William Weber - Turning the Tide

For some reason, John hadn’t wanted to believe Phoenix existed, let alone that he or she was behind this, but so far everything he’d seen pointed in that direction.

It was still early dawn when they left the crime scene, but already the town was in full swing. Soldiers and citizens were moving house to house in search of Huan. If they could recapture the Chinese pilot they might be able to learn Phoenix’s true identity. John was still busy overseeing the search when Rodriguez found him.

“They need you back at headquarters,” he said.

“Have they found her?”

“No, but General Dempsey’s on the radio and he wants to speak with the senior leadership.”

The radio room was packed by the time John arrived. General Brooks and Colonel Higgs were already there along with Moss and Ray Gruber. They’d started without him.

“Congratulations again on a fine operation,” General Dempsey said. “We’re getting reports the Chinese support infrastructure’s been crippled for nearly a two-thousand-square-mile radius.”

“It was touch and go for a while,” General Brooks said, taking the glory without batting an eyelash. “But we managed to pull it off.”

Moss glanced over at John and shook his head with disgust. It seemed Brooks’ sneaky move to take credit for the EMP mission was even beneath him.

Truth be told, John didn’t care. The important part was limiting the enemy’s ability to wage war and he had done that. If Brooks was positioning himself to tack another star on his helmet, that wasn’t going to lose John any sleep. He had his time in Iraq for that.

“The Chinese are well dug in right now along our front lines,” Dempsey said. “We’ve estimated their strength at close to a million men. American reinforcements and stockpiles of fuel are moving up every day from the east, but just not fast enough. Not to mention what’s left of our air assets, which we’re keeping grounded until we can deploy them to full effect.”

“General, does that mean you’re postponing the attack?” John asked from the back.

“That you, Colonel Mack?”

“It is, sir.”

“I won’t feel comfortable committing our boys until we outnumber them by at least two to one.”

John closed his eyes in disbelief. “Sir, are you not worried that this might be our only opportunity to strike the Chinese when they’re so vulnerable?”

“I am, but I think you’re overstepping a little, Colonel.” Dempsey sounded defensive. He probably wasn’t accustomed to entertaining alternative points of view.

“I tend to agree with the general on this,” Brooks said, predictably. “If our attack should fail, then we risk losing what little we have left.”

“And if we do nothing, then the Chinese will eventually find the men they need to push through whether we like it or not.”

“I won’t commit,” Dempsey told them, “unless I know their supply lines are virtually incapable of moving men and materiel to the front.”

John was beginning to worry they had another General McClelland on their hands. It was said that if the famous Civil War general outnumbered the enemy three to one, he’d swear he couldn’t attack unless he had ten-to-one odds.

What the Americans needed was a commander from the Ulysses S. Grant school of warfare. Someone who wasn’t afraid of sending men into battle, who could push the enemy back on his heels and then once he broke pursue him until he was destroyed. That was the strategy that had worn down the Confederacy and helped win the Civil War.

It didn’t matter that that war happened over a hundred and fifty years ago. Technology might have changed, but by and large, people didn’t. A Union soldier’s terror as he stared down the gleaming barrels of Confederate rifles on the fields of Antietam was the same fear American GIs faced coming under fire in the jungles of Vietnam.

The meeting went on for another few minutes, but John had largely tuned it out. General Dempsey’s mind was made up and nothing would change that. Not surprisingly, there was no mention of Huan’s escape or their suspicions that Phoenix was behind it. John suspected that General Brooks was covering himself. Seemed these top brass guys spent far too much time playing politics and too little time playing general. He wanted to remind the man that positioning oneself for high-ranking office wouldn’t mean much if they lost the war.

After they were done and everyone left, General Brooks paused briefly on his way out.

“Next time, Colonel Mack, I suggest you show a little more respect for your senior commanders. You may think you’re a big shot after that EMP stunt, but anyone can be demoted.”

“I’m not interested in rank,” John replied. “I just want my country back.”

Brooks walked away without responding. At last the room was empty when Moss came back in.

“I think it’s time for a haircut,” John said, in a vain attempt at humor.

“I’ll consider it,” Moss replied. “Listen, some of these guys couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag.”

“Maybe,” John said. “But they’re the ones in charge, not us. I’m afraid our hands are tied.”

“Are they?” Moss replied, one eyebrow cocked.

“What are you getting at?”

“The general said himself he wouldn’t budge until he was sure the Chinese supply lines were broken.”

John scratched his chin. “You’re talking guerrilla warfare.”

“I’m saying hit them where they least expect it.” Moss was growing more excited. The veins in his neck were bulging.

“But we don’t have enough fuel for any kind of armored convoy,” John said before his eyes lit up. “But we do have something else. How many horses we have at the stables?”

“Don’t know. A dozen, maybe more.”

“That’s how we’ll move around,” John said, working out the logistical requirements.

“Like Jeb Stuart,” Moss shouted. “I’m gonna need to find me an old cavalry hat.”

A Confederate cavalry commander during the Civil War, Jeb Stuart had been known for his daring raids around Union lines, capturing supplies and harassing Union troops.

John shook his head. “Unfortunately, we may have to aim somewhere closer to Bloody Bill Anderson.”

“The guy Jesse James fought with during the war?”

“Yes, and it sickens me to even think of acting in such a way, but those PLA soldiers need to fear us worse than death itself. With any luck, we might be able to reach out to other pockets of resistance. Many of them lack any sort of direction. If we can help motivate and transform them from being a nuisance into a nightmare, we can stop the Chinese dead in their tracks.”

Rodriguez appeared just then.

“What now?” John asked. “Tell me you have some good news for once.”

Smiling, Rodriguez said, “Some soldiers from the 3rd Infantry Division have just showed up. They said they were routed down near Oak Ridge and won’t be able to make it back to friendly territory. A bunch of them talk about Oneida like it’s some sort of oasis.”

“I suppose it is,” John said. “Moss, you’ll need to set them up at the high-school barracks with the other soldiers and check with Diane to make sure our food supplies are okay.”

“Will do.”

Rodriguez went to leave and then spun around. “Oh, nearly forgot. That first batch of leaflets are done. Billy Ray and some redhead soldier named O’Brien are flying out shortly to drop them over the Jonesboro concentration camp.”

The news was good indeed and John smiled. Not simply with the hope that Gregory and Brandon might see they hadn’t been forgotten. But for another reason. An idea had just occurred to him. One that might devastate the Chinese supply lines and give General Dempsey exactly what he was looking for.