watched as the black sail of an American submarine broke through the pack ice and rose like a steel tower. In time, a hatch at the top rose into view. A man emerged, a good two stories higher up than they were.
Paul cupped his hands as hope surged through him.
A spotlight came on, washing them in light. Soon, several soldiers appeared on the sail. The soldiers used rungs and climbed down.
Paul recognized their insignia. They were U.S. Army Special Forces, sometimes known as Green Berets. That surprised him. They were from the 1st SFG, an A-Detachment. They were America’s premier unconventional soldiers. What were they doing out here on the pack ice?
Special Forces soldiers jumped onto the ice and jogged toward them. Each cradled a stubby assault rifle. Several of the soldiers surrounded them, half the guns were trained on Red Cloud and the rest on Paul. A master sergeant shined a light first in Red Cloud’s face and then on Paul’s.
“All clear,” the master sergeant said into a microphone on his shoulder.
“Are you taking us aboard?” asked Paul.
“Negative,” the master sergeant said. “Now tell me exactly what happened to you.”
It took time. As Paul talked, with occasional anecdotes added by Red Cloud, sailors with axes climbed down the sail. They chopped at the pack ice. It was grunt work. In time, the main body of the submarine appeared. The sailors went to a larger hatch, which mechanically opened. The sailors wrestled out snowmobiles and hooked up sled attachments.
“Are those for us?” asked Paul.
“The fewer questions you ask,” said the master sergeant, “the better it will be for you.”
“Is that a fact?” Paul said.
Several of the Special Forces guards raised their assault guns a trifle higher as they eyed Paul with greater hostility.
The master sergeant nodded. He was about Paul’s size. “You don’t like that. I can understand. The truth is you did good—as good as any of us could have done.”
“I’m Marine Recon and I did better than any of you could have done.”
“You’re
“Wonderful,” Paul said. “Now if those snowmobiles aren’t for us and you’re not giving us a ride back, why are you here?”
“To hear your story,” the master sergeant said.
“That’s it, huh?” asked Paul. “Ask us for intel and then leave us stranded out here?”
“Don’t be bitter, pal. There’s a war on and we’re getting our butts kicked. So we’re starting to play hardball again.” The master sergeant unhooked a walkie-talkie, handing it to Paul. “Use this after we’re gone, say—” the man checked his watch “—in thirty minutes. There’s a bush plane on the way for you. They’ll pick you up and take you back to Dead Horse. But be warned, the people in Dead Horse will want you to help them fight.”
“That suits me,” Paul said. “I have some payback coming for the White Tigers.”
“I thought it might be like that. You two did good, both of you. Now we’re going to give these Chinese a bloody nose—thanks to you. Sorry if I have to do it this way, but I have my orders.”
“Yeah,” Paul said. “And good luck to whatever it is you guys are doing.”
“You’ve given us our first bearing on them. They’ve used—and keep using—some fancy EW on us and some hard-to-spot planes. Now we’re going to teach them we Americans play for keeps.” The master sergeant leaned near, whispering, “Don’t look back no matter what you hear. You might even want to cover your eyes then.”
“You aren’t talking nuclear, are you?” asked Paul.
“
Paul nodded. “Maybe we’ll start heading south now then.”
The master sergeant eyed him and Red Cloud. “I’m supposed to detain you until the sub is ready to dive, but you two have been through enough. Go on, start walking.”
“Semper Fi,” Paul said, holding out his hand.
“Same to you, Marine,” the master sergeant said, shaking hands. He had a strong grip. Then he shook Red Cloud’s hand. “If I were you two, I’d hurry.”
Paul and Red Cloud took his advice, stumping to their skis and hooking them back to their boots. The master sergeant waved as they skied away. His men waved. Paul and Red Cloud waved back. Then the two of them concentrated on putting as much distance between the others as they could.
“That’s the full extent of what we have, sir,” General Alan told the President.
Anna Chen sat underground in White House Bunker Number Five. This was an emergency session. Everyone sitting at the circular conference table looked worn and tired. Some were groggy.
Everyday there was more bad news. The President took it the hardest. His shoulders had slumped and the bags around his eyes had become discolored. Whenever U.S. resistance grew toughest along Highway One, the Chinese called for the tri-turreted tanks. The T-66s always smashed through or chased away the defenders, and the Chinese advance continued. General Alan had explained how enemy minesweepers were busy at work in Cook Inlet. Once the Chinese Navy cleared the inlet and took Anchorage, then South Central Alaska was lost. Once South Central Alaska was lost, the State was as good as gone. The consensus in the chamber was that Anchorage’s fate would decide the war.
“We need a decision, sir,” General Alan said.
The President compressed his lips.
Anna’s heart went out to Clark. The conflict had aged him. This decision… it was likely the hardest of his life.
General Alan had just explained that if the U.S. military could save Alaska, America could still lose the oil war. The fate of the North Slope oilfields was critical to the national economy. It was the lifeblood giving America time as they switched to heavy coal use and various forms of solar-power. The general had been telling them about the Chinese threatening to attack the oilfields with their ice-mobile formations.
“We have too few men on the ground in and around the North Slope to win any fight,” General Alan now added. “I’m amazed and surprised at their feat. The Chinese have moved tanks and hovers almost all the way across the polar ice.”
“What about air?” the President asked.
“They’ve used special air-transports,” General Alan said.
“I mean our air,” the President said. “Let us hit them with air strikes.”
Thin General Alan shook his head. “The constant air battles over the Kenai Front have decimated our Air Force, sir. You know how the Air Force generals kept begging for more reinforcements. Then Sims demands more air cover. As the Chinese gained air superiority in south Alaska, they hunted down our supply columns. Do you remember giving your okay, sir, for the transfer of winterized fighters from the North Slope to Anchorage?”
President Clark wearily shook his head.
“We’ve stripped the North Front, sir,” General Alan said. “We hardly have anything left near the Prudhoe Bay oilfields or ANWR.”
The President looked stricken.
Maybe it compelled General Alan to add, “Because of that, sir, we haven’t completely lost the air war on the Southern Front.”
The President bent at the waist as he put his hands on the table and rested his forehead on his hands. The moment lasted several seconds. Abruptly, he sat up and glanced at Anna.
“You know the Chairman better than anyone else,” Clark said. “What do you think his response will be?”
Anna blinked in amazement as she realized what he asked her. The President of the United States was passing the decision to her. If she told Clark the Chairman would go nuclear, the President would decide against the Navy plan. In that moment, Anna felt a tremendous weight settle onto her heart. It was galling. She found it difficult to breathe. She had an inkling then what it meant being the President at a time like this.
Anna felt the eyes on her. Everyone waited on her words. In a strange way, it reminded her of long ago in the
