“General,” Bob Frazer said.
Stan saw the major point at a secondary screen. Ah. Some Chinese infantry attempted to sneak up on A Company’s flank.
Did—
Stan never finished the question in his mind. Three of the Cherokees of A Company slewed their 30mms at the soldiers. A single enemy RPG lofted—it missed. Then the chain guns sprayed bloody destruction on the body-armored Chinese.
Fifty-three infantrymen died. Twenty-nine others dropped their assault rifles and took to their heels.
For another thirty minutes, the attack ships of 10th Armored Division destroyed the Type 99 tanks and BMPs of the Chinese brigade. Maybe twenty enemy tanks got away. The rest burned, lighting the way for the approaching Jeffersons.
The start to the battle for the pass went to Stan. And it was a precursor to the rest of that night and the next morning. Five Chinese divisions attempted to bar the gate, and the Americans steamrolled them, blowing their way through. V Corps led the way for First Army, which spearheaded for the US 3rd Army Group, showing the world they had come to China to wreak a terrible vengeance. If the enemy hoped to stop them, the Chinese were going to have to use their good stuff, and not rely on outdated hardware.
The offensive was already three days old as American armor and mechanized brigades bypassed stubborn Chinese strongpoints in out of the way places. US command raced deeper into Heilongjiang Province along the main routes. The city of Harbin was the first major objective. The city was a nexus of roads and rail, a critical junction that lead deeper into Manchuria.
Like everyone else, Jake knew the Russians had unleashed a torrent assault into Outer Mongolia. Fierce Chinese resistance in Ulaan Baatar, the capital, had brought the AI Kaiser brigades to a temporary halt. Did the Russians plan to use the Gobi Desert to race through the back door into China? If so, that would be a bold but risky venture. Once through the legendary desert, the Russians would have to battle through the Greater Khingan Mountain Range, which protected Manchuria and lower China from Mongolia.
With a grunt, Jake picked up his RPG, resting it over his shoulder, and following Chet. Tall weeds swayed around them, giving Jake, Chet and the others cover as they worked closer to the hated bunkers.
Growing up in his father’s house had given Jake years of military history lessons. Here in Heilongjiang Province, the US 3rd Army Group used “keil and kessel” tactics of the WWII Germans. That meant encircle and bypass resistance, and take the key objectives farther behind enemy lines. The “keil and kessel” was for the tanks and other fast moving vehicles. The following, slower-moving infantry did the “mopping up.” That meant taking out the tough spots in order to open up the regular supply routes.
In this case, their platoon joined the attack to take an interlocking set of bunkers guarding the main Haluo Highway.
Jake wore an improved Kevlar vest and lugged over fifty pounds of ordnance, including the RPG. The bunkers had been cunningly hidden behind and between dirt dunes. The enemy’s 100mm cannons poked out of the concrete emplacements, together with heavy machine guns.
Air—forget about it here. US jets and drones were too busy at the front. The drive was three days old, and the colonels and generals were doing everything in their power to keep it going full steam ahead. That meant grunt work for the infantry in places like this. Nothing ever changed. This was just like Buffalo in ’40 against the GD and just like Denver in ’39 against the Chinese.
“Get down,” Chet said.
Jake didn’t need any more prodding than that. He dropped down and crawled the rest of the way, soon reaching Chet and Grant. Each of them hefted an RPG, with an assault rifle tied to his pack. The rest of the platoon spread out and inched through the weeds, nearing the bunkers. It had taken the battalion’s engineer platoon several hours to clear the minefield with their starfish-shaped robots. The enemy finally figured out what those crawling things were and shot up three of them before the engineers brought the robots home. It was too late for the bunkers, though.
“Look,” Chet said.
Slowly, Jake eased to where Chet pushed aside prickly stalks. He peered past them at the nearest bunker, three hundred yards away—three entire football fields.
“Ain’t no way we can sprint that far in one burst,” Chet said.
Jake grunted agreement. Setting down his RPG, he took out an artillery spotter, a laser—emitting device.
“Seems like they’ll have sensors on it,” Chet said.
“Yeah,” Jake said. “Sorry about that.” He crawled backward, got up and ran thirty yards over, his boots sinking in the soft soil. By himself, he crawled through the reeds to where he could see the bunkers. Then he set the laser-spotter on the black dirt and called in to the lieutenant.
“You’re in position?” Lieutenant Wans asked.
“Roger,” Jake whispered.
“Give me a minute,” the lieutenant said.
Jake waited. He didn’t look at the bunker. He was too superstitious. It might alert the people inside and they would fire the heavy machine guns at him. Jake shook his head. You know what was crazy. The sky was the same here as in Kansas. The clouds drifted the very same way. Dirt looked like dirt and weeds smelled just as bad. So this is Manchuria, huh? Big deal.
The radio-link crackled in his ear. “Are you ready, Higgins?”
“Yes, sir,” Jake told the lieutenant.
“Do it, and be ready to back off fast.”
“Yes, sir,” Jake said. He liked Wans. The man worried about his men. That was so different from the penal battalions. It was like breathing fresh air after smelling crap for a year.
He squinted down the iron sights of the spotter, and he pressed a button. An invisible infrared dot struck the bunker three hundred yards away. The spotter datalinked the code, passing it to a special smart round in an artillery tube several miles back.
Before Jake heard any screaming shells, an enemy machine gun swiveled into position. Chet had been right. The bunkers had sensors on them and could “see” the IR spot.
The Chinese machine gun opened up, spewing red tracers. Dirt kicked up to Jake’s left. He flinched. How could he not? But he kept the IR dot on the bunker.
“Let’s go,” the lieutenant radioed.
Jake didn’t bother answering, nor did he grab the laser spotter. While remaining on his belly, he crawled backward, and heard heavy bullets hiss past his head, chopping weeds in half.
Seconds later, an American 155mm shell screamed down. In that instant, Jake wished he were curled down at the bottom of a foxhole. The shell struck the bunker. The thud and the explosion shook the earth under Jake’s stomach. More shells hammered the concrete emplacements, and then dead silence reigned.
“Second and third squads,” the lieutenant said over their links. “Let’s do it.”
With a sick feeling in his guts, Jake got up. In a bent over position, he ran back to Chet and Grant. The two crawled to the edge of the weeds. Jake scooped up his RPG and slithered after them.
“Good work,” Chet told him.
Jake poked through the weeds in time to see American soldiers crawling through black dirt, beginning the three hundred yards of open terrain. He checked the bunkers. Smoke poured out of the nearest one, and big concrete chunks lay nearby.
The two squads got halfway when Chinese soldiers showed up. They climbed through the gap, over concrete slabs, carrying heavy machine guns. As one, the Chinese threw themselves down, beginning to set up the machine guns.
With a flick of his finger, Jake armed his RPG. “Left,” he said.