‘We either win this war,’ Clark began slowly, ‘with this operation, or we lose it. Not to win the war here and now is to lose. That isn’t a military fact, it’s a political one. Each of us now knows after seeing Chinese units fold one after another that we can defeat their armies north of the Amur. We can kill or capture three hundred thousand men. Destroy all their heavy weapons. Seize their stores of supplies. Retake all of the territory they seized from Russia. And still lose the war in the process. Because no matter how successful this operation is militarily, our troops are going home within the year. And when we leave Siberia, we cede it to the half-million Chinese troops south of the Amur… unless they too are defeated.’
Clark knew he was stating the obvious. Restating it for the hundredth time. But by their silence the joint staff allowed him to continue. To focus them on the war’s bigger picture. For Clark’s primary function as commander was to maintain his command’s perspective on the war. To ensure that their missions and plans remained consistent with overall geopolitical objectives.
‘In order to attain total victory we have to risk total defeat. We have to put people across the Amur into China even though powerful forces remain operational to their rear. Even though we know that the day will come quite soon when they’ll be cut off by the flowing ice. We’re going for broke, gentlemen. All out. Starting right now, with those timetables before you.’
‘Since you broached the subject,’ the British commander interrupted — his brow knit as he studied the thick sheaf of papers — ‘it appears you’ve made an error on page four.’ Everyone began flipping pages in their copies… except Clark. ‘It’s not a typo,’ he said.
‘Pardon me, Nate,’ his good friend from the British Army said — departing from his usual crisp, professional tone — ‘but this is suicide. You are consigning an entire brigade of your troops to a mission that… that even if we’re successful in crossing the Amur in accordance with the new timetable could result in their total annihilation! You’re sending your 101st into that valley far, far too soon. I’m sorry, Nate, but I must object.’
Clark took a deep breath. ‘The Jinan Army Group is already moving up.’ There was a stir. ‘We just got the intell. If we don’t take that valley now, we’ll never block the road-rail line. But at this very instant there’s a gap. I’m inserting that brigade into it. If they succeed in isolating the battlefield from the rest of China, we’ll pocket fifty divisions — over six hundred thousand men.’
‘But they have to hold off an entire Army Group by themselves,’ the French commander noted. He checked the table of organization and equipment. ‘Two armored divisions. Ten infantry divisions. Three airborne divisions. Over 175,000 men, Nate.’
‘I’ve ordered the air commander to pound every kilometer of those columns with everything they’ve got round the clock. Fewer than half should arrive in that valley. Those who do make it will be exhausted, terrified and green. The men I’m committing against them are hardened professionals. The terrain is perfect for defense. On-the-ground recon reports it’s broken by deep furrows, pointed outcroppings, shallow cuts. The defenders will have good cover. The attackers will be canalized into firing lanes.’ Clark felt a heavy weight descend around him. ‘They’re my troops. I take full responsibility for them.’ He felt his throat thicken. ‘Those are your orders,’ he choked out — rising. ‘Meeting adjourned.’
‘Things must be goin’ to shit,’ one of Andre Faulk’s squadmates said.
‘Naw, man!’ another retorted. ‘I hear from this jerk-off over in Signal Corps that the Chinese are runnin’ like scalded dogs! This war is over, man!’
The door burst open. In walked two clerks from battalion headquarters.
‘Close the Goddamn door!’ came a quick shout as the cold air quickly chilled the room. The clerks extracted a thick bundle from a sack. It reminded Andre of mail call from long, long ago. Of 3rd Platoon, С Company, 2nd Battalion. Of Aguire and the other names The clerks pulled rubber bands off the bundles with loud snaps.
‘What the hell’s that?’ said the talker.
‘What the fuck does it look like?’
‘It looks like a Goddamn map! But you ain’t answerin’ my question? He had to be restrained by his squadmates. The clerk threatened to bring an end to their hopes.
The headquarters guy smirked. He handed out the new maps. ‘There’s a battalion meeting at eighteen hundred hours. Hangar B.’ They left. The mood in the room turned foul.
‘What the fuck is this?’ Men opened the fan-folded maps. ‘Su-i-bin? Tang-yu-an? That don’t sound Russian to me.’
Andre focused not on the towns and streams and mountains. He traced the single salient feature. A river snaked along the top of the map. It was the Amur. The Amur River was to the north.
‘What the fuck is this? came the voices of alarm rising from the soldiers.
There was abundant noise in the large hangar. It was like a bitch session on a battalion scale.
‘Ten-shun!’ the booming voice called.
Chairs scraped across the gym floor. Andre Faulk and his entire battalion rose. Nervous chatter died to absolute quiet during the battalion commander’s ascent to the stage Andre’s eyes fixed on the man’s face. ‘At ease!’ the colonel called out from the podium. His voice was loud. ‘Take your seats.’
The noise from all the movement ended quickly as the six hundred men settled in.
He stared down at a single sheet of paper. He shoved it into his breast pocket when the noise subsided. ‘I guess you’ve all been hearing rumors. Some of those rumors are true. We are currently kicking the butts of the Chinese.’ There was an eruption of laughter and good cheer. A release of pent-up tension. ‘But this war isn’t over yet!’ The hangar fell silent quickly. ‘At least not for us.’
The man next to Andre mumbled, ‘Oh, shit.’ A chill ran down Andre’s spine.
The battalion commander’s head was bowed. ‘And I know we’ve taken more than our fair share of casualties.’
Again Andre’s neighbor said, ‘O-o-oh, shit.’
‘But we’ve got one more mission to execute. One more before we go home.’
‘This ain’t good at all,’ Andre’s squadmate commented. That drew a ‘Shut-the-fuck-up!’ from the guy behind, and a ‘Knock-it-off!’ from an NCO.
‘Four days ago, we launched Operation Winter Harvest. That offensive is about to enter a new phase. We are about to cross the border into the People’s Republic of China. And this battalion — you men — are going to be sent in after that.’ The disturbance that followed didn’t end quickly. But it never got out of control. In part that was because of barking NCOs. In part because men like Andre sat there quietly. Andre found himself shutting his eyes.
The battalion commander waited for the gym to grow quiet. ‘We’re going on a strike deep behind enemy lines.’ There wasn’t a cough, a whisper, an audible breath. ‘A battalion of Rangers will jump to secure the LZ. Our entire brigade will go in heliborne. Wheels up at nineteen hundred… tomorrow.’