“I want to see them,” he said. “Maybe we can figure out something better.”
Jackson stared up the street. He seemed to be listening to the sounds of combat. The police officer knew the city, all the little side streets and secret ways. It was his knowledge that had let them kill as many T-66s as they had.
“Follow me,” Jackson said.
They crunched over glass and rubble, trotting at times, gripping their weapons and hunching.
“This way,” Jackson said.
The police officer led Stan into a gutted building. They climbed creaking stairs and warily approached a shot- up window. Glass shards littered a desk near the window. Stan swept the glass onto the floor and peered outside.
There was a giant parking lot in the distance, the shell of a parking garage and many other empty lots. Long ago, car dealerships had displayed hundreds of new vehicles there. Now the lead elements of the next Chinese assault moved across the open area. Operationally, the enemy attack had wedged into the city like a triangle. The point—the T-66s—had made it three-quarters of the way through.
“Look at that,” Stan said. “I count five heavies. We have nothing left to stop those.”
“We have your tank.”
“It isn’t enough,” said Stan. “It would be suicide to continue what we’ve been doing.”
“We can’t let the Chinese take Anchorage.”
Stan eyes ached as he watched those giant tanks. Three cannons per vehicle, each of those a 175mm gun. He thought of Major Benson and the M1A3s he had brought from California. That had been a great moment, when Benson’s tanks had scored those hits.
“What’s happening?” Jackson asked.
“What?”
“That T-66 over there,” Jackson said, pointing with his assault rifle.
The lead tri-turreted tank shuddered and began to slow down. That caused the T-66 behind it to veer out of the way so it could go past.
“Why is the tank slowing down in the middle of an open area?” Jackson asked. “Are they going to set up a strongpoint there?”
The T-66 slowed and then stopped. With a loud rattling sound, its engine quit.
The other T-66s passed the stalled monster. Soon, Chinese naval infantry passed the vehicle. As they did, hatches opened and Chinese tankers popped outside.
In wonder, Stan turned to Sergeant Jackson. “You know what that is?”
Jackson shook his head.
“That tank just ran out of gas,” Stan said.
“Are you sure?”
“I know that sound. I’ve heard a similar noise too many times from my own gas-hungry tank. That T-66 just plum ran out of gas.”
“Seems strange, doesn’t it?”
Stan smashed the butt of his assault rifle against the desk. “It’s more than strange. You don’t send a half- empty tank into battle, not if you can help it. You especially don’t do that when the tank is so important to your assault. You drain less important vehicles of their fuel so the critical vehicle has enough. I think the enemy is low on fuel.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Jackson said. “China is the oil king of the world.”
Stan was blinking at the other T-66s. A cold feeling worked through his tired body. Maybe it did make sense. “They have oil,” he said. “But do they have enough transports?”
Jackson glanced at him.
“It’s a long way from China to here,” Stan said. “Then they have to move everything through the Kenai Peninsula. That means Highway One, a single ribbon of road, now clogged by the storm. I think the enemy is low on fuel. By that stalled T-66, I think critically low.”
“So?” Jackson asked.
Stan swiveled around as he glanced at the stairs. His mouth opened and he blinked his red eyes. “If they’re low on fuel….” He frowned as he stared out of the window again. “Shit,” he whispered.
“What is it, Professor?”
Stan grabbed Jackson by the arm. “The Chinese are headed for the fuel depots. They need our fuel. We have to blow them!”
“Our side needs the fuel, too,” Jackson said.
“Come on!” Stan shouted, as he headed for the stairs. “Run!”
“General Sims, sir,” Stan said over the radio. “You have to listen to me.”
Captain Higgins was inside his Abrams, heading for the giant fuel depots. The Chinese were less than a mile from the storage facility. Jackson rode inside the tank with the rest of the crew. Stan had worked the radio, climbing through the chain of command until finally he spoke with C-in-C of Alaska, General Sims.
“I just saw a T-66 run out of gas, sir,” Stan said, as he clicked the receiver.
“Yes?” Sims asked. “That happens all the time to us, Captain.”
“You don’t understand, sir. I think the Chinese are low on fuel.”
“There’s always the possibility,” Sims said, “but I find that unlikely.”
“Yet what if it’s true, sir?”
“Is there a reason for this call?” Sims asked.
“The Chinese need our fuel depots. That’s why they’re driving for it.”
“It’s an important military target, certainly.”
“Sir, this is just like the Western Desert of World War Two. Before the Germans arrived, British General O’Conner used Italian fuel dumps to keep his drive alive as he drove for the main Italian-run ports.”
“What are you babbling about, Captain?”
“We have to destroy our fuel depots,” Stan said. “We have to blow them.”
“We need those storage units,” Sims said.
“Sir, we don’t have much time.”
“There aren’t any engineers near there. Besides, we’re not going to lose them. I thought this was a battle request, Captain. You and your team have done a fine job of destroying T-66s. Keeping doing that and we’ll win. But leave the strategy to me.”
Stan stared at his receiver. Should he keep arguing? Could he make General Sims understand? His grip tightened and he felt lightheaded.
“Yes, sir,” Stan said. “I’m sorry if I sounded presumptuous.”
“You’re tired, Captain. I understand. Hold out and keep fighting. We’re not finished yet.”
“So much for that,” Jackson said.
“Wrong,” Stan said. “Hank, are you looking at your city map?”
“Yes, sir,” Hank said.
“Take us to the fuel depots,” Stan said.
Jackson stared up at him.
“Are you ready for this?” Stan asked the police officer.
“You’re taking a lot on yourself, Professor,” Jackson said.
“Sometimes a battle is decided with a man and his rifle…if he happens to be at exactly the right spot,” Stan said. “This time, it’s a crew and its tank at the critical juncture.”
“And if you’re wrong?” Jackson asked.
“I’m not wrong,” Stan said. “Hank?”
“Hang on,” Hank said.
“General Sims must have radioed ahead,” Hank said. “I’m seeing a military detail outside the gate. It looks
