the rear area. Those troops that would have done so were in Anchorage or they were heading back to help throw out the Eagle Teams at the airport.
It looked like the way was open for an even faster Chinese advance, maybe to the very gates of Anchorage itself.
-15-
Deer Hunters
The President strode into the conference chamber of White House Bunker Number Five. He approached his chair, stopped and scanned the expectant throng.
Anna Chen watched from her spot at the table.
A wintry smile twitched President Clark’s mouth. “I have an announcement to make,” he said. “It’s the first piece of good news I’ve had for some time.”
“Sir?” asked the haggard Secretary of State.
“I’ve just spoken with the Prime Minister of Canada,” Clark said. “The opposition Party threatened a vote of no confidence. They knew many of the Prime Minister’s Party members were angry with his do-nothing policy against the Chinese.”
“Are the Canadians finally going to help us?” the Secretary of State asked.
Clark frowned.
Anna wondered if he wanted to savor the news before telling them.
“Yes,” Clark said. “Even as I speak, Canadian fighters are heading for Anchorage. If we’re lucky, they’ll keep the Chinese from landing reinforcements at the airport.”
“We must take the airport
President Clark sat down at the table. “The Canadians are rushing Airborne troops there to help us do just that. They’re also airlifting defensive equipment.”
“What kind of equipment, sir?” the Defense Secretary asked.
“Canadian laser batteries and SAMs,” the President said.
“Why did they wait so long?” asked the Secretary of State.
Clark shook his head. “I don’t know. But we have a chance again. We have a window of opportunity to rearm Anchorage. The Chinese are grinding our Air Force down to nothing, but this infusion of planes will help us keep fighting a little longer.”
“Thank God for that,” the Defense Secretary said.
“Now if we could just get the Mexican government to loan us equipment,” Colin Green said.
“It would help,” said Clark. He slapped the table. “The Canadians are keeping us alive. Now we need to do something to end this war. We need ideas.”
“We need more troops,” the Defense Secretary said.
Clark turned to General Alan. “What’s happening on the Northern Front?”
General Alan cleared his throat and began to speak.
Pastor Bill Harris lay on cold earth as he peered through his binoculars at a convoy of Chinese vehicles. They were big trucks, and they were full of supplies, using Highway One. Pines grew tall on the other side of the road.
“Well, Pastor?” asked the man beside Bill.
Sergeant Bill Harris of the Alaskan Militia lowered the binoculars. Over a week ago, he’d fought T-66s at Cooper Landing and barely escaped from his foxhole. His hearing was still lousy, with a constant ringing in his ears. Maybe as bad, his back hurt all the time.
He opened a bottle of aspirin, pouring three capsules onto his palm. He’d run out of Advil several days ago. He popped the aspirin into his mouth and began chewing. They were dry and bitter, but they helped dull the pain.
Bill lifted his bottle toward his friend Nanook, who sat nearby, deeper in the woods. The Inuit mechanic wore what looked like a turban. It swathed his face, with only his eyes showing. He had bad burns and he’d lost all his hair. Nanook shook his head. The man was a liability stuck out here behind enemy lines, but there was no way Bill was going to leave his buddy behind. He’d vowed to bring his friend home to his family.
“Well?” asked the man beside Bill.
Bill capped the bottle and shoved it into his pocket as he stayed on his belly. He wanted to go home to his wife and kids. But he
The blasts that had destroyed a T-66 at Cooper Landing had also rendered Nanook unconscious. Three Militiamen had dragged him out of the battle and hidden with him as Chinese infantry swept the area. Now the five of them remained free, although they were behind enemy lines. The Chinese advance had passed them a week ago.
“We can still help our side,” Bill had told the others last night as they sat around a campfire in the woods. He had gotten sick of doing nothing.
“How can we help?” a man named Carlos Martinez had asked.
“Do any of you remember our invasion of Iraq thirty years ago?” Bill had been thinking about this for some time.
“The first or second invasion?” Carlos was a bank clerk who, like Bill, loved hunting. Carlos was also a corporal in the Militia and a member of Bill’s church.
“The second invasion, on our drive to Baghdad,” Bill had said.
“What about Baghdad?” Carlos was a thin man with bowed legs. In another life, Carlos had played basketball after church some Sundays with Stan and the others.
Last night, Bill had told them what Stan Higgins had told him before. “We sliced through the Iraqi Army back then. Nothing could stop our tanks and APCs.”
Carlos had watched him closely.
“The great fear on our side was that Iraqi commandos or soldiers would hit our supply columns coming in behind the tanks. The supply vehicles were thin-skinned, mostly Army trucks. The Iraqis hit a few, but never in any number. Well, we have a similar situation here. The Chinese aren’t just roaring through to Anchorage in a few days, but there’s not much to stop those T-66s for long, either. Luckily for us, the terrain gets rougher the closer they come to Anchorage. My guess is it’s a mess right now, if I know Stan Higgins. The Chinese are grinding through. That means they must be burning up lots of supplies, particularly ammo.”
“What’s your point?”
“We’re still stuck behind enemy lines, but we’re alive and we have weapons and enough .50 caliber ammo to do something. I say we start hunting Chinese supply vehicles. We do what Saddam’s Iraqis should have done to us.”
“How do we stay alive at the same time?”
“By judiciously choosing our time of attack.”
“What do you say?” one of the other Militiamen had asked Carlos. “Do you think that’s a good idea? I want to get out of this mess. I don’t want to play the hero and end up dead.”
Carlos had scratched his head, nodding after a time. “I remember my schooling about the American Revolution. Most people didn’t do anything back then. They just wanted to stay alive, a perfectly good thing, I might add. But that kind of thinking wouldn’t have won America its freedom. Maybe one third of the population was for American Independence. Even less
“I don’t know,” the other Militiaman had said. “We’re just five men. What can five men do to change the tide of war?”
“Men defend their home,” Bill had said. “Alaska is our home and we must defend it.”
“I agree to that,” Carlos had said.
