advanced, a counterattack might be organized to cut behind the spearhead, striking at its flank. There was a certain amount of wishful thinking involved in such a strategy, even though it wasn’t exactly radical — it presupposed that the Chinese flank would be weak enough to hit.
Slowing the advance was itself problematic. The infantry forces in place consisted of one Vietnamese regular division, just called to regular strength, and two regional divisions — militia units that had been promoted to regular status under the Vietnamese mobilization system. None were equipped to deal with the sort of armored assault the Chinese were about to launch.
The regular division had a smattering of Russian antitank weapons, including a few vehicle-mounted AT-2s and man-portable AT-3s. Neither missile could be counted on to penetrate the Chinese tanks, though lighter vehicles such as APCs would be vulnerable to well-placed fire. The AT-2s were older, line-of-sight missiles; the AT-3 was wire-guided. Both could be fired from a little over a mile away, though in practice much closer ranges were greatly preferred.
Unless you were the operator under fire, of course.
The steeps hills and slim road net suggested that land mines would be particularly useful, but Zeus knew from their earlier briefings that most of the mines the Vietnamese had were ancient, a good number left from the American war, and were mostly of the antipersonnel variety, useless against heavy armor. Squad-level antitank weapons were virtually nonexistent — primarily RPGs that would bounce off the hulls of the Chinese main battle tanks and even some of the infantry fighting vehicles Zeus had seen.
Experience had shown over and over that a determined enemy could improvise tactics to defeat tanks if they had enough time and the right weapons. Typically, armor became more vulnerable as it slowed down and lost its advantage of mobility and speed.
But where would they get the weapons?
Zeus stared at the map. He’d concentrate on the time element first.
Maybe if you blew all of those bridges, it would take longer than a day. There hadn’t been bridging equipment in the depot they’d attacked, and none had been spotted in the last set of reconnaissance photos.
The tanks could ford some of those crossings. Maybe all of them.
The Chinese were cautious, though. He’d seen that in the west.
Blow the bridges. That meant two days’ delay, more if you could set up additional traps near them.
Highway 4A cut straight down from Lang Son. If the Vietnamese sent one of their tank brigades in that direction, then swung the second down and around so that it blocked off the approach to Hai Phong, they
Not really, thought Zeus. Their weapons would be hopelessly outmatched.
They could get more artillery into the area. Once the tanks stopped, the artillery fire could take at least a few out.
He sketched the ideas out for Christian. They weren’t much; even Christian could see through them.
“Look, if we blow up every bridge, that’s still only a few days at most,” he told Zeus. “A few days. I can’t imagine it taking a whole week to get to Tien Yen, even without the bridges. You get there on Day Three, you have the whole rest of the coast open to you. South of Dam Tron, everything really opens up — you don’t have to be Patton.”
Zeus stared at the map. If he were using that route, he would count on the bridges being blown, and use much lighter vehicles.
“If I were the Chinese, I’d welcome a counterattack,” added Christian. “It’d make them easier to kill.”
Zeus knew he was right. Still, there must be something here, something else they could use.
He straightened, and walked across the room.
Hai Phong. Had to be.
Hai Phong was more than enough.
How did it fit with the rest of the strategy? The main attack was in the west. It was an armored strike, a lightning move designed to get deep into the country. They would be moving south and east soon, cutting the country in half.
You took Hai Phong and the northern coast, and the capital would be completely cut off.
And yet, something about it didn’t completely ring true. There were better roads farther west, and a decently wide valley if you were pushed off it.
“There’s going to be another attack somewhere,” said Zeus. “This has to be setting something else up.”
“Besides the amphibious landing?” asked Christian. “That must have been part of the plan.”
Zeus nodded. That was the context to see this in — it should have been launched with the attack they’d forestalled.
Too much fatigue, too much pressure. Zeus sat back in the seat, moving forces around in his head. There was always a danger of overthinking things. A lot of times you gave your enemy too much credit. Hell, he’d done that against Christian during Red Dragon.
Zeus watched Christian prepare some notes. He had to admit that Christian was holding up far better than he thought he would — that, in fact, Christian had changed over the past few days and had become much stronger, while he had become weaker, or at least felt weaker.
Zeus’s eyes started to close. The air was fetid down here. He could use a nap, or a walk to the surface.
A knock on the door stopped the downward drift of his eyelids. Two Vietnamese officers entered the room. They were the staff translators. One was a major, the other a captain.
“We are ready?” asked the major.
“Good to go,” said Christian.
The captain looked blankly at Zeus.
“Yes, we are ready,” said Zeus. “Can we get some coffee?”
“There will be tea. Apologies; it is all we have.”
Or maybe they just wanted to keep them far from the door.
General Perry came in, his face grave. He’d gone back to the embassy to talk with Washington; obviously he didn’t like what he’d heard.
The last person to enter the room was General Minh Trung. Except for the army uniform — which was the plainest available, baggy at the knees and sides, with no ribbons and no insignia — Trung could have looked like one of the Buddhist priests conducting ceremonies in the orientation film Zeus had seen on the way over. He was several inches taller than Zeus, a veritable giant in Vietnam, but thin. His neck and forearms were sinewy; he stood extremely straight, his posture textbook perfect.
He nodded to Zeus, a smile appearing at the corner of his lips, then took his seat at the head of the table.
A colonel began the meeting by lowering a screen from the ceiling opposite Trung. One of the other officers opened a laptop on the table and took out a small digital projector. Flashing a situation map on the screen, the colonel gave a brief summary of the situation. He spoke in Vietnamese, stopping every so often to let the translators explain what he was saying. He ended with the sighting of the tanks and the action by the Americans.
“A most valuable contribution,” said the colonel, looking over at Zeus and Christian. “We are very grateful for all your help.”
“Several times now,” added Trung. They were the first words he had spoken.
The Vietnamese colonel turned back to the map. He predicted that the Chinese would launch their assault down the east coast by dawn. He swept his pointer downward, showing the projected path.
The Vietnamese had arrived at roughly the same conclusion Zeus and Christian had: The attack would come down the coastal road, aimed first at securing Tien Yen, then sweeping southward toward Hai Phong. The tank
