The Chinese force crumpled hopelessly in that first volley, and the Airborne kept firing. Of the thirty-odd PLA infantry I could see before I issued the order to fire, all but three fell in the first six seconds of the fight. Most of our soldiers had to reload then, and then they killed the last three.
It was almost ten seconds before any PLA returned fire, the distinctive hammering of their Ak-2000’s rising above the din. The returning fire was worse than useless, however. The Airborne soldiers had all positioned themselves deep in cover, almost always close to the ground. In the chaos of the moment, most Chinese soldiers shot high, and their muzzle flashes gave the Airborne soldiers a specific target to shoot at.
If the Chinese commander had been anyone other than Colonel Fong, we might have taken out the entire PLA force. Fong, though, reacted quickly. After thirty seconds of slaughter, the Chinese fire slackened off and they began withdrawing through the woods in some semblance of order.
This was a possibility I had considered. “Nova, forward fifty yards.”
The Airborne soldiers emerged from their cover and moved ahead with their weapons raised and aimed. From the standing position, they had a better view of the retreating Chinese than they had had from their cover in the brush. With more fire poured into them, the Chinese orderly retreat began to verge on a rout, with soldiers running further and further into the woods for cover.
The advantage would be short-lived for us, however. At some point, the Chinese line would solidify, and when it did, the Airborne soldiers would be caught out in the open. Then the battle would be a fair fight, exactly what I did not want. Thus, when my soldiers had moved forward fifty yards, I issued my next order. “Nova, withdraw back to Citadel.” The Airborne line melted away, the soldiers scampering back to the defensive line on the western end of town.
I followed along with them, reasonably sure that the Chinese would not turn about and attack. They did not, and we quickly made our way back to Citadel.
When I reached the defensive line in the dark, I startled one of the members of Potomac Force. She was a seventy-year-old Taiwanese woman wearing a U.S. Army-style helmet, camouflage jackets, and pants. Her English was a little rusty. “You scare me. What all that sound was?
“A battle,” I said. “We won.”
The woman looked confused, and another Taiwanese civilian dressed as a U.S. soldier explained the situation to her more fully. Potomac Force had performed their job exactly as I had anticipated.
By cobbling together every civilian that could be found within walking distance of Citadel’s town center, we had enough people to pose as the garrison of the western side of Citadel. The noise of the diversion at Devil Hill and the Coffee Line allowed us to slip Potomac Force into the western defensive line so that when the Chinese drones and satellites looked again at the western line, they saw a picture that looked roughly the same as when the actual Airborne garrison had been there.
I radioed the commanders of the companies of Nova group. “Report casualties.”
“Nova 1, none here.”
“Nova 2, two dead, one wounded.”
“Nova 3, one of my enlisted took a round in the shoulder.”
The calls continued. The final tally was three dead, four wounded — an astoundingly light casualty count.
I found Lieutenant Williams in the line fielding questions from a Taiwanese officer who had helped coordinate the civilian volunteers. “Excellent work, lieutenant,” I said to Williams.
He flashed a smile. “So you were right about Colonel Fong’s attack.”
I grunted. “He limited his losses pretty well. It’ll take them some time to reorganize, but they’ve got a lot more to throw at us.”
“But they know they’re up against a tricky bastard, sir,” Williams insisted. “That’s got to be worth something.”
I made my way back to the headquarters in the gymnasium. There I set down my rifle, which many in the headquarters eyed nervously, as if the presence of a weapon that still smelled of battle would disturb the peaceful sanctity of the situation room.
Brown was all smiles. “The Pentagon passed on some intel from the Taiwanese. Their mini-satellites were quickly able to get an accurate count on PLA casualties from the battle. About 900 dead, twice that number wounded. The media are already running those figures.”
“Losses like that aren’t going to stop them, general,” I said cautiously. “We still have a long way to go.”
Brown waved the point away, “Not a crushing victory, but a serious dent in the available PLA infantry. The initial estimate from the analysts at the Pentagon is that it will take sixteen hours for the Chinese to deploy new forces to the battlefield, another eight to ready another assault. They’re being significantly slowed down by the destruction of that brigade command center and ammo depot in the tunnels northwest of here. We’ve got a full-day’s respite, Colonel Concitor.”
I was about to ask what we were going to do with that time when another officer came into Brown’s office. “Excuse me, sir, but we have an interview request from CNN.”
“I’m willing to do interviews, captain,” Brown said immediately.
“Beg your pardon, sir, but they requested Colonel Concitor specifically for the interview,” the officer said sheepishly.
Ignoring Brown’s look of outrage, I snorted derisively. “Why the hell would I want to talk to them?”
The officer stammered, “Well, they have a right to know about what’s going on here.”
That was such a pitifully weak reason that I chuckled, then laughed, then guffawed, tears coming out of both my eye sockets despite the fact that one was now empty. It may have been the adrenaline aftershock of the battle, but I was now in a merrier mood. “Of course, captain. Just let me know where to sit.”
It took a few minutes to ready a laptop and video chat program. The officer clipped a microphone to my lapel, and then it was time to talk to the CNN correspondent, the same generically pretty brunette woman with heavy makeup who had interviewed Fong.
“We are now joined live by Colonel Tom Concitor, commander of the U.S. Army contingent that just defeated a Chinese force led by Colonel Fong of the PLA. Colonel Concitor, thank you for joining us.”
“You’re welcome,” I said.
The reporter seemed to miss a beat at that unusual response to insincere thanks, but recovered quickly. “Colonel, Pentagon sources are saying that over nine hundred Chinese were killed in this battle, while you lost just three soldiers. Congratulations on what appears to be a significant victory for your forces.”
I was amused by the idea that the soldiers of the Airborne were my “forces”, as if I were an African warlord. “Don’t be bashful, they’re your forces too, Christina.”
She laughed nervously, unsure if I was joking. “I’m no military strategist, colonel, but you apparently are. Pentagon sources indicate that you came up with the ambush plan that played out to such great effect in the fields west of Pinglin. How did you come up with that strategy?”
I shrugged. “Had to figure out some way to kill ‘em.”
There was an awkward second of pause. I think that was probably about the time in the interview she decided to try to make a point. “Well, it’s interesting you bring that up because some reporting indicates that you dressed Taiwanese civilians up like U.S. soldiers to trick the Chinese into thinking that your force had not left Pinglin. Is that true?”
I didn’t know whether the detail was classified, but it didn’t seem like there was anything to gain by hiding the truth. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Isn’t that a violation of the rules of war?” she asked.
“If the Chinese didn’t want to face seventy-year-old Taiwanese women with assault rifles, they should have just stayed in China.” I managed to keep a straight face.