Chin thought about it then shrugged. ‘Why is that so important?’
‘Don’t you get it? We can read what people write in the Free World. All the great ideas are there on the Internet. You just need a computer that’s hooked into it’
Chin shrugged again. ‘I don’t see why I have to do all that reading.’
Hung snorted. ‘You wouldn’t.’ He eyed Chin now with open disdain. ‘Have you ever read a book cover to cover?’ Chin felt his face redden. ‘No,’ his friend said, but without ridicule, ‘of course not. You’re the perfect Communist citizen, Chin. Even if you bitch and moan, they’d love to have another billion just like you. God forbid you use any of those brain cells up there for thinking!’ He reached out and roughly rubbed Chin’s stubble-covered head.
There was something in what he said that Chin found troubling. He hadn’t chosen not to read after thinking about it. He simply didn’t have any idea what the point was. He couldn’t imagine what someone could possibly write that could be so important. Not that he hadn’t been educated. But that had been by teachers or army instructors who’d mixed lectures with practical, hands-on demonstrations. Books smacked to him of political classes, and they were the most useless exercise of all.
‘You want me to teach you?’ Hung asked.
‘Teach me what? Chin bristled — his face reddening.
‘You know,’ Hung said, smiling awkwardly. ‘Some of the tougher characters… just to get you over the hump. They dropped off some old magazines from Hong Kong. It’s not nuclear physics, but they’re written, you know, for educated people.’ Chin started to object — to explain that he was educated — but the words stuck in his mouth. He hung his head. ‘Hey, it’s okay.’ Hung laughed. ‘Maybe you can get into the university when you get back!’ He laughed even more, which rubbed Chin the wrong way. But the offer was meant to be kind, and Chin resolved then and there to take him up on it. What better place to give it a shot?
‘What about you?’ Chin then asked.
‘What about me?’
‘Will you go back if they let you… if they offer you…?’
‘Asylum?’ his new teacher supplied. Chin nodded. ‘Asylum,’ he filed away — his first new word. When there was no answer for several seconds, Chin realized the question was causing Hung great turmoil. He appeared almost sick with worry. He swallowed, his eyes unfocused and his mouth pressed tight in a frown. ‘You know what they’d do,’ Hung said rather than asked. His voice was far away. ‘To my family.’ Chin frowned and nodded. The process of branding families disloyal was fairly straightforward. ‘But they may do that anyway,’ Hung whispered.
‘Do what?’
‘Denounce us because we were captured. Strip our families of everything. Even send us to labor farms, or even camps!’
‘But… why? Chin asked, growing instantly outraged. Instantly terrified that what had happened to him might ruin his family. ‘We couldn’t do anything about getting captured! The only choice we had was to get killed for no reason! The only difference between us and everybody who died is luck!’
‘No. That’s where you’re wrong. There’s another difference.’ He was speaking in even lower tones now. ‘The dead didn’t spend any time around the foreigners.’
Nate Clark was taking an early dinner when the news came in. He was ravenous after having missed lunch. He’d taken a tour that morning of an UNRUSFOR hospital. He just hadn’t felt like eating after that. But now, he was ready to dig into the steaming plate of risotto with wild mushrooms.
The different contingents of the UN force took their turns cooking at headquarters. It provided variety, but it also led to the nationalities vying to outdo themselves. The British had the temerity to try kidney pie. The Americans hadn’t fared much better with hot dogs. It was really a battle between the French and the nominal contingent of Italians, and the Italians routinely won.
Clark’s stomach growled as he mixed the rice and sauce thick with cheese into a gooey consistency. He raised a fork and let it cool in the air. There was a knock on his door. Colonel Reed stuck his head in. Clark waved him over. He put down the fork and read the terse message Reed handed him. Just twenty-two words, Clark saw from the header before re-reading.
He rose and led Reed to the door. ‘Get everything we’ve got in the air. Cancel maintenance, pilot rest, everything. Don’t hold anything back.’
‘What about the White House?’ Reed asked, and Clark stopped. ‘He asked that you call if…’ Reed didn’t finish the sentence.
Clark took a deep breath and looked at his watch. ‘Go ahead and ring the President.’
Gordon Davis was so deep in sleep that it took Elaine shaking his shoulder to rouse him. ‘Hm?’ he said when he opened his eyes. The first person he saw was the national security staffer.
‘There’s a call from General Clark, Mr President.’
Gordon nodded and began the slow process of rising. As always it was filled with hisses and groans. The doctor said the pain would linger. That he’d feel worse on cold, wet days. Sure enough, when Gordon padded down the hall to a small office, he saw the steady rain outside. It fell in the new, bright security lights that bathed the White House grounds for the benefit of Secret Service gun crews. The leather chair was cold against his back through his robe. The aide handed him the phone.
‘Gordon Davis,’ he said, then waited for the satellite delay. ‘Mr President, this is General Clark. Sorry to wake you, sir, but we’ve had a development here.’
‘No apologies, General. What’s up?’
‘It appears we’ve got a major push under way against our blocking position in the Tangyuan Valley.’
‘You mean something more than they’ve been trying already?’ Gordon interrupted.
‘Yes, sir. Let me read you the communication I received from Brigadier General Lawson, commander on the ground there. “Major offensive making progress from south. Casualties heavy. Ammunition low. Situation critical. Last reserves have been committed. Cannot guarantee we can hold.”’
Gordon closed his eyes and laid his head back. ‘What does he mean “Casualties heavy”? I thought casualties were already heavy.’
‘They were, sir. We don’t get many communications like this, although I’ve gotten more than I care to count in this war. It’s not a good sign. Lawson isn’t given to overreaction. He’s been wounded pretty bad for days. But he’s refused to accept relief. He’s a real steady hand.’
‘What can we do?’ Gordon asked.
‘I’ve ordered everything we can put into the air to head down there. For about twelve hours we can give them a curtain of fire so thick no new reinforcements can move up to the action. But close air support has its limitations and… and risks. The terrain is so mountainous that it makes bombing very dangerous. Because of the bombs’ trajectories you sometimes have only one angle of approach. And if you’re off by even a degree or two on the reverse slope of a hill, a miss of a few meters on flat land could turn into a hundred or more down the hillside.’
‘Is there anything more we can do to help?’ Gordon asked. Clark sighed audibly. ‘We could drop some airborne troops in there. We’ve got a German parachute regiment standing by just in case. But we’ve limited ourselves to ferrying in replacements because our logistics are strained enough with the people we’ve got there now. Once the new troops run through what they’re carrying they’d just be more mouths to feed.’