Could Tenth Division halt the Chinese? Could the lone American formation give the rest of them enough time to get there and set up?
Time for what, though? What could twenty experimental tanks do against thousands of Chinese T-66s, the Chinese MBTs and the light Marauder tanks?
With his head and shoulders outside the main hatch, Sergeant McGee heard the distant thunder of divisional artillery. There were flashes in the night. Seconds later came the booms.
Dark twilight had come over the desert. Several hours earlier, Bradley Fighting Vehicles had launched a salvo of TOW missiles at advancing Marauder tanks, killing some and driving the others back. It had brought about visible air duels above, more waiting and finally an enemy battalion of what command now knew had been drone light tanks. They had driven at the Bradleys at over forty mph. That had been a mistake: the head-on attack. The TOWs had demolished the drones, although it had seriously depleted the number of missiles the Bradleys had. Maybe that had been the idea.
McGee took comfort in the fact the Chinese could make mistakes. A tank drive against unknown forces…he could only imagine how difficult it was to coordinate everything.
Now word had come down. A large force of T-66 tanks was massed before the Bradleys and the enemy was massed against the flanking forces, too. In other words, there weren’t going to be any American surprises. Instead, it looked as if a slugfest was in the making.
“Are they going to try to overrun us?” the driver asked McGee.
McGee had dropped down into the M1A3 tank.
Two low-powered blue lights lit the Abrams’ interior. The blue light didn’t steal their night vision. Of course, other lights glowed on the panels: red, green and yellow.
“The Chinese waited too long,” McGee told the crew. He had to tell them something to cheer them up. “I don’t know why they waited. They should have rushed us earlier when they had the chance. Now we have more artillery. Our side must be laying down sleeper mines. That will give the T-66s something to think about.”
“You sure, Sarge?” the driver asked. “You don’t think the Chinese have them a good plan?”
“No,” McGee said. “They made a mistake waiting this long. Now we’re going to bloody their noses and then fall back to our next prepared position. They played into our hands and now we’re going to delay them as ordered.”
Stan Higgins watched twilight turn into true night from the cab of his Behemoth-carrier. They had made it over the Grapevine at fifteen mph. Now they were in LA, the vast urban area.
What amazed him was they had only been stopped once, letting a faster formation race past.
He still listened to Tenth Division net. The Chinese had made desultory attacks, but nothing in force. What were they waiting for? It didn’t make sense. Were the Chinese going to let the reinforcements set up outside Palm Springs? It seemed like a missed opportunity for them.
They had raced up the Coachella Valley, heading for the San Gorgonio Pass. It cut between the San Bernardino Mountains on the north and the San Jacinto Mountains to the south. San Gorgonio Pass was one of the deepest in America, the mountains on either side towering 9000 feet above the road. Palm Springs guarded the pass, while Greater San Bernardino was on the other side. Now was the moment for the Chinese to smash through.
“Keep waiting,” Stan whispered.
Jose lifted his head. He’d been snoozing most of the trip. “You say something, Professor?”
“Go back to sleep,” Stan said. “At this speed, we’re still a long way out from Palm Springs.”
“Sure, Professor, anything you say.” Jose’s head slumped back.
Stan stared out of the cab, watching LA go past outside the tank carrier’s window.
First Lieutenant Sheng had been chaffing at the bit most of the afternoon. It was dark now and still his platoon waited for the attack to commence, still waited for a fuel-carrier to fill up his T-66 tanks.
Motion caused one of the vehicle’s outer lights to snap on. In the distance, Sheng spied a jackrabbit in the circle of light. Its long ears twitched, and with a bound, it dashed for cover.
Earlier, Sheng had listened to the major explaining the situation to them. “We will destroy them at a blow, shattering them utterly. We have watched the Americans trickle reinforcements to the Tenth Division. Yes, they have laid their artillery-spread minefields and they have strengthened themselves. We want to destroy them here in the desert so there will be fewer of them in the built-up areas later.”
One swift and massive blow, yes, Sheng could understand that. But the major had been telling lies. The attack hadn’t occurred out of any brilliance. It hadn’t occurred, Sheng suspected, because the Americans had destroyed too many fuel carriers. He’d heard about the air attacks, hundreds of little pinpricks that had hit a fuel- carrier one at a time. Command had ordered the other fuel carriers back until enough air support appeared. Finally, the fuel carriers were here, or so the major had told them.
The T-66 was like an alcoholic with an immense thirst. They needed fuel before they dared attack the Americans.
It took another hour before Sheng actually saw a fuel-carrier. Men attached a hose and gave him half-a-tank full.
“I need more,” Sheng said, as a First Rank began disconnecting the hose.
“Sorry, sir,” the First Rank said. “It’s orders. Everyone only gets half-a-tank.”
That seemed foolish to Sheng. It would be wiser to fill half the tanks all the way, so they could drive to LA without having to worry about another fuel gulp.
Because he was merely a first lieutenant, Sheng kept his thoughts to himself.
After the fuel carriers left, brigade waited another forty-five minutes. Finally, at 9:23 PM, the order came. They were finally going to destroy the American Tenth Division and open the way to Palm Springs and LA beyond.
From his wheelchair in the command center, Marshal Nung rubbed his eyes. He was impatient for the Tank Army to attack. The Americans had cleverly burned up more of their air, hunting through the desert for the most forward fuel carriers.
He should have remembered the tactic from what the enemy had done in Alaska. It was foolish to forget something so obvious. From now on, he would defend the fuel carriers with triple the anti-air units and with continuous air cover.
He mustn’t allow the Americans to practice the same tactic on him again.
General Pi looked up from the glowing computer table. “Sleeper mines are taking a heavy toll of our Marauder drones, sir.”
“Yes,” Nung said. “I accept heavy losses in those cheap units now in order to achieve brilliance later. A hard and furious assault, General, that is what wins true glory.”
“Yes, Marshal,” Pi said.
From his wheelchair, Nung observed Marshal Gang frowning in the corner. He knew the man would record that statement and tell Ruling Committee member Kao about it.
“Unleash the T66s,” Nung said. “It is time to shatter the Americans and let them truly know what it is to fear.”
Sergeant McGee had buttoned the M1A3, meaning he’d shut the outer hatch and was completely inside the tank. He now sat above and behind the gunner. His right hand rested on the pistol-grip handle. With it, he had override control of the turret—where it turned—and where the main gun pointed. He leaned into the brow-padded thermal sights, hunting for a target.
Tenth Division Command had just radioed. The Chinese heavies were finally advancing. The realization had
