Invasion: Alaska

in the Californian coastal region.

Ru took out his binoculars, which could switch to infrared scan. A dark chopper swooped around the platform, and he spotted a patrol boat. The Americans took security seriously, and the oil companies used reliable Blacksand mercenaries for the job.

First signaling to the others, Ru submerged once more. It was a long swim. He heard the motor first as a tiny sound. The sound grew as he neared the giant oil rig. According to his briefing, the patrol boats carried armed mercenaries and heavy machine guns. In addition, the patrol boats were equipped with APS radar. Normally it was used as a fish-finder, but for a short distance, it could detect swimmers.

Ru headed down into the darkness: down, down, down. Flicking on a heel-light, Ru looked back. Other heel- lights appeared, three of them. With a nod, Ru resumed his dive. The temperature became steadily colder. Even after years of training, this was an uneasy experience, the knowledge that hired killers patrolled above, seeking to find and destroy him.

Ru and the others carried high explosives, and they each had a TOZ-2 underwater pistol, which was similar in design to the SPP-1 pistol developed in the old USSR. Ordinary-shaped bullets were inaccurate underwater and extremely short-ranged. Therefore, their pistols fired a round-based 4.5mm steel dart 115mm long. Each dart weighted 12.8 grams, and each dart had a longer range and greater penetrating power than a speargun’s spear.

The TOZ-2 had four barrels, each holding one cartridge. None of the barrels was rifled. Each dart was kept in line by hydrodynamic effects, meaning that the TOZ-2 was inaccurate when fired out of the water. The deeper one dove, the less range their pistols had. The effective range out of water was fifty to sixty-six feet. In water twenty feet deep, a steel dart could kill at one hundred and thirty feet. In water fifty-six feet deep, the steel dart’s range shrank to sixteen feet.

By using his compass and rangefinder, Ru unerringly reached the oil rig. He switched on a lamp and used the light to scan the darkness. A wahoo darted before him, a scombrid fish like mackerel or tuna. Fish densities around an oil or gas platform were twenty to fifty times higher than the open water. It told Ru he was near. Then a great stanchion appeared. Although the oil rig was new, the stanchion was already encrusted with sea-growth.

Using a depth-gauge, Ru adjusted his range and used his combat knife to scrap and pry away marine-growth from the metal stanchion. Each time the blade touched, he heard a click and a scraping sound. Once he had a big enough area, Ru slipped the CHKR-57 from his chest and secured it to the stanchion. Finished, he set the timer.

They did this four times, the others securing their explosives to different stanchions.

Ru grinned. He imagined that even Kwan could manage a soft smile of victory for their success. They swam away, keeping at this deep level but heading for the rendezvous point. It was easier swimming without the explosives. Now Ru merely had to find the T-9s and then the submarine. Afterward, he would be on his way home to Shanghai and Lu May.

The sound of the American patrol boat dwindled. When all he could hear was the sound of his breathing, Ru slowly surfaced. He used his compass and rangefinder, and in time, he turned on the directional device. He waited, watching. There—a pulse from the T-9’s emitter showed on his tiny screen. With joy in his heart, Ru swam near the surface all the way there.

Soon, the four Commandos unclamped the T-9s, climbed onto the saddle-seats, and started up the propellers. The T-9s sped into the Pacific Ocean for the rendezvous point with the Pao Feng.

This time they remained on the surface, riding over the swells. The kilometers dropped away as Ru followed the compass toward the chosen heading. He was going to see Lu May again. He would see his baby girl being born and watch her grow into a fine young woman. Surely after this, the military could not ask more from him.

Lost in his thoughts, Ru was surprised as his partner dug a knuckle in his back. It took a moment as Ru turned on the speaking unit attached to his mask.

“Wei?” he shouted over his shoulder.

The man pointed left. Soldier Rank Kwan drove his T-9 beside them, water splashing up from the nosecone.

“Where’s the buoy signal?” shouted Kwan.

Ru checked his rangefinder. His eyebrows shot up. How could he have missed this? He checked the receiver set to the buoy’s signal. The captain of the submarine was supposed to have launched a buoy twenty minutes ago to guide them back. Ru double-checked the receiver. There was no light, no signal, no nothing.

“We should be over it!” Kwan shouted through his speaker.

“Cut your drive,” said Ru.

Soon, the T-9s floated together. It was still dark, the stars shining brightly overhead. It was 2:14 A.M., Pacific Time. Ru checked battery power. It was low, with maybe another thirty minutes left of drive power. As great as they were, the Japanese batteries had been the major limiting factor of their range. And despite years of low funding and neglect, the American Navy was still dangerous, one would think especially so in their territorial waters. There must be no hint of Chinese involvement to their terrorist act, the key reason why the Pao Feng had tried to remain well out of American sight.

“How long do we wait here?” a Commando asked.

“An hour and eighteen minutes,” Kwan said. “Then we must head deeper into the ocean.”

“What happened?” Ru’s partner asked.

“The patrol boat we saw earlier,” said Kwan. “The captain has strict orders not to let anyone detect the submarine. He might have left.”

Ru understood the logic to Kwan’s answer. They had all been instructed on the importance of remaining hidden. If they failed to make pick-up, they were supposed to sink the T-9s and divest themselves of every article of Chinese manufacture. That meant the TOZ-2 underwater pistols, knives, rebreathers—everything that could link them to the White Tigers. Then each Commando was supposed to swim west into deeper waters, drowning rather than accepting possible rescue from the Americans. A White Tiger Commando gave his life to China as his final act of obedience and love for his country.

Not caring for such logic, Ru repeatedly flicked the switch to the receiver. He tapped the console with his finger. “You will work, damn you,” he declared.

After shutting off the T-9s, they sat there for an hour and eighteen minutes, no one talking, all of them dreading the possibility that Kwan was right.

After the time has passed, Kwan shouted through his full-face mask’s speaker, “We are White Tigers!”

Ru looked up in desperation.

“For the greater glory of China,” said Kwan, “we must take the T-9s and drive until the batteries die. Then we will sink them and drop our tanks, belts and—”

“Bu!” shouted Ru, using his speaker.

“We serve China!” shouted Kwan. “We are White Tigers, the greatest soldiers of history!”

The fervency of Kwan’s words shocked Ru. The drill instructors of the training camps and the propagandists had done their jobs too well. China seethed with a vast population of men that was seldom softened or civilized by the presence of women. Among those teeming numbers, the White Tigers had found a fertile field for their heady notions of martial glory and devotion to country. Soldier Rank Kwan had supped deeply on those ideals as had many warriors of the past: Gurkhas, Samurais, Ninjas, Janissaries, Napoleonic Old Guards, Roman Legionaries, Spartans….

Soldier Rank Kwan drew his TOZ-2. Seeing that, Ru threw himself away from Kwan and into the sea. The pistol barked. A steel dart whizzed over Ru and slapped the water.

As he floated, Ru drew his TOZ-2 and steadied his arm over the saddle-seat of his T-9. His partner on the back seat made muffled shouts within his mask. Ru glanced up. The Commando reached over and ripped the underwater pistol out of Ru’s grasp, tossing it into the sea.

In a great Pacific Ocean swell, Ru saw Kwan rise up as the Soldier Rank balanced on his T-9. The White Tiger took aim. Then the other Commando on Kwan’s T-9 jostled the Soldier Rank’s elbow as Kwan attempted another shot. The TOZ-2 plopped into the sea.

With a roar of frustration and desperation, Ru kicked his fins, surging upward. He grasped his partner by the straps of his wetsuit. As Ru sank back into the sea—and as the swell barreled toward them—he pulled the