It didn’t matter, though, these American rights. Shun Li had a task to perform. She must goad the people to hard work. Otherwise, the Americans and Russians would win the race to the city.
“What is your name, Major?” Shun Li asked in her coldest voice.
The Militia major turned around. The woman wore a bronze Red Star on her throat for bravery. As the major’s gaze took in Shun Li and the enforcers, the major’s lips quivered with fear.
“You know the orders,” Shun Li said. “Everyone digs, including the officers.”
“My b-back,” the major stammered. “It doesn’t allow me to—”
“There are no excuses,” Shun Li said. “Thus spoke Chairman Hong.”
Three of the enforcers stepped up, with their carbines aimed at the major.
Work stopped nearby and in moments, from farther out. Diggers peered out of their giant trenches, watching the tableau.
“Please, Guardian Inspector,” the major pleaded. “I would work but—”
Shun Li raised her right hand with its black pigskin glove.
The major fell into agonized silence.
Once, Shun Li realized, she had delighted in such power. There had been a time when she loved to make people wilt in terror. That had been before she realized there was a price to pay for murder. Karma was an ancient principle. The Americans had a saying for it: What goes around comes around. She’d fled North America in order to flee her fate. She didn’t want to die like a dog, shot in the back of the head. She’d come to believe that human dignity meant something.
When did I ever come to believe in such nonsense? What was man but for a collection of random atoms that happened to produce life? She was no different from a rock or a cow. No one cared if she smashed a rock or butchered a cow for steaks. Why did it matter then if she had this major slaughtered? The major’s death would compel harder work from those witnessing the brutality.
Shun Li parted her lips to give the order. She had to kill the major. East Lightning operatives no doubt watched her and reported to Hong, or to one of Hong’s watchdogs. If she failed in such a basic task, it was unlikely the Chairman would recall her to her post of Police Minister. Without a powerful position to protect her…
The major’s dark eyes pleaded silently for life. Suddenly, Shun Li was disgusted with her job. Why must she butcher people for Hong? Why couldn’t he do his own dirty work?
No, you’re doing this to stay alive. Order her killed, and you will live.
Shun Li wanted to mouth the words. As she tried, a terrible realization came upon her. This was her last chance. If she ordered the major’s death, she was doomed. The voice inside her sounded like her conscience, yet she knew it was something more.
Am I having a supernatural experience? It might be possible, and that was even more frightening. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth—it was among the most ancient law of humanity.
“Please,” the major whispered.
Fear boiled up in Shun Li’s heart. She didn’t know the correct path. Closing her eyes, she tried to reason this through. Her mind wouldn’t respond, though. Maybe this was a heart thing, not a thinking thing.
“Dig,” Shun Li told the major.
The woman’s eyes flew open, and her mouth became slack. She couldn’t believe what Shun Li had just said.
One of the three enforcers looked back at her. His dark visor seemed like a camera linked to the Chairman’s study. Hong watched her, and she knew he disapproved.
“Do we kill her?” the enforcer asked.
“No,” Shun Li said. “The major has just learned a valuable lesson. Everyone here has. Chairman Hong demands obedience. Yet there are times he knows when to grant mercy. But that mercy must be used for China’s glory.”
“Long live Chairman Hong!” the major shouted.
The major’s workers lifted their shovels, and they shouted in unison, “Long live Chairman Hong!”
“The workers respect the major,” Tao whispered quietly.
In shock, Shun Li stared at Tao. The little man was right.
“You are very cunning,” Tao whispered. “I would not have thought of it—mercy as a manipulative tool. Now, I realize why the Chairman chose you as his Chief Guardian Inspector.”
Nodding, Shun Li realized something she’d known before, but this magnified the truth in her eyes. People saw what they expected to see. Tao saw cunning in her mercy, because he never felt merciful. Perhaps the action had been cunning, but for her, it felt as if she might just survive this terrible war after all.
Sometimes Stan wondered if he was real general material. He believed too strongly in the old adage: Don’t ask your men to do anything you’re not willing to do yourself.
A modern general should be in the back so he could think serenely in peace, protected by his men. He shouldn’t be riding in the lead tank. Yet how could he order any Lee or IFV into the water if he didn’t try it first?
“Let’s do this,” Stan muttered to his driver over the link.
Stan stood in the Lee’s turret hatch, with the roaring sounds of light tanks behind him. The stars blazed overhead. It was a moonless night with a stiff wind. Too much of Manchuria had proved to develop a smoggy haze like Los Angeles. The Chinese still used thousands of tons of coal a day, letting the fumes flow into the atmosphere day and night. This evening, though, the sky seemed as clear as a Rocky Mountain evening.
The Songhua River was dark and eerie, shimmering with starlight in places, but swift and treacherous in others. Trees grew along the banks. In the near distance, mountains towered.
Stan’s tank clanked toward the dark liquid. “Be ready to shut down the engine,” he said.
“Roger, sir,” the driver said over Stan’s headphones.
“I hope this works,” Stan muttered to himself.
“Me, too, sir,” the driver said.
“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“You mean you’re human after all, sir? You can worry about… about crazy stunts like this? Meaning no disrespect, sir.”
“I’m just a man like you,” Stan said.
“No, sir, you’re the Professor, and you’re going to outwit the entire Chinese Army. Who would have ever thought of doing this? The men are counting on you, sir.”
This time, Stan kept his comments inside. With a final lurch, the Lee reached the sandy shore. The tracks churned, and then the glacis reached the water.
Stan clung to the hatch’s sides. He recalled as a kid back in Alaska, his old man used to cross an underwater bridge during the spring melt. As a kid in the back of the jeep, Stan had been horrified. His dad had driven into the white-capped waters. Little Stan had bitten his lips so he wouldn’t shout with fear. Everywhere young Stan looked, water churned around the vehicle. Only after the jeep climbed the other bank had Stan begun breathing again. This was just like that, only worse. There was no bridge. They planned to float.
“Here we go,” Stan whispered.
The twenty-ton Lee with its Hellfire II barrel entered the river. The driver plowed on, and water slashed against the glacis, throwing up droplets to hit Stan in the cheeks.
He shut his eyes, but only for a moment. The engine went silent, and he felt the vibration as the electric drive took over. They turned the tracks in slow motion. It gave them a little motive power. Then Stan felt it. The light tank floated in the river. The water was less than three feet from his hatch. That was far too close. If the water became too choppy…