easy or fun. With Romo on the seat, Paul half stood and twisted the throttle. The back tire slewed. Paul straightened the motorcycle and gave it more gas. The back tire spun wildly, spraying mud. Then, with a lurch, it shot forward.
Working their way through the muddy sea, the two commandos left the scene of the sniper attack.
Will we survive the night? Paul wondered. The hovertanks could still easily catch them, but right now they couldn’t see them. Well, if they died it wouldn’t be for a lack of trying to escape. Why did the drone operators have to run out of smart bombs? That had to change, or America was never going to win this war.
SANTA FE, NEW MEXICO
Soldier Rank Zhu Peng took apart his QBZ-95 assault rifle, sitting on a stool alone in the tent. He belonged to First Rank Tian Jintao’s squad of the Bai Hu Tezhongbing—White Tiger Commandos. Each sleeping bag in the tent was rolled tight, along with each foam sleeping mat. An electric lantern burned on a small campaign table, providing Zhu light. Outside, crickets chirped and occasionally he heard the grinding gears of heavy supply trucks in the distance.
Zhu’s rifle parts lay on a sheet. Beside it was his dinylon body armor, Qui 1000 jets, jetpack fuel tank, controls and other Eagle Team paraphernalia.
Although he didn’t look the part, Zhu was an elite Chinese soldier, one of the jetpack flyers. He was thin, practically frail looking, with gaunt cheeks and it appeared, innocent eyes.
He’d survived a lot since the California campaign. Most of the original members of his squad were dead. In fact, only First Rank Tian Jintao still lived.
Zhu picked up the skeleton of his QBZ-95 to clean it. The assault rifle was the Qing Buqiang Zidong-95. It had a bullpup configuration, meaning the weapon’s action and magazine were located behind the grip and trigger assembly. It fired caseless ammunition, giving it more bullets per magazine, also meaning the rifle didn’t have to open up after each shot to eject a spent case. With fewer moving parts and less exposure, the rifle jammed less often than other combat weapons. The QBZ-95 was quintessential proof of Chinese battlefield superiority. It was better and more advanced than similar American weapons. The advancement wasn’t overwhelming, but it helped give Chinese soldiers an edge.
I need more of an edge.
Zhu frowned thoughtfully. The others of the squad had joined Tian tonight in town. They’d found willing American women to spend a night of pleasure with them. Tian had taken extra food as payment.
Many Americans in the Occupied Territories were having trouble getting enough to eat. Zhu had heard some terrible stories. Chinese rear-area troops gathered supplies for the fighting soldiers and sent the rest south to Mexico. Some of the food went all the way to China. It left little for the Americans in the conquered zones. Still, if they were busy looking for enough to eat, they wouldn’t have the time or energy for partisan activities.
Zhu shook his head. Tian had suggested he come along and enjoy the fruits of conquest. Tian assured him that with the right inducements, American women were very willing. But he couldn’t go. Zhu still had much to learn concerning his new rank and responsibilities. During the Californian campaign, he’d been a rookie of Fighter Rank, newly arrived from China. The old enlisted ranking went private, corporal and sergeant. In the White Tigers, it went Fighter Rank, Soldier Rank and First Rank.
I am now Soldier Rank. The promotion had come through after the fighting in Los Angeles. The advancement made Zhu proud. More than ever, he wanted to live up to the image of an elite White Tiger.
Zhu began reassembling his assault rifle. Afterward, he took off his shirt and carefully laid it on the stool so it wouldn’t get dirty.
His ribs showed, with his stomach sucked in. Some of the others in the squad said he looked like a skeleton, like a man ready to meet Yan Luo—Death. Such comments made Zhu angry. He ate as much as he could, but extra meat never seemed to stick to his bones. He was cursed with a skinny frame.
First Rank Tian was a muscle-bound warrior of great skill. He was also Zhu’s best friend. Many times, Zhu had wondered if he should begin taking steroids. He wanted to be powerfully strong. He wanted to become the greatest warrior in the world.
In the electric lantern-light, Zhu took a Shaolin fighting stance. He’d learned