Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5) (37 page)

Stan Higgins stood in the temporary V Corps headquarters building, an abandoned Manchurian barn. General Taylor ran the corps, which belonged to First Army.

Taylor’s people spread a computer scroll over a foldup table, tacking it into place. Stan and his two fellow
V Corps generals stood around it, waiting.

Stan sipped coffee
as he looked around. Portable heaters warmed the barn, but nothing helped like warming his insides. Ah, the first gulp always tasted the best.

“Ready, Mike?” General Taylor asked one of his people.

A short man with a buzz cut nodded curtly. He then turned and snapped his fingers at the data-net personnel.

“Check,” a woman said
on a swivel chair.

“Check two,” a man said
, tapping his computer.

“Check three,”
the operator at the main panel said.

“Okay, sir,” Mike
told General Taylor. “It’s up and running.”

“Thanks,” Taylor said.
The general was a stocky man with a large gut, looking like a Russian wrestler. He had flushed features and his uniform was always rumpled as if he’d slept in it. Maybe he had. “Let’s see what intelligence has for us today,” Taylor told his three divisional commanders.

Stan sipped more coffee as the
electronic paper map lit up with color, depicting mountains, rivers, plains and built-up areas. Blue symbols were American units. Red was for Chinese.

“Hmmm,” Taylor said. “Looks like the Chinese added more formations to their line last night. How come no one spotted these units moving up?”

“This is just like Vietnam,” Stan said.

“What kind of answer is that?” Taylor asked in a peeved tone.

“The NVA were good at night movement,” Stan said. “That’s all I mean.”

“
I get that,” Taylor said. “But Vietnam was jungle. Show me the jungle here. None. Nowhere. Besides, none of that matters to me this morning. Once again, the bastards are throwing up heavier fronts than we expected. That means regular battle deployment instead of blitzkrieg. We need to
move
through this country, not fight every inch of the way.”

Stan eyed the map.
US 3rd Army Group drove for Harbin, the capital and largest city of Heilongjiang Province. It was the eighth most populous metropolitan area in China, with over fifteen million people. For their purposes, the city was important as a communications hub. The roads and rails of Heilongjiang Province all connected in Harbin. In winter, the provincial capital was bitterly cold, he’d read. The Chinese had actually nicknamed it the
Ice City
. Apparently, Harbin was notable for its beautiful ice sculptures in winter and its Russian legacy from Tsarist times. Good thing they were attacking in June instead of January.

“We’re supposed to open this route,” Taylor said
, peevishly. “I’d expected another day of motoring. Now the Chinese have sealed it up again, much sooner than we expected.”

The
divisional commanders nodded, Stan among them. That had been the continuing problem so far. Militia and guerilla forces rose up like weeds, slowing the advance long enough for the Chinese to rush yet another group of regular formations in front of them. That meant another formal assault, as the general had already said, with air and artillery assistance. They needed speed in order to
shock
the enemy and paralyze his reactions. That had happened the first week. At the end of the second, the Chinese were already stiffening as if they’d taken the measure of their enemies and knew what to do now.

“Any ideas?” Taylor asked.

Stan sipped his coffee in silence.

“What’s this, Professor?” Taylor asked. “Usually you have something to say.”

“Well…” Stan said.

“Here we go,”
General Peters muttered beside him.

“Spit it out, Higgins,” Taylor said.

Swallowing the rest of his coffee, tossing the cup aside, Stan pointed at the Songhua River. It flowed north to the Amur River between Siberia and Manchuria, and from here it reached south all the way to Harbin, actually curving west around the city and heading in the direction of the Great Manchurian Plain—the Russians drove toward Harbin from that direction. The river also happened to cut though the enemy’s latest defensive positions before them.

“I see
the Songhua,” Taylor said. “So what? It’s simply another obstacle, is all.”

“Maybe it’s time we gave the Chinese a
new flavor of stealthy maneuvers,” Stan said.

“I don’t have time for your cryptic comments, Higgins. Just get to the point.
”

“As you know, sir, our
Lees are amphibious.”

Taylor squinted at Higgins as if he didn’t know that.

The Lee was a twenty-ton scout or light tank. Stan liked them because they could do things a heavier Jefferson couldn’t. For one thing, the Lee could cross a bridge that couldn’t handle a Jefferson. It burned one-third as much fuel, which made a big difference in a cross-Manchurian sprint. Unfortunately, while the armor could resist 12.7mm guns and heavy caliber rifles, it couldn’t stop RPGs or 40mm autocannons, let alone a Chinese main battle tank’s round. As the name implied, the Lees scouted. They did not engage in frontal assaults like a MBT.

Another thing that made the Lee
interesting to Stan was its main armament. The light tank lacked a strong enough turret and chassis to take the recoil of a 120mm cannon, let alone a 175mm like the Jefferson. To give the Lee enough punch, the designers had installed a missile-firing barrel. That eliminated the need for a complex, stabilized cannon. The recoil from the missile was negligible, so the Lee’s barrel could super-elevate to target tall buildings, mountainsides and helicopters.

Way back in the 1960s, t
he US Army had a similar design, the M551 Sheridan light tank. Back then, though, the electronics proved too crude and the Sheridan fired a large, 152mm low-velocity round with poor accuracy. It also fired one of the first guided missiles—the Shillelagh—which also had low reliability. The Sheridan had been a bust, but that was then and this was now.

The Lee launched
the proven Hellfire II missile for pinpoint accuracy. When simple bombardment was called for, the crew substituted a cheap dumb rocket with greater explosive power in place of the Hellfire’s sophisticated internal guidance system.

Each of their battalions had a platoon of Lees. As Stan studied the map, he thought about General James Wolfe in the battle for
Quebec City and Canada back in 1759. Maybe they could do something similar with the Lees.

“
Sir,” Stan said, “none of us are going to easily maneuver through the mountains.” He pointed at the rugged terrain beside the Songhua. “If we know it, the Chinese must realize it, too. If they’ve sticking to the procedures they’ve already shown, I’m sure they’ve already buried hordes of mines here, here and here.” He indicated easy open terrain.

“I’m still not
tracking your amphibious statement,” Taylor said.

Stan thought about James Wolfe, about risks and rewards. No one liked having the enemy behind him. It rattled soldiers and it shook commanders
when enemy tanks roamed around in their rear areas, blowing up supplies and destroying headquarters units. That’s what this was about, maneuvering behind the enemy—the risk—dislodging him psychologically and then destroying him physically—the reward.

“This might sound like a radical idea,” Stan said. “But I think we can roll up these defenders from behind.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Taylor asked angrily, as red spots appeared on his cheeks. “I thought I told you to quite giving me cryptic comments.”

“What’s your plan, Professor?”
General Peters asked.

“I call it
river cruising
,” Stan said. “We strip our divisions of the Lee platoons and put them altogether. That gives us about forty light tanks. We add forty IFVs with infantry. They’re amphibious too. That gives us eighty machines. They enter the river at dusk in single file. We’ll have to turn upstream and use the auxiliary motors. That means the batteries. They’re going to come close to draining by the end of the journey, but I think we can do this. Hmmm…if we could reach this area here,” Stan said, pointing at the map.

“
I suppose it sounds okay in theory,” Taylor said, dubiously.

“
I’ve tested a Lee before, sir, in the water,” Stan said. “Only the top three feet of the vehicle will extend above the river, while the engine is underwater. That will shield the noise and insure there’s no infrared signature for the enemy to spot. This way, we slip behind the Chinese in the dark. I think this is the best place to climb out of the river.”

“Then what, you attack?” Taylor asked.

“That’s the tricky part, sir,” Stan said. “I’m not sure. The Lees aren’t much good at frontal assaults. You need a Jefferson for that. Still, hitting the enemy fast from behind might be the best thing.”

“What
else is there?”

“Well, sir, we could dig in behind some hills and block their reinforcement
and retreat route, waiting until you broke through the front.”

Taylor squinted at the map. “Maybe a combination of the idea would make the most sense. If you gain surprise, you want to use it
attacking, not squander it sitting while the enemy gets used to you being there.”

“That’s a good point,” Stan said.

“The Lees could attack until they met heavy resistance. Then they dig in and wait.”

“They couldn’t wait too long,
though,” Stan said.

“No…” Taylor said. “But maybe they wouldn’t reach heavy resistance. Maybe as the Lees attack from behind, V Corps begins a methodical frontal assault.
The rearward attack will shake the Chinese forward commanders and soldiers. They’ll turn shaky, begin pulling back, and that’s when we smash them.”

“It’s a risk
for the Lees,” Stan admitted. “But risks often bring great rewards.”

As he studied the map, s
tocky General Taylor swore, and he shook his head in amazement. “Where do you come up with ideas like this, Higgins?”

Stan
could tell him. It was through reading lots of history. But he knew from experience that no one here wanted to hear that. So he kept quiet.

“It’s
a brilliant idea,” Taylor said. “I love it. You’ve just volunteered to lead this harebrained scheme, unless you want to back out?”

Stan kept his f
eatures neutral, but his increased heart rate let him know that suggesting a thing was many times different from having to lead it. Yet if his idea sent young men into danger, there was no way he could honorably stay behind.

“It’s settled then,” Taylor said. “
I’ll call First HQ and let them know what we have planned. Yes… I’ll suggest we barrage the enemy with artillery today to let the bastards think they’ve outsmarted us while they dig in against a frontal attack. We’ll even let them bring the rest of their formations up into the bag.”

We
hope
to capture them
, Stan silently added.

“
Then, tomorrow morning,” Taylor said, clapping his hands. “We smash them flat and scoop them up, adding them to our POW camps.”

Stan nodded
. He sure hoped that’s exactly how it worked.

HARBIN, HEILONGJIANG PROVINCE

Chief
Guardian Inspector Shun Li of Northeast China inspected the outer tank traps of Harbin. Behind her followed a squad of East Lightning enforcers, big men in body armor and enclosed helmets with darkened visors. Each cradled a close-combat carbine. Each would shoot anyone she wanted. She need merely point and nod or say, “Kill.”

Like trained beasts, they were eager to please. Like
animals, they enjoyed their work with no remorse, and they frightened her more than she cared to admit.

I am riding the tiger. If I try to climb down, the tiger will turn on me, devouring my body
while I watch.

She
continued to kill others because Hong had maneuvered her into this post, giving her no choice. She’d tried to escape her fate by becoming the Police Minister of all China. Hong had outfoxed her once again. That day when he’d faced Army Minister Chao Pin, she should have turned her pistol on Hong, killing the monster when she had the opportunity. Now, it was too late.

I will kill
others as demanded of me, hollowing myself into a shell until I fade away, a murderous wraith, a ghost the world will curse
.

Fu Tao walked beside her. The
diminutive killer wore an East Lightning officer’s uniform. She’d made him a lieutenant. Despite the rigged finger, he also kept a small gun tucked out of sight. His presence baffled people, and she refrained from ordering him to kill anyone. Fu Tao was her secret, a knife, metaphorically speaking, kept in her boot.