though, strange.
Using his teeth, Paul pulled off a glove. Carefully, he took off the caps to both ends of his Aimpoint 3000 red- dot scope. There was a special oil-film over each lens, which was supposed to keep them from fogging. Holding his breath, Paul edged his eye to his end of the sight.
The roly-poly men leaped into view. Some of the base’s lights had been shot out, but not all. Using the illumination, Paul saw what was different. It was the hats. They were fur, but didn’t cover the ears. On the front of each fur hat was a single star.
Blacksand didn’t use a star on their hats, nor did the oilmen.
Paul studied the three men. They looked Asian. Maybe they were Chinese or Korean. Either way, that meant Greater China. As that hit him, Paul rolled onto his back and slid fully behind the pressure ridge. Staring up at the stars, he tried to think this through. Why would Chinese soldiers kill oilmen? How did the soldiers get here?
“Does it matter?” he whispered. The fact they were here was what was important, not how or even why.
Slowly, Paul rolled back onto his belly and propped the M14 on the pressure ridge. He studied the three soldiers. They carried QBZ-23s.
Paul read gun magazines, and he’d read about the QBZ-23 before. It had been designed from the QBZ-95, first made in 1995. The QBZ-23 had been developed in 2023. Each assault rifle had a bullpup configuration, meaning the weapon’s action and curved magazine were located behind the grip and trigger assembly. The magazine held forty 5.8 x 42mm DBP24, which meant Standard Rifle Cartridge 2024. Older-style bullets used an eject-able cartridge case. The DBP24 was embedded in a solid cake of propellant, which was consumed once the bullet was fired. Case-less ammo lowered bulk and weight, and it increased the number of rounds per magazine.
Paul began scanning the camp. He saw dead men lying on the ice. There were oilmen and some Blacksand guards. By the nearest derrick, different Asians were attaching something to the metal. If he were going to bet, he’d call it explosives.
Paul turned his head away from the scope and blew the hottest breath he could muster against his fingers. He could go in and try to surrender. The dead men on the snow made it seem like a bad idea, though. If these were Chinese or Korean soldiers or Special Forces, would they bother taking him prisoner? He doubted it. So how was he supposed to get home?
Paul Kavanagh laughed to himself. He wasn’t getting home. Whom was he fooling? He’d taken a one-way ticket to the North Pole, or as near to it as he was ever going to get in his lifetime. Yeah, he’d been screwed many times, but this was the worst screwing of them all.
“Are you just going to take it?” he asked himself.
“Say your prayers, boys,” he whispered. As he squeezed the trigger, Paul didn’t know it, but he was grinning fiercely.
The rifle boomed and kicked him hard in the shoulder. It was a relic, but the M14 was powerful and it was the right kind of weapon for what needed doing now.
One of the three roly-poly soldiers trudging to the derrick where the demolition men worked fell down hard. He had a hole in his back, between his shoulder blades. Paul saw it all in his scope and in the oil rig’s light. Swiveling the M14 slightly, he fired again. Another Chinese soldier hit the ice. The last one spun around, dropping to one knee and lifting his assault rifle. It had a fancy scope, fancy enough that Paul suspected it had infrared capability. A three-bullet burst ripped in the night from the QBZ-23. It told Paul he was dealing with a professional. Most surprised men would have fired the entire magazine all at once. That soldier had been carefully taught fire control.
As the three bullets ripped out of the assault rifle, Paul saw flames erupt from the barrel. Paul fired back, but missed. Finally, the enemy combatant had the wits to drop onto his belly. The Chinese or Korean soldier with the star on his fur hat put the fancy scope to his eye. He began sweeping his rifle, no doubt looking for the shooter. Holding his breath, Paul squeezed the trigger. It was the best shot of the night, a hole in the man’s face, making him relax dead on the ice.
Ducking behind the pressure ridge, Paul crawled like mad to a new location. There was no telling how many of the enemy were out there and there was no telling what kind of weaponry they had. A heavy machine gun would make quick work of him, pressure ridge or no.
Five shots in rapid succession sounded. Paul thrust himself flat on the ice. He hadn’t heard any hits nearby. He hated this waiting, this not knowing.
With an oath, he threw himself at the ridge, putting his rifle on it. Using the scope, he scanned the base.
The shots—he saw a man kneeling by two Chinese soldiers. They were near the derrick, the one the two-man team had been strapping demolitions to. The man had a big gun in his hand. This man lacked the fur hat without earflaps. He had a woolen hat, the kind everyone at the oil rig used. With a shock, Paul recognized Red Cloud. The Algonquin had killed the two demo-men.
Using his sight, Paul scanned the camp. He saw two more roly-poly soldiers crawling toward Red Cloud. Taking quick aim, Paul fired, missed, then fired the rest of the magazine, killing one while the other leapt up and ran like mad out of sight.
As Paul shoved in another magazine, he heard three shots. They were the same kind of shots he’d heard before. Several seconds later, Red Cloud appeared from behind a hut. The Algonquin aimed his gun at the sky and fired twice. Then he cupped his hands, shouting.
Paul barely heard the words: “Hurry in, Kavanagh! We have to leave before the others come back.”
-8-
Decisions
Anna Chen sat alone in a large room in the White House basement. The room contained a massive table and big, cushioned chairs. There were old-style books on a shelf, and a wall computer-scroll on mute. On the scroll, it showed Susan Salisbury’s earnest features as she explained something to the audience.
Was it possible to stop the coming war? Anna couldn’t see how. It still shocked her to see the two wrecked carriers. The Chairman was deadly serious, and war with the most populous and richest country on Earth was about to begin.
A pair of double doors opened abruptly. Three men strode in. The first was Colin Green. The second was the President of the United States, a tallish, good-looking man with the sides of his hair graying. He seemed like a movie actor to Anna. The third was a large, overweight man with wisps of messy hair scattered over his otherwise bald head. He was the Secretary of State and wore a rumpled suit.
The Secretary of State halted, and he glanced at Green. “Is this another sexual harassment case among your staff?”
“No, nothing of the kind,” said Green. “Please forgive him the rude joke,” he told Anna.
She nodded guardedly.
Colin Green introduced Anna, telling the others she had a PhD in Chinese Studies and that she’d written
“An informative book,” the Secretary of State said. He slid out a chair and sat down heavily.
“Mr. President,” Green said, holding out a chair for him.
The President waved Green aside, sitting down without help. He sat across the table from Anna, inspecting her.
“Colin tells me you knew something about the attack before it happened,” the President said.
Anna glanced at Green before she said, “Yes, sir.”
“She should have told someone in authority,” the Secretary of State said.
“A good idea,” Green said quickly. “At least she forwarded a memo. I’m sure she thought that was good
