It wasn’t a terribly impressive card to play. The F-15s were capable airplanes, but they were old. The first F-15 entered service in the Air Force in 1976—53 years ago. The design is older than me, for Christ’s sake, and at that moment in the command center, I felt older than dirt. Advanced Chinese fighters like the J-31 would tear our air support to pieces if they got a chance. And, of course, the whole point of the fog was to make air support less effective.
I asked Brown, “Any other tricks for the attack, sir?”
“Just one,” Brown said unctuously. “The best damn soldiers in the world — the Airborne!”
I tried to restrain my anger. Now was not the time to get angry over some dumb fake bravado. “Sir, I think I might be able to come up with some additional tricks if you give me some time. As the commanding officer of the reserves, I must ask that you hold off ordering this attack until I have a proper opportunity to plan the assault.”
Brown cut me off. “Colonel Concitor, you will not be leading this attack. I am not using your precious reserves. The soldiers currently holding the Coffee Line will initiate the attack. You’re sitting this one out.”
Though there was a clear tone of hostility in Brown’s words, the idea that the reserves would not be carrying out the attack was more baffling than insulting. All of the other American soldiers in Citadel were needed to secure the defenses. “Then who is going to carry out this attack?”
“I will,” Brown declared theatrically. “The soldiers now occupying the Coffee Line will retake Teatime Hill. This is going to be the daring blow that wins the war for us.”
“Will you command from the field, sir?” I queried.
“No,” Brown admitted. “Captain Williams will be empowered to convey my orders to the attacking force.”
For a second, my mind went blank. Who was Captain Williams? Then I realized that he was talking about Lieutenant Williams, my aide. “When did Williams become a captain?”
“I’ve awarded Lieutenant Williams a battlefield promotion to captain,” Brown said.
Why would he promote some kid barely out of ROTC to lead his attack? I thought. As I’d witnessed when he had collapsed in fear during the bayonet attack, Williams was still very green. He wouldn’t have much instinct about what to say to the soldiers, when to push the attack, or… when to decide that retreat was the only way to save his command.
Oh. I instantly felt ill, knowing that that had to be the reason for the battlefield promotion. The more experienced company commanders would know that this attack was a fool’s errand. They’d either refuse to lead it or figure out a way to limit damages by orchestrating an orderly retreat. But Williams, flush with the victory of his promotion, would mindlessly push the assault beyond reason.
Not only was the attack a foolish plan, it was grossly cruel. I owed it to Williams to do whatever I could to stop it.
“Sir, can I speak to you in private for a moment?” I asked.
Brown followed me into a side office, and I shut the door behind us. I took a deep breath, knowing how many lives might depend on me being calm and convincing at that moment. “Sir, there are many clever aspects to your plan,” I lied, trying for once to kiss ass to get what I wanted. “But it’s too dangerous. The PLA can see through the fog with thermal sensors and the air support is chancy, coming as it does from obsolete aircraft. My strong recommendation would be to call it off, sir.”
Brown surprised me by throwing his head back and giving a sarcastic laugh. He caustically responded, “Don’t be sore just because it won’t be you doing the CNN interviews after this one.”
Ah. The situation became much clearer. The attack was Brown taking a shot at glory. He was blinded with jealousy that the officer he hated so much was becoming famous and he was not.
Calmly, I replied, “Sir, I will call every reporter at CNN and tell them that your planning was responsible for the victory over Colonel Fong earlier. I will tell them I selfishly leaked that I had been the commander just to deprive you of your deserved credit. Just don’t order this attack, sir. I promise you, sir, it will fail.”
Shaking his head, Brown said, “Don’t betray your self-importance, colonel. I’m not ordering this attack to steal your thunder. The attack is based on a sound evaluation of the strategic situation. We need to keep up the pressure on the Chinese, and this is the best way to do it.”
With that, Brown threw the office door open and walked back into the command center. Over his shoulder, he said to me, “Get some popcorn, colonel. The attack is launching in ten minutes, and I promise it’ll be quite a show.”
I couldn’t let him walk away without trying again. Even with our victories, the situation in Citadel was precarious. Taiwanese intelligence estimated that the PLA outnumbered us at least ten to one already, and the advantage could be as much as twenty to one by tomorrow. Every Airborne soldier was vital, and Brown was getting ready to send a quarter of them on a suicide mission.
“General Brown,” I said loudly, trying to get the rest of the staff in on the conversation. “You’re throwing our soldiers against a larger force of veterans who will see them coming on thermal goggles.”
Brown tried to talk over me, telling me to shut up, but I just raised my voice further. “The air support is unreliable. This attack isn’t going to work. You’re going to throw away the war and the lives of our soldiers on a fool’s errand!” I had to almost scream the last two words over Brown, who was shouting at me to get out.
“Guard, get this asshole out of my command center!” Brown said.
A private, looking confused, walked up, rifle in hand. “Please, colonel…” he trailed off.
“Shit,” I said, defeated. I walked out of the room, grabbing my own rifle on the way out. I ran down the street back to the elementary school where the reserves had set up camp. A shot rang out from Teatime Hill, smacking into the street behind me. Some Chinese sniper with a thermal scope had decided to try to take out a senior American officer through the fog. I barely missed a stride, moving over to the left side of the street so that the buildings would give me cover from Teatime Hill.
I was trying to think of a plan. The attack would start in minutes; if there was any way to stop it, I’d have to figure it out quickly.
Williams might listen. I’d known him for more than a year. Williams wasn’t a natural soldier; he was just doing his time in the Army in exchange for the ROTC scholarship. He was a science geek. He should be willing to disobey an order that would most likely result in his death.
I turned left, heading down a small side street toward the Coffee Line. It was hard to remember where things were in the fog, and for a second I had a nightmarish vision of wandering the side streets until it was too late, missing the opportunity to save the day.
A voice sounded to my right, stopping me dead in my tracks. “Who the hell’s running around? Did I tell you shits to move?” A sergeant emerged from one of the buildings and started saying, “I swear to everything holy, I am going to break—” He stopped when he saw the eye patch and realized who I was. “Jesus, sir, sorry about that, didn’t know it was you.”
“Where’s Williams?” I asked, ignoring the sergeant’s apology.
The sergeant jerked a thumb behind his back. “He’s a few buildings over that way, sir. Take a right at the next intersection, then a left—”
I wasn’t about to play Where in the World is Lieutenant Williams in the fog. “You just take me to him, sergeant. Right now.”
“Uh, sure, sir, I can take you over that way if you’d like.” He started lightly jogging down the street.