Invasion: Alaska (52 page)

***

“Recall all of them!” Sims shouted. He’d stripped Anchorage of defenders earlier, sending them to the front to try to stem the Chinese push.

“Sir, what about the highway strongpoints?”

“If we lose Anchorage, none of that matters. Recall the Army Rangers in their helicopters and land them as close as you can to the airport. We have to get it back, now! We have to drive the Chinese out of there or the game is over!”

***

Lieutenant Chiang led the assault against the last Americans in the airport. The Eagle Team commander radioed him afterward, telling Chiang the Americans wouldn’t give them much time. They had to set up fast and hold until the Chinese naval infantry got here.

JUNCTION ONE/NINE HIGHWAY, ALASKA

News of the jetpack attack on the Anchorage airport swept through the defenders waiting along Highway One.

“Are we cut off back here?” men asked.

It was four hours of questions, of growing panic, before the Chinese bombardment at the front sent soldiers cowering to their foxholes and trenches. Stan Higgins awaited the attack in his Abrams.

They had the high slope here, a long upward area with big boulders and rocks strewn everywhere. There were pines in places, but more stumps. Chainsaws had been buzzing for endless hours—days. Now the slope was a giant boulder-earthen-pine strongpoint, protecting the highway that wound through the American position.

“I still don’t understand,” whispered Jose. “If the Chinese hold Anchorage airport—”

“How many times must I tell you?” Stan asked. “They struck at the airport, but I doubt they’ll be able to keep it long.”

“Why not?” asked Jose.

“Because we can’t afford to lose it and certainly not Anchorage,” said Stan. “It’s the key to Alaska. General Sims will use everything we have to dislodge the Chinese from the airport.”

“Where does that leave us?”

“So far, we’ve been lucky.”

“How do you figure that, Professor?”

“The Chinese haven’t attacked us here yet. If I were them, I’d hit us hard right now while the men are shaky.”

“What do you think this bombardment is?”

Stan peered through his scope. He was worried about the jetpack strike like everyone else. His reading of history also let him understand something: the psychology of the attack. Men liked being brave. Soldiers honored courage. If a man faced the enemy with his friends, he could usually hold his spot. That had been particularly true of ancient combat. What men and soldiers hated, however, was having somebody at his back. The reason was obvious. An enemy at your back could freely hit you. Therefore, in ancient times particularly, if enemy troops managed to get behind an enemy formation, the soldiers in the formation often ran away. Once they broke formation, they lost the battle. Having the Chinese in their back lines frightened the men up here. It was a mental thing, a spiritual thing, yet it was very real for all that.

“I don’t hear anything,” said Jose.

“The bombardment has stopped,” said Stan, as he peered through his scope.

“I hope so.”

I don’t
, Stan told himself. It meant the main attack was coming. Moreover, if Jose and Hank were any indicator, the American side was shaken by the news of the Anchorage airport assault. It might not be so easy holding today with panicked soldiers.

“Oh no,” whispered Jose.

Stan stood, opening the commander’s hatch. He thrust up, but not too high, lest he hit his head on the heavy log roof over the Abrams. He heard the familiar rattle-squeal-clank of Abrams tanks. To Stan’s amazement, Benson’s M1A3s moved out of their bombardment position. The tanks went to take their spots around the highway, giving them a good field of fire. It was crazy, but under the circumstances, it was heroic.

“Ignorance is bliss,” Stan whispered.

He glanced around at soldiers in their foxholes who had popped up to look. They stared wide-eyed at Benson’s massed Abrams. Then soldiers began to cheer.

“Well, would you look at that,” said Stan.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Jose asked.

Taking out his binoculars, Stan peered down the long slope. Those were Marauders, and they were charging at high speed.

“Why aren’t they using smoke to shield them?” Jose shouted out of the tank.

Stan had no idea, unless maybe the Chinese troops had heard about what their jetpack brothers had done. Maybe even as it panicked the American side, it had bolstered the Chinese. Maybe the Chinese figured they were simply going to overrun the Americans today.

American 120mm guns traversed, and Benson’s Abrams opened up, sending their long-distance sabot rounds shrieking at the enemy.

“Hit!” shouted Stan. “They’re hitting Marauders.” Stan found himself grinning. He didn’t care anymore if Benson was one arrogant prick of a tanker. If the man could shoot Chinese like fish in a barrel, that was just fine with him. “Mighty fine,” Stan said with a laugh.

From the trenches and foxholes, U.S. Army soldiers, National Guardsmen and Militiamen cheered wildly.

The Marauders began firing. A shell slammed into an Abrams. The tank blew up. Another Chinese shell bounced off an American tank. Then the American tanks fired again. It was a glorious sight, and it poured massed fire down at the Chinese. It also destroyed the Marauders.

“You’d better button up,” said Jose. “The Chinese will likely start another bombardment.”

Stan thought likewise. Then he froze. He focused his binoculars on three T-66s. Dropping the binoculars, he picked up his receiver and shouted to Benson’s Abrams, “Get behind something, a boulder, dirt—hide!” he shouted to Benson’s tankers.

Instead of doing anything so sensible, the M1A3 Abrams revved up and began to move down the long slope toward the giant Chinese tanks.

To Stan, it seemed as if a hush descended on the battlefield. Soldiers waited. They watched. Stan couldn’t believe that Benson was really that arrogant. How could the major dare charge the tri-turreted tanks?

Then the American tanks skidded to a halt, and their cannons boomed. Shells roared down-slope and smashed against the first T-66. Smoke billowed around the monster.

“He’s going to learn now,” said Jose.

The Abrams revved and moved as Chinese shells screamed at them. An American tank blew up. Then the smoke cleared from the first T-66. Stan expected to see an unhurt monster. Instead, incredibly, the Chinese tank lay on its side, destroyed.

“What the heck?” Stan whispered.

Another volley roared from American cannons, and another T-66 blew apart under a hammering hail of massed fire.

“He’s killed two T-66s,” Jose said in awe.

The third Chinese monster fired its three guns. WHAM! WHAM! Two of Benson’s Abrams flew apart, one in a ball of fire. The remaining tanks fired back, and the third T-66 was destroyed.

“He did it,” Stan said.

“And he’s advancing on them!” Jose shouted. “He’s attacking the enemy.” Jose whirled around in his seat. “We have to help him. Let’s hit them now, Professor. Let’s drive these Chinese out of Alaska.”

It took Stan a moment. Then he gave the order, deciding they had to attack while they had the chance.

At that moment, Chinese attack helicopters rose into sight. There were a mass of them. They launched ATGMs at Benson’s tanks.

The massed M1A3s put up a hail of machinegun fire. From behind the trenches, American SAMs launched. Missiles, 25mm chaingun-fire and lead filled the air. Helicopters exploded, as did big Abrams tanks. Black smoke poured from other helicopters as they veered away. Abrams tanks raced in various directions. They used the terrain to try to duck out of sight of the remaining helicopters. It was confusion for a time, chaos. Once the last helicopter left the battlefield, more T-66s appeared. There were six this time, double the number as previously.

Benson’s Abrams no longer fired in union, and now the big Chinese guns boomed. It was a bloodbath as the two sides continued to hammer at each other.

MOOSE PASS, ALASKA

Brigadier Hector Ramos leaned his elbows on the outer hatch of his nineteen-ton Stryker. Behind him on Highway Nine were the remnants of the 1st Stryker Brigade and his Militiamen. All his combat vehicles, including the Humvees, had scotch marks or holes. Ammo was low. Soldiers were exhausted. Before him at the Junction were the sounds of battle and the grim silhouettes of one hundred ton tanks. Behind him on Highway Nine that led to Seward came the Chinese of the Vice-Admiral’s brigades.

“What do we do, sir?” asked Major Philips. “We’re caught between two forces.”

Ramos stared at the Junction. He’d heard Philips by radio. The fight was almost over at the crossing. The National Guard and Army grunts…it was amazing they’d held out so long. A small trench line had been dug nine miles away on Highway One. It was supposed to be the new holding position. The way things looked here, however….

“We could have used those Army Rangers to help stem the tide,” Philips said.

“The Army Rangers and others are fighting the Eagle Teams in the airport,” Ramos said. “Everyone headed toward us has turned around to save Anchorage. They have to knock out those Eagle Teams before more Chinese land there.”

“I know,” Philips said. “You’ve explained it to me. My question is: what do we do now? Our united front is just about smashed, with no reinforcements coming to help save our bacon.”

Ramos scowled at the glowing red haze that was the Junction. He turned and scowled down Moose Pass. His brigade and Militiamen had been worn away. He had to save these weary men. He snapped his fingers. He had an idea.

“What miracle are you going to produce today?” Philips asked.

“Not me,” said Ramos. “But there might be one coming.”

“What do we do?”

Ramos pointed where the enemy T-66s roamed. “We roar through the Junction. The miracle lies there, with two enemy forces trying to use the same highway. It’s called a traffic jam. The Junction is a gauntlet now, and we’re going to lose men and vehicles. But in that direction lays our hope. Are you ready?”

“Give the order, sir.”

JUNCTION ONE/NINE HIGHWAY, ALASKA

“That’s it!” shouted Jose. “We’re down to four shells.”

Stan had circles around his eyes and the inside of the Abrams smelled like gunpowder. Outside the tank was bloody snow, shell-holes, corpses, burning Marauders, burning IFVs, Bradleys, an obliterated M1A2 and too many destroyed M1A3s. There were also seven wrecked T-66s. Some had lost treads. Others were smoking hulks. A few had engine failures and they had been swarmed and destroyed.

“Go, Hank,” Stan said. “Just go.”

The big tank lurched. A roar sounded. An enemy shell screamed past, but it missed.

“Faster!” shouted Stan.

At that moment, Strykers appeared from nowhere. Their M2 Brownings and the auto-grenade launchers added to the mayhem. The Strykers appeared, and they roared down Highway One. Humvees tried to do the same trick. Half of them exploded, flipped or the drivers pitched forward, instant corpses. It was another bloodbath, with Chinese vehicles and men firing into the cauldron.

Stan’s tanks were the rearguard. They fired. The machineguns blazed, and the last Americans bolted from the battlefield. Despite Major Benson’s initial successes, it had been a rout and a battle of annihilation.

This had happened before, but reinforcements had always been busying setting up another line of defense in the rear area. Those troops that would have done so were in Anchorage or they were heading back to help throw out the Eagle Teams at the airport.

It looked like the way was open for an even faster Chinese advance, maybe to the very gates of Anchorage itself.

-15-

Deer Hunters

WASHINGTON, D.C.

The President strode into the conference chamber of White House Bunker Number Five. He approached his chair, stopped and scanned the expectant throng.

Anna Chen watched from her spot at the table.

A wintry smile twitched President Clark’s mouth. “I have an announcement to make,” he said. “It’s the first piece of good news I’ve had for some time.”

“Sir?” asked the haggard Secretary of State.

“I’ve just spoken with the Prime Minister of Canada,” Clark said. “The opposition Party threatened a vote of no confidence. They knew many of the Prime Minister’s Party members were angry with his do-nothing policy against the Chinese.”

“Are the Canadians finally going to help us?” the Secretary of State asked.

Clark frowned.

Anna wondered if he wanted to savor the news before telling them.

“Yes,” Clark said. “Even as I speak, Canadian fighters are heading for Anchorage. If we’re lucky, they’ll keep the Chinese from landing reinforcements at the airport.”

“We must take the airport
back
!” the Defense Secretary said.

President Clark sat down at the table. “The Canadians are rushing airborne troops there to help us do just that. They’re also airlifting defensive equipment.”

“What kind of equipment, sir?” the Defense Secretary asked.