Chet and he were the rearguard today. Battalion had entered Wanbaozhen. They were attempting to clear the urban areas north of Changchun, getting ready for the big city assault.
The Auto City, as Changchun was nicknamed, towered in the hazy distance. The Russians had been closing in from the northwest. The US 3rd Army Group came straight down from the north, still using the G1 Expressway as its main supply route.
This wasn’t going to be anything like Harbin. Giant tank traps fronted Changchun, and plenty of Chinese soldiers and partisans filled the provincial city. If little old Wanbaozhen was a precursor of Changchun, taking out the city of eight million was going to the mother of all bitches.
Chet pulled a pin, stood and hurled a mag-grenade. It tumbled through the air. Machine gun bullets hammered at him. He threw himself down.
Jake also pulled back, and they crawled along the concrete wall. Steel-jacketed 12.7mm bullets began punching through it where they had been.
The mag-grenade crumped. A Chinese soldier began screaming. Chet had a gift with those.
Crouched behind the half-wall, the two men stared at each other. Black dirt coated Chet’s face. He looked like a raccoon with his staring eyes. Jake was sure he looked just as haunted.
“Too bad about Cowboy,” Chet said.
“Yeah.”
They’d been losing men in the squad, the platoon, heck, in the battalion. Everyone wanted the infantry for something. Clear this place, garrison that town, go check out the woods and make sure there’s no guerilla camp at the location. Jake heard the commanders were requesting more infantry battalions from the States.
“One more time,” Chet said.
“They’ll be waiting for it.”
“I know. But we have to keep them honest.”
Suddenly, Jake’s mouth was dry. It was too hot. He hadn’t figured Manchuria for an oven. Fumbling in his kit, he pulled out a heavy mag-grenade.
“One, two, three, now,” Chet said.
Jake pulled the pin, gathered his nerve for the millionth time, and stood up. Chinese soldiers sprinted for their position. One of them shouted, pointing. They’d been headed for the old spot. Jake drew back his arm and heaved.
Two grenades tumbled through the air. Jake could see one of the Chinese opened his eyes as wide as could be.
Then Jake ducked behind the wall, and he crawled again, away from the wall this time.
Crump, crump, and lots of screaming and shouts in Chinese for medics.
“They’re going to shell us again,” Chet said.
“Let’s run!” Jake shouted. He climbed to his feet, and he sprinted. He almost twisted his ankle, and that might have been the end of it. His boot slid off a piece of concrete. But he’d laced his boots up all the way. The leather held, and he continued to run.
They both made it around a bakery as mortar shells rained where they’d been.
A last IFV waited for them. To Jake, it seemed like paradise, the entrance to Heaven. His chest pounded and the air hurt his throat. But he had no intention of stopping.
The IFV’s 30mm began to vomit tongues of flame as the gunner fired at Chinese soldiers.
Almost sobbing with effort, Jake dove into the back. Chet followed on his heels. The IFV revved and took off as the back began to close.
Sweat dug runnels through the grime on his face. Hands pounded Jake’s back, and he found himself laughing with relief.
The extent of the resistance in Wanbaozhen had surprised all of them. This was new for the Chinese. If Jake had to guess, the enemy meant to hold Changchun at all costs.
It looked as if it might be a meat grinder. Well, they’d have to take the places like Wanbaozhen first.
The IFV took the squad a mile to where the rest of battalion waited.
Then the US Army brought the 155s to bear. As Jake ate a hot meal and washed his face, the tubes thundered. He shaded his eyes at times, watching buildings crumble. Sure, the artillery might kill some of the defenders, but they were going to make it impossible to drive IFVs and tanks through the place. In would turn into a mini-fortress of rubble.
“Is this what Changchun is going to be like?” Chet asked.
“We didn’t move fast enough,” Jake said. “The Chinese had time to get their professionals home.”
“Enough of them?” asked Chet.
“Yeah,” Jake said. “That’s the question all right.”
A whooshing sound and a roar came from overhead. He looked up. Three sleek bombers raced for Wanbaozhen. They climbed as they stretched past battalion’s position. Jake hadn’t seen too many aircraft lately.
The bombers dropped fuel-air bombs. Giant canisters tumbled from their bays. A titanic blast and then another and another seemed to lift Wanbaozhen into the air. After that, the place became an inferno. Oily black smoke billowed. Soon, Jake could smell the stink.
“Are they going to want us to go back into that?” Chet asked.
Jake stared at him.
Chet nodded. “Yeah, yeah, it’s a stupid question.”
It turned out battalion went in an hour later after the fires had died down some. The IFVs crept toward what was left of Wanbaozhen. As they neared the outskirts, the metal vehicles surged ahead.
A dog raced in the path of one. The driver swerved, but it didn’t help. With a howl, the dog disappeared under the tracks.
Soon, the IFVs disgorged their soldiers. Body-armored Americans begin picking their way through the ruins. Black frameworks smoked. Electrical wires lay everywhere, one of them sparking.
Jake nervously stroked his assault rifle. He tried to look everywhere at once. Maybe those had been the new air fuel bombs dropped on Wanbaozhen.
“This is incredible,” Chet said. “I’ve never seen damage like this.”
“Maybe we can take Changchun,” Jake said.
“Don’t know about that. If the Chinese try to hold onto the city, they’re going to fill it with antiair platforms.”
Jake kept looking here, there. The hot sun beat down on the carnage. It illuminated dark corners. A soldier with his helmet had melted features. His teeth looked more like animal tusks.
In the very center, battalion found resistance. Lieutenant Wans told them how it would go. The platoon trudged through rubble and charred wood, finally swinging around to come in from behind. Battalion encircled the last Chinese, and it cost them three wounded and two dead to kill forty-eight desperate soldiers and civilians.
“They’re not surrendering as fast as they used to,” Chet said.
“I noticed,” Jake said. Then he looked south at Changchun’s spires. How many Chinese cities would it take before their platoon was slowly but remorselessly whittled down to nothing?
The night battle for the northern part of the Changchun Ring Expressway burned hot for 10th Armored Division and the rest of V Corps.
The G12, G1, G102 from the north and the S101 from the northeast joined around Changchun in an expressway that circled Auto City. Instead of waiting inside Changchun, Chinese heavy tanks came out to battle the approaching Americans as interior city artillery supported them.
According to American and Russian intelligence, the Chinese Fifth Army and elements of Ninth Army had reinforced the Twenty-third Militia Army and hundreds of thousands of newly armed civilians.
Stan’s armored division led the American attack as they knocked on the city’s front porch. The Russians were swinging west of Changchun in hopes of encircling it.
Sitting in his command tank, Stan was close enough to the action that he heard the clang of Chinese sabot rounds gonging off Jeffersons.
Stan pulled out every trick he could think of. He rained steel on the tri-turreted tanks, closing in on them, fighting almost toe to toe. He learned the Chinese had reinforced the glaces, and for ten minutes of frightful exchanges, the two sides killed one for one of each other.