Invasion: Alaska

“You too, tough guy,” the master sergeant told Murphy.

Murphy gave him the bird before turning back to the bar and grabbing a fistful of peanuts. “Whiskey!” he shouted.

The bartender was at his spot at the far end of the bar. Maybe there was something about the master sergeant that kept the bartender where he was.

“I said WHISKEY!” Murphy shouted.

The master sergeant grumbled, nodded at his partner and purposely strode for Murphy. “You’re coming with us even if we have to haul you in.”

Murphy surprised everyone. The ex-Army Ranger slid off the stool and hurled his shot glass all in one motion. It was a perfect throw, catching the master sergeant between the eyes. It dropped him as his head jerked back. The master sergeant collapsed like a hunk of jelly. His partner stopped, staring at his friend. Murphy kept moving. There was a crazy look in his eyes, and he kicked the partner’s left kneecap. The man’s leg buckled under him. The partner fell as he clutched his knee, and his groans were animal-like. Murphy was still moving. The ex-Ranger was like greased death. He produced a switchblade, clicking out the metal. Kneeling by the master sergeant, Murphy grabbed him by the throat of his coat.

“I’m going to leave you a scar, tough guy.”

Before the ex-Ranger could cut the master sergeant, Paul grabbed Murphy’s wrist. He’d crossed the distance between them, recognizing a killer. You didn’t talk a killer out of hurting others when his blood was hot. Murphy looked up. The ex-Ranger had craziness in his eyes, so Paul hit him in the face. Blood spurted from the nose and Murphy’s head snapped back. Paul twisted the wrist as he slapped the back of Murphy’s hand. The switchblade clattered onto the wooden floor.

“You’re gonna die, beer-boy,” Murphy muttered.

Paul hit him a second time, harder than before. It hurt his knuckles—it gashed them—and it smeared his fingers with the Ranger’s blood. That stunned Murphy long enough for Paul to haul back and hit him with a haymaker. Murphy thumped onto the floor, the back of his head knocking against wood. He was unconscious, and blood poured from his nose.

“Call Blacksand,” Paul told the bartender. The old man kept blinking at him. “Did you hear me?”

The bartender reached for the phone.

Rubbing his sore fingers, Paul sat on a stool, picking up his beer. He looked at the three men on the floor. The partner was weeping now, clutching his leg, as if it would run away if he let go.

With a tired sigh, Paul sipped his beer, deciding he might as well finish it. This was looking to be a long night, or day. He still didn’t know what time it was.

AMBARCHIK BASE, EAST SIBERIA

In the darkness of the Arctic Circle, a Leopard Z-6 Hovertank slid across the tundra. Several kilometers away, the lights of Ambarchik glittered like a prized jewel. It was a lonely outpost, one of the most godforsaken towns in the world. It was at the northern edge of the Eurasian continent, nestled against the frozen East Siberian Sea. As an arctic tern flies, the Siberian side of the Bering Strait was twelve hundred kilometers away. The Russian city of Murmansk, which was near Finland, lay three thousand six hundred kilometers to the west. Three kilometers from Ambarchik was Ambarchik Base, the third largest Chinese military facility in East Siberia.

The hovertank’s main weapon was a high-velocity 76mm cannon firing rocket-assisted shells. The cannon was self-loading, while the hovertank’s crew of three drove the vehicle, manned the cannon, and commanded. A 12.7mm machine gun in the commander’s copula provided anti-infantry support. The armor was a lightweight sandwich of ceramic/ultraluminum, with an explosive skin that helped retard shape-charged rounds. A bubble of bullet-resistant plastic over the commander’s hatch gave him some small-arms protection whenever he rode “heads-up.” It also kept the hovertank’s heat from dissipating into the arctic night. Power came from a diesel Qang 2000 with a turbo supercharger for cold-weather starts.

The Americans had nothing like the Leopard Z-6. It moved swiftly onto the pack ice, showing its greatest asset: speed.

Several kilometers later, as it traveled north and farther onto the ice, the hovertank slowed and then stopped, rocking slightly as it maintained its position on a cushion of air. Slowly, the military vehicle sank as its armored skirt shuddered, touching down when its hidden but powerful fans stopped.

Moments passed until a side-hatch opened. A heavily-bundled and short General Shin Nung squeezed through. In his awkward snow boots, he used the ladder, climbing down to the ice. He wore a fur-lined hood like a Yakut native, the Siberian cousin to the Alaskan Eskimos. The general was fifty-nine years old and a hero of the Siberian War. His armored thrust had captured Yakutsk and effectively ended the conflict.

General Nung was the commander of the coming cross-polar attack. His face tingled in the cold. He had blunt features and an aggressive stare. In his youth, he had studied six long years at the Russian Military Academy in Moscow. It had been a lonely existence, and too many of the high command in China still thought of him as half- Russian. What made it worse was that he continually achieved success through his adherence to headlong attack as the Russians taught. He had many enemies in high command, but the Chairman backed him. That was all the influence he needed.

General Nung surveyed the polar landscape, the seemingly featureless pack ice that spanned the ocean all the way to Alaska.

Another man now squeezed through the hovertank’s hatch. He, too, wore arctic clothing and a hood, but was taller and much older than General Nung. He was Marshal Kao, and he was the Army Minister of the Ruling Committee, only recently arrived from Beijing. He had told Nung he was here to speak personally with the commanding general so he could give an eyewitness report to the Chairman on the taskforce’s readiness.

The hovertank’s arc lights provided the only illumination here, as clouds hid the moon and stars.

Old Marshal Kao shivered.

That brought a contemptuous smile to General Nung’s lips. The arrogant mandarin needed to feel the cold he was sending them into. If he didn’t like the temperature, the old man should have covered his sculptured features. Nung turned away, no longer wanting to see the weakness there. Despite the marshal’s age, Kao had aesthetic features like some over-bred palace prince. Everyone knew he used botox injections to erase the lines in his face. Worse, he was known for his artistic leanings. Nung had seen some of Kao’s paintings before. He’d walked in the marshal’s house along with others. The disgusting memory still soiled him. He’d wanted to rip the paintings off the walls, open his fly and piss all over them in front of the others. Imagine, a military man dabbling with paints, with a little brush as he stroked here and touched there. It had been revolting.

How can I reason with a painting marshal? It’s impossible. Yet, for the sake of my men, I must try.

Nung breathed through his nose, feeling the cold tingle. He loved the challenge of this attack. If only these delicate types would let a military genius like him do what needed doing, he’d win Alaska for them. Boldness. Courage. Vigor. That is what won wars. That’s what had led him to capturing Yakutsk with a handful of tanks. At least the Chairman understood. Nung knew that he was uniquely qualified for the present task. He was the right man in the right place at the right time to achieve glory…for China as well as for himself.

“It’s freezing,” said Kao.

With his back to the Army Minister, Nung sneered.

You should have stayed in Beijing with your paints. Don’t come out here in the cold if you don’t want to do a soldier’s job.

“I have waited until now to inform you of another facet to your assault,” Kao said. “It is the reason I agreed to this trip onto the ice.”

General Nung turned around, facing the taller man and the hovertank.

“The Chairman fears some of the men may lose heart as they cross thousands of kilometers of ice to Alaska,” Kao said.

“My men?” asked Nung, sounding genuinely surprised. He’d been training them for months in Arctic warfare.

Marshal Kao affected a one-sided smile. It was said he practiced his mannerisms before a mirror several hours a day.

“During the assault you cannot be everywhere at once, General. Besides, the Chairman doesn’t want you