Invasion: Alaska

teenage beauty pageant. Then everyone had watched and weighed her. Anna Chen frowned, concentrating. She wanted a sip of water, but she was afraid to reach for it. She didn’t want to see her hand tremble. She didn’t want anyone else to see that.

Anna looked at President Clark. “Sir,” she said, “this situation seems different from the previous discussion to use nuclear weapons. This time our military would do it away from prying eyes and in a hidden manner. And you’re leaving the Chairman his primary military forces. For him, that might make all the difference.”

Clark’s mouth moved, but no words came.

“Do you understand what you’re saying?” asked the Secretary of State.

Anna nodded. She knew. They were talking about using one nuclear weapon to hit the Chinese now on the pack ice and scare them. Afterward, the Joint Chiefs would use a different plan to hinder the Arctic Chinese.

The President licked his lips. “This strike won’t unleash a nuclear holocaust?”

“I’m not a military expert,” Anna said. “I’m only considering the Chairman’s psychology. The critical factor as far I can see is that the attack is hidden from the world’s eyes. More than anything else, the Chairman abhors public humiliation. As I said before, this leaves the Chairman’s military units intact. He has an inordinate attachment to the military and hates high Chinese losses. He believes such losses confirm old stereotypes concerning China. What you’re planning in the Arctic, it seems to me it prevents the Chairman from achieving his goal. But without doing it in a single devastating attack that obliterates all Chinese polar forces. It allows the Chairman to retreat and therefore he is not pushed into a corner where he feels he must hit back tit-for-tat.”

The President stared at her. He nodded then, and he turned to General Alan. “Tell them yes, I approve of the plan.”

ARCTIC OCEAN

Paul turned and lightly punched Red Cloud on the shoulder. “Can you believe it?”

Red Cloud shook his head.

A plane taxied down the ice toward them. Its propeller twirled and the engine idled. Finally, the small bush plane came to a stop on the ice, its lights bright in the polar darkness.

Red Cloud unhooked the harness from his shoulders, leaving the toboggan where it lay. Paul shook off his backpack, listening to it thump on the ice. Then he kicked off his skis and ran toward the plane. Both men kept their assault rifles.

Paul beat Red Cloud to the bush plane. He ducked under the wing, yanked open the door and shouted, “You Pilot Pete?”

“That’s me, mate,” a small bearded man said. He wore heavy clothing as heat billowed out of the cramped interior.

Paul slid off his assault rifle and stowed it within. Next, he shoved in the Chinese radio. Then he hoisted himself up and slid toward the back. Red Cloud followed his example and soon slammed the door shut. The Algonquin sat up front with the pilot.

“I know you,” Pete told Red Cloud.

The Algonquin nodded.

“So it’s really true?” asked Pete. “The Chinese murdered everyone at Platform P-53?”

“It is true,” Red Cloud said in a grave voice.

“Let’s get out of here!” Paul shouted from the back. “I think the Navy is about to trigger a nuke against the Chinese.”

“What the heck are you talking about?” shouted Pete.

“Go, go,” Paul said, “and don’t look back. In fact, if it looks like the sun is coming up or starting to shine, it means the Navy ignited a nuke.”

“He is right,” Red Cloud said. “We must hurry.”

Pete turned to his joystick. “Hang on.” He pushed the stick forward as the engine began to roar.

Paul sat back in his seat. This felt glorious. He had a heavy growth of beard and mustache, and it had been a long time since he’d felt anything but the warmth of his own breath held under a sleeping bag. Now warmth flooded the cramped cabin. He settled back and enjoyed the thrill of the bush plane bumping over the ice. He looked outside, amazed at how fast they were going.

There was an extra roar of noise, and the bush plane lifted. Paul let out a war whoop. It caused Pete to jerk around.

“Don’t do that,” Pete said. “It freaks me out.”

“Sorry,” Paul said. “You just have no idea how I feel.”

“I sure do. I’ve been lost before in the wilds. Yep, it’s good to get back to civilization. Right now, this plane is civilization to you.”

Paul nodded, and his eyelids grew heavy. It felt so good just to relax. He was going home. He’d see Cheri and Mikey again. He could hardly believe it. As he thought these beautiful things, the bush plane continued to climb into the night sky.

USS MISSISSIPPI

The USS Mississippi was a Virginia-class nuclear attack submarine. It had waited in the ice as the two Blacksand mercenaries skied away. The submarine waited as the Special Forces team had roared away on the snowmobiles.

That had been many hours ago. Now finally, a signal arrived from Dead Horse. It had traveled all the way from the White House. The captain was asleep in his bunk when the chief knocked on wood paneling.

“I’m up, Chief,” the captain said from his bunk.

Without disturbing the curtain guarding the captain’s privacy, the chief relayed the radio message.

Soon, the captain swept the curtain aside. He wore his officer’s hat and he had buttoned on his uniform. Solemnly, he strode to his place near the periscope. Per his orders, the USS Mississippi eased out of the pack ice and sank into the frigid waters. The submarine headed onto a new bearing.

“Prepare the torpedo,” the captain said.

The members of the bridge crew stared at him.

“This is not a drill,” the captain said quietly.

That began a flurry of motion aboard the USS Mississippi. Sixteen minutes and thirty-two seconds later, a blast of air expelled the nuclear-tipped torpedo from its tube. Then the electric motor engaged. The big torpedo headed toward a precise heading under the ice.

“Turn her around, Chief,” the captain said, “and take us down. We don’t want to be anywhere near here once it goes off.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the chief said, an old man and gray-haired. In a hollow voice, he gave the needed orders.

All the while, the nuclear-tipped torpedo headed toward its preset coordinates. Those were the same coordinates as the forward Chinese supply dump. Destiny awaited their meeting.

ARCTIC OCEAN

Paul was almost asleep when an immensely bright light illuminated the darkness. The bush plane’s engine roared, the only sound any of them had heard for some time.

“What is that?” shouted Pete. The small pilot began to turn around.

Paul bolted upright and shouted in the pilot’s ear. “That’s a nuke, friend.”

The intensity of the light grew, and it hurt their eyes.

Red Cloud groaned in his seat.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” said Pete.

“Ditto,” Paul said, as he gripped his seat belt.

Pete bobbed his head. “It’s bad. I wouldn’t want to be closer than we are now. But I think it’s too far to hurt my plane.”

Paul glanced back. We’re using nuclear weapons. He shook his head. Nuclear weapons in the Arctic—war couldn’t get any dirtier than this.

“Hang on!” shouted Pete. “Just in case, I want put more distance between us.” The small bush plane roared through the Arctic night, racing the bright light shining in the pack ice.

AMBARCHIK BASE, SIBERIA

As he rubbed his aching eyes, Jian Hong settled himself before a screen. One of his bodyguards had shaken