“I grew up angry,” I said simply. “When my mom got sad talking about the governor, I got pissed. I wanted to make myself hard and strong so she wouldn’t cry about the governor anymore.”
The former sergeant added, “And you channeled that into the Army, and that got you here.”
I smiled wistfully. “I thought the Army was where you went to fight for a purpose. Growing up in nowhere Texas, going to community college, you don’t see much of a purpose to anything. Lots of people there just give up, collect their welfare checks, spend it on drinks, and wait to die. They never do anything meaningful, never push themselves to the limits. Now I’m here with the Clay McCormick, fighting the good fight.”
He returned the smile. “We all have a purpose, and over time we become tools for fulfilling that purpose. Those people from your hometown decided their purpose was comfort, and they grew soft as pillows to make themselves as comfortable as possible. You and I chose justice as our purpose, so we fashioned ourselves into swords.”
In the dark and cold of early spring, I could see his breath in the moonlight. We had finished the MRE, but I didn’t move away. Instead, I inched closer. “I wonder sometimes if anyone else wants that. It seems like most people today would rather have the pillow.”
McCormick’s blue eyes met mine. “They need people like us as much as we need each other.”
Out of words, I kissed him, and we had an hour to ourselves before the war returned.
McCormick shook Ivanov and Dietrich awake, and it was time to move on. Without a word, we agreed to be discrete around the other two men of our group. They didn’t betray any sign that they had seen or heard anything. I wondered if the silence was because of genuine ignorance or out of respect for McCormick.
It was only about a mile’s walk to Route 5. The road ran from Yilan to Taipei, mostly underground through a series of long tunnels under the mountains. In the gaps between tunnels, the road periodically emerged into valleys between the mountains. We were heading toward one such gap now, Ivanov leading the way.
We walked almost in a crouch, Ivanov about fifteen yards in front of the rest of the group. None of us were novices at moving stealthily in a forest, but we deferred to Ivanov, who was silent as a ghost, missing every twig and dry leaf. More importantly, the Russian had keen eyes and an unbelievable sense of smell. He knew how many men were in PLA patrols before any of us even had a clue there were enemies nearby.
On three occasions, Ivanov took us on detours to avoid the patrols. We could have killed the soldiers quietly, of course, but there was no telling when one of them might miss a scheduled radio call and alert the command center that death was approaching.
All of the maneuvering meant that it took nearly forty minutes to reach the last crest before the road, which lay about 200 yards away. Just a few more yards of trees, then we’d be in the clear, visible to any guards in the area.
The PLA command center was set about 300 yards into a tunnel, according to Taiwanese intelligence. Our only way in was to go to one of the gaps between the tunnels, kill whatever guards we found there, and walk in on the road.
Ivanov whispered, “Stay here, I’ll see what the guard situation looks like ahead.” With that, he lay down on his belly and crawled forward beyond the crest.
We sat in silence, not wanting to tempt fate by making any extraneous noise. After a few moments, Ivanov came slithering back to our little group.
“Clay, did the Taiwanese tell you which tunnel the command center is in?”
“What do you mean?”
Ivanov gave a quiet snort. “There are two fucking tunnels here, one for each direction of traffic. It doesn’t look like they’re linked together.”
“Shit,” McCormick muttered. “No, they didn’t tell me there were two tunnels. I should have seen that coming.”
Dietrich whispered, “We’ll have to split up, two people per tunnel. It would seem logical to guess that the Chinese would set up the command post in the north-to-south tunnel, the one on the left as we’re facing it, since they would have approached the tunnel from the north originally.”
He considered the group for a moment, then continued. “Volodya and Clay are the best shots; I would think they should take that north-south tunnel on the left. Barker and I are not special forces soldiers by training. I can take Lieutenant Barker on the right tunnel, the one where the traffic runs south-to-north.”
McCormick shook his head in the dark. “I’ll take Barker down the left tunnel.”
Volodya bristled. “Why? She’s not as experienced, not as trained.”
I wasn’t about to take that lying down. “Where was your experience when Clay and I were taking that bridge a couple hours ago, Russki?”
Ivanov’s face contorted in anger and he looked like he was about to respond, but McCormick cut in first, keeping his voice impassive. “Volodya, you and I need to spread our experience. What if the post is in the other tunnel?”
He was too professional to avoid that consideration. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Yes, I suppose you’re right, Clay. Dietrich and I will take the right tunnel.”
McCormick asked, “How many guards could you see?”
“There’s about fifteen loitering around the opening. Another twenty total within a hundred meters of the tunnel openings.”
“Damn, they aren’t fooling around,” I said, instantly regretting that I sounded afraid.
Ivanov looked at me and said, “Don’t worry, little girl, we’ll take care of you.
Before I could shoot back a reply, McCormick said, “Enough. That’s a lot of guards. If they’re already all here, they won’t be running off to the other end of the tunnel when the battle starts. The Chinese have infantry much closer. We need to change the plan.”
Dietrich whispered, “The second we hear the assault begin at the other end of the tunnel, we should launch our own attack. We can still capture the element of surprise. I would also recommend that we use grenades right at the outset. The guards at the tunnel will likely be grouped close together, and we might thin them out considerably before the battle begins in earnest.”
“Alright,” McCormick agreed. “We’ve got about fifteen minutes. Volodya and I are the quietest travelers. He and I can get to the next mountainside and set up a crossfire on the guards. Wait til our grenades explode, then start your own attack from this side. After the guards are all down, we’ll meet by the entrance, split into our teams, and move into the tunnels. Everyone got the plan?”
Nods all around. “Let’s get going then. Hans, Amy, see you in a few minutes.”
For a second, I wondered if I would see Clay again. I frowned and ignored the fear. Worry about yourself, I thought. He’s done this all before. He’s been doing this kind of thing for six years. This is your third battle, and they’ve all been in the last 48 hours.
The minutes ticked by, and I listened carefully for a shout, a gunshot, anything that would indicate that Clay and Ivanov had been found. All I heard was the chattering of the guards, talking about sports, the weather, girlfriends back home, or something else unrelated to the two men stalking around their positions in the dark.
Dietrich and I listened for any patrols coming to our part of the mountainside, but no one came within fifty yards. The German glanced at his watch and whispered, “One minute until your Airborne friends open fire. We should move to the crest and get ready to open fire.”
I nodded, my heart thumping in my chest. We got down on our bellies and crawled forward until we were at the edge of the tree line and over the crest, looking down on the guards. The area formed a rough bowl shape, with mountains surrounding the tunnel entrance. The guards all looked alert, and they were spread much further from each other than I had hoped from Ivanov’s description.