“Roger that,” Ivanov said, and he was off, moving at a light jog.
A few minutes later, we were about a quarter mile from the tunnels when a muffled thunderclap sounded from within the mountain. Boulders rolled down the mountainside and the tunnels collapsed, jetting gray dust into the night air.
No one made a sound because we were in hostile territory, but we all paused and looked back for a moment. Ivanov grinned and flashed a thumbs up to the rest of us, and McCormick and I exchanged a look of satisfaction. Then we continued on through the woods..
Two hours later, we reached the rendezvous point. We were three hours ahead of schedule, having needed to detour only once to avoid a PLA patrol. Once we stopped, McCormick stitched the gash on Dietrich’s head closed. I applied more disinfectant to the cut on McCormick’s face that he had suffered when he was thrown off of the tank. The four of us ate MREs and we shared the full story of our roles in the battle we had just won.
“Another story to tell when I’m an old fart living in Switzerland,” Ivanov observed sardonically. “The drooling grandkids probably won’t care what ded Ivanov did during the war.”
“You’d be surprised,” I said. “Everyone I know watched the videos the Knights put up in the early days of the war,” I said. “And the videos the Lafayette Initiative put up later. It made a difference stateside. It made us feel like we were fighting back, like we weren’t just victims.
“Remember that battle when the PLA tried to overrun the Knights’ compound in Taipei? The torn flag still flying at the end? The next day, I was in a restaurant in downtown Lexington, Kentucky, and some hipster kid was imitating a dumb southerner supporting the military. You know, ‘‘Murica’, ‘America, fuck yeah!’, that sort of thing. Some ordinary guy punched him in the face. Broke his damn nose.”
The men laughed, and I continued. “There was a huge wave of enlistments in the armed forces. People donated to the veterans groups. Celebrities started wearing flag patches on their shoulders. It was crazy.”
McCormick said, “I’m just glad that New York Times reporter happened to be there or we never would have thought to do the videos. The videos still help. Gutierrez and Brown were going to can Concitor after the Battle of Farmers’ Ridge, but I got him out of it by threatening to go public with the story.”
“Propaganda matters,” Dietrich said. “People rally around the stories. In fact, we should really put up a new one about what we just did. Let the people know Sergeant McCormick is still fighting.”
McCormick muttered something dismissive, but the idea was too good to ignore. “We absolutely should do that,” I said. “The Airborne’s hanging on by a thread in Citadel. If we can rev up some enthusiasm, get their morale up a bit, it could make the difference.”
Even Ivanov nodded at that. McCormick, seeing the consensus of the group, said, “Alright, on one condition: I’m not the star this time.” He pointed to me. “She’s the face of this. The press will eat it up even more because—” he stopped himself.
“Because I’m a woman?” I asked.
McCormick nodded. I said, “I have no problem exploiting that. I’m not some feminist psycho. I want to win the goddamn war. If it helps to have a woman, I’m in.” I laughed. “Mom’s never going to believe it when her daughter becomes a YouTube star.”
Ivanov said, “Dietrich and I should not be featured. Our faces aren’t as pretty. Also, we might have trouble finding work after the war if we’re famous.”
Smiling, McCormick said as he whipped out his phone, “That settles it. Lieutenant Barker, you’re going to become famous.”
We filmed a two-minute long video, which took an hour of planning. Ivanov and Dietrich kept watch for the Airborne squad or any stray PLA patrols, but saw nothing. Once McCormick was satisfied that the PLA wouldn’t be able to identify where we were based on the background, he uploaded the video to YouTube. It didn’t take very long for the hits to start piling up on the video, and the first news reports to talk about the destruction of the command center and ammo dump.
The Airborne squad arrived forty minutes after we posted the video. They had suffered two wounded in their diversionary attack on the northern end of the tunnels, but no one had died. The two wounded had suffered shrapnel wounds from a Chinese grenade, and one of them hobbled along with assistance from a friend. I congratulated Sergeant Moore on bringing everyone back alive.
McCormick, the fight in the tunnels, the YouTube video, and now my squad making it out with no losses, no letters to write to loved ones. My hands shook with joy.
Chapter 5: Concitor
After the Battle of Teatime Hill, I got some food and left Lieutenant Williams to gather the survivors of my company. I took a Tylenol to dull the pain of my eye, then slept for a few hours.
I woke with a start when Lieutenant Williams shook me. It was still dark out, and I checked my watch. A few minutes after 2:00 AM local time. “Captain, you’d better listen to the radio,” he said. Though I had slept with my earpiece in, it had fallen out, and I plugged it back in just in time to hear Colonel Brown’s voice.
“—epeat, Progress 4, this is Equality 5, do you read me?”
It took a conscious effort of will to respond, though I couldn’t quite summon the energy to be polite. “Progress 4.”
“Progress 4, report to headquarters immediately. Acknowledge.”
“Acknowledged, reporting to headquarters.”
I grabbed my rifle, still sitting beside the bench, and stood up. “Lieutenant Williams, please see to it that the wounded are receiving treatment. I’ve been summoned to HQ.”
Williams asked, “Do you know what they want?”
I shook my head. “They could be firing me or waiting to pin a medal to my chest. I don’t know. Whatever it is, they want to do it in person.”
“Do you need someone to walk with you?” Williams asked awkwardly, gesturing to my bandaged eye socket.
I replied, “Nah, it doesn’t take two eyes to walk down the street. I’ll be back in twenty.”
Knowing that the Chinese now controlled Teatime Hill, I moved quickly from building to building, pausing at each for a random amount of time to throw PLA snipers off. There had already been a dozen Airborne casualties at the hands of Chinese infantry firing down into Citadel from Teatime Hill.
When I arrived at headquarters, the staff officers all looked at me with a peculiar expression. Most of them outranked me, but they avoided meeting my gaze as if I were a superior officer.
I came to the command center Gutierrez and Brown had shown me earlier and saw Gutierrez sitting dejected, looking idly at tactical screens showing the new Airborne defensive positions as if they were a rerun of a soap opera. Colonel Brown was talking animatedly on a phone, presumably to someone at the Pentagon.
Clearing my throat to announce my presence, I said, “General Gutierrez, Captain Concitor reporting.”
Gutierrez gestured for me to sit down, but didn’t take his eyes off of the tactical screen. “They were coming for Teatime Hill.”
I didn’t know what to say. An awkward moment passed, and I said, “Yes, sir.”
He continued, “No one told me they would do that. We didn’t have any intelligence indicating where they’d hit.”
Again, it was unclear what I could say. Well, sir, that’s not technically correct, because I did tell you exactly what was going to happen and I had to go against your orders and break my company to stop the Chinese from storming Citadel. I settled for, “No, sir.”
We sat in silence for a minute, then Brown finished his phone call and turned to look at me. “The Pentagon relieved General Gutierrez of command about fifteen minutes ago and promoted me to general to serve in his stead. I am now leading the defense of Pinglin.”