“There may come a time when East Lightning loses confidence in the Chairman,” Anna said. “If we defeat the Chinese here…I have no doubt it will cause terrible political consequences for those in power.”
“Do you think Hong understands his danger?” the President asked Anna.
“Not yet, sir,” Anna said. “Given his psychology, I’m sure he still believes he can free his soldiers and continue the conquest of America.”
President Sims rapped his knuckles on the table. “You raise a good point, Ms. Chen. We haven’t won this cauldron battle yet, far from it, in fact. Alan, tell me more about this division’s worth of soldiers facing the Brazilians. And I want to know the exact capabilities of this ballistic missile reserve.”
“Yes, Mr. President. First, I’d like to point out that—”
POINT NEBRASKA-COLORADO-KANSAS
Master Sergeant Kavanagh and Romo waited behind a log redoubt. No one could tell it was made of timber because a thick blanketing of snow covered the wood from last night. Fifty yards on either side of them ranged other snow-clad bunkers, holding other recon teams. The line stretched for several miles with a little under one thousand soldiers spread out in teams.
Paul and Romo wore their white suits, with the heaters presently shut off. The sun shone today, around one in the afternoon. The flat white expanse before them was brilliant because of it. Behind the redoubt sat a single snowmobile.
This line was the forward tripwire against the enemy. There was another line behind them with a greater abundance of Militia troops busily digging trenches and setting up mortar and TOW teams.
Every hour the Brazilians failed to attack gave High Command time to bring more supplies and more soldiers into position. If the Brazilians hit elsewhere, Paul had orders to pack up his precious supply of Javelins and attack the Brazilian flank.
Snowmobiles attacking tanks: Paul didn’t think he’d ever heard of that. It sounded desperate. Was America worried after the grand assault? Maybe they were anxious to hold what they’d taken.
Paul and Romo each sat cross-legged. They had a backgammon set between them. Romo tossed a pair of dice onto the wooden board. The dice bounced and clacked, coming up with seven. They used to play chess, but having to think…Paul and Romo were too tired for that. It was enough to roll the dice and move the pieces around the backgammon board.
From time to time Paul heard jets. The two of them stopped playing and lay flat. Once they saw the markings. Brazilians jets zoomed low to the ground. They didn’t strafe or unload bombs, so that was something. From far to the rear of their positions came explosions.
“The Militia line,” Romo said. “I doubt it’s as well-hidden as our post. I hope the jets didn’t bust it up too much.”
Paul grunted agreement.
Around four in the afternoon, distant American artillery opened up. It fired from the northwest.
Paul shut the backgammon game and set it to the side. Romo took out a cigar and smoked it. Paul lay back and put his hands behind his head. He thought about Cheri and watched cigar smoke curl into the clear sky.
A squawk came from the radio. Paul stirred, acknowledging the call. He discovered that a general spoke to them. The man spoke to the front line of recon teams. Paul had never heard of this general, but the officer ordered them out of the redoubts. He wanted them to head east and attack whatever they found. The Brazilians had struck fifteen miles north of their positions.
“Yes sir,” Paul said, stowing the radio afterward.
“Attack?” asked Romo.
“Let’s mount up,” Paul said.
They left the redoubt at 4:43 P.M. The recon teams didn’t bunch up. That wasn’t their habit. Each set out east and slowly they spread apart from each other.
By 5:36, Paul and Romo discovered they were alone in a wide expanse of nothing. It was dark now. They turned on their suits, used night vision and long-range scanning.
At 7:12, Romo said, “Do you see that?”
Paul didn’t. It was obvious that between them Romo had the better sight. He was younger so it made sense.
Romo pointed. Paul drove and after another quarter-mile, he saw a ribbon of movement on the horizon.
“Hang on,” Paul said. He opened up the throttle.
At 7:52 P.M., the snowmobile’s engine quit. They slid silently for a time and then came to a halt in the snow. They tried, but couldn’t repair it.
Finally, Paul focused on the distant movement. “Trucks,” he said.