The Bear And The Dragon Part 83

Back on the Hawkeyes, the crewmen kept track of the engagement. Both the aircraft and the streaking missiles were visible on the scopes, and there was a collective holding of breath for this one.

The Phoenixes. .h.i.t first, killing thirty-one more PLAAF fighters, and also turning off their radars rather abruptly. That made some of their missiles "go dumb," but not all, and the six Chinese fighters that survived the second Phoenix barrage found themselves illuminating targets for a total of thirty-nine PL-10s, which angled for only four Tomcats.

The American pilots affected by this saw them coming, and the feeling wasn't particularly pleasant. Each went to afterburner and dove for the deck, loosing every bit of chaff and flares he had in his protection pods, plus turning the jamming pods up to max power. One got clean away. Another lost most of them in the chaff, where the Chinese missiles exploded like fireworks in his wake, but one of the F-14s had nineteen missiles chasing him alone, and there was no avoiding them all. The third missile got close enough to trigger its warhead, and then nine more, and the Tomcat was reduced to chaff itself, along with its two-man crew. That left one Navy fighter whose radar-intercept officer ejected safely, though the pilot did not.

The remaining Tomcats continued to bore in. They were out of Phoenix missiles now, and closed to continue the engagement with Sidewinders. Losing comrades did nothing more than anger them for the moment, and this time it was the Chinese who turned back and headed for their coast, chased by a cloud of heat-seeking missiles.

This bar fight had the effect of clearing the way for the strike force. The PLAN base had twelve piers with s.h.i.+ps alongside, and the United States Navy went after its Chinese counterpart-as usually happened, on the principle that in war people invariably kill those most like themselves before going after the different ones.

The first to draw the wrath of the Hornets were the submarines. They were mainly old Romeo-cla.s.s diesel boats, long past whatever prime they'd once had. They were mainly rafted in pairs, and the Hornet drivers struck at them with Skippers and SLAMs. The former was a thousand-pound bomb with a rudimentary guidance package attached, plus a rocket motor taken off obsolete missiles, and they proved adequate to the task. The pilots tried to guide them between the rafted submarines, so as to kill two with a single weapon, and that worked in three out of five attempts. SLAM was a land-attack version of the Harpoon anti-s.h.i.+p missile, and these were directed at the port and maintenance facilities without which a naval base is just a cluttered beach. The damage done looked impressive on the videotapes. Other aircraft tasked to a mission called IRON HAND sought out Chinese missile and flak batteries, and engaged those at safe distance with HARM anti-radiation missiles which sought out and destroyed acquisition and illumination radars with high reliability.

All in all, the first U.S. Navy attack on the mainland of East Asia since Vietnam went off well, eliminating twelve PRC wars.h.i.+ps and laying waste to one of its princ.i.p.al naval bases.

Other bases were attacked with Tomahawk cruise missiles launched mainly from surface s.h.i.+ps. Every PLAN base over a swath of five hundred miles of coast took one form of fire or another, and the s.h.i.+p count was jacked up to sixteen, all in a period of a little over an hour. The American tactical aircraft returned to their carriers, having spilled the blood of their enemies, though also having lost some of their own.

CHAPTER 58.

Political Fallout It was a difficult night for Marshal Luo Cong, the Defense Minister for the People's Republic of China. He'd gone to bed about eleven the previous night, concerned with the ongoing operations of his military forces, but pleased that they seemed to be going well. And then, just after he'd closed his eyes, the phone rang.

His official car came at once to convey him to his office, but he didn't enter it. Instead he went to the Defense Ministry's communications center, where he found a number of senior- and mid-level officers going over fragmentary information and trying to make sense of it. Minister Luo's presence didn't help them, but just added stress to the existing chaos.

Nothing seemed clear, except that they could identify holes in their information. The 65th Army had seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. Its commanding general had been visiting one of his divisions, along with his staff, and hadn't been heard from since 0200 or so. Nor had the division's commanding general. In fact, nothing at all was known about what was happening up there. To fix that, Marshal Luo ordered a helicopter to fly up from the depot at Sunwu. Then came reports from Harbin and Bei'an of air raids that had damaged the railroads. A colonel of engineers was dispatched to look into that.

But just when he thought he'd gotten a handle on the difficulties in Siberia, then came reports of an air attack on the fleet base at Guangszhou, and then the lesser naval bases at Haikuo, Shantou, and Xiachuandao. In each case, the headquarters facilities seemed hard-hit, since there was no response from the local commanders. Most disturbing of all was the report of huge losses to the fighter regiments in the area-reports of American naval aircraft making the attacks. Then finally, worst of all, a pair of automatic signals, the distress buoys from his country's only nuclear-powered missile submarine and the hunter submarine detailed to protect her, the Hai Long, were both radiating their automated messages. It struck the marshal as unlikely to the point of impossibility that so many things could have happened at once. And yet there was more. Border radar emplacements were off the air and could not be raised on radio or telephone. Then came another phone call from Siberia. One of the divisions on the left shoulder of the breakthrough-the one the commanding general of 65th Type B Group Army had been visiting a few hours before-reported . . . that is, a junior communications officer said, a subunit of the division reported, that unknown armored forces had lanced through its western defenses, going east, and . . . disappeared?

"How the h.e.l.l does an enemy attack successfully and disappear?" the marshal had demanded, in a voice to make the young captain wilt. "Who reported this?"

"He identified himself as a major in the Third Battalion, 745th Guards Infantry Regiment, Comrade Marshal," was the trembling reply. "The radio connection was scratchy, or so it was reported to us."

"And who made the report?"

"A Colonel Zhao, senior communications officer in the intelligence staff of 71st Type C Group Army north of Bei'an. They are detailed to border security in the breakthrough sector," the captain explained.

"I know that!" Luo bellowed, taking out his rage on the nearest target of opportunity.

"Comrade Marshal," said a new voice. It was Major General Wei Dao-Ming, one of Luo's senior aides, just called in from his home after one more of a long string of long days, and showing the strain, but trying to smooth the troubled waters even so. "You should let me and my staff a.s.semble this information in such a way that we can present it to you in an orderly manner."

"Yes, Wei, I suppose so." Luo knew that this was good advice, and Wei was a career intelligence officer, accustomed to organizing information for his superiors. "Quick as you can."

"Of course, Comrade Minister," Wei said, to remind Luo that he was a political figure now rather than the military officer he'd grown up as.

Luo went to the VIP sitting room, where green tea was waiting. He reached into the pocket of his uniform tunic and pulled out some cigarettes, strong unfiltered ones to help him wake up. They made him cough, but that was all right. By the third cup of tea, Wei returned with a pad of paper scribbled with notes.

"So, what is happening?"

"The picture is confused, but I will tell you what I know, and what I think," Wei began.

"We know that General Qi of Sixty-fifth Army is missing, along with his staff. They were visiting 191st Infantry Division, just north and west of our initial breakthrough. The 191st is completely off the air as well. So is the 615th Independent Tank Brigade, part of Sixty-fifth Army. Confused reports talk of an air attack on the tank brigade, but nothing precise is known. The 735th Guards Infantry Regiment of the 191st division is also off the air, cause unknown. You ordered a helicopter out of Sunwu to take a look and report back. The helicopter will get off at dawn. Well and good.

"Next, there are additional reports from that sector, none of which make sense or help form any picture of what is happening. So, I have ordered the intelligence staff of the Seventy-first Army to send a reconnaissance team across the river and ascertain what's happening there and report back. That will take about three hours.

"The good news is that General Peng Xi-w.a.n.g remains in command of 34th Shock Army, and will be at the gold mine before midday. Our armored spearhead is deep within enemy territory. I expect the men are waking up right now and will be moving within the hour to continue their attack.

"Now, this news from the navy people is confusing, but it's not really a matter of consequence. I've directed the commander of South Sea Fleet to take personal charge of the situation and report back. So say about three hours for that.

"So, Comrade Minister, we will have decent information shortly, and then we can start addressing the situation. Until then, General Peng will soon resume his offensive, and by evening, our country will be much richer," Wei concluded. He knew how to keep his minister happy. His reward for this was a grunt and a nod. "Now," General Wei went on, "why don't you get a few hours of sleep while we maintain the watch?"

"Good idea, Wei." Luo took two steps to the couch and lay down across it. Wei opened the door, turned off the lights, then he closed the door behind himself. The communications center was only a few more steps.

"Now," he said, stealing a smoke from a major, "what the h.e.l.l is happening out there?"

"If you want an opinion," a colonel of intelligence said, "I think the Americans just flexed their muscles, and the Russians will do so in a few hours."

"What? Why do you say that? And why the Russians?"

"Where has their air force been? Where have their attack helicopters been? We don't know, do we? Why don't we know? Because the Americans have swatted our airplanes out of the sky like flies, that's why."

"We've deluded ourselves that the Russians don't want to fight, haven't we? A man named Hitler once thought the same thing. He died a few years later, the history books say. We similarly deluded ourselves into thinking the Americans would not strike us hard for political reasons. Wei, some of our political leaders have been off chasing the dragon!" The aphorism referred to opium-smoking, a popular if illegal pastime in the southern part of China a few centuries before. "There were no political considerations. They were merely building up their forces, which takes time. And the Russians didn't fight us because they wanted us to get to the end of the logistical string, and then the f.u.c.king Americans cut that string off at Harbin and Bei'an! General Peng's tanks are nearly three hundred kilometers inside Russia now, with only two hundred kilometers of fuel in their tanks, and there'll be no more fuel coming up to them. We've taken over two thousand tanks and turned their crews into badly trained light infantry! That is what's happening, Comrade Wei," the colonel concluded.

"You can say that sort of thing to me, Colonel. Say it before Minister Luo, and your wife will pay the state for the bullet day after tomorrow," Wei warned.

"Well, I know it," Colonel Geng He-ping replied. "What will happen to you later today, Comrade General Wei, when you organize the information and find out that I am correct?"

"The remainder of today will have to take care of itself" was the fatalistic reply. "One thing at a time, Geng." Then he a.s.sembled a team of officers and gave them each a task to perform, found himself a chair to sit in, and wondered if Geng might have a good feel for the situation- "Colonel Geng?"

"Yes, Comrade General?"

"What do you know of the Americans?"

"I was in our emba.s.sy in Was.h.i.+ngton until eighteen months ago. While there, I studied their military quite closely."

"And-are they capable of what you just said?"

"Comrade General, for the answer to that question, I suggest you consult the Iranians and the Iraqis. I'm wondering what they might try next, but thinking exactly like an American is a skill I have never mastered."

They're moving," Major Tucker reported with a stretch and a yawn. "Their reconnaissance element just started rolling. Your people have pulled way back. How come?"

"I ordered them to collect Comrade Gogol before the Chinese kill him," Colonel Tolkunov told the American. "You look tired."

"h.e.l.l, what's thirty-six hours in the same chair?" A h.e.l.luva sore back, that's what it is, Tucker didn't say. Despite the hours, he was having the time of his life. For an Air Force officer who'd flunked out of pilot training, making him forever an "unrated weenie" in Air Force parlance, a fourth-cla.s.s citizen in the Air Force pecking order-below even helicopter pilots-he was earning his keep more and better than he'd ever done. He'd probably been more valuable to his side in this war than even that Colonel Winters, with all his air-to-air snuffs. But if anyone ever said such a thing to him, he'd have to aw-shucks it and look humbly down at his shoes. Humble, my a.s.s, Tucker thought. He was proving the value of a new and untested a.s.set, and doing so like the Red Baron in his red Fokker Trimotor. The Air Force was not a service whose members cultivated humility, but his lack of pilot's wings had compelled him to do just that for all ten of his years of uniformed service. The next generation of UAVs would have weapons attached, and maybe even be able to go air-to-air, and then, maybe, he'd show those strutting fighter jock-itches who had the real b.a.l.l.s in this man's Air Force. Until then, he'd just have to be content gathering information that helped the Russians kill Joe c.h.i.n.k and all his brothers, and if this was Nintendo War, then little Danny Tucker was the by-G.o.d c.o.c.k of the by-G.o.d walk in this virtual world.

"You have been most valuable to us, Major Tucker."

"Thank you, sir. Glad to help," Tucker replied with his best little-boy smile. Maybe I'll grow me a good mustache. He set the thought aside with a smile, and sipped some instant coffee from an MRE pack-the extra caffeine was about the only thing keeping him up at the moment. But the computer was doing most of the work, and it showed the Chinese reconnaissance tracks moving north.

Son of a b.i.t.c.h," Captain Aleksandrov breathed. He'd heard about Gogol's wolf pelts on state radio, but he hadn't seen the TV coverage, and the sight took his breath away. Touching one, he halfway expected it to be cold and stiff like wire, but, no, it was like the perfect hair of a perfect blonde . . .

"And who might you be?" The old man was holding a rifle and had a decidedly gimlet eye.

"I am Captain Fedor Il'ych Aleksandrov, and I imagine you are Pavel Petrovich Gogol."

A nod and a smile. "You like my furs, Comrade Captain?"

"They are unlike anything I have ever seen. We have to take these with us."

"Take? Take where? I'm not going anywhere," Pasha said.

"Comrade Gogol, I have my orders-to get you away from here. Those orders come from Headquarters Far East Command, and those orders will be obeyed, Pavel Petrovich."

"No c.h.i.n.k is going to chase me off my land!" his old voice thundered.

"No, Comrade Gogol, but soldiers of the Russian Army will not leave you here to die. So, that is the rifle you killed Germans with?"

"Yes, many, many Germans," Gogol confirmed.

"Then come with us, and maybe you can kill some yellow invaders."

"Who exactly are you?"

"Reconnaissance company commander, Two-Six-Five Motor Rifle Division. We've been playing hide-and-seek with the c.h.i.n.ks for four long days, and now we're ready to do some real fighting. Join us, Pavel Petrovich. You can probably teach us a few things we need to know." The young handsome captain spoke in his most reasonable and respectful tones, for this old warrior truly deserved it. The tone turned the trick.

"You promise me I will get to take one shot?"

"My word as a Russian officer, comrade," Aleksandrov pledged, with a bob of his head.

"Then I come." Gogol was already dressed for it-the heat in his cabin was turned off. He shouldered his old rifle and an ammunition pack containing forty rounds-he'd never gone into the field with more than that-and walked to the door. "Help me with my wolves, boy, will you?"

"Gladly, Grandfather." Then Aleksandrov found out how heavy they were. But he and Buikov managed to toss them inside their BRM, and the driver headed off.

"Where are they?"

"About ten kilometers back. We've been in visual contact with them for days, but they've pulled us back. Away from them."

"Why?"

"To save you, you old fool," Buikov observed with a laugh. "And to save these pelts. These are too good to drape over the body of some Chinese strumpet!"

"I think, Pasha-I am not sure," the captain said, "but I think it's time for our Chinese guests to get a proper Russian welcome."

"Captain, look!" the driver called.

Aleksandrov lifted his head out the big top hatch and looked forward. A senior officer was waving to him to come forward more quickly. Three minutes later, they halted alongside him.

"You are Aleksandrov?"

"Yes, Comrade General!" the young man confirmed to the senior officer.

"I am General Sinyavskiy. You've done well, boy. Come out here and talk to me," he ordered in a gruff voice that was not, however, unkind.

Aleksandrov had only once seen his senior commander, and then only at a distance. He was not a large man, but you didn't want him as a physical enemy in a small room. He was chewing on a cigar that had gone out seemingly hours before, and his blue eyes blazed.

"Who is this?" Sinyavskiy demanded. Then his face changed. "Are you the famous Pasha?" he asked more respectfully.

"Senior Sergeant Gogol of the Iron and Steel Division," the old man said with great dignity, and a salute which Sinyavskiy returned crisply.

"I understand you killed some Germans in your day. How many, Sergeant?"

"Count for yourself, Comrade General," Gogol said, handing his rifle over.

"d.a.m.n," the general observed, looking at the notches, like those on the pistol of some American cowboy. "I believe you really did it. But combat is a young man's game, Pavel Petrovich. Let me get you to a place of safety."

Gogol shook his head. "This captain promised me one shot, or I would not have left my home."

"Is that a fact?" The commanding general of 265th Motor Rifle looked around. "Captain Aleksandrov, very well, we'll give our old comrade his one shot." He pointed to a place on the map before him. "This should be a good spot for you. And when you can, get him the h.e.l.l away from there," Sinyavskiy told the young man. "Head back this way to our lines. They'll be expecting you. Boy, you've done a fine job shadowing them all the way up. Your reward will be to see how we greet the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

"Behind the reconnaissance element is a large force."

"I know. I've been watching them on TV for a day and a half, but our American friends have cut off their supplies. And we will stop them, and we will stop them right here."

Aleksandrov checked the map reference. It looked like a good spot with a good field of fire, and best of all, an excellent route to run away on. "How long?" he asked.

"Two hours, I should think. Their main body is catching up with the screen. Your first job is to make their screen vehicles disappear."

"Yes, Comrade General, that we can do for you!" the captain responded with enthusiasm.

Sunrise found Marion Diggs in a strangely bizarre environment. Physically, the surroundings reminded him of Fort Carson, Colorado, with its rolling hills and patchy pine woods, but it was unlike America in its lack of paved roads or civilization, and that explained why the Chinese had invaded here. With little civilian population out here, there was no infrastructure or population base to provide for the area's defense, and that had made things a lot easier for John Chinaman. Diggs didn't mind it, either. It was like his experience in the Persian Gulf-no noncombatants to get in the way-and that was good.

But there were a lot of Chinese to get in the way. Mike Francisco's First Brigade had debauched into the main logistics area for the Chinese advance. The ground was carpeted with trucks and soldiers, but while most of them were armed, few were organized into cohesive tactical units, and that made all the difference. Colonel Miguel Francisco's brigade of four battalions had been organized for combat with the infantry and tank battalions integrated into unified battalion task groups of mixed tanks and Bradleys, and these were sweeping across the ground like a harvesting machine in Kansas in August. If it was painted green, it was shot.

The monstrous Abrams main-battle tanks moved over the rolling ground like creatures from Jura.s.sic Park-alien, evil, and unstoppable, their gun turrets traversing left and right-but without firing their main guns. The real work was being done by the tank commanders and their M2 .50 machine guns, which could turn any truck into an immobile collection of steel and canvas. Just a short burst into the engine made sure that the pistons would never move again, and the cargo in the back would remain where it was, for inspection by intelligence officers, or destruction by explosives-carrying engineer troops who came behind the tanks in their HMMWVs. Some resistance was offered by the Chinese soldiers, but only by the dumb ones, and never for long. Even those with man-portable anti-tank weapons rarely got close enough to use them, and those few who popped up from Wolfholes only scratched the paint on the tanks, and usually paid for their foolishness with their lives. At one point, a battalion of infantry did launch a deliberate attack, supported by mortars that forced the tank and Bradley crews to b.u.t.ton up and reply with organized fire. Five minutes of 155-mm fire and a remorseless advance by the Bradleys, spitting fire from their chain guns and through the firing ports for the mounted infantry inside, made them look like fire-breathing dragons, and these dragons were not a sign of good luck for the Chinese soldiers. That battalion evaporated in twenty minutes, along with its dedicated but doomed commander.

Intact enemy armored vehicles were rarely seen by the advancing First Brigade. Where it went, Apache attack helicopters had gone before, looking for targets for their h.e.l.lfire missiles, and killing them before the ground troops could get close. All in all, it was a perfect military operation, totally unfair in the balance of forces. It wasn't the least bit sporting, but a battlefield is not an Olympic stadium, and there were no uniformed officials to guard the supposed rules of fair play.

The only exciting thing was the appearance of a Chinese army helicopter, and two Apaches blazed after it and destroyed it with air-to-air missiles, dropping it in the Amur River close to the floating bridges, which were now empty of traffic but not yet destroyed.

What have you learned, Wei?" Marshal Luo asked, when he emerged from the conference room he'd used for his nap.

"The picture is still unclear in some respects, Comrade Minister," the general answered.

"Then tell me what is clear," Luo ordered.

"Very well. At sea, we have lost a number of s.h.i.+ps. This evidently includes our ballistic missile submarine and its escorting hunter submarine, cause unknown, but their emergency beacons deployed and transmitted their programmed messages starting at about zero-two-hundred hours. Also lost are seven surface wars.h.i.+ps of various types from our South Sea Fleet. Also, seven fleet bases were attacked by American aircraft, believed to be naval carrier aircraft, along with a number of surface-to-air missile and radar sites on the southeastern coast. We've succeeded in shooting down a number of American aircraft, but in a large fighter battle, we took serious losses to our fighter regiments in that region."