unleashed a string of curses at whoever was on the other end of the line.
The shelling continued for a few more rounds, then began retreating to the west. Jing Yo heard the first helicopters approaching. Down on the far end of the runway, the team that had been tasked to hit the antiaircraft guns went to work on their secondary mission, marking the landing zone with red smoke, indicating that the helicopters would be landing under fire.
The pain in Jing Yo’s right hand flared. He tried to force it away as he went back to the door. He stopped short at the threshold — the walkway had broken and was hanging down off the tower to the left. He leaned out to look for his two men, then threw himself back into the control room as bullets began hitting into the side wall.
“We’re going to have to close that door,” said Sergeant Wu. “They get a grenade in here, we’re done.”
There was no panic in Wu’s voice. There was no emotion at all. Closing the door meant stranding the two men outside, but Wu was right — unless the armor-paneled door was put back in place, they were all vulnerable. More important, their goal of keeping the tower intact would fail.
Jing Yo went to the door and closed it himself.
Red smoke drifted upward from the runway. The first helicopter was landing.
The tower shook violently. There was an explosion below — inside the tower.
“They’re coming up!” someone yelled.
Jing Yo bit the bandage holding the ice packs onto his burned hand and then tore it off. One of the large windows shattered. The tower smelled as if it was on fire, the stench a sickly mix of metal and tar or very heavy plastic.
Where was his rifle? Someone had taken it from him earlier, but he couldn’t remember where they had put it.
Jing Yo saw a gun on the floor. He grabbed it, fingers screaming with pain, then ran to the stairwell.
Wu leaned over the rail, firing madly.
“I see the little bastards,” yelled the sergeant. “Watch out for their grenades.”
Wu fired a fresh burst. There didn’t seem to be any return fire, though it was difficult to tell with the rattle of the bullets striking the outside of the building. Unlike the control area, the stairway section was not reinforced with armor, and the bullets punctured the thin aluminum as if it were paper.
Wu reached for a grenade from his vest.
Jing Yo grabbed his arm. “What if our men are down there?”
“They’re dead by now, Lieutenant.”
They stared into each other’s eyes for the briefest of moments, though it was an eternity under the circumstances.
“Do it,” Jing Yo said.
Behind him, Chen crouched at the console, using the satcom radio to talk with a communications aircraft above. Every so often he would raise his head, peeking at what was going on outside before ducking back and continuing his conversation. Private Wing, trained to watch the radar and report to Chen and Geijui, had his hand over his forehead, shading himself from the glare — though it looked as if he was actually trying to avoid looking at what was going on outside.
Corporal Chen was on the satcom, talking to the division communicator, who in turn was speaking with the commander of the troops now hitting the field. Geijui half kneeled, half crouched at the console, watching what was going on in the field and describing where the Vietnamese forces were, using their circuits to talk to the Chinese air force.
Ignoring the bullets still sporadically flying through the window, Jing Yo climbed onto the console shelf, gripping one of the CRTs as he scanned the airport. Four helicopters disgorged troops at the southern end of the runway. The men ran off into the grass, disappearing from view momentarily before emerging on the far taxiway. Vietnamese soldiers were scattered around the airport grounds in small knots. Their resistance did not seem coordinated — a concentrated attack on the runway might have caught the helicopters on the ground or at least contained the troops there. But there was plenty of gunfire, and Jing Yo knew the battle’s outcome was far from determined.
Black smoke rose in a tight curl from a small transformer shed near the far end of the runway. Jing Yo’s men were supposed to move into that area after laying down the smoke, but he couldn’t see if they were there or not.
The artillery shelling had stopped to allow the helicopters to land. As soon as the first wave of choppers was off, it began again, concentrating on the barracks area and the defensive positions near the highway. The barrage was intended to make it hard for the Vietnamese to rush their troops over to the runway area, preventing them from reinforcing the men who were protecting the hangars and the aircraft. But the firing was less than precise, and the main effect of the shells was to add to the monumental sense of chaos and confusion.
A big part of the problem was the lack of team radios and the insistence that all information be funneled through the division communicators, a remnant of old army doctrine modeled on the centralized Soviet concept. In modernizing the Chinese army over the past decade, the general staff had picked the early stages of the second American war in Iraq, the so-called Shock and Awe phase, with its lightning attacks and generous use of tanks and airborne elements. But the generals were reluctant to loosen their grip on the lower commanders, diluting the relative effectiveness of the attack by making it difficult to coordinate its elements.
“They’re coming again!” yelled Wu from near the stairs. “I need more grenades!”
Jing Yo jumped from the console and took a grenade from his vest with his left hand. He hopped down the two steps to Wu, put his right hand around his shoulder, then dropped the grenade. As soon as it left his hand, he pulled backward, yanking the sergeant back as well.
The grenade bounced down the steps, rebounded off the wall, then exploded in the stairwell. The firing below immediately stopped.
Jing Yo felt Wu’s weight as he rolled off him. The sergeant grunted, then helped him up.
“They’re concentrating their attack here,” said Wu. “If we don’t get some relief, we’ll run out of ammunition eventually.”
They had practiced the operation countless times. Jing Yo always understood that his men would be hard- pressed if the assault did not go well. But he had also believed that once the helicopters were landing, the enemy would either concentrate on them or retreat, leaving the tower alone.
He’d been wrong.
The problem was to pressure their attackers somehow. He needed someone to hit them from the side or behind, take their attention away.
Jing Yo hoisted himself back up onto the console. The assault team was fanning out at the southern end of the complex. There were several knots of Vietnamese between them and the tower; he could not expect them to reach him very quickly.
They would have to supply the counterattack themselves.
“Private Wing, help Sergeant Wu,” said Jing Yo. He opened the med kit on the floor and rewrapped his burned hand in gauze and tape, leaving his finger free to fire.
“What are you going to do?” Wu asked.
“Provide a diversion. Open the door to the catwalk for me.”
Wu frowned, but followed him to the side and put his hand on the handle.
“I hope you aren’t thinking of jumping,” said Wu.
“Not today.”
Rifle slung over his shoulder, Jing Yo put his left hand on the side of the frame and steadied himself. If he’d had two good hands, he would have climbed upward and used the roof as a vantage point. But with only his left hand really able to grip, he could only work with gravity, not against it. He swung his weight to the side, then let go of the frame.
The catwalk gave way as Jing Yo landed, swinging down as it tore two more of its anchors. He grabbed hold of the rail with his left hand and the trigger finger of his right, scrambling forward and up. Jing Yo managed to push along the grate for about three meters before reaching part of the deck that was still level. Then he crawled toward the ladder that ran down the side of the tower.
As he neared it, a head popped out from around the bend. Thinking the Vietnamese had come up with roughly the same idea he had, Jing Yo swung his rifle up to fire. He stopped at the last second, recognizing Ai
