tired.
“All right, let’s turn in,” the Lieutenant said in his loud voice. “Enough talk. We’ve worked hard. Tomorrow we’re going to fight even harder. So get some sleep while you can. The sentries will wake you in time if the Chinese try something fancy.”
Jake lay down. He shut his eyes and morning came all too soon. His back muscles ached from all the picking yesterday and he was cold.
There were rumbles outside, enemy artillery doing their thing. To warm them up and complete the blockhouse, the Lieutenant put them to work. At 10:17 A.M., the Chinese showed up and that was the end of the drudgery.
Jake was working on the third floor, shoveling concrete chips and dust: the blockhouse was filled with drifting clouds of dust. A shrill whistle brought him around. He looked up. Militiamen ran to their posts. Jake dropped his shovel and dashed to his weapons. He had an M-16 and a single-shot RPG. Despite his sweat, he shrugged on his jacket. Goose and Private Larry Barnes hurried to him. They each carried similar weapons.
The artillery-spawned rumbles grew. The Chinese had aimed their heavy guns at them, or near here. Big shells landed, shaking the ground and producing terrific explosions. Bits of dust and tiny pieces of loose concrete rained on them, forcing Jake to put on his helmet.
The fighting started ten minutes later.
“Steady,” the Lieutenant told the first team. The Lieutenant was a steroid freak, a little over six feet tall with massive shoulders and chest. He had a bull neck and a much-too wide of a face. He wore an armor vest, helmet and kept a heavy .50 caliber pistol ready. It was a hand-cannon, a real piece of work. Jake had seen him blow down enemy soldiers with it. Every time the Lieutenant shot, his arm remained rock-steady.
Creeping near a window, Jake saw the first attack. Chinese soldiers in body armor crept and crawled toward them through the rubble and through dirty brown slush. The Lieutenant had told the Eleventh to hold their fire. Let the enemy get close the first time.
The firefight started when the first Chinese soldier crawled onto a landmine. It blew up and the soldier rained blood, flesh and shrapnel: all that remained of him and his armor.
A whistle blasted from between the Lieutenant’s teeth.
Bullets poured onto the enemy. Grenades flew. A few Chinese fired back for a short time, until they died because they were too exposed. Jake grinned at Goose.
The next wave of infantry came with Gunhawks overhead. Blowdart missiles from the blockhouse roof brought down two of the infernal helos. Wisely, the Chinese infantry and choppers retreated.
Twenty minutes later, artillery shells pounded near, but the buildings to the east sheltered them. A recon drone showed up later, but an M2 Browning took care of it, using less than fifty rounds to drop it.
The Lieutenant had obviously chosen the blockhouse with care. It was protected and deeper in the city than any of their previous locations. If the Chinese wanted this place, they were going to have pay in gallons of blood to do it.
At 2:12 P.M., a flame-throwing tank churned toward them. The treads squealed and clanked as it neared. The Lieutenant had two big howitzers ready for such an emergency. Using direct fire, he punched holes in the tank and created a nice fireball that burned enemy soldiers that had gotten too close to their brutish flame machine.
“It’s working,” Goose told Jake. “The Lieutenant is a genius.”
Jake hoped Goose was right.
At 4:42 P.M. the armored bulldozers came. Jake peered through a firing loop and saw jetpack commandos land on top of buildings to their east. Ever since Texas, he’d hated the flyers.
“We should have put sniper teams up there,” the Lieutenant said.
“What about the bulldozers?” asked an NCO. “They’ll clear our mines without a problem.”
The Lieutenant turned to Jake. “Corporal, it’s your turn. See if you can do something about the bulldozers.”
The steroid-monster had never taken to him, but the man was killing the enemy and that counted for something.
“Yes, sir,” Jake said.
“Don’t come back unless you destroy all of them,” the Lieutenant added. “I don’t need any cowards in my outfit.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed, as he looked the Lieutenant in the eye. He noticed a small mole above the right one. Jake didn’t sneer. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t say anything. Outraged heat built in his chest until finally the words seem to bubble up out of their own accord.
“Why don’t you come with us then,