Reconnaissance showed the Chinese had established a firm beachhead from Homer to Ninilchik. More material poured onto the beaches as the naval brigades began to advance along the coast on Highway One.
During that time, General Sims had rushed soldiers past Soldotna as they built a main line of defense beside Tustumena Lake. Everything from Anchorage had to run the gauntlet of Highway One. Chinese aircraft and helicopters ran interdiction most of the way, but they refrained from using heavy bombs, likely wanting to save the highway as their main line of advance to the city.
“Well,” the Airborne colonel in charge of the defense told his staff, “they’re never getting that chance.”
He commanded the heart of the Tustumena Defense, a battalion of the 4th Airborne Brigade with an attached mortar company. National Guard line companies dug in beside his boys. They had their own helicopters, this time from the 16th Combat Aviation Brigade. Added to them were two Militia battalions, armed with Army ordnance.
The lake gave them a powerful defensive position. Heavy forests and rolling terrain added to that. The Chinese wanted to use the highway, so they knew the enemy line of advance.
The Battle of Tustumena Lake opened up that night in the cold. The Chinese used remote-controlled Marauder tanks, coming up the highway and probing American defenses. ATGMs rained on the light tanks, destroying several before the others pulled back.
For the next hour, the Chinese continued to probe: with infantry, with mechanized robots and once with a Commando raid. Every time the Chinese withdrew, the Americans gained confidence.
“They hit us by surprise on the beaches,” the Airborne colonel told his command staff. “Now they have to fight toe-to-toe with us and they don’t know what to do.”
He couldn’t have been more wrong. During each probing attack, Chinese radio-intercept experts had been monitoring American radio traffic, attempting to pinpoint the CP, Command Post. After the fifth withdrawal, the orders went out to a battery of 200mm guns four kilometers away from Tustumena Lake. Chinese gunner-techs typed the targeting data into their fire-control computers. Others loaded high explosive shells into the tubes. Each giant gun trained on the identical azimuth. Minutes later came the command for rapid fire, and the ground shook.
In three minutes, the American CP received over a hundred and fifty shells. The colonel and three-quarters of his staff died under the intense barrage. The others were too wounded and shocked to transmit any orders.
Then the Chinese assault rolled forward as the night erupted with artillery and hundreds of Marauder cannons. It was shock and awe, and soon American Militiamen were streaming from their positions. Knots of stubborn National Guardsmen and U.S. Airborne continued to fight. Concentrated firepower guided by high-grade Chinese battle technology proved irresistible and deadly in the extreme.
The Chinese smashed and swept aside another American defense with negligible Chinese losses.
Anna sat spellbound as she watched images on a wall-mounted computer-scroll in the lobby of White House Bunker Number Five. Like millions of Americans, perhaps like millions all around the world, she watched Chinese attack choppers flying nap-of-the-Earth—at little more than treetop level.
It was strange watching the helicopters because they flew over a Christmas wonderland of pines and snow, with awesome background mountains covered in white. Chainguns opened up from the attack choppers’ nosecones, while anti-personnel missiles streaked down from stubby wings. On the snow near the Alaskan cameraman, U.S. Army trucks exploded and men yelled. Many soldiers and deer-rifle-armed Militiamen tumbled to the ground. The splashes of bright red on the snow told the grim story. One gruesome shot showed a soldier wearing body-armor simply disintegrate as a chaingun’s bullets cut him down.
On the computer-scroll, the images moved jerkily up and down as harsh breathing was heard. The cameraman ran for cover as his boots crunched over snow. Then the video image settled on an Alaskan National Guardsman. He wore a bulky parka and knelt on snow. He aimed a Blowdart-missile at the attack choppers. The National Guardsman wore a blue cap, the bill backward on his head. It was a Seattle Seahawks cap. He pulled the trigger and a red contrail showed he got off the anti-air missile. Then the Seahawk soldier slammed backward as chaingun bullets obliterated his body, raining red droplets onto the snow. The video image was a momentary blur, and then Anna followed the speeding missile as it missed a veering helicopter.
In the lobby, Major Johnson—an aide to General Alan—jumped off the far end of the couch. “You Chinese gooks!” Johnson’s blue eyes were hard as he stared angrily at the screen.
Anna Chen’s shoulders hunched. Why did people, and men in particular, have the need for racial slurs? She did not like the war with China. She desperately hoped for an American victory. Why did these horrible images stir in people the need for racial hatred?
“Do you see that?” Johnson shouted. “Those dirty gooks don’t fight fair.”
Anna had been looking at Johnson. She now turned back to the screen.
American F-35s screamed out of the overcast, gray sky, with air-to-air missiles launching from under their wings. The Chinese attack choppers fled, racing for a thick stand of pines. Beyond was dirty-colored water, and beyond the miles-wide body of water were more pines, decorated with snow.
A hidden ground-based laser must have fired. An F-35 tumbled earthward, one of its wings sheared off.
“No,” Johnson groaned.
The other fighters broke off, some diving, others rocketing higher into the sky. Chinese missiles roared after them. It looked now as if the helicopters had been bait for a trap. Another F-35 exploded.
“Such destruction,” Anna said.
Johnson sat down near her, with his hands clasped between his knees. He was intent on the screen. “This is going to be a disaster.”
Anna didn’t acknowledge him or his words. His earlier racial epithets still stung.
A wall buzzer went off. Glumly, Johnson checked his cell phone. “The President has returned,” he said. “Are you ready?”
Anna stood up, heading for the conference room.
General Alan was speaking about the ongoing retreat into the mountains. Highway One cut across the Kenai Peninsula going from west to east. Moose Pass, or Highway Nine, went from Seward to Anchorage, south to north.
“Along Highway One,” General Alan said, “the Chinese are smashing everything we put in their path. In Moose Pass, our men give ground grudgingly and slowly. Unfortunately, once the Chinese reach the Junction of Highway One and Nine, the soldiers bottling up the Chinese in Moose Pass will have to retreat.”
“We badly need armor up there,” the Defense Secretary said. “By armor I mean tanks. And not just our M1A2 tanks, we need some of the modern armor. We need more anti-air cover. We need some real soldiers, not just the Alaskan National Guard and Militiamen.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” General Alan said, “the men facing the Chinese
“These soldier-boys haven’t stopped the enemy,” the Defense Secretary said.
“We can’t ask them to do more than they’re capable of doing.”
“I do ask that and I will continue to do so,” the Defense Secretary said, pounding the table. “We must halt the Chinese! The main ports are in Anchorage, and the international airport is there. We can’t let the Chinese reach the city. We certainly can’t allow them to break out of Anchorage and get to the mountain passes beyond. If they pour the Chinese Army into South Central Alaska, it would take an American bloodbath to drive them out.”
The thought of that brought silence to the underground chamber.
“We must stop them before Anchorage,” the President said. “We will stop them. First, do we have more information concerning the formations our men our facing?”
“Yes, sir,” said General Alan. “In almost every instance so far, we have faced Chinese naval infantry. They are structured much like our Marine Corps.”
“Sir,” the Defense Secretary said. “Does it matter if they’re naval troops or Chinese Army?”
