Clark nodded to him in thanks. ‘We of course already have the 10th Mountain, 1st Infantry and 3rd Marine Divisions in the field. The 82nd Airborne Division is en route to us here. We’re projecting brigade strength in the field within twenty-four hours. We’ll use them initially to join the 10th and form hasty defenses around Khabarovsk.’ Heads were bowed along both sides of the table. The battles were being fought in their minds. A three hundred-thousand-man sledgehammer against thin lines of light infantry and paratroopers. ‘In addition,’ Clark resumed, ‘the 25th Light Infantry Division is en route from Hawaii. We plan on placing them in a screen of strong points south and west of Khabarovsk along the Trans-Siberian Railway.’
‘What about more armor?’ the German general asked.
‘The 2nd Infantry Division will begin immediate transhipment to the port of Vladivostok. Plus, the U.S. Marine Corps has a Marine Amphibious Unit offshore. Within ten days, they’ll have another half-dozen landing ships giving us a reinforced brigade as a ready reserve. The next forces to arrive will be the Eighteenth Airborne Corps with the 101st Airmobile and 24th Mechanized Infantry Divisions. I also expect an additional four tactical fighter wings inside of thirty days to add to the two that are currently engaged. Plans are also for heavy bombers from the Strategic Projection Force based in the continental United States to begin bombing round the clock, with aircrews to turn the planes around out of South Korea and Japan.’
‘Will your Congress make a formal declaration?’ the French commander asked.
‘Whatever legal and constitutional requirements,’ Clark recited carefully, ‘required to authorize our commitment will be undertaken at the appropriate times.’ God, he thought after parroting the script dictated by the White House lawyer. ‘Okay,’ Clark said. ‘I have now told you the intentions of the United States. I propose that we move on to the second item on our agenda — a declaration of the intentions of your governments with respect to the Chinese invasion.’ His pulse was racing. He thought it could go either way. He turned first to his most stalwart ally. ‘Arthur?’
The British general sat forward as if he were ready to answer. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to beg off, for the moment, Nate. The parliament is meeting in closed session. I’m sure it shouldn’t be too much longer.’
Nate was devastated. He tried not to show it. ‘What about your forces?’ he asked the Bundeswehr general.
‘I also am awaiting my orders,’ he said simply. A heavy silence hung over the table. The German seemed most discomfited of all. ‘My troops do have authority to fire in self-defense, but,’ he shrugged, ‘we are not currently in positions nearing contact.’
Clark turned reluctantly to the French officer. The last of the big three. ‘General?’
The Frenchman’s lower lip protruded from his mouth in a caricature either of a pout or a scowl — Clark couldn’t decide which. ‘I received instructions from Paris while en route here this morning.’ Clark braced himself. ‘If the United States is committed to the fight, so is France. I am personally highly opposed to that decision, but I await your command, General Clark.’ He bowed his head like a courtier.
Clark’s forces on-hand were now doubled. Just as he had tried not to show disappointment, he tried now not to grin like a schoolboy. He moved on to the Belgians, who fell in line with the French. The exceptions were the Finns, who answered simply that they would fight, and the Danish, whose sole contribution was a medical contingent that would be bolstered to treat war casualties. All of the others deferred until orders were received from home.
Despite that, however, Clark was buoyed. After all, no one had actually backed out. And the French were in and — when Clark asked — seemed ready to send more troops. It was at that point the meeting was interrupted. The commander of a Belgian firebase was on the radio. The call was patched into the meeting. Clark lamented the fact that he didn’t speak French as the commander delivered his report. The faces of the officers who did, however, grew increasingly long. The occasional background burst didn’t sound like an artillery barrage. He realized suddenly what it was. The Chinese were busting bunkers one at a time… with demolitions. They were mopping up the Belgians.
The slow and calm report of the officer on the radio took on in Clark’s mind a funereal quality. The sudden burst of noise over the radio ended in static.
No trace of Clark’s smile now remained.
The rolling landscape slid beneath the helicopter gunship. Warrant Officer Hector Jiminez sat atop the Apache’s chin gun. His head was level with the knees of the pilot. The higher elevation gave the pilot a clear view of the snowy forests ahead. Sitting low gave Jiminez the feel of the gun.
Airspeed, altitude and heading lit Jiminez’s visor. As copilot/gunner he wore the Integrated Helmet and Display Sighting System. He listened constantly for the sound of threat warning tones.
‘There’s the river,’ Hector heard over the helmet’s headphones. It was the familiar voice of the pilot — fellow Warrant Officer Steve Tipton.
Up ahead snaked a flat, white highway. Hector felt the aircraft decelerate through the armored seat of the AH-64. Their flight of bug-like gunships all pitched nose-up in unison. They maintained their stagger — strung out to the right of the flight leader’s stubby winglet. The airspeed displayed in Hector’s visor fell from 160 to near zero. The frozen Amur River — the border between Russia and China — disappeared from view. The helicopters all settled below a ridge into a hover a few feet above the treetops. Snow was lashed off the branches of the twisting evergreens in the narrow valley below.
They waited. Hector looked at the Apaches to his left and to his right The cross-hairs on his visor traversed the snow-covered hill just in front. The other gunners were doing the same, he could tell. He watched the 30-mm chain guns under their feet slew from side-to-side. They were slaved to the sighting systems, which traversed and slewed in sync with the copilots’ helmets. The long, single-barreled cannon turned this way and that — their gunners nervous and ready.
Underneath the helicopters’ short wings were four pylons. They would normally be filled with Hellfire missiles — sixteen in all — which could knock out even the most heavily armored main battle tanks. This mission, however, was against soft targets — trucks and dismounted infantry. They instead carried four fat, round rocket launchers. Each held nineteen 2.75-inch rockets — seventy-six rockets in total. Each Apache packed the equivalent of a two-minute barrage by an artillery battery. There were eight Apaches in all.
‘Victor Sierra five three, this is Victor Sierra one one,’ came clearly through the earphones. ‘Objective in sight Mounted and dismounted infantry. RWR is negative. Repeat RWR is negative. Out.’
RWR is negative, Hector thought. He took a deep breath and relaxed a bit. No Chinese guns or missiles had lit up the Kiowa Scout’s Radar Warning Receiver.
‘All units, this is Victor Sierra five three,’ came a new and familiar voice — their flight leader. ‘Weapons hot. On my lead. Tallyho.’
The chin-mounted guns all swivelled left as the gunners looked at the lead Apache. It banked left and dipped its nose. The other seven gunships did the same. From a line abreast they turned into a single file. They followed in a long line through the valley — twisting and turning around icy outcroppings.