“I understand,” Nung managed to say. “I will do my utmost to ensure your survival.”
Commissar Ping frowned, and he cocked his head. “You must also achieve victory for the homeland.”
“That is my honor, Commissar.”
The frown deepened. Then Ping flicked his hand. “Go on then, check your vehicles. Make sure we survive this dreadful weather.”
General Nung opened the hatch and staggered into the freezing, brain-blasting blizzard. His wife and son— maybe everyone in the High Command and in the government were monsters. He gripped the towline and dragged himself away. Once this was over, he’d gain his revenge.
Nung shook his head. He couldn’t even think those thoughts for now. He would have to bide his time and wait for his chance. If it came, he would strike at his tormenters then—and crush them thoroughly as one would a poisonous spider. Until then, he would wait, seeking his one chance. Before that occurred, however, he’d have to keep his taskforce alive in this bitterly alien environment.
Stan stood beside wounded Major Williams. The commanding officer was stretched out on two fold-up tables of the data-net. There were dead soldiers littered nearby, here behind the two guarding slopes. One of the dead included the master sergeant of the communications net.
There had been a lull in the fighting for the granite hills guarding this small section of Highway One. Already, American reinforcements had been rushed forward along the highway. They climbed the hills to take the place of the dead and dying. Each new soldier carried a heavy pack stuffed with ammo.
On the two fold-up tables, a bloody bandage covered half the major’s face. A standing medic used his fingers to probe Williams’ black-and-blue torso.
Major Williams winced. “Careful, man,” he whispered.
“You have broken ribs, sir,” the medic informed him.
“Inject me with painkillers,” Williams said.
“Sir, I need to send you back to a medical unit.”
Clenching his teeth, Williams strained and grasped the medic with his good hand. “You listen to me, soldier. The Chinese are coming back. I need to be on my feet by then.”
“You’ll be dead if I inject you with—”
“I don’t have time to argue with you,” Williams whispered. “Look around. There are lots of dead soldiers. Why? Because they held their positions. Because they threw back the Chinese. We stopped them cold and that’s buying us time for reinforcements to arrive from the mainland states.” Major Williams gave the medic a nasty leer. “We’re all dead-men here. It’s just that a few of us don’t know it yet. Now inject me with painkillers so these men can see I haven’t deserted them.”
Turning pale, the medic snatched a vial from the medkit on his belt. Using his index finger, he flicked the vial and inserted a needle into the yellow drug.
Williams watched the procedure. Now he lay back with a groan and he turned his head so he could see Stan with his good eye.
“How many of your Abrams are left?” Williams wheezed.
“All of them,” said Stan.
“Don’t worry. That will change.”
“Sir?” asked Stan.
“The Chinese have to break through,” the major said. He scowled fiercely as the medic stabbed him with a needle. “Get back to your tanks. I don’t know what the Chinese have—”
“Sir!” the last data-net operator shouted, as he leaped up from his fold-up chair. “The Chinese destroyed our 155s with low-level bombers.”
“We weren’t going to keep our artillery forever,” Williams said. “The Chi-Navs are better than us at counter- battery fire.” His eyebrows thundered. “Okay, we’re down to the mortar-teams, but at least we have a new infusion of blood with—what are those men?”
“Sir?” asked the data-net operator. “Oh, I see what you’re asking.” He glanced at the soldiers climbing the hills. “They’re National Guardsmen, sir.”
“Good boys, the National Guardsmen,” Williams said, looking at Stan. “Listen, Captain, you keep your tanks in reserve on those slopes behind the trenches. The Chinese have a surprise and it ought to be coming soon.”
“What have you heard?” asked Stan, who failed to hide his worry.
Williams grabbed the edge of one of the fold-up tables and pulled himself to a sitting position. “One of our fighter jocks saw it,” Williams said. “It was huge, he said, before the Chi-Navs knocked the jet-jock out of the air. He told us the monster had three turrets.”
Stan felt faint. “One of the Chinese multi-turreted tanks, sir?”
“Can your Abrams knock it out?”
“If it’s the T-66, it has two hundred millimeters of Tai composite armor in front. That’s near the limit of what our Sabot rounds can penetrate—if they hit perfectly.”
Stan knew the key to the coming fight were the APFSDS rounds: Armor-Piercing Fin-Stabilized Discarding Sabot. After being shot out of the 120mm smoothbore gun, the skin of the Sabot round dropped away during flight. That gave greater velocity to the remaining spent uranium “bullet.” To increase penetrating power, the bullet was actually a long, thin rod. Unfortunately, long thin rods tended to tumble in flight instead of going straight. It was the reason for the fins, to stabilize the spent uranium rod. That hardened rod slammed against the enemy at hyper- velocity, boring through the armor. Whatever made it into the enemy compartment was usually enough to kill the crew or cook off any shells lying around, and
“You’ll have to hit the T-66s in the sides then,” the major said.
“If we try to maneuver around them here, that will expose us, sir, which isn’t a good idea. What the enemy can see, he can kill.”
“You have tanks!”
“The T-66 is more than one hundred tons, sir. It—”
“I don’t give a rip about its specs, Captain. I just want it dead. Use your little tank trick to smash it and however many friends it brings along.”
“How many tri-turreted tanks did the pilot see?” Stan asked, trying to keep his composure.
Ignoring the question, Major Williams slid off the two tables, swaying as sweat trickled down his face. “We have to hold this place, Captain. We have to buy our side time. Do you understand?”
“Maybe we should pull back,” said Stan. “We’ve made them bleed here. That’s how the Israelis soundly defeated the Syrians back in 1973. During the Yom Kippur War, the Israeli tankers retreated from one hill to another, blowing away the charging Syrian tanks. Now we need to—”
Williams staggered to Stan, grabbing one of his arms. The major blew his foul breath into Stan’s face. “We can’t run forever, soldier. Sometimes you have to stand and die to win. Have you ever heard of the Alamo?”
“I’m a history teacher, sir.”
“This is our Alamo. Here’s where we make the Chinese bleed. If they want our country, they’re going to have to buy it over our dead bodies.”
Stan shook his head. “Old General Patton said the way to win a war was to make the enemy S.O.B. die for
Williams shoved Stan. “Go. I don’t think we have much time. And soldier?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good luck, son. You’re going to need it.”
The second assault on their position was worse than the first. The Chinese had time to prepare and they poured material on the exposed areas. Rocket-assisted artillery shells screamed down, sweeping the hilltops and slopes. Low-level bombers swept through the Wyvern and Blowdart barrage to release napalm. As the napalm fires crackled, Marauder light-tank drones appeared out of billowing clouds of smoke laid down by the Chinese artillery.
Enough Americans were alive, however. They had crouched deep in their foxholes. Now a few popped up and
