful night sky with its Northern Lights. The master sergeant must have looked up. Anna heard the unmistakable
“They’ve spotted us, Sarge!” A snowmobile started. “Come on! Let’s go!”
“You go,” the master sergeant said. “I’ve still got a job to do.”
Anna wanted to weep as she shook her head. No matter how many times she heard this, she still hoped somehow in her heart that he could escape.
Other snowmobiles whined into life. None of the others tried to argue the master sergeant out of his grim decision. That amazed Anna most of all. The others drove off, the sounds of their engines quickly dwindling.
