“You guys ready?” one of the grease monkeys asked. He was a young man with a week’s growth of whispers.
Stan had to concentrate in order to speak. The weariness in his bones was making his eyelids droop. “I want my tanks ready to go as soon as the storm lets up.”
“That’s our orders, too,” the mechanic said. “We work until we drop.”
Stan nodded. He was just about ready to drop himself. “Let’s start with that tank.”
The mechanic shook his head. “No, not you, Captain. You help us by showing us the worst problems. Then you go and get some sleep. You look like crap.”
“Now see here—”
“No,” said another man, climbing out of the Stryker.
Stan had to blink several times. He knew the man. It was Brigadier General Hector Ramos.
“You see here, Captain,” said Ramos. The general had black and blue circles around his eyes, but there was still a strange brightness to them. “You’re being attached to what’s left of the 1st Stryker Brigade. It isn’t much, either. I lost my 105s somewhere and I’ve heard we’re almost out of TOW2s. My men are exhausted. I can see by your face that you are, too. This storm won’t last forever. When it’s done, I want you well rested and eager to go. Your tanks are going to be the heart of what’s left of my brigade.”
Stan wasn’t sure he liked hearing that. It sounded too much like what Major Williams had once said outside of Cooper Landing. And that hadn’t ended so well. Stan frowned as he summoned his remaining energy.
“I’m glad to see you’re still among the living, General.”
“Me, too, Professor. I’d like to chat, but I have too much to do. We’re getting a respite with this storm, but no more than that. When it’s done, we’re going to slug it out with a million Chinese.”
“As many as that?” asked Stan.
“Maybe not quite,” said Ramos, “but it feels like it. No matter how many we kill—and I’ve been killing a lot of them—they just keep coming. Now go on. Go home and sleep in your bed for a change. Then get ready for the fight of your life.”
Stan stared at the small general. He had questions for the man. Instead of asking any, though, he yawned. Before he slumped over, he needed to show the mechanics things about the three Abrams.
“All right,” he told the chief mechanic. “If you’ll step over here, I’ll show you the first problem….”
-16-
Ice War
General Shin Nung of the Chinese Cross-Polar Taskforce paced outside on the pack ice between several of his snowtanks. Impotent anger gripped him. It had for several weeks now. Why had they even given him command of the taskforce if they allowed East Lightning Commissar Ping veto power over his decisions?
The commissar was militarily a fool, not to mention a coward. The Americans had used a nuclear torpedo, destroying a forward supply base. Chinese submarines now hunted the Americans under the pack ice. So far, it had kept the enemy from using another such weapon. Meanwhile, American Special Forces driving snowmobiles had raided other supply dumps. Those teams likely also spotted for the submarines.
Because of nuclear weapons, Nung’s fighters and bombers flew from base camps hundreds of kilometers away from where they should be. It took them longer to reach the North Slope now and engage the American aircraft. Because of the distance, the Chinese planes had a much shorter window over the targets. Nung had ordered the airstrips moved closer, but the Air Force general in charge of the planes had refused, saying he couldn’t risk it until the American snowmobile teams were destroyed. Foolishly and by now predictably, Commissar Ping had agreed with the man’s cowardly decision.
Nung had an insane desire to draw his pistol and empty the clip into the ice. Despite the nuclear-tipped torpedo and snowmobiles, Commissar Ping had insisted they follow Army doctrine on a cross-polar assault.
Yet why bother with forward supply dumps now? It would have been better by far to allow the supplies to gather in one location four hundred kilometers from the coast. Once the tail coiled up and the formations gathered, they would spring to Dead Horse and ANWR. It was a risk, and the American submarines might find the large base and launch their torpedoes. But with everything in one locale, every spotter and helicopter could comb the ice for the snowmobile teams. Locate and destroy. As it was, the crafty Americans used the many seams between small formations to slip here and there. To be sure, they had killed seven such snowmobile teams already, but the American submarines kept launching more.
Taunting Commissar Ping had insisted they scatter the taskforce in order to make it difficult for the Americans to take them out with a single blow. What had happened instead was a hopeless muddle, with too much fuel used scattering units and transshipping supplies back and forth in a useless game of chess with the Americans. Now supplies were drying up and they were no closer to the Alaskan coast.
Nung shook his head as a cargo helicopter came in from the north for a landing. The last thing he wanted to do now was enter the command tank with Ping. He loathed the East Lightning commissar. All these fine vehicles given him to command and he was shackled in their use. It simply made no sense!
He had done a Hannibal, referring to the ancient general who had brought his elephants and cavalry over the Alps. The alpine, winter trek had cost Hannibal dearly, and it had cost the cross-polar taskforce. The deadly weather and extreme distance had brought endless headaches and equipment failures. Now the supplies from Ambarchik across this stretched line had dropped to a trickle. That had surprised Nung most of all. He had left Lieutenant-General Bai in charge back at base. What could have happened to turn Bai into such an incompetent?
Heavyset Nung stared at the command snowtank. These specialized vehicles were a marvel of Chinese engineering. Each snowtank had two main sections connected by a hydraulic ram. To facilitate climbing snowy slopes such as awaited them in Alaska, the center of gravity was just back of center. Normal tanks would flip or slide on such snowy terrain, quickly rendering them helpless. The snowtank had four independent track sections that helped stabilize the vehicle. The tracks themselves were rubber-rimmed to prevent the wheels turning the tracks from freezing. The articulated tank with its aluminum alloy treads and high-adhesion track-cleats allowed it to travel forty kph on hard ice or flat rock. The snowtank’s rear compartment was armed with an ATGM-launcher. The front used the same type of cannon as the hovertanks: a 76mm gun with rocket-assisted shells. The snowtank was built light, with a ground pressure of two psi, one third that of a Marauder tank.
The cargo helicopter from the north had landed. The side door opened and men rushed out, shouting his name.
General Nung sighed and waved.
“Bai?” asked Nung. “What in blazes are you doing here on the ice? You’re supposed to be back at Ambarchik, making sure I receive my supplies.”
Bai told him an incredible tale. It began with Ruling Committee Minister Jian Hong sending Bai out here to give a verbal for-his-ears-only command. The longer Bai talked, the more incensed Nung became.
“They’re berating
“Yes, sir,” said Bai. “By the way, sir, I’m also to report that your wife and son are safe. East Lightning no longer has them.”
Nung blinked, with his mind awhirl with a hundred questions. Finally, he thundered, “Why in the name of Mao didn’t you radio all this to me?”
“It was the Chairman’s orders, sir. This could only be relayed to you by face-to-face contact. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner, but my plane crashed and we waited days for rescue. Then my next plane was left stranded at an airstrip as we awaited more fuel. Here at the end, I had a hard time discovering which of these little bases you were at last.”
Nung ingested Bai’s story. It encapsulated what had happened to the entire taskforce. What had started out
