During the last few days in the Arctic darkness, General Shin Nung had gathered his hovertanks from the outlaying bases. He had them topped off and added fuel pods to each. Then he’d readied sleds as backups.
“Some of the snowtanks must follow us as you gather more fuel,” Nung told Bai in a command caterpillar. They were in the primary base, four hundred kilometers from the North Slope. “After we leave and as soon as you can, send those fifty tanks after us. Then top off the next fifty as soon as you can gather them together.”
Nung had been hard at work reversing Ping’s dabbling, pulling in the many soldiers, vehicles and planes from the scattered bases. The nuclear attack had frightened the commissar. Well, it didn’t frighten him. Nuclear just meant a bigger explosion, nothing more.
“If we remain stationary at this base for too long,” said Bai, “the Americans will pinpoint our location. Then it will be the end of the polar taskforce.”
“It’s a risk,” admitted Nung. He had thought about that last night. “Use half the helicopters and keep them on air patrol. Before you launch the last tanks, send every helicopter to the North Slope. Land as close as you can to the oilfields.”
“Sir, if we fly that far, the helicopters won’t have enough fuel to make it back to base.”
“We’ve reached the point in the campaign where it will be a one way journey for the helicopters. I need soldiers in Alaska now!”
“Supplies for them—”
“The helicopter-borne soldiers will carry enough supplies to storm the American bases,” Nung said. “Our soldiers can then feed off the captured stores. The need for hot food and shelter will spur our men to acts of heroism.”
Bai grew thoughtful. “Can I ask where you will be during all this, sir?”
“I’m riding in the saddle, as the Russians call it. I will lead from the front, as a tank commander should. In other words, I’ll go in with the first wave of hovertanks.”
“Yes, General,” said Bai.
Nung knew that look. Bai didn’t like it, but his logistics officer had never appreciated his smash-through tactics. “Once you’ve topped off the last snowtanks, you will return to Ambarchik Base. Talk the Politburo minister there into rolling up the long tail across the ice. With the loss of so many cargo planes and caterpillar-haulers, I cannot see how we can keep the stretched line intact.”
“That would cut you off from supplies, sir.”
“How very perceptive of you,” Nung said. “I have learned a valuable lesson this campaign.”
“Would you care to share it with me, sir?”
“You should understand the lesson better than I.” Nung concentrated. “This is a nightmare land. The limitations of vehicle speed, particularly the snowtanks, the vicious cold and the blizzards—it eats a mechanized army. It devours men, supplies and machines. The longer one remains on the pack ice, the worse the situation becomes. I do not believe it is possible to keep our forces in North Slope Alaska supplied for long, at least not across the ice and not with darkest winter coming. What one can do is move fast, taking everything in one fell swoop. Unfortunately, our hovertanks are too delicate for such a long crossing. I wish now I’d used my sleds and caterpillar-haulers to haul my hovertanks as close to Alaska as I dared. I’ve had to cannibalize nearly half our remaining hovers just to keep the other half viable.”
“How will we re-supply you then?” asked Bai.
“Submarines and icebreakers seem like the vessels of choice.”
“What you’re saying, General—this is no longer a taskforce meant to conquer the North Slope, but to raid it.”
“Maybe you’re right,’ Nung said. “Whatever I do, I start today.”
“You will need air cover,” said Bai.
Nung nodded. “See to it, but make sure you launch the first fifty snowtanks. If you find that you cannot, then send thirty tanks. I want something coming to reinforce what I take.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Good luck, Bai,” Nung said.
“Good luck to you, sir. I dearly hope you grab the oilfields as you grabbed Yakutsk in Siberia.”
“That, my good friend, is exactly what I intend to do.”
“It’s like this,” the Marine captain told the hard-eyed civilians seated in the room. They wore parkas and woolen hats, many cradling rifles between their knees. “We can wait for the enemy to hit us in Dead Horse and maybe blow the wells. Or we can attack the Chinese on the ice and finish it out there.”
Paul Kavanagh glanced around at the others in the room. Everyone sat on benches, as this was a makeshift church in a Quonset hut. The Marine captain stood in front of the podium, not behind it where a priest or preacher would have been. Some of the seated were like Paul and Red Cloud, Blacksand mercenaries. Some were simply local hard cases.
After the nuclear explosion, Pilot Pete had taken them to Dead Horse. The Marine captain had “interviewed” Paul and Red Cloud for several days. After being cleared, Paul had wanted to call his ex and son, but there was no connection to the outside world except by Marine radio.
Captain Bullard presently glared at the assembled civilians. He was a typical-looking Marine. He seemed a little older and was tough, with an I-can-kick-your-butt kind of attitude showing by the way he stood. In his talks with the man, Paul had found Bullard easy to deal with because the Marine told it like it was.
Bullard now puffed out his chest, scowling at the crowd. “I know this is going to surprise you. There’s been a foul-up because everything in terms of reinforcements is going to Anchorage. No matter what else happens here, the President and the Joint Chiefs want our boys to keep the Chinese from taking Anchorage. Seems like our naval counterparts from the East have fought through everything the Army and Alaskan National Guard could throw at them. Therefore, everything in terms of reinforcements is landing at Fairbanks. The mother of all snowstorms is blanketing Anchorage and the Kenai Peninsula that the Chinese have been using as a springboard. The storm will let up any day now, and then the last battle for Alaska will take place. At least, that’s how Fox News is playing it and we know they never make mistakes.”
There was a laugh and several snorts from the crowd.
“What’s any of that got to do with us?” Paul asked from the back.
“You used to be in the Marines, isn’t that right?” asked Bullard.
“Yes, sir.”
Captain Bullard swept his gaze over the others. “This man fought in Quebec, if I remember what he told me, against the French-Canadians.”
“Yeah,” Paul said.
“In fact, you fought against men like your boss, Red Cloud.”
More than one person on the benches turned to stare at Paul and Red Cloud.
“Listen up,” Bullard said, “and I’ll tell you what that has to do with us. The Army shipped us some of their new winter fighting suits. Unfortunately, they forgot to add any soldiers with them. Now I have a handful of Marines, and most of them have to keep guard here on orders of the Joint Chiefs. But I need warm bodies to shove into those suits so they can help me kick butt against the Chinese. We have a few planes here, and they’ve spotted over a hundred hovertanks converging on Dead Horse. There’s probably more behind them. I want to stop those lead hovers before they disgorge Chinese infantry onto Alaskan soil.”
“Hovertanks,” Paul said. “They’re made for maneuvering on the ice.”
“Thank you oh so much for the update,” Bullard said. “What I want to know, Marine, is whether you have any balls left. Or did they get frozen off on your little stroll across the ice?”
Paul thought about Murphy staring out of the snowcat’s window. He thought about his promise. “Are these winter suits any good?” asked Paul.
“Do you want to find out?”
“Yeah,” Paul said. “I do.”
“What about you, Red Cloud? Are you going to let a Marine outdo a French-Canadian?”
“I’m Algonquin.”
“Same question then,” Bullard said, “just put whatever you said in place of French-Canadian.”
Red Cloud glanced at Paul.
