There were a few mumbled curses. Andre’s stomach gurgled.
The colonel continued. ‘Altogether, we’ll number five thousand men. Our mission will be to sever the main supply route between Manchuria and Beijing.’ He strolled out from behind the podium. His head was bowed as if deep in thought. Andre’s eyes closed again. ‘Our mission is to seize a steep mountain valley. The Chinese will try to push their way through. It will be mountain fighting, gentlemen. Infantry warfare. A battle for the heights. The fighting will be close-in. If we hold key terrain, we win. If we’re pushed off, we lose. It’s that simple. I’m not going to shit any of you men. They’re gonna throw everything they’ve got at us. They’ll envelop us. Fight us for every crevice, every boulder, every log.’
Andre found himself falling asleep. He caught his falling head or got nudged by his neighbor. He half-listened to the remainder of the meeting. Extra loads. Inspections. Last mail call. Details not bravado. And not a word of complaint from the troops. That Andre understood. Sickening dread had a deadening effect. On Andre it caused almost narcotic sleepiness.
The two-and-a-quarter-ton truck bumped along the rough track that passed as a road. Harold Stempel was cold and uncomfortable in the cramped, canvas-covered bed. The driver groaned his way through the gears, and everyone stared at each other glumly.
It was a far cry from the Bradleys in which they all assumed they’d be riding. The Bradleys were just as uncomfortable. But the ignominy of riding into battle aboard ordinary diesel trucks was a little too much for the light infantrymen to bear.
‘You know this whole thing sucks!’ Patterson said — bitching for the hundredth time about their mistreatment by the Army. ‘Those bastards fly in here from the States or Japan or wherever, climb right outta them warm planes and into them warm Bradleys, and then ri-i-ide on off to win the war.’
McAndrews replied, ‘Hey! You wanna be mixin’ it up with the fuckin’ Chinese? I’m sure a lot of those fuckers’d change places with you round about now.’
‘But that ain’t the point, is it? The point is respect, and how we don’t get none. Ever since that first day when…’ His eyes shot over to Stempel. He didn’t go on. But everybody knew where he was headed. He was alluding to the ‘Lost Battalion’. The overrun unit with which Stempel had deployed. They’d all heard the talk. Light infantry wasn’t as good as the airborne or airmobile troops. And it wasn’t as well equipped as mech or armor. And Stempel had heard other talk as well. If the Lost Battalion had put up a stiffer fight, maybe this or that would’ve been different.
‘Hey, man,’ Chavez said with a sneer. ‘We’re trench troops. They’ll pro’bly have us pullin’ sentry duty at some supply depot.’
‘The hell you say!’ came one of the several profane responses.
At that the truck slowed. The men at the rear untied the canvas flap of the clunky ‘deuce-and-a-quarter.’ With a final grinding of the gears, the brakes were set and the engine shut off.
‘Everybody o-o-out!’ came the command from outside.
Stempel and the others piled out through the open flap. They were in the middle of nowhere, but the crisp air was invigorating after the carnival-like ride in the back of the truck.
‘Let’s go, girls!’ Stempel’s platoon sergeant commanded. Bent under the weight of their packs the men trudged up a low hill. When they reached the crest, they all stood and stared. Thousands and thousands of Chinese sat or squatted in the valley below. A lieutenant with an MP armband ascended the hill to meet them. ‘Man, am I glad you’re here!’
‘You had any trouble, sir?’ the platoon sergeant asked the much younger officer.
‘No. But we got another few thousand on their way, so I hear. And night’s falling in a few hours.’
The platoon sergeant turned to his men and ordered, ‘Packs off! Lock and load.’
No one said a word as they were led to the prison camp’s perimeter. But they all exchanged looks of rage or disgust. They’d been assigned the only duty for which they were fit.
Gordon Davis straightened his tie in the mirror. Elaine stepped up behind him. She leaned against the door frame — lost in her reading of his speech. He waited — watching her face for any sign. They’d discussed in detail what he’d say. But he’d refused to let her see the speech till now. Till he’d nipped and tucked and polished it. Till it was ready. She looked up. Concern was written all over her face. Gordon felt his confidence slipping away.
‘This is… wonderful,’ she said in a tone of awe.
Gordon instantly broke into a grin. ‘You think so?’ She was re-reading it. She nodded distractedly. ‘I thought you’d like it.’ He walked over and gently took hold of her arms. ‘I wrote it for you. It really doesn’t matter what everyone else says. The media, the Party, the pundits…’
‘Let me read this again,’ Elaine said. She turned away. He waited. She finally turned back. She was smiling. ‘You should sit down!’
‘I’m all right.’
She ushered Gordon to the vanity’s bench seat. ‘If you’re going to deliver this thing standing up, you’ve got to rest.’
‘I’m fine,’ Gordon insisted, taking his seat on the upholstered bench. ‘Now, tell me how great I am.’
Elaine laughed. ‘Gordon…’ she began. She bent over and put her hands on his thighs. ‘Gordon, honey. You’re going to be spectacular? She hugged him — careful not to get her make-up on his jacket.
He was grinning from ear to ear. ‘And?’
‘I’m so, so proud of you. Have I ever told you that?’
‘Go on.’
‘I can’t. Your head’s gonna swell up and apply for statehood.’ They laughed.
‘Mo-o-om? Celeste whined from the sitting room outside. ‘This dress makes me look ten years old! Can I at least take this stupid bow off it?’
Their laughter ended with two comfortable smiles.
Elaine whispered, touching her forehead to his and then kissing him softly.
’Mo-o-om! Everybody I know is going to be watching this stupid thing! I’ll never live this down as long as I live!’
‘This isn’t about you, Celeste!’ Elaine finally replied.
‘Oh, yeah, well… I’m not going then!’ The door to the sitting room slammed shut.
‘You want me to handle this?’ Gordon asked.
‘Oh, yeah, right! She’d end up wearing a black smock and hiking boots!’ Elaine left.
Gordon picked up the three-page speech. He felt a rush of anxiety. You could never know how a speech would be received. His dramatic finish could fall flat on its face. He might walk out of the joint session not to thunderous applause and a standing ovation, but to murmurs of shock and surprise. Nobody had any idea, after all, what to expect. The closest anyone had come to predicting the address’s contents had been a New York Times story. It had hinted that the speech would be short — ‘an attempt at a statesmanlike approach’ their exact words. But that had been lost in a sea of misinformation. There was speculation that he’d make a public peace offer. Other reports suggested he’d make veiled threats of nuclear attack. Or perhaps even a national referendum on continuation of the war as a face-saving way of exiting the coalition.