Asian Front

where he wouldn’t talk about “chinks” and “equal opportunity” when he killed Spets. At least he’d be out of the public eye.

How Washington had got wind of his intended meeting with Admiral Kuang, Freeman didn’t know, but upon landing at Narita Airport in Tokyo, Freeman was met by U.S. embassy officials who were to accompany him to the meeting with Kuang. It was all very polite, but Freeman’s meeting with the Taiwanese admiral was effectively sabotaged, little more than pleasantries being exchanged. Freeman was furious, knowing he could do nothing but sip tea and drink to Taiwanese-U.S. friendship before taking his flight out to San Francisco via Hawaii.

* * *

When Spring Flower emerged from behind the screen, her nakedness had taken the GI’s breath away, her breasts far more prominent than die tight dress had allowed. After being without a woman for months in the cold Siberian winter, it was almost too much, and he told himself if he didn’t calm down he’d just be wasting the fifty bucks. To concentrate, to divert himself from her beauty for a moment, he rather ponderously counted out the fifty dollars, converting them to yuan in his head, thinking, God, she’s beautiful.

“You must take it off,” she told him in slow and deliberate English.

“What?” He looked up at her.

“You must take it off,” she repeated, pointing to the .45 strapped in its canvas holster and the clip ammo in the canvas pockets about the belt.

“Oh—” he said. “Yeah — sure. I thought you meant—” He pointed to what he meant, and, hand before her mouth, her eyes averted shyly, she gave the most delightful giggle, and obviously thought it not at all surprising that a private would be carrying a sidearm.

“Come,” she said, extending her hand.

“Not too quickly, I hope,” he said.

“Sorry — I do not under—”

“It’s okay.”

“I have surprise for you,” she said softly, her tongue wetting her dark, cherry-red lips as she extended her hand demurely and led him into the next room, which was redolent with sandalwood incense and illuminated by a pale golden flickering lantern. Seated in the nest of silk-lace-bordered pillows was another girl, her legs drawn coquettishly, her nakedness partially hidden by the pillows. The soldier’s mouth went dry, and in a cracked voice he said, “I can’t pay another fifty for—”

“No bother,” Spring Blossom said. “She wishes to learn. Do you mind?”

He could barely speak. “Oh, man. No, I don’t mind.”

CHAPTER THREE

Monterey, California

“Damn it! He’s done it again,” Freeman said, his general’s stars catching the light as he pointed the TV’s remote control and zapped CBN.

“Done what again, Douglas?” Marjorie Duchene, his sister-in-law, asked from the kitchen.

“That CBN clown calling APCs tanks.”

“What’s an APC?” Marjorie asked.

“Please don’t bait me, Dory — Marjorie.” He’d used his deceased wife’s name, for, though he’d loved her, she’d had the same habit of teasing him.

“I’m not baiting you, Douglas dear. I’ve no idea what an APC is — some truck or other I suppose.”

“Armored personnel carrier,” Freeman grumped. “Goddamn education in this country’s going to hell in a handbasket.”

“Please don’t swear, Douglas. I know it’s rough and ready in the army, but now you’re home.”

“You mean put out to pasture. Those congressional sons of — those ‘gentlemen’ in Washington recalled me from Siberia for ‘consultation.’ Haven’t called me in for a week, but I know when I go there they’re going to give me a ‘special’ assignment. What they mean is they don’t want me in command of Second Army.”

“Well, the war is over, Douglas.”

“War’s never over, Marjorie — just interrupted now and then by peace. Good God, in over five thousand years of history we haven’t had three hundred years of peace. You realize that?”

“You should go for a walk,” Marjorie said. “The tide’s out. Rock pools’ll be beautiful.”

“You know what happens in rock pools,” Freeman said, invoking an image that had never ceased to arrest him. “One creature’s fighting the other for food and space. To the death.”

“Oh, Douglas, that’s a forlorn way of looking at the world.”

“It can be a forlorn world, Marjorie,” Freeman responded. “Second Army lost the best part of four thousand men to Yesov’s hordes on Lake Baikal. And that’s not counting the casualties inflicted by the Chinese when they attacked us from the south. So what happens when I counterattack, make up some lost territory, and start taking prisoners? Beijing and Novosibirsk sing in unison for a cease-fire, and those — those ‘fairies’ back in Washington gave it to them.”

“We want peace, Douglas,” Marjorie said.

“Hell — we all want peace. Problem is, how to secure it. You don’t think those ‘comrades’ in Beijing would roll up their blankets do you? This is a breathing space for them. Time to build up their forces again for another northward push. And what if they attack again? We’ve got a supply line stretched over four thousand miles of ocean between here and Siberia. Manchuria’s their backyard. They’re going to want to grab as much territory along the Amur River valleys as they can. Siberians and Chinese have been fighting over it for more than a hundred years. Only reason they formed an alliance against us was to try and push our Allied force into the sea. Then without any U.N. overwatch they could carve one another up.”

“Then why didn’t we just let them do it?” Marjorie said ingenuously.

“Because if we let them at it, once they’d exhausted their conventional forces we’d be in an ICBM war, and pretty soon everyone else around them, from Kazakhstan to Southeast Asia, would have to choose sides. We’d have a world war that you couldn’t put out, Marjorie. Hell — that’s why the U.N. sent us over there. To keep the peace. But I’m telling you, this cease-fire isn’t keeping the peace — it’s just time out for Cheng and Yesov to rearm, resupply. Meanwhile their ‘diplomats’ are yakking away with our diplomats. Well, you know what Will Rogers said about diplomacy.”

“No, I don’t,” Marjorie said.

“Diplomacy’s saying ‘Nice doggie’ till you can find a rock. That’s what they’re doing, Marjorie — getting the rocks ready for their slingshots.”

“Oh, I’m sure Washington knows what it’s doing.”

“Marjorie, the last time Washington knew what it was doing was when it declared war on Saddam Insane.”

“Go for a walk, Douglas. It’ll do you good.”

He did, and it didn’t. All he could think of was Norton’s call that morning about the air-conditioning units.

In Hong Kong, La Roche Industries had received a fax— an order from General Cheng in Beijing, C in C of the People’s Liberation Army, two and a half million strong. The order was for everything from American-made Gore-Tex sleeping bags to five thousand air-conditioning units of the kind used by heavy-haul refrigerator trucks. Though Hong Kong was now firmly in PLA hands, it was still used by Beijing, as in the days when the colony had been British, as a capitalist outpost for trade with the West. Chinese-born agents loyal to Britain were still at large in the former British colony, and along with everything else they heard they passed the information about the La Roche order to the American Second Army’s headquarters at Khabarovsk via the Harbin-Manchurian underground Democracy Movement. From Khabarovsk, Colonel Dick Norton had called Freeman, careful to bill it as a personal and not an official call.

“These air-conditioning units,” Freeman asked. “They portable?”

“Didn’t say, General.”

“Find out, Dick. Call me back. Ten-to-one they’re portable.”

“Yes, sir.”