Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5) Read online

  Grant shifted the outboard, driving the dinghy out of the path of bullets, which zipped past them. The hidden enemy machine gunner swiveled his weapon. Jake could tell by the waterspouts traveling back toward them. He brought the RPG to his shoulder, having become something of a marksman with these.

  Beside him, a soldier grunted painfully. Blood sprayed, a splash of it striking Jake’s neck, hot and sticky. The infantryman pitched backward, making the dinghy rock. Enemy machine gun bullets struck the next passenger. Foolishly, none of them wore body armor. None of them had wanted to be dragged underwater and drowned the first day of the invasion.

  I’m never going to make that mistake again.

  Jake sighted on the glint and pulled the trigger. The shaped-charge grenade banged, flying at the machine gunner and team. Jake tossed the launcher into the water and picked up this assault rifle. Hunkering low, he emptied his magazine at them, even though they had the distance.

  The warhead exploded near enough that after the smoke cleared, the Chinese were either dead or gone, deciding to relocate.

  Now American mortars from the north shore swept the enemy hills. They should have done that earlier, but it was a first day’s balls-up. Smoke billowed onshore and fragmentation shells flattened bulrushes. Fires started, more smoke billowed and Jake began to fear the mortar teams would kill them along with the enemy.

  Lieutenant Wans must have been in contact with the mortar teams, or the captain was. When their dinghy was fifty feet from shore—far too close in Jake’s opinion—the mortar rounds quit raining.

  “Get ready!” Jake shouted.

  The inflatable entered the drifting smoke. It was like traveling through fog. It felt alien, like some other planet. Jake’s gut churned, and he peered everywhere, but he saw nothing but smoke. Finally, the boat struck mud. Chet reappeared then. It turned out he’d been hanging onto the rope around the boat.

  “Welcome to China,” Jake said.

  “You should have shot the kid,” Chet said, his clothes soaked.

  “I guess so.” Jake grabbed his equipment. The others grabbed theirs. After a brief conference, they agreed the smart thing was to put on their body armor. It took time, but Jake felt better with it in place.

  By then, most of the smoke had cleared. The kid lay nearby, still wearing his straw hat.

  “Let me show you something,” Chet said.

  Together, they went to twisted, bullet-riddled kid. It turned out he had a wrinkled face and lacked teeth.

  “That ain’t no kid,” Chet said. “He was some ancient Chinese dwarf masquerading as a kid. What a prick.”

  The truth made Jake feel better. He didn’t want to have to shoot children. Even so, this old man’s friends had killed Americans. The platoon had to find those machine gunners and make the bastards pay. That was the reason for the broad front river crossing. The US 3rd Army Group wanted a clear and protected path for what would in time become a long supply route. They would cut a wide swath to begin with and funnel down later.

  After an hour’s search, the platoon found the Chinese barricaded up on a hill. Jake and Chet crawled toward Lieutenant Wans hidden behind an old tree up the slope.

  “Up there,” Wans said, pointing.

  The hill had an old shed up there and some trees. This looked like grazing land, with most of the slope green grass with occasional bushes. Sandbags lay low to the ground near the top of the hill, making strongpoints. A heavy machine gun slid out of a firing loop, blazing away at them.

  Jake ducked low. The other two kept behind the ancient tree. The machine gun still sounded like a woodpecker, and the bullets thudded harmlessly against the tree trunk.

  “Must have been a number of teams along the river,” the lieutenant shouted. “Saboteurs maybe. Well, no sense getting any of us killed taking them out.”

  On the radio, Wans spoke to the captain. The captain relayed his words to a mortar team on the north shore. Soon, shells rained down on top of the hill, and the Chinese quit firing.

  “Pinpoint accuracy this time,” Wans said. “I think that did it.” He radioed. The shelling stopped and Wans said, “Let’s go. See if we got them all.”

  Jake and Chet led the way, hurrah. With his body armor and pack, it made the trudge uphill work. Clutching his assault rifle, Jake kept his eyes glued to the top. Foot by foot he headed higher. His stomach soon ached he clenched it so tightly. This was a lot different from driving a Behemoth.

  At the top, they discovered something amazing. The mortar shells had indeed killed every Chinese soldier or militiaman. The foxholes had been far too shallow to make much of a difference.

  “Amateurs,” Lieutenant Wans said shortly.

  “They are now,” Jake said.

  The lieutenant with the five o’clock shadow at nine in the morning asked, “What’s that mean?”

  “If we give them too long, I bet they get better.”

  The lieutenant studied him. “Are you always so cheerful?”

  “Been through the school of hard knocks one time too many,” Jake said.

  “All right, jawing isn’t going to get us anywhere,” the lieutenant said. “Let’s pack it up and keep going. We’re supposed to be ten miles south by nightfall.”

  Jake shouldered his rifle and turned to Chet. “We’re doing it, my friend. We’re invading.”

  “Feels better than defending, I have to tell you.”

  Jake thought about it, and he nodded. It surely did at that.

  CENTRAL VALLEY PASS, HEILONGJIANG PROVINCE

  Colonel Stan Higgins had become Brigadier General Stan Higgins, commander of 10th Armored Division, part of V Corps.

  Instead of bulky Behemoth tanks—they all remained in the good old US of A—the 10th used Jeffersons as its main battle tanks. Tonight, however, Stan sat in an observation helo to monitor modified Cherokee attack helicopter. They were an improvement over the old Apaches, much more deadly and mobile.

  The 10th Armored Division spearheaded V Corps drive into Heilongjiang Province. V Corps was the tip for First Army.

  The key to capturing Manchuria was the large central valley containing the prized cities of Harbin, Changchun and Shenyang. Each of those cities was the capital of its province. They were one on top of the other: Heilongjiang Province, Jilin and Liaoning. Around the country-sized valley ran a large circle of mountains of various sizes and ruggedness, which protected the central vale from west, north, east and southeast.

  Tenth Armored Division headed toward Jiamusi, which was on the road to Harbin.

  So far this first day, Chinese defenses had proved frail and desultory. Most of the enemy formations had proved to be weaker than intelligence had predicted. Stan believed this feebleness was on purpose. The Chinese didn’t want to face the full might of the Europeans, Russians and Americans near the Siberian border, but pull them deeper into Manchuria first. It made sense. Let the invading supply lines stretch.

  Now Stan received news that his scouts had found heavy Chinese formations barring the pass to Jiamusi.

  No. As he listened to the radio, Stan realized it was worse than that. The cavalry was thirty kilometers in front of 10th Armored Division. Chinese Type 99 tanks and BMPs had pinned down the scouts.

  Shaking his head, Stan knew that in the midst of an offensive operation he didn’t want his reconnaissance elements tied down in a decisive engagement. The scouts were beyond the reach of his artillery except for the MLRS.

  Stan considered using them, but soon realized the scouts didn’t have a good enough target fix on the enemy. He didn’t want to waste the MLRS on a deep and questionable strike. Maybe the Chinese were planning a big surprise. He wanted to keep his aces in the hole for now.

  One thing was very interesting: the enemy’s use of the Type 99 tank. It was also known as the ZTZ-99. A third generation MBT, it was old news like America’s M1s. Had China shipped most of the tri-turreted and Marauder tanks to North America?

  The Type 99 was eleven meters long, three and
half meters wide and 2.37 meters high. With an autoloader, it had a three-man crew. For its time in the early 2000s, it had been a good tank. It carried a small 125mm smoothbore tank gun along with 12.7mm machine guns. On good terrain, it could travel fifty miles per hour.

  China hadn’t used any Type 99s in North America. Clearly, they planned to use them in defense of the homeland. The question was: how many enemy tanks and BMPs were out there? Did the Chinese want to buy themselves time or was this a trick?

  Stan made a fast decision. This was the earliest phase of the assault. The Type 99 had good night vision, but probably not as good as he had with the Cherokees. The US and the Russians air forces had hunted for Chinese drones and jets, chasing them from the battlefield. Did he dare to attempt a quick helicopter strike deep in the pass now? It would be a risk. Just because the Chinese used old tanks didn’t mean they would have lousy antiair defenses.

  I have to do this. We have to hit them hard and never let up. Otherwise, we might as well have stayed home.

  Stan decided to use one battalion of Cherokees. That meant eighteen tank killers, organized into three six-ship companies. Each two-man crew consisted of a copilot-gunner in the front seat, and a pilot who sat behind and slightly above his CPG.

  Each Cherokee had three weapons systems at its disposal, high-tech, accurate and very lethal. The deadliest was the Hellfire II missile. Laser guided, it would murder the Type 99 tank if it reached the target. The next system was the 2.75-inch rocket. Those could destroy anything but MBTs. Whenever possible a gunner used the rockets to save the Hellfire IIs for the heavy tanks. The last system was the 30mm chain gun, used primarily for defensive purposes.

  These days, a Cherokee in combat usually hovered fifty feet above the ground as it deployed Hellfire IIs or the 2.75-inch rockets at armored targets. The attack helos stayed three thousand to nine thousand meters away from its victims. That was well beyond the range most people could see anything with the naked eye.

  Stan gave the orders and followed in his observation ship.

  The Cherokees were tri-jet assisted for intense speed, but they wouldn’t call on this capability unless enemy fighters showed up or the Chinese had up-to-date antiair platforms. Each gunship was fully loaded, armed with eight Hellfire IIs and thirty-six Hydra-80s, as they called the 2.75-inch rockets.

  Stan watched with satisfaction. Each company of six ships flew in a “staggered right” formation. That meant each Cherokee moved in echelon, with each following craft staying one hundred feet to the right rear of its leader. These last few weeks, Stan had learned more about attack helos than he ever expected to. For instance, with each extra knot of airspeed the pilot tried to add one foot above ground. At fifty knots, a little faster than fifty miles per hour, the ship flew at an altitude of fifty feet.

  “Sir,” the captain of B Company said. “This is a target-rich environment.”

  Stan could see the large number of enemy hot spots on his screen. So far, no Chinese drones or fighters had appeared.

  “Move in front of the scouts,” Stan ordered. “And make doubly certain there are no friendlies ahead of them.”

  “Yes, sir,” the B Company captain said.

  Hanging back in his observation helo, Stan listened in on the radio conversations and watched the Cherokees fly over the scout vehicles.

  “Not so far forward,” Stan said.

  Soon, the Cherokees inched back until they were a little less than one hundred meters ahead of the scouts.

  The Cherokee battalion changed formation as each company came on line. That formation meant they flew side by side with one hundred to one hundred and fifty meters between each attack helo. They all hovered in place, sixty feet above ground.

  Stan busily studied his screen. “What do you think?” he asked his intel chief, Major Bob Frazer.

  “A brigade at least, General.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Stan said. “This must be one hundred and twenty Type 99 tanks.”

  “I’m counting one hundred and thirty-five 99s, plus fifty BMPs.”

  The day had started clear. Now rain fell and clouds hid the stars. That didn’t bother the Cherokee night-vision equipment or Stan’s thermal sights either.

  The pass was large. The enemy brigade blocked the main highway. Some of those 99s looked as if the Chinese had dug in. The enemy wouldn’t simply throw a brigade away of old but useful tanks, would he?

  Stan was nervous. He was used to keeping his feet on the ground. But he was a general now. He had to use every tool at his disposal. That meant he needed to know each tool’s usefulness.

  Tonight, be gained a better understanding of the Cherokees.

  The helo gunners launched the first Hellfire IIs, the longest-ranged weapons. The missiles stretched through the night, coming down in the rain on top of the Type 99 tanks. Their armor was weakest from above.

  “Yes,” Stan said under this breath. He watched the Hellfire IIs hit. Seeing this on the TV screen—hot spots light up—failed to impart the blood, guts and screaming going on over there.

  Stan hunched forward. He saw new, smaller hot spots. For a second, he didn’t realize what he witnessed. Then it came to him. Those were Chinese crews jumping out of their vehicles and running away.

  “They’re moving the tanks,” the B Company captain said.

  Stan saw that. The enemy either couldn’t or didn’t want to challenge the awesome firepower unleashed from above against them.

  “Forward one thousand meters,” Stan said.

  B Company advanced one thousand meters straight ahead. A and C Companies made flanking moves. All the while, Hellfire IIs and Hydra-80s turned tanks and BMPs into burning infernos.

  Then a red line appeared on Stan’s TV screen. It flashed from the enemy position, an IF laser. The beam struck a Cherokee, and the helo dropped hard, hitting the earth and exploding with brilliant flames.

  The laser flashed again, and a second Cherokee disintegrated.

  Stan swore under his breath.

  The tac-laser platform never got off a third shot. Two Hellfire IIs found it, destroying the antiair element.

  Stan wasn’t sure if he should order the battalion to break off. The US scout vehicles already roared for home. Okay. That was good.

  No. This is our first offensive. We have to sweep into Manchuria. I need my Jeffersons and I need them now.

  They were on their way. If the Chinese wanted to hold this pass, they were going to need more armor and tac-lasers, or antiair missiles, at least.

  “General,” Bob Frazer said.

  Stan saw the major point at a secondary screen. Ah. Some Chinese infantry attempted to sneak up on A Company’s flank.

  Did—

  Stan never finished the question in his mind. Three of the Cherokees of A Company slewed their 30mms at the soldiers. A single enemy RPG lofted—it missed. Then the chain guns sprayed bloody destruction on the body-armored Chinese.

  Fifty-three infantrymen died. Twenty-nine others dropped their assault rifles and took to their heels.

  For another thirty minutes, the attack ships of 10th Armored Division destroyed the Type 99 tanks and BMPs of the Chinese brigade. Maybe twenty enemy tanks got away. The rest burned, lighting the way for the approaching Jeffersons.

  The start to the battle for the pass went to Stan. And it was a precursor to the rest of that night and the next morning. Five Chinese divisions attempted to bar the gate, and the Americans steamrolled them, blowing their way through. V Corps led the way for First Army, which spearheaded for the US 3rd Army Group, showing the world they had come to China to wreak a terrible vengeance. If the enemy hoped to stop them, the Chinese were going to have to use their good stuff, and not rely on outdated hardware.

  HEGANG ROAD DEFENSE, HEILONGJIANG PROVINCE

  The offensive was already three days old as American armor and mechanized brigades bypassed stubborn Chinese strongpoints in out of the way places. US command raced deeper into Heilongjiang Province al
ong the main routes. The city of Harbin was the first major objective. The city was a nexus of roads and rail, a critical junction that lead deeper into Manchuria.

  Like everyone else, Jake knew the Russians had unleashed a torrent assault into Outer Mongolia. Fierce Chinese resistance in Ulaan Baatar, the capital, had brought the AI Kaiser brigades to a temporary halt. Did the Russians plan to use the Gobi Desert to race through the back door into China? If so, that would be a bold but risky venture. Once through the legendary desert, the Russians would have to battle through the Greater Khingan Mountain Range, which protected Manchuria and lower China from Mongolia.

  With a grunt, Jake picked up his RPG, resting it over his shoulder, and following Chet. Tall weeds swayed around them, giving Jake, Chet and the others cover as they worked closer to the hated bunkers.

  Growing up in his father’s house had given Jake years of military history lessons. Here in Heilongjiang Province, the US 3rd Army Group used “keil and kessel” tactics of the WWII Germans. That meant encircle and bypass resistance, and take the key objectives farther behind enemy lines. The “keil and kessel” was for the tanks and other fast moving vehicles. The following, slower-moving infantry did the “mopping up.” That meant taking out the tough spots in order to open up the regular supply routes.

  In this case, their platoon joined the attack to take an interlocking set of bunkers guarding the main Haluo Highway.

  Jake wore an improved Kevlar vest and lugged over fifty pounds of ordnance, including the RPG. The bunkers had been cunningly hidden behind and between dirt dunes. The enemy’s 100mm cannons poked out of the concrete emplacements, together with heavy machine guns.

  Air—forget about it here. US jets and drones were too busy at the front. The drive was three days old, and the colonels and generals were doing everything in their power to keep it going full steam ahead. That meant grunt work for the infantry in places like this. Nothing ever changed. This was just like Buffalo in ’40 against the GD and just like Denver in ’39 against the Chinese.