Up toward the front of the group were John and his Rough Riders. Since many of them were on horseback, they could scout ahead and keep an eye out for Chinese roadblocks or ambushes.
The noticeable lack of such contact was not sitting well with any of them. They’d expected a running battle as they broke through the ring of Chinese forces on the way to their objective. Instead, it felt more like they were on a Sunday stroll east along Interstate 81.
Moss and two others came riding up alongside John.
“We just came across a Chinese anti-tank battery set up as part of the siege of Oneida.”
“Did you come under fire?” John asked.
“The gun wasn’t real. It was just a few logs lashed together and spray-painted green.”
“Was the paint fresh?”
“It looked it,” Moss said.
“The Chinese must have pulled men off the siege in the night to help bolster their offensive.”
“You look worried.”
“I only hope the Chinese attack doesn’t somehow manage to break through. If they’re gathering soldiers off a high-profile threat like Oneida, there’s no telling how many of the enemy our boys in the mountains will be facing.” The thought brought him back to tales he’d heard from the Korean War where US GIs described hordes of Chinese troops swarming over the hills like hungry locusts.
Every once in a while they would stop in order to establish radio contact with General Dempsey’s headquarters for a status report. The general himself was far too busy to speak with Henry or Rodriguez, but as John feared, one of his aides described a Chinese assault far more ferocious than any of them had expected. Over the last few weeks, each side had been sizing each other up like punch-drunk boxers. Crossing the Mississippi had been one thing, but dislodging a stubborn defender from hilltop positions was something else entirely.
It was only as they reached the edge of Colonial Heights, Tennessee that they came under fire. A platoon of Chinese soldiers were dug in along the interstate. Machine-gun nests with intersecting fields of fire would pose a problem for any approaching infantry. Immediately the armor moved up to eliminate the threat. The M1A2’s power 120mm cannon shook the ground as it pounded the enemy positions from more than a mile away. After that the Bradleys moved in, a squad of infantry in each vehicle. They opened up with their 25mm M242 chain guns, tearing into the remaining strong points with lethal accuracy. Soon, the Chinese unit climbed out of their foxholes and ran for their lives.
On one side of the interstate stood a row of houses. On the other were industrial buildings with low, flat rooftops. Both offered the perfect place from which to set up an ambush. General Brooks came over the walkie on a channel reserved for commanders. “I want all of these buildings swept and cleared and defensive positions established within the hour. When those Chinese columns come rolling down the 81 looking for an escape route, I wanna make sure they get the greeting they deserve.”
John and Moss shared a nervous glance. So far things were going smoothly. Maybe a little too smoothly.
Since the retreating Chinese would be coming at them from east to west, the defensive lines were set up in a series of kill zones. Artillery and mortar teams on either side of the interstate zeroed in on both of the approaches. The 155mm howitzers would be loaded with DPICMs—Dual-Purpose Improved Conventional Munitions—an artillery shell loaded with smaller bomblets, each capable of taking out a tank. When the shell reached a specific altitude, it would explode, releasing the smaller submunitions. In addition, IEDs littered the northern and southern edges of the highway. Once the enemy got close, the detonations would isolate the tip where the Americans would get to work destroying them piecemeal.
As in Oneida, the second story of homes became small fortresses unto themselves. Additional fire teams took position on the flat roofs of the industrial buildings on the southern side of the highway. They’d also brought what remained of the AT-4s, Javelin anti-tank missiles and Stinger surface-to-air shoulder-fired rockets. The latter was merely a precaution, for although the Chinese jets were likely shielded from the effects of the recent EMP, the supplies and replacement parts required to keep them in active service were not. This was why the skies over Oneida had been largely quiet and peaceful following the mission, save for Billy Ray’s occasional barrel roll whenever he returned from a successful leaflet drop.
Banks of earth and sand piled up along the north and south edges of the highway had originally been designed to cut down some of the traffic noise, but the formation had inadvertently given the American forces a nice reverse slope they could use for defense. Rather than silhouetting themselves along the crest, a reverse slope defense allowed units to remain largely hidden from sight and protected from direct fire. Even indirect fire was blind since spotters couldn’t observe the effects of the exploding shells.
In reserve, General Brooks kept a mix of his most experienced men, along with a couple hundred of his greener troops. Among the latter were Gregory and Brandon. For his part, John and his Rough Riders were also kept in reserve on the southern side of Interstate 81. The speed with which they could deploy allowed them to act as a quick reaction force, ready to apply fire wherever needed.
With everyone in position came arguably the most challenging part of any mission—waiting for the enemy to approach. If the situation at the front went well, then the retreating units heading their way would largely be shredded versions of their former selves.
John called Reese on the walkie. The sniper was perched in the tower of a nearby church. “You see anything?”
“No, sir. Just a long, boring stretch of highway in both directions. It’s enough to get a man thinking. Once we’re done with this mess, I’m gonna get me one of those motorhomes and head west.”
John laughed. “Who knows, maybe Moss will join you.”
“Oh, no, Colonel. I’m a lone wolf. Besides, I have some unfinished business out that way I’ve been itching to take care of.”
“All right,” John said. “Keep ’em peeled and lemme know as soon as you see anything.”
“Roger that.”
When they were quiet, they could hear the dim echo of distant battle.
“Sounds intense,” Moss said, removing his magazine and blowing away imaginary dirt. “If it sounds this bad here, what’s it like over there?” He paused and reinserted the magazine into his M-4. “You think this crazy plan of yours will work?”
John shrugged. “It’s Brooks’ plan now, not mine. And I hope so.” He couldn’t help thinking of Brandon and Gregory at that moment, both part of the reserve infantry formation, tasked with plugging holes and deploying wherever they were needed on the battlefield. Hopefully their nerves weren’t getting the better of them.
John got on the walkie to Rodriguez. “Any update from the front?”
After a small delay, Rodriguez replied, “American forces are pulling back as planned, but they’re taking far more casualties than expected. The NATO force is still waiting to head into action, but they describe the situation right now as touch and go.”
“That ain’t good,” Moss said with his usual talent for summing up a situation in three words or less.
A minute later Reese was back on the horn. “I got incoming.”
John lifted the binoculars and scanned east along Interstate 81. There wasn’t a soul in sight.
“You sure about that? I’m not seeing anything from where I am.”