In savage, no-quarter battle, the advance continued. Half the cement factory had been cleared, with many Chinese corpses but some American dead too. A squad of RGP gunners lay with their rocket launchers, slaughtered by mag-grenades. Gant was particularly expert at it.
He yanked the pin with a swift pull, waited two seconds and hurled the death-dealing heavy weight more than thirty yards. Not too many in the platoon could do likewise.
Jake glanced around. Fires roared. They used incendiary grenades too.
Then a group of Chinese sprinted around the corner of a lane. They cradled RPGs, shouting like kamikazes.
Jake, Chet and Gant aimed their assault rifles, cutting them down. One man screamed in agony, clutching his groin. A second volley ended it.
A last stubborn knot of defenders poured heavy machine gun fire and an antitank gun from a squat blockhouse of concrete.
“How are we supposed to clear that?” Chet asked. “They’re in a fortress.”
As if in answer to his question, a Jefferson rumbled onto the main lane. The treads squealed as it rotated into position. Chinese heavy machine gun fire rattled bullets off the armor to no effect. The 175mm cannon elevated ominously. Boom! A tremendous blast, a tongue of flame and smoke sent a shell roaring at the enemy machine gunner. Half the blockhouse seemed to explode.
That signaled the end of the battle with yet another American victory. Even so, it had cost lives and too much ammo.
Jake figured Chet said it best as they climbed back into their IFV.
“You know what this feels like?” Chet said.
“I know you’ll tell us” Jake said, rolling his eyes.
“We kill them, but more Chinese reappear, right?”
“It’s a big country and the most populated on Earth.”
“Yeah,” Chet said. “That’s what I’m saying. These Chinese are video game soldiers. You kill one, but he comes to life again and attacks a few seconds later in a new place.”
Jake nodded. Yeah. That was a good point. The supply of enemy soldiers and militiamen seemed endless.
“I know how to fix that,” Grant said.
“Yeah, how?” asked Chet.
“Kill enough of them,” Grant said, “and you win.”
“Okay,” Chet said. “So where are the power-ups? And how much is enough?”
“I guess we’re here to find out,” Grant said.
Jake thought about that, and he decided they were both right.
The blitzkrieg is over, Stan told himself. This has turned into a slogging campaign.
He stood outside his command Jefferson, training hi-powered binoculars on the shimmering reservoir water to the west.
The 10th Armored Division was near the G1 Highway, ready to continue the drive for Changchun. Once more, he spearheaded V Corps, which was at the apex of First Army. The Cherokee battalion seldom flew into combat anymore. Well, what was left of the attack helicopters anyway. The weeks of firefights had chipped away at their numbers. He had six ships left, and Stan planned to save them for later.
For that matter, he was already down to three quarters of his initial tanks. Frankly, he considered that an excellent record, considering how many engagements they’d been in already.
Stan kept the binoculars steady as he scanned the reservoir. He’d sent out his scouts. Those boys had gotten clever, and they’d learned to hide and run sooner. If their intelligence was right, a Chinese offensive was in the making.
A new division of Type 99 tanks had showed up, along with hovercraft and several infantry assault divisions, along with massed artillery. The number of soldiers impressed Stan.
In a way—intellectually—he sympathized with the Chinese. As a combat problem, their dilemma intrigued him. China needed time to gather overseas units and train a home army into shape. If they waited too long to really fight back, the Russians, Americans and Europeans would control far too much of the country. Therefore, the Chinese kept throwing ill-trained forces into battle.
We’re capturing tens of thousands, but it’s taking us time to deploy each time. Worse, it’s wearing down our machines, and the men, too.
Pyrrhus once had that problem. He’d been a cousin through marriage to Alexander the Great. Pyrrhus had a well-oiled, tough army of Epirotes modeled on the Macedonian phalanx. The Romans of those days had conquered much of Greek southern Italy. Those Greeks had pleaded for Pyrrhus’ aid. He came, he fought hard battles against the Romans and beat them through clever tactics and war elephants. The trouble was that each engagement had cost him his best soldiers. After one of those wins, he said, “One more such victory and I am lost.”
The ancient battles of Heraclea and Asculum coined the word, “Pyrrhic victory.”
Russia and America had to avoid Pyrrhic victories here. They had to defeat the Chinese hard and fast. So far, Stan believed they had been doing that. Could they continue to smash the Chinese faster than the enemy could put up new forces?
Stan had an idea about that, so he had deliberately put the 10th Armored Division into what might appear as an enemy noose.
If the Chinese had enough air left or battlefield missiles, this could be suicide. Stan was betting the Chinese had too little of either. Instead, some clever general or marshal over there might want a clear-cut Chinese win for once. Well, here was their chance. That’s why Stan kept watching the reservoir. If he could tease the enemy hovers to try to flank him and cut him off…
“Sir,” Stan’s XO shouted. “There’s an artillery barrage coming.”
Letting the binoculars drop onto his chest, Stan sprinted for his tank.
For the next ten minutes, the Jeffersons endured Chinese artillery. The defensive net with 30mm and beehive flechettes proved their worth, knocking down most of the enemy shells that might have hurt the tanks. Still, the division didn’t get away unscathed. Two tanks were disabled, although the crews survived, sustaining one broken arm.
Stan had deliberately withheld his divisional counterbattery fire. He didn’t know if that convinced his counterpart over there. Possibly.
Soon, his scouts informed him that two Chinese infantry divisions had started toward his location on foot.
“No trucks?” Stan asked over the radio.
“Negative, sir,” the recon captain said.
“Can you remain hidden?”
“That’s doubtful, sir.”
“Then retreat,” Stan said. “You’ve done enough.”
A few minutes later, the XO came online. “General, Franks has spotted hovercraft.”
“On the reservoir?” Stan asked.
“How did you know they’d try something like that?” the XO asked.
“A hunch, I suppose. More like luck.”
“No, General. I’m not buying that. You’ve set us up as bait, hoping the hovers would do exactly that.”
“You win one every once in a while.”
The XO snorted. “If this works—”
“Don’t jinx us,” Stan said. “Wait until it’s over.”
The hovers came all right, two hundred and twenty-three machines. Stan figured that must represent two Chinese brigades worth.
“The hovercrafts are swinging wide, sir.”
“I can see that,” Stan said. He sat inside his command Jefferson, watching the various screens.
“Are you thinking to use our artillery on them?” the XO asked by radio.
“Not a chance,” Stan said. “I want the enemy infantry divisions sprinting here before I let the other side know how much artillery we really have left.”
“Will you use the Cherokees against the hovers?”
“No,” Stan said. “We’re going to fire the Jeffersons’ long-range penetrators.”