curled in thin lines, breakfast fires only.
Jungle.
Thieu raised his nose slightly. Zeus saw a line ahead — a fence, he thought, but it turned out to be a power line, or maybe telephone wires.
More houses, buildings. There was a barrier in the road.
“Guns on the right,” said Thieu.
Zeus raised his head, staring. He spotted what looked like tanks on a hilltop. They were ZSU-57-2s, ancient Russian-made antiaircraft guns. They didn’t fire. The Albatros continued northward, deeper into China. Its straight- line path took it away from the road, which curved left.
The ground was thick jungle, a deep green that undulated with the hills. Just as they started to bank westward, the color changed from green to a dark brown. The trees were dead, killed by a three-year drought — the rainfall pattern changed dramatically on the other side of the hills.
A good place to stage armor for an attack, Zeus thought. But he couldn’t see any.
“Uh-oh,” said Thieu.
“Problem?”
One of the warning systems began to bleat.
“They are finding us on their radar. No worry,” said Thieu.
Zeus’s stomach jumped very close to his mouth as the pilot put the plane into a sharp dive and turn. The sensor stopped beeping.
“We have to turn south,” said Thieu, reluctance creeping into his voice. “Pingxiang is ahead.”
Pingxiang was the largest Chinese city in the area, and it was ringed by sophisticated air defenses.
“Have you seen what you want?” added Thieu.
“I guess.” Zeus hadn’t seen much.
Thieu kept the Albatros pitched about thirty degrees after they came out of the turn. The Vietnamese city Lang Son was ahead, on their right as they approached the border. The entire area around the city was well developed — until the war, the area had been popular with Chinese men looking for a very quick vacation from their wives. It was like a Vietnamese version of Las Vegas: what happened there, stayed there. A good portion of the businesses there were owned by Chinese businessmen — obviously the reason it hadn’t been attacked.
“Fly over 1A, will you?” asked Zeus, naming the major road south.
They angled eastward. There were patrols and emplacements all along the highway. They flew over the road at about six hundred feet, following the highway for about ten minutes until black puffs appeared in front of them. Thieu laid on the fuel, deepening the angle right as he took a very sharp turn and began to climb.
“They think we’re Chinese,” he said.
“Can we go back east?” said Zeus. Now that it was light, he wanted to see where the armored brigade General Tri commanded was.
“I will have to go north,” said Thieu. “It will take a few minutes.”
“North? Why?”
Thieu didn’t answer.
“Thieu?”
“Restricted. We cannot fly the area.”
Zeus reached to the pocket on the leg of his flight suit and took out the map, folding it open on his lap. What were they avoiding?
They’d flown south of the Yen Tu Mountains on the way out, and were now flying north of them. Was that the Luc Nam River below?
Zeus studied the map, trying to triangulate their position by what they had passed.
Why would the mountains be restricted? It wasn’t part of the defense zone around Hanoi.
“We are ten minutes from Tien Yen,” said Thieu.
“I wanted to be farther north, along Route 4B,” said Zeus, turning his attention back to the armored brigade.
“Ah.”
Thieu immediately began a turn. Within a minute or two, Zeus spotted a highway clogged with traffic — it was the armor brigade and part of the infantry division, rushing toward the battle at Tien Yen.
They turned and followed the highway back in the direction of Lang Son. There were two columns of vehicles along the road, then nothing.
Now would be the time to attack Lang Son. Blow through the crust of the defenses, then sweep down the roads parallel to IB.
Except the Chinese saw no reason to destroy a city they in effect already owned.
Of course, that also meant that they were not on their guard here. They thought so little of the Vietnamese.
Not without reason, Zeus reminded himself.
“Our fuel becomes low,” warned Thieu.
“I’ve seen enough,” said Zeus. “We can go back whenever you want.”
“Very good, Major.”
Thieu bent the nose of the plane upward. Zeus felt his blood rushing from his head. How did pilots learn to live with this?
As they leveled off, an alarm began to blare. The plane jerked hard left, then pointed toward the ground.
“Major, we are being tracked by Chinese fighter,” snapped Thieu. “Watch out!”
Before Zeus could reply, the warning tone went two octaves higher.
“Launch warning!” intoned an English voice.
The Chinese fighter had fired a pair of missiles at them.
21
Cho Lai put his hands together on the desk. Yet another move by the American President to thwart him.
This one he should have anticipated. But it was ingenious — the American ship would claim it was inspecting cargo. It was a matter of enforcing neutrality — a position China itself had encouraged. The fact that the ships were registered in the Philippines — what could the Chinese possibly object to?
Simple, yet ingenious. And of course, as soon as the Americans went aboard the ships, they would see they were filled with Chinese soldiers.
And so what? Besides a public relations coup, what would the Americans win, exactly?
Public support to interfere. That was Greene’s real aim.
If they stopped the ships, that would be disastrous. That would ruin the plan to take Hai Phong.
Sink the destroyer and be done with it. That was Cho Lai’s true wish. But it would invite open conflict with America. A shooting war. And if his generals and admirals were timid now, what would they do against the Americans?
It would be a fiasco.
Time. He needed time. Eventually, the Vietnamese would collapse. And eventually, his generals would gain the confidence they needed.
“The destroyer seems very far from the ships,” said Cho Lai.
“On the present course and speed, the ships will beat the destroyer to Hai Phong,” said the defense minister. “But that assumes the drive in the east will proceed on schedule.”
“You told me it is ahead of schedule,” said Cho Lai.
