Invasion: Alaska

Slope while the others hit the south coast. We can’t let the Americans use their interior position to shift troops as needed.”

“We are attacking,” said Ping.

“No. We’re grounded in the middle of the Arctic Ocean.”

“Well, certainly we are at this moment,” said Ping. “Once this horrible weather ends, we shall continue our advance.”

General Nung shook his head as he made a fist. “We need to gather all our supplies in the caterpillar-haulers, form a fast taskforce and thrust our way to the North Slope.” He made a boxing motion to illustrate his meaning.

“Please, I’m well acquainted with your theories. There is no need to demonstrate.”

“We’re losing time just sitting here,” Nung said.

Ping shrugged.

Nung turned away and clenched his teeth.

“Please, your theatrics are amusing and help pass the time, but I’m sure they’re not good for your blood pressure. You must relax and save your zeal for the moment we meet the Americans.”

Nung whirled around as he dropped a hand onto his holster.

The bodyguard half rose from his chair. His dark eyes were fixed on Nung.

“No, no,” said Ping, with a waving gesture. “Relax, Mingli. The General merely exhibits his frustration. I agree with him that this weather is most infuriating. When it subsides, I’m sure we’ll move quickly.”

“We cannot ‘move quickly’,” Nung said between his gritted teeth.

“Ah, yes, I keep forgetting,” said Ping. “The weight of our vehicles demand low speeds as we travel over the pack ice. Too fast and the vehicle rocks the water under the ice, creating waves that could possibly destroy the ice. You see, General, I was well briefed before joining your expedition.”

“Let me unleash the hovertanks,” Nung said. “They can move with speed, without creating any wave-action. From here, it’s a short hop until they reach the North Slope.

Commissar Ping examined his fingernails. “How many of the hovertanks have broken down already?”

“Fourteen,” Nung said.

“Incorrect,” said Ping. “Please, General, I know you’re a stickler for facts. I would prefer if you used them while addressing me.”

Nung struggled to control his temper. He was the military man. This police creature knew little about combat and winning wars. It was said the hovertanks were finicky vehicles, prone to breakdowns. That’s why they needed the best crews with an onboard mechanic added to each vehicle.

“I’m waiting for your answer,” said Ping.

“Thirty-seven,” Nung finally said, “but we’ve fixed many of them.”

“Your techs patched up the hovertanks?”

“They’re mechanics,” muttered Nung, “not techs.”

“Ah, yes, your precision makes itself known once more. Thank you for the correction.”

“Fourteen, thirty-seven,” Nung said, “the number doesn’t matter. We need speed to dash to the North Slope.”

“But that’s simply absurd,” said Ping. “If thirty-seven hovertanks have broken down so far, how many will break down before you reach Alaska? Given the proportion of the number of breakdowns the farther we travel, I would estimate an eighty percent loss of your machines by the time they reach the enemy coast. You cannot take the oilfields with a mere twenty percent of your hovertanks.”

“Firstly,” Nung said with heat, “I can. Secondly, only fifty percent would break down.”

“What is your reasoning?”

“Speed and surprise is a force multiplier. Only a handful of units are needed then. Once I’ve captured the oilfields, you can use the heavy air-transports to land garrison forces.”

Ping shook his head.

“But—”

Ping lifted a long-fingered hand. “I have my orders and you have yours. This blizzard changes nothing. High Command wishes for a methodical advance across the ice. If you dash for the oilfields, American bombers will demolish your pitiful force. You need fighters to cover you and snowtanks to provide muscle for the battle.”

General Shin Nung crashed into an empty chair. He hated this weather, the useless deaths and the East Lighting commissar with veto power. It would be a risk dashing over the ice with hovertanks. If this blizzard had hit a hovertank taskforce…he might have lost everything. They would need an open window of good weather, but only a short one if every hovertank moved at maximum speed. This slow, methodical advance, it meant they spent far too much time on the ice. If he were the American commander, he knew of ten different ways to stall them out here and possibly destroy them. The ice was an enemy. It wasn’t simply another form of road. Every minute they remained on the pack ice, the potential for disaster increased. He could give China the greatest possibility for victory, but they had saddled him with small thinkers.

Why am I always surrounded by the ordinary when extraordinary commanders are required?

He’d broken through and dashed to Yakutat during the Siberian War. He’d ended the conflict by dealing with problems directly and twisting the elements to suit him. Maybe it was time to do that here. It entailed risk, not only a militarily, but also a politically.

Marshal Kao had given him Commissar Ping to spite him. Maybe it was time to gamble everything—life and career—on one bold throw of the dice. The Chairman would reward a victor. If he failed in this assault by their methods, Kao and his clique of mandarins would sacrifice him anyway. They would use any excuse to squash what they could only envy.

Nung touched his holster. By adding a little more pressure to his fingers, he could unsnap the flap. The desire to draw his gun and shoot was nearly overpowering.

“Turn up the heat,” Ping told his bodyguard.

The man grunted as he got up and went to the temperature control.

“I have more vehicles to inspect,” Nung said.

“Away with you then,” said Ping, gesturing with his hand.

Nung rose and lurched for the door.

“Oh,” said Ping, as if it was an afterthought. “I forgot to tell you. There was a radio message concerning, hmm, our situation.”

“We’re supposed to keep radio silence once we’re this far across the pack ice,” Nung said.

“Yes, yes, but this message was different.”

Nung waited for Ping to tell him.

“I’m afraid I’ve detected that explosive mind of yours plotting for something grand,” said Ping.

General Nung frowned.

“Because of that, I asked my superiors to take your wife and child into protective custody.”

“What?” shouted Nung.

Ping shrugged. “It sullies our working relationship, I’m sure. But it might also clarify the situation. General Nung, you are an active general, well-suited to battle. That is a wonderful trait for a fighting commander. But it makes one in my position nervous. I have thwarted your desires a few too many times. This blizzard and the eternal darkness, it is maddening, and might induce one to rashness. Therefore, I would formally like to let you know that my sudden demise will result in your wife’s untimely death. It is an awful thing to say, and I’m sorry to say it. But there it is—a new working relationship between us.”

“You…you monster,” breathed Nung.

“I accept your epitaph for my horrid action, as it’s well-deserved. But please, let us keep that between ourselves for now and spare the troops such descriptive words. Save the name for your memoirs.”

Nung leaned against the hatch. His wife and son—his desire for victory oozed away. He shook his head.

“This cannot be,” he said.

“It leaves a bad aftertaste, I agree,” said Ping, and his eyes were bright as they latched onto Nung.

The general noticed. Many considered him brash and arrogant, but he was also perceptive. The monster enjoys this. He enjoys my grief. He likes to break a person’s spirit even as he pretends he