the Party hierarchy—had allowed a few of their product tankers to join the expedition, lending the Navy several of their largest. The Navy had added UNREP gear to them: defensive guns and military electronics.
Despite the size and strength of the Chinese Navy, it only had a few of its own fuelling ships or replenishment oilers as they were called. Initially, China had built a short-range coastal fleet. Only in the last decade had they truly attempted to form a blue-water navy. They hadn’t yet built-up the support ships necessary for maintaining a long- range war. One of the more critical lacks was enough replenishment oilers.
Several days ago, Admiral Ling had desperately defended his supercarriers from the ASBMs. It was almost as bitter a blow losing two product tankers as it would have been losing another carrier with its accompanying fighters and bombers. Too much of the invasion’s fuel requirements were afloat in several huge tankers. The loss of those tankers meant that the invasion’s reserves were lower than he liked. Already he’d sent word back to Admiral Qiang of the Ruling Committee on the need for more fuel. Ling wanted to build-up larger reserves. Naval Minister Qiang had told him that the Chairman had declined the request, saying the invasion fleet had quite enough fuel to achieve the task.
Ling had decided he would have more than enough reserves if he could get his hands on American fuel, particularly the big storage depots used for the luxury cruise-ships in Seward. Most of the Navy ships used diesel, as did the vast majority of the ground combat vehicles. Now the Vice-Admiral had botched his first attempt to grab Seward and its fuel. Couldn’t the man achieve the simplest tasks?
“Sir,” a communications captain said, looking up from his computer. “The Vice-Admiral would like to call off the assault on Seward for today. He wants assault helicopters and cargo-carriers sent over so he can coordinate a new assault tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.”
Admiral Ling glanced at Commodore Yen. “Why can’t the Vice-Admiral ever achieve his tasks with grace and efficiency?”
“I would remind you that he is the Chairman’s nephew,” the Commodore said in a low voice. “Perhaps it is ill-advised to so publicly admonish his valiant efforts today.”
“No doubt you speak the truth,” Ling said. He picked up his teacup and sipped the cooling liquid. He frowned. He wanted hot tea, not this tepid drink. Setting the cup back in its saucer, he thought to himself that assaults were like tea. You needed to drink them while they were hot. You needed to strike fast and do it well the first time. His frown deepened as he told Yen, “I want that fuel in Seward. I want to raise our reserves to higher levels.”
“Do you have a premonition, sir?” asked the Commodore.
Admiral Ling turned to the communications captain. “Explain to the Vice-Admiral that I expect his naval infantry to control the town and the fuel depot by nightfall.”
“As you wish, sir,” the captain said.
“Is that wise?” the Commodore whispered.
“We must be in Anchorage before the cold sets in,” Admiral Ling said.
“Is there any need for worry? We have time before the worst weather hits.”
“The glaciation has changed the weather patterns,” Ling said. “Bad weather begins a month earlier here, maybe even six weeks earlier than twenty years ago. This is a terrible time of the year to begin an invasion.”
“Sir…” Yen whispered, shaking his head.
Ling stared at the OBS. “I fear that more ill-fortune waits for us. Therefore, I desire Seward: its fuel and the rail-line to Anchorage. If we can split the American defense, one attack starting from Homer and another from Seward—”
“The Vice-Admiral will capture the town, sir.”
“He hasn’t yet.”
The Commodore leaned nearer. “Sir, for you own well-being, I wish you would send the Vice-Admiral a congratulatory note on his hard fighting.”
“Do you call losing all your helicopters hard fighting?”
The Commodore glanced around before he whispered, “Our men hurt the enemy. You can congratulate the Vice-Admiral on that.”
“How did he achieve this miracle?” Ling asked. “By dropping his burning helicopters on them? No. I will congratulate the Vice-Admiral when he does something commendable. Until then, let him strive as we ordinary mortals have learned to do. Maybe in this way he can learn from his mistakes.”
Tall Commodore Yen with the VR monocle frowned at those words. “It is always wise to remember who his uncle is, sir.”
Admiral Ling could never forget. Why had they saddled him with the Vice-Admiral? The man was rash, given to impulses. In war of this sort, careful attention to detail won the day. Just how hard could it be to capture one of these small Alaskan ports?
A National Guard captain named Jones stared at Stan Higgins. In regular life, Captain Jones ran a manure factory. He was balding, had red-veined eyes and was missing the last three fingers of his left hand, which he’d lost in a compactor twelve years ago. Jones’s uniform was baggy and he slouched, but he was good at administration and belonged to General Sims’s staff. Sims was the C-in-C of Alaskan defense.
Stan and Jones were in the National Guard Armory, a huge garage with ten Abrams M1A2 tanks inside. Outside in the yard were Heavy Equipment Transporters, HETS. The tractor hauled the trailer, able to transport seventy tons worth of equipment. They’d been designed to haul the heavy M1A2 Abrams tank, at sixty-two tons, plus gas and shells. The HETS could also accommodate the four crewmen of the original M1 design.
Sitting at a table, Captain Jones lifted the screen of his laptop. With the touch-screen, he showed Stan the Kenai Peninsula, with Anchorage in the middle, toward the top. The peninsula guarded Anchorage, with Cook Inlet to the west, Prince William Sound to the east and with the Gulf of Alaska filling in the south. The Kenai Peninsula looked like a triangle, with the base butted against Anchorage and the farthest tip pointed to the southwest. The Kenai Fjord National Park guarded most of the south of the peninsula with incredibly rugged terrain, much of it covered in glaciers. Next to the Exit Glacier was the town and ice-free port of Seward.
“Their biggest warships moved in and pounded Seward by cannon,” Jones was saying. “After demolishing a good part of the town, the Chinese used hovertanks and fast-assault boats. Once ashore, they drove Ramos out of Seward.”
Stan knew Brigadier General Hector Ramos. In the officer’s club, the man had given him two hundred dollars toward his dad’s bail. Ramos commanded the 1st Stryker Brigade Combat Team, known as the Arctic Wolves. They were one of few U.S. Army brigades stationed in Alaska and ready for deployment.
It seemed Ramos has rushed down to Seward with only a battalion—nearly six hundred soldiers. The battalion used the Stryker armored infantry vehicle, which came in at a little over nineteen tons. It was heavier than a Humvee and lighter than a Bradley. A Stryker had eight wheels, and depending on the model, it had various armaments. The majority of Strykers boasted an M2 Browning .50 caliber machine gun, which could be remote- controlled by an operator in the armored vehicle. Other Strykers used an Mk19 40mm belt-fed automatic grenade launcher. Ramos even had a few Strykers with 105mm guns and others with TOW2 launchers. They could move along paved roads at sixty-five mph. Each had sensors that judged various types of terrain: snow, road, gravel, etc. The vehicles automatically changed the air pressure in all eight of their tires for maximum maneuvering capability.
Stryker speed had no doubt allowed Ramos to reach Seward in time to engage the Chinese. Whether the vehicles were heavy enough to fight toe-to-toe with the invaders—that was another matter.
Jones continued speaking. “After fighting the enemy, Ramos managed to extricate half his battalion from the town and blow the fuel depots there.” Jones sighed. “It’s a disaster in Seward, but at least Ramos has some of his troops left. That’s better than what happened at Homer. Ramos is giving the Chinese a bloodier fight than anyone else has so far. It hardly matters, however, as the Chinese pour soldiers into Seward. Several companies of Militia were rushed to the brigadier general’s aid, as well as the rest of the Arctic Wolves, but he’s still outnumbered at least four to one. It will likely get worse, too.”
Captain Jones used the touch-screen, aiming the laptop at Stan. “Ramos has his problems, no doubt. But the emergency for us is west, along the Number One.”
Jones showed Stan the State Highway One, also known as the Sterling Highway. From Anchorage, it went through Portage and turned southwest, passing through alpine-like mountains until it flattened out around Cooper Landing. The easier, flatter country was still a cold, snowy land abounding in moose, deer and bears and some of
