The hovertank’s main weapon was a high-velocity 76mm cannon firing rocket-assisted shells. The cannon was self-loading, while the hovertank’s crew of three drove the vehicle, manned the cannon, and commanded. A 12.7mm machine gun in the commander’s copula provided anti-infantry support. The armor was a lightweight sandwich of ceramic/ultraluminum, with an explosive skin that helped retard shape-charged rounds. A bubble of bullet-resistant plastic over the commander’s hatch gave him some small-arms protection whenever he rode “heads-up.” It also kept the hovertank’s heat from dissipating into the arctic night. Power came from a diesel Qang 2000 with a turbo supercharger for cold-weather starts.
The Americans had nothing like the Leopard Z-6. It moved swiftly onto the pack ice, showing its greatest asset: speed.
Several kilometers later, as it traveled north and farther onto the ice, the hovertank slowed and then stopped, rocking slightly as it maintained its position on a cushion of air. Slowly, the military vehicle sank as its armored skirt shuddered, touching down when its hidden but powerful fans stopped.
Moments passed until a side-hatch opened. A heavily-bundled and short General Shin Nung squeezed through. In his awkward snow boots, he used the ladder, climbing down to the ice. He wore a fur-lined hood like a Yakut native, the Siberian cousin to the Alaskan Eskimos. The general was fifty-nine years old and a hero of the Siberian War. His armored thrust had captured Yakutsk and effectively ended the conflict.
General Nung was the commander of the coming cross-polar attack. His face tingled in the cold. He had blunt features and an aggressive stare. In his youth, he had studied six long years at the Russian Military Academy in Moscow. It had been a lonely existence, and too many of the high command in China still thought of him as half-Russian. What made it worse was that he continually achieved success through his adherence to headlong attack as the Russians taught. He had many enemies in high command, but the Chairman backed him. That was all the influence he needed.
General Nung surveyed the polar landscape, the seemingly featureless pack ice that spanned the ocean all the way to Alaska.
Another man now squeezed through the hovertank’s hatch. He, too, wore arctic clothing and a hood, but was taller and much older than General Nung. He was Marshal Kao, and he was the Army Minister of the Ruling Committee, only recently arrived from Beijing. He had told Nung he was here to speak personally with the commanding general so he could give an eyewitness report to the Chairman on the taskforce’s readiness.
The hovertank’s arc lights provided the only illumination here, as clouds hid the moon and stars.
Old Marshal Kao shivered.
That brought a contemptuous smile to General Nung’s lips. The arrogant mandarin needed to feel the cold he was sending them into. If he didn’t like the temperature, the old man should have covered his sculptured features. Nung turned away, no longer wanting to see the weakness there. Despite the marshal’s age, Kao had aesthetic features like some over-bred palace prince. Everyone knew he used botox injections to erase the lines in his face. Worse, he was known for his artistic leanings. Nung had seen some of Kao’s paintings before. He’d walked in the marshal’s house along with others. The disgusting memory still soiled him. He’d wanted to rip the paintings off the walls, open his fly and piss all over them in front of the others. Imagine, a military man dabbling with paints, with a little brush as he stroked here and touched there. It had been revolting.
How can I reason with a painting marshal? It’s impossible. Yet, for the sake of my men, I must try.
Nung breathed through his nose, feeling the cold tingle. He loved the challenge of this attack. If only these delicate types would let a military genius like him do what needed doing, he’d win Alaska for them. Boldness. Courage. Vigor. That is what won wars. That’s what had led him to capturing Yakutsk with a handful of tanks. At least the Chairman understood. Nung knew that he was uniquely qualified for the present task. He was the right man in the right place at the right time to achieve glory…for China as well as for himself.
“It’s freezing,” said Kao.
With his back to the Army Minister, Nung sneered.
You should have stayed in Beijing with your paints. Don’t come out here in the cold if you don’t want to do a soldier’s job.
“I have waited until now to inform you of another facet to your assault,” Kao said. “It is the reason I agreed to this trip onto the ice.”
General Nung turned around, facing the taller man and the hovertank.
“The Chairman fears some of the men may lose heart as they cross thousands of kilometers of ice to Alaska,” Kao said.
“My men?” asked Nung, sounding genuinely surprised. He’d been training them for months in Arctic warfare.
Marshal Kao affected a one-sided smile. It was said he practiced his mannerisms before a mirror several hours a day.
“During the assault you cannot be everywhere at once, General. Besides, the Chairman doesn’t want you shooting personnel when you’ll possibly need everyone in the taskforce to complete your mission.”
Nung bristled at the insult. He knew the painter considered himself more cultured—and therefore more Chinese and superior to him. Didn’t the old man realize that they were out on the pack ice? The tankers in the hover were some of his most loyal men. The desire to break this mandarin with his bare hands…Nung could see himself chopping a hole in the ice and sliding the marshal’s corpse into the freezing waters. He’d heard that’s what a Russian noble had once done to Rasputin, a strange political creature in the czar’s household during World War One. After putting Kao into Arctic storage, he would concoct a story how the minister had strolled over treacherous ice. That would shock those in high command.
“Commissar Ping with ten operatives from East Lightning will join your taskforce,” Kao said.
“What?” Nung whispered. His fantasies dissolved as anger took over.
“The Chairman believes that morale is all important in war. The soldier whose heart remains strongest will always be the victor.”
“Does the Chairman doubt my heart?” asked Nung.
The older man stared at him, as if he had not heard the question.
“What is the meaning of sending Ping and his killers with me?” Nung asked.
“The Police Minister suggested the move and the Chairman agreed.”
Blood rushed to Nung’s face. He swayed, and he flexed his gloved fingers. “Why taint an Army mission with policemen?”
“Yes, it seems unnatural. It almost seems…Russian,” Kao said. “Ah, you maintain your silence. How Chinese of you, General.”
Nung’s head swayed as if slapped. How dare this old goat say such a thing to him—to him, a hero of the Siberian War. He had been the only commanding officer to receive an Order of Mao Medallion.
“Who ended the war in Siberia?” Nung asked thickly.
“Ah, yes,” said Kao. “Your famous armor thrust to Yakutsk. Surely, you must understand that the war was winding down. You used your men to earn fame, gunning down several of your own soldiers. You hounded them in order to reach Yakutsk before Bingwen’s column.”