Stempel felt sweat forming at his brow. In the small mirror he looked twice his normal size. He had cotton, anti-contact gloves for working on ‘cold-soaked’ equipment — whatever that was. But he put them in his pocket and pulled out the black mittens. An ‘Arctic Mitten System,’ the sergeant had called them. They had thick wool inserts. Pile backs for warming your cheeks and nose. A strap for hanging them over your neck. Snaps to connect them behind your back. A gauntlet to go over your sleeves and an adjustment strap to pull them tight. And a single little sleeve for when you needed to use your trigger finger.
The one spare piece of equipment they didn’t have was a weapon. Everyone else had one. But unlike clothing that could be scrounged up to make a kit for the new guy, there were no surplus weapons. It bothered him.
Someone banged on the door and Harold jumped. He began pulling the gear off — embarrassed at having been caught playing dress-up. ‘Quit pullin’ yer pud and clear out!’ came the muffled voice of one of Harold’s new comrades. He gathered his gear and opened the door. He apologized to the man outside. He then looked for a place to sit.
The plane was packed. He couldn’t find the platoon sergeant. All the seats were taken. People looked at him. ‘Do you know where…’ Harold began. But he didn’t know anyone’s name. He moved on. Bags and gear were crammed into every space. The aisle was cluttered with overflow. He stepped from hole to hole apologizing — smashing his large Arctic Bag into faces accidentally. Even when he reached the galley, people still glared down the aisle after him. No one talked. But no one slept.
A flight attendant finally directed him to a fold-down seat. It was in the back beside the lavatories and behind the galley. He settled in with his gear at his feet in heaps.
Harold sat there alone for the duration of the flight — writing his name on his gear. He carefully printed ‘Stempel, Harold’ on his parka’s label. Just in case, he thought. Since no one knew his name.
‘I called this meeting for two reasons,’ Clark began. He sat at the head of a long table. Aides stood at maps all around. Before him sat the commanders of each of the coalition’s contingents — large and small. Each had his own agenda. ‘First, I wanted to inform you of my government’s intentions with respect to the Chinese invasion. Secondly, I am going to ask you what your governments’ intentions are.’
Heads swivelled. Discomfort was evident.
‘First, my orders.’ Most all knew through diplomatic channels what he was going to say. They must also have known that Clark’s worst nightmare was playing out right before his eyes. ‘I have been ordered by the President to repel from Russia — by military force — the People’s Liberation Army.’
Everywhere Clark looked they stared back at him. It took willpower to survey each and every face. He was searching for signs. Who’s in? Who’s out?
‘What are our rules of engagement?’ asked General Sir Arthur Howard. The British commander’s businesslike tone seemed to lift the oppressive weight that had hung over the meeting. Junior British and American officers began to chatter in good-natured whispers.
‘Conventional weapons only,’ Clark replied. The room fell silent.
‘Do the Chinese understand that?’ Clark’s first clear ally asked. He’d chosen his words carefully.
‘They have been informed of the consequences,’ Clark said. ‘I’ve seen the transcripts of the meeting. The Chinese ambassador asked for and received clarification in both English and Mandarin. We sent the same message in a telephone call from the Secretary of Defense to the Chinese Minister of Defense.’ Clark leaned forward. ‘One hint of chemical, biological or nuclear weapons and we respond disproportionately, massively, and without targeting limitation.’
Howard’s back remained erect — not resting against the chair. His hands were clasped before him, but he kept his elbows off the table as if at dinner. ‘Was there any discussion of… of the current hostilities? Any conditions? Demands?’
‘We demanded that the Chinese withdraw immediately. They reiterated their claims to large parts of Siberia.’
There came a new voice — the French. ‘Have you already begun the fight?’ the general asked.
‘The Space Defense Command has downed all seven Chinese recon satellites. Anything they put up, we’ll knock down. They’ll be totally blind. The embargo imposed by the U.S. Navy after Taiwan is now a blockade. Notices have gone out. We’ll sink any blockade runners… no matter what the flag. The Chinese Navy hasn’t put any surface forces to sea. We’re sinking them in port. The eleven diesel-electric subs at sea were being tailed. Our attack subs confirmed eleven kills in twenty-seven minutes. The blockade will cut their exports and their access to hard currency. With no way to pay for war materials, their overland imports should be limited. We’ll wage unrestricted air war along the coast to a depth of two hundred kilometers… and as far-south as the Fortieth Parallel.’
‘But not south of the Fortieth?’ the French general asked.
‘We’ve got enough targets without including downtown Beijing,’ Clark replied. ‘The Fortieth gets us to the suburbs. And it covers all of Manchuria.’
Every member of the German contingent had written ‘40 degrees’ on their pads, Clark noted.
‘But that doesn’t include any action against the Deng Feng missile fields?’ the French general asked unexpectedly. The Chinese ‘East Wind’ ICBMs had a 9,000-mile range. They were the only Chinese nuclear weapons capable of hitting the West Coast of America.
‘There will be no action taken against Chinese nuclear delivery systems,’ Clark answered.
‘And you will inform us — well in advance — if those rules of engagement change?’ It was not a question. It was a condition to French participation.
‘Of course,’ Clark replied — wondering how many other conditions there were. ‘I will tell you, however, that I have ordered a full-scale air interdiction campaign. I intend to begin the total destruction of their lines of communication. In addition to air suppression, we’ll go after troop marshaling yards, rail lines, supply warehouses. In about one hour, six hundred aircraft from Air Force bases in the U.S. and Japan and from carriers in the Yellow Sea and Sea of Japan are going in with raids as deep as Shenyang.’
‘Will you hit their Army Headquarters — North-east?’ General Howard asked.
‘We’re underground.’ Clark held his arms out to the bare concrete room. ‘I want them to be also.’
‘Why were we not informed of these raids?’ the commander of French forces asked.
‘You are being informed of them now.’
‘I do not consider this adequate notice. These strikes have not been authorized by the Security Council.’
‘The forces are not part of UNRUSFOR. I called for the strikes in my capacity as commander-in-chief of U.S. Army Pacific.’
‘Let’s not quibble over the details,’ the British commander broke in. The German commander made a gruff noise and nodded. ‘Like it or not — and I expect not — we have the better part of seventy Chinese divisions bearing down on us. Now this is General Clark’s meeting. We should hear what he has to say.’