“That, my good friend, is exactly what I intend to do.”
“It’s like this,” the Marine captain told the hard-eyed civilians seated in the room. They wore parkas and woolen hats, many cradling rifles between their knees. “We can wait for the enemy to hit us in Dead Horse and maybe blow the wells. Or we can attack the Chinese on the ice and finish it out there.”
Paul Kavanagh glanced around at the others in the room. Everyone sat on benches, as this was a makeshift church in a Quonset hut. The Marine captain stood in front of the podium, not behind it where a priest or preacher would have been. Some of the seated were like Paul and Red Cloud, Blacksand mercenaries. Some were simply local hard cases.
After the nuclear explosion, Pilot Pete had taken them to Dead Horse. The Marine captain had “interviewed” Paul and Red Cloud for several days. After being cleared, Paul had wanted to call his ex and son, but there was no connection to the outside world except by Marine radio.
Captain Bullard presently glared at the assembled civilians. He was a typical-looking Marine. He seemed a little older and was tough, with an I-can-kick-your-butt kind of attitude showing by the way he stood. In his talks with the man, Paul had found Bullard easy to deal with because the Marine told it like it was.
Bullard now puffed out his chest, scowling at the crowd. “I know this is going to surprise you. There’s been a foul-up because everything in terms of reinforcements is going to Anchorage. No matter what else happens here, the President and the Joint Chiefs want our boys to keep the Chinese from taking Anchorage. Seems like our naval counterparts from the East have fought through everything the Army and Alaskan National Guard could throw at them. Therefore, everything in terms of reinforcements is landing at Fairbanks. The mother of all snowstorms is blanketing Anchorage and the Kenai Peninsula that the Chinese have been using as a springboard. The storm will let up any day now, and then the last battle for Alaska will take place. At least, that’s how Fox News is playing it and we know they never make mistakes.”
There was a laugh and several snorts from the crowd.
“What’s any of that got to do with us?” Paul asked from the back.
“You used to be in the Marines, isn’t that right?” asked Bullard.
“Yes, sir.”
Captain Bullard swept his gaze over the others. “This man fought in Quebec, if I remember what he told me, against the French-Canadians.”
“Yeah,” Paul said.
“In fact, you fought against men like your boss, Red Cloud.”
More than one person on the benches turned to stare at Paul and Red Cloud.
“Listen up,” Bullard said, “and I’ll tell you what that has to do with us. The Army shipped us some of their new winter fighting suits. Unfortunately, they forgot to add any soldiers with them. Now I have a handful of Marines, and most of them have to keep guard here on orders of the Joint Chiefs. But I need warm bodies to shove into those suits so they can help me kick butt against the Chinese. We have a few planes here, and they’ve spotted over a hundred hovertanks converging on Dead Horse. There’s probably more behind them. I want to stop those lead hovers before they disgorge Chinese infantry onto Alaskan soil.”
“Hovertanks,” Paul said. “They’re made for maneuvering on the ice.”
“Thank you oh so much for the update,” Bullard said. “What I want to know, Marine, is whether you have any balls left. Or did they get frozen off on your little stroll across the ice?”
Paul thought about Murphy staring out of the snowcat’s window. He thought about his promise. “Are these winter suits any good?” asked Paul.
“Do you want to find out?”
“Yeah,” Paul said. “I do.”
“What about you, Red Cloud? Are you going to let a Marine outdo a French-Canadian?”
“I’m Algonquin.”
“Same question then,” Bullard said, “just put whatever you said in place of French-Canadian.”
Red Cloud glanced at Paul.
“You don’t have to do this,” Paul whispered.
Red Cloud gave him a ghost of a smile. “We are brothers of the ice. Where you fight, I fight.” He turned to the captain. “I will don a winterized suit.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Bullard said. “What about you others? Do any of you have balls, or are you a bunch of sissies who want to wait for the boy-raping Chinese to come and squeeze you?”
“Are we walking out to meet them?” asked Paul.
“Not a chance. We have a few Marine choppers. We’ll use those to put you down at exactly the right spot.”
“I have one request after we’re done,” Paul said.
“Name it.”
“I want to use your radio to patch through to California to talk to my wife and kid.”
“If you’re alive after the little skirmish, you have my word on that.”
Paul nodded, deciding he liked the blunt captain. He wasn’t so happy about going back on the ice, but the vision in his head of Murphy staring out of the cat’s window didn’t give him much choice on the matter.
The pack ice high over Prudhoe Bay was at the extreme range of the ABM lasers in China, at least while using their protected space-mirrors. Those mirrors were situated over China’s heartland, thereby keeping them well out of range of all American weapons except for killer satellites. The ABM lasers had shot down every high-flying, long-distance GPS drone the U.S. Air Force had sent up in this region. It took time, however, for the Chinese to locate a newly-launched drone.
The latest GPS drone now flew at the edge of the North Slope, miles high in the atmosphere. Through passive thermal and infrared sensors, it spotted the hovertanks. They moved rapidly across the frozen Beaufort Sea as they approaching the Alaskan coast.
The drone’s remote-controller activated its radar to get an exact fix on the hovers. Because of the radar, it discovered the Chinese fighters flying combat air patrols to the rear of the hovertanks and the bombers farther behind them. The remote-control station was in Fairbanks, Alaska. The ice-age blizzard over Anchorage was less powerful here, making it possible to use the runways. The controller waited for C-in-C Sims to make his decision from the CP in Anchorage.
General Sims examined the data, he said, “This is it: the attack we’ve been dreading.” He lowered his chin onto his chest as he thought through the implications. When he raised his head, he said, “Launch the Reflex fighters.”
“How many of them, sir?” his Air Chief asked.
Sims spoke softly as he said, “All of them.”
The Air Chief swiveled around to stare at him.
Half the nation’s Reflex air-superiority fighters had been flown to Fairbanks. Fighter was a misnomer, as each jet was larger than a Galaxy cargo plane. Each carried an ultra-hardened mirror on the bottom of the aircraft, the reflex of the unique battle system. The laser came from the nearest, nuclear-powered ABM station. That laser would bounce its beam off the plane’s hardened reflex mirror, which when calibrated exactly should hit and destroy the target. The pulse-laser was so powerful, however, that it quickly burned through the hardened reflex mirror. That made the giant fighter inoperable until a new mirror was fit into place. The first Reflex fighter moved down the extra-long runway. A handful of others waited their turn. Afterward, an AWACS would follow, and then two electronic warfare drones.
The primary function of Chinese COIL planes and American Reflex fighters was to destroy theater and tactical nuclear missiles during flight. The secondary function was to destroy cruise missiles. Lastly, they targeted enemy aircraft and drones.
The Reflex fighters lifted from Fairbanks and climbed into the atmosphere, gaining the needed height. Then the nearest ABM station was called and its giant pulse-laser readied.