“Shoot him!” Chet shouted. He raised his rifle, the muzzle even with Jake’s head, and he fired.
The reports were deafening, and Jake jerked away, covering his ears.
The kid tossed the grenade underhanded. It sailed through the air and splashed just short of the nearest dinghy. A column of water blew harmlessly into the air. Then several Americans shot the kid at once.
Jake swore. He didn’t want it to be this kind of war. At the same moment, an ancient machine gun opened up over there. It was hidden in the higher reeds. The machine gun sounded like a wounded woodpecker. That still made it deadly. Bullets stitched the water, the spouts rapidly closing toward their dinghy.
“Jump!” Chet shouted, and he leaped, rocking the craft.
Jake snarled as he squinted at the reeds. A glint of metal showed him where the enemy had set up. He released his assault rifle, twisted around and grabbed an RPG lying in the middle of the boat.
Grant shifted the outboard, driving the dinghy out of the path of bullets, which zipped past them. The hidden enemy machine gunner swiveled his weapon. Jake could tell by the waterspouts traveling back toward them. He brought the RPG to his shoulder, having become something of a marksman with these.
Beside him, a soldier grunted painfully. Blood sprayed, a splash of it striking Jake’s neck, hot and sticky. The infantryman pitched backward, making the dinghy rock. Enemy machine gun bullets struck the next passenger. Foolishly, none of them wore body armor. None of them had wanted to be dragged underwater and drowned the first day of the invasion.
I’m never going to make that mistake again.
Jake sighted on the glint and pulled the trigger. The shaped-charge grenade banged, flying at the machine gunner and team. Jake tossed the launcher into the water and picked up this assault rifle. Hunkering low, he emptied his magazine at them, even though they had the distance.
The warhead exploded near enough that after the smoke cleared, the Chinese were either dead or gone, deciding to relocate.
Now American mortars from the north shore swept the enemy hills. They should have done that earlier, but it was a first day’s balls-up. Smoke billowed onshore and fragmentation shells flattened bulrushes. Fires started, more smoke billowed and Jake began to fear the mortar teams would kill them along with the enemy.
Lieutenant Wans must have been in contact with the mortar teams, or the captain was. When their dinghy was fifty feet from shore—far too close in Jake’s opinion—the mortar rounds quit raining.
“Get ready!” Jake shouted.
The inflatable entered the drifting smoke. It was like traveling through fog. It felt alien, like some other planet. Jake’s gut churned, and he peered everywhere, but he saw nothing but smoke. Finally, the boat struck mud. Chet reappeared then. It turned out he’d been hanging onto the rope around the boat.
“Welcome to China,” Jake said.
“You should have shot the kid,” Chet said, his clothes soaked.
“I guess so.” Jake grabbed his equipment. The others grabbed theirs. After a brief conference, they agreed the smart thing was to put on their body armor. It took time, but Jake felt better with it in place.
By then, most of the smoke had cleared. The kid lay nearby, still wearing his straw hat.
“Let me show you something,” Chet said.
Together, they went to twisted, bullet-riddled kid. It turned out he had a wrinkled face and lacked teeth.
“That ain’t no kid,” Chet said. “He was some ancient Chinese dwarf masquerading as a kid. What a prick.”
The truth made Jake feel better. He didn’t want to have to shoot children. Even so, this old man’s friends had killed Americans. The platoon had to find those machine gunners and make the bastards pay. That was the reason for the broad front river crossing. The US 3rd Army Group wanted a clear and protected path for what would in time become a long supply route. They would cut a wide swath to begin with and funnel down later.
After an hour’s search, the platoon found the Chinese barricaded up on a hill. Jake and Chet crawled toward Lieutenant Wans hidden behind an old tree up the slope.
“Up there,” Wans said, pointing.
The hill had an old shed up there and some trees. This looked like grazing land, with most of the slope green grass with occasional bushes. Sandbags lay low to the ground near the top of the hill, making strongpoints. A heavy machine gun slid out of a firing loop, blazing away at them.
Jake ducked low. The other two kept behind the ancient tree. The machine gun still sounded like a woodpecker, and the bullets thudded harmlessly against the tree trunk.
“Must have been a number of teams along the river,” the lieutenant shouted. “Saboteurs maybe. Well, no sense getting any of us killed taking them out.”
On the radio, Wans spoke to the captain. The captain relayed his words to a mortar team on the north shore. Soon, shells rained down on top of the hill, and the Chinese quit firing.
“Pinpoint accuracy this time,” Wans said. “I think that did it.” He radioed. The shelling stopped and Wans said, “Let’s go. See if we got them all.”
Jake and Chet led the way, hurrah. With his body armor and pack, it made the trudge uphill work. Clutching his assault rifle, Jake kept his eyes glued to the top. Foot by foot he headed higher. His stomach soon ached he clenched it so tightly. This was a lot different from driving a Behemoth.
At the top, they discovered something amazing. The mortar shells had indeed killed every Chinese soldier or militiaman. The foxholes had been far too shallow to make much of a difference.
“Amateurs,” Lieutenant Wans said shortly.
“They are now,” Jake said.
The lieutenant with the five o’clock shadow at nine in the morning asked, “What’s that mean?”
“If we give them too long, I bet they get better.”
The lieutenant studied him. “Are you always so cheerful?”
“Been through the school of hard knocks one time too many,” Jake said.
“All right, jawing isn’t going to get us anywhere,” the lieutenant said. “Let’s pack it up and keep going. We’re supposed to be ten miles south by nightfall.”
Jake shouldered his rifle and turned to Chet. “We’re doing it, my friend. We’re invading.”
“Feels better than defending, I have to tell you.”
Jake thought about it, and he nodded. It surely did at that.
Colonel Stan Higgins had become Brigadier General Stan Higgins, commander of 10th Armored Division, part of V Corps.
Instead of bulky Behemoth tanks—they all remained in the good old US of A—the 10th used Jeffersons as its main battle tanks. Tonight, however, Stan sat in an observation helo to monitor modified Cherokee attack helicopter. They were an improvement over the old Apaches, much more deadly and mobile.
The 10th Armored Division spearheaded V Corps drive into Heilongjiang Province. V Corps was the tip for First Army.
The key to capturing Manchuria was the large central valley containing the prized cities of Harbin, Changchun and Shenyang. Each of those cities was the capital of its province. They were one on top of the other: Heilongjiang Province, Jilin and Liaoning. Around the country-sized valley ran a large circle of mountains of various sizes and ruggedness, which protected the central vale from west, north, east and southeast.
Tenth Armored Division headed toward Jiamusi, which was on the road to Harbin.
So far this first day, Chinese defenses had proved frail and desultory. Most of the enemy formations had proved to be weaker than intelligence had predicted. Stan believed this feebleness was on purpose. The Chinese didn’t want to face the full might of the Europeans, Russians and Americans near the Siberian border, but pull them deeper into Manchuria first. It made sense. Let the invading supply lines stretch.