Before any Marauders could stop or reverse gears, backing up, more Hellfire IIs slammed home. In the end, none of the Chinese light tanks managed to escape the trap. It was Stan’s perfect battle, leaving thirty wrecks on and near the road.
Now what? The light tanks showed that the Chinese knew someone roved in their rear area. Surely, the enemy would send more forces to try to reopen the way. Heck, what if the Chinese commander panicked and sent everyone back here? It was possible he might do that.
Stan stood up on the hill, and he nodded to himself. They needed to patch the dummies and inflate them again. This was an excellent kill zone. Yet if he stayed here, that might take the pressure off the Chinese. No. They had done plenty of damage. He would plug this route and wait for relief from Taylor.
It proved to be the correct decision. Almost an hour later, ten tri-turreted monster tanks showed up. That must have been the extent of the enemy’s big tanks at the front. The Lees couldn’t face 175mm cannons and survive. Hiding behind these dirt hills was their best bet.
Using the road, the ten T-66 tanks clanked toward the farm, approaching Marauder wrecks. Stan had towed those he could out of the way. None of the tri-turreted monsters bothered firing at the dummies.
Why not? Stan wondered. How did they figure that out? Did it matter how?
“We have to get out of here!” a Lee commander radioed.
“Keep cool,” Stan radioed back. “We have this.”
That’s when Chinese mortars from out of sight laid down smoke. The shells exploded on the dummy tanks, and hid them in a black oily cloud.
That’s what happens when you give the enemy time to think. They use combined arms against us.
With a roar of their engines, the T-66s began their attack, coming straight in. Stan had a glimpse of them before the dense smoke hid the Chinese tanks from view.
“What do we do, General?” a tank commander radioed.
“Listen to me,” Stan said. He realized what he needed to do, and knew what must have happened. Some of the Marauder crews must have been radioing back when the missiles destroyed them. The tri-turreted crews weren’t going to fall for the same dummy trick. He should have changed things up.
Stan gave fast orders, and he sprinted for his Lee. As he climbed up the side, the light tank began clanking off the slope.
“We have no more time,” Stan said into his throat-microphone. “I want the IFVs to get up here on the slopes and to start firing everything you have when I give the order. We have to make the enemy think we’re sticking to our original plan. You Lee commanders, you’re going to circle out behind your hill and flank the road, flank the T-66s. Once you see the big tanks, use every Hellfire you have left on them. Then use the Hammers. The T-66s are going to have plenty of antimissile fire. We’re going to have to hope some of our munitions get through.”
“Hope, General?” a tank commander asked.
Stan realized an utterly factual speech wasn’t going to motivate anyone in these circumstances. “We’re going to pound these bastards and blow them sky high!” Stan thundered. “The Chinese tankers think they’re clever. Well, damnit, we going to show them an old Comanche trick. This is going to work like you wouldn’t believe.”
According to a scout, the ten heavy tanks continued to rush for the smoke. Clearly, they were trying to make this a close combat thing, trusting to their thick armor and superior guns. Stan swallowed. He had light tanks. He had to be more nimble, think nimble, like a Comanche raider of the Old West.
As the T-66s continued to use the road, Stan’s Lees flanked cross-country, leaving the protection of the hills and swinging right and left of G1011. They attempted to swing around the billowing smoke and get a glimpse of the big tanks before the monsters disappeared into the oily substance and reached the Chinese farm.
Stan clung to the hatch, swaying, with his eyes peeled. His Lee sped through a small grove. Once out, he saw the big tanks in all their terrifying glory. The last time he’d seen T-66s had been in Texas from inside a Behemoth. He wished he were in one now. The Lee’s armor would be as paper compared to the Behemoth’s thick hide. Just as bad, the light tanks lacked antishell and antimissile fire. It might have been better to remain behind the hills or to flee somewhere else.
“Fire!” Stan shouted.
Two seconds later, the first Hellfire II popped out of a barrel and ignited. With a whoosh, it sped at the nearest tri-turreted tank.
Enemy radar must have spotted the missile. White puffs showed beehive flechette firing. A second later, they knocked down the missile.
“Keep firing!” Stan shouted.
More Lees appeared, and they launched too. Then huge tongues of flame belched from enemy 175mm cannons. Screaming shells struck with unerring accuracy. Explosions, shrieks of tortured metal and flipping, gyrating Lees resulted.
It was an unequal battle, and it might have been the end of Stan Higgins and his Lees. A strike force of American V-10s showed up then. Taylor had promised them during the three-minute talk, and Stan had counted on them to come in on time, hitting the enemy as the Lees engaged. The small V-10s pressed the attack, skimming the ground, launching tank-killers.
One drone blew up in a fireball. The Chinese commander must have been alert to air attack. Then a tank-killer reached a T-66, and the first tri-turreted monster crashed onto its side as smoke poured from it.
The overload proved too much for the Chinese tanker defenses. Hellfire IIs began to reach the enemy tanks, exploding, but often failing to penetrate the heavy armor. However, the shock had its own effect on the 175mm cannons, and sometimes the enemy crews died from spalling as interior fittings broke off and ricocheted within the compartment, acting like shrapnel.
After the third pass of the wicked little V-10s, the last T-66 tank exploded, and an entire turret and cannon spun off like a Frisbee, leaving a trail of smoke. One drone waggled its wings before it left.
Stan waved back at it. Then he assessed the damage to his command. It turned out that the enemy had destroyed seventeen Lees, killing most of the crews inside. Maybe as bad, the rest were almost out of missiles.
Stan forced back any tears of regret or self-recrimination. This was war, and they had gambled. By sending those heavy tanks, the Chinese showed they were worried. How worried, though, was the question.
“When is the cavalry showing up, sir?” Stan’s driver asked.
“Soon,” Stan said, hoping he was right.
Shun Li had never heard of Shakespeare’s play Macbeth. Yet she unconsciously rubbed her hands as Lady Macbeth had done. If Shun Li did it to wipe away the innocent blood there, she didn’t recognize the gesture as such.
Even so, as she sat in the back of a Chinese Xiang SUV, with Fu Tao beside her, she pondered what she considered as an unsolvable problem.
Several days ago, she’d spared a Militia major in charge of tank-trap diggers. Shun Li had known in her heart that if she murdered the major, karma would insure her own bloody death, and that in the near future.
Yet she led a caravan of three East Lightning cargo haulers. Twenty-five enforcers rode behind and before the vehicles. They had orders to kill anyone attempting to halt them.
The complex set of reasons why the six nuclear bombs had failed to show up in Harbin were bewildering in their stupidity. A blown tire in one spot, an empty tank in another, a wrong turn in Bin—Tong and an Army detour at Son combined with a driver falling asleep at the wheel and crashing into a tree… Shun Li had no doubt many of those responsible for the various mishaps would soon find themselves before a firing squad. Hong would demand justice, but only if the warheads didn’t reach Harbin in time and failed to ignite at the proper moment.