Jake had never felt more like an ant than today. What had it been? A lifetime ago, maybe, that he’d ridden across the Trans-Siberian railroad. Now, over two months later and almost down the length of Manchuria, he crawled through Daoyizhen, a suburb of Shenyang. Once, people had called the place Mukden. But times changed and so did city names.
Dust coated the inside of his mouth and his face felt oven-hot, especially his forehead. Fires raged to his left, some oil refining facility and extra blocks thrown in. Filthy smelling, black smoke funneled up into the sky. It was as if an oil-storm was building to rain acid and gas down on their heads. The sun had taken a vacation several days ago, the same with the stars. Foul smoke that coated his lungs drifted over them like doom.
Jake crawled on his belly through rubble. Mostly, that was Daoyizhen these days, an alien place reeking of death and destruction. Artillery, missiles and tank shells had knocked down nine-tenths of the buildings and started a hundred fires. A lot of those had guttered out. Some left hills of ash and charred brick. If you dug into those block-sized heaps, you soon found glowing coals that radiated baking heat.
“Send in the infantry! Let’s make the final push!” The cries rang throughout the US 3rd Army Group. The big boys wanted Shenyang, don’t you know. It would show the Chinese who ran Manchuria, America’s badass soldiers.
Only Jake didn’t feel so tough after months of slogging, shooting, hurting, grunting and killing. Their little outfit had received a few extra warm bodies from the States. That meant two new men in their squad.
Jake ran it now. The company captain had bumped him up to sergeant. It meant more responsibilities and headaches. With the two newbies, the squad went from seven to nine grunts, still understrength but better than before.
Rising to his hands and knees, Jake hurried to Chet and Grant. Grant lay at the edge of the machine gun pit, with a pair of binoculars glued to his eyes. Chet manned the fifty caliber, waiting for the lieutenant’s signal.
Jake squatted beside Chet. Fires raged to his left and a moonscape of rubble and skeleton buildings spread out to his right. Through that slithered two companies of US Marines. Before them, a stretch of upward-sloping open ground came to a massive factory several city blocks long. It was a castle full of stubborn enemy, a monster place made of heavily reinforced concrete and steel, almost impervious to artillery and missile fire. Sure, there were a couple of gaping holes in those walls. It just gave the Chinese sappers over there something to fire their mortars through—they used them as direct fire weapons now.
If the Marines and US Army could take the Daoyizhen Bulldozer Works, the good guys would essentially have the suburb. Then it would be time to think about making the final approach on Shenyang. Once they owed old Mukden, they would have the last provincial capital of Manchuria. Then the gateway to Beijing would magically open and the Russians would sow on a new pair of balls, and they could finish this war for good.
“I don’t see no one,” Grant said.
“They’re there,” Chet said. With his elbow, he nudged Jake. “You know, long ago when I lived at home, I used to hunt rabbits.”
Grant lowered his binoculars, glancing back.
“Yup,” Chet said, getting a faraway look. “I had a pellet gun in those days, not this beauty. You grabbed the barrel and pushed, cranking it once to load it with air. Then I’d slip in a little pellet and snap the barrel shut. I roamed by dad’s place. It was in southern California. I remember hunting those sneaky rabbits. They bred like flies and ate everything. The rabbits loved a big gully, the border of my dad’s land. Beyond the gully was a vast cactus plant, two, three hundred feet long.”
“That’s big,” Grant said.
“It was huge,” Chet said, “probably been growing since the time of the dinosaurs. Behind the cactuses was a chain-link fence and then the neighbors’ back yards. Anyway, I’d crouch in the grass across our side of the gully and just stare at the cactuses. I’d say to myself, ‘Chet, you know there’s a rabbit frozen there, watching you with its beady eye.’ That’s what rabbits do sometimes. They freeze, hoping you won’t see them. Well, I’d just scan and scan, and all of a sudden, I’d see a rabbit eye watching me. I felt like an Apache then, a tracker no rabbit could trick. Then I’d lift my pellet gun and shoot the sneaky bastard.”
“How about that,” Grant said.
“Don’t you see?” Chet asked him.
Grant shrugged picked up the binoculars and scanned the Daoyizhen Bulldozer Works. After a time, he said, “I see a glint. Bet it’s a Chinaman’s rifle.”
“Where is it?” Chet asked. “When this show gets started, I’ll give the fools some American love.”
Jake’s link crackled in his ear. With a touch, he activated his throat-microphone.
“Sergeant,” Lieutenant Wans said.
“Here, sir,” Jake whispered.
“There’s been a change in plans. The space boys want a crack at the plant.”
“THORs, sir?” Jake asked.
“They’re supposed to strike in ten minutes. Afterward, the Marines will go in.”
“Sounds good,” Jake said. “I’ll pass that along.”
“High Command wants to take Daoyizhen. They wouldn’t be using THORs otherwise.”
“Got it,” Jake said.
The lieutenant grunted over the link. They used to wish each other luck several weeks ago, but no one did that anymore. No one talked about it, but the feeling was the platoon had run out of good luck a long time ago. Asking God for it or even wishing it on another would only bring bad luck.
Jake told his boys the news, and they waited. Ten minutes seemed to last forever. It was funny, or not so much. Take your pick. Before a firefight, time seemed to stand still. During combat, time raced at hyper-speed. Afterward, nothing mattered except that you’d lived through another journey in Hell.
“It’s started,” the lieutenant said over the link.
Jake looked up, but of course he couldn’t see anything through the oily rich smoke. The minutes lengthened, stretched and— “Don’t have a visual of this,” the lieutenant said. “But we’re hearing that Chinese particle beam stations got the—wait. We may have one THOR on its way.”
Jake looked up just in time to see an American-made meteor smash through the smoke cloud. The twenty-pound crowbar left a luminous trail. Then the dense uranium rod crashed through the roof of the Daoyizhen Bulldozer Works. The rod struck the ground, and the white-hot uranium vapor it had left behind ignited. That produced a terrific incendiary blast. Jake watched in amazement. The entire three-block building shook as if an earthquake had struck. The blast billowed upward, a column of fire shooting out of the Bulldozer Works. A thunderous boom washed over Jake, Chet and Grant, along with a wave of heat.
Seconds later, Jake heard the lieutenant shouting at him through the link. Glancing at the assembly area, Jake saw the body-armored Marines climb to their feet. He saw one Marine with a US flag sewn onto the back of his pack. The assault troopers began their race to the Bulldozer Factory.
Jake slapped Chet on the shoulder. His friend glanced at Jake, who pointed. In a second, Chet gripped the butterfly controls of his heavy machine gun. He shouted at Grant, but the man probably couldn’t hear him yet because of the noise of the THOR blast.
Jake grabbed Grant by the collar and yanked him out of the way. At the same time, Chet aimed his love and pressed his thumbs down. The bullets reached upslope and hammered the spot where Grant had seen the rifle glint earlier.
All along the line in the rubble, other heavy machine guns gave the assault troopers covering fire.
The THOR must have killed enemy soldiers, but it hadn’t broken the rest. Chinese assault rifles, grenade launchers and even some mortars opened up. Marines went down, hit. Others kept going.