William Weber - Turning the Tide

John knew this wasn’t a time for rash emotional decisions. Brooks was right to work the spy and perhaps if they were lucky, they might even be able to convince him to swap sides.

Moss slapped the table hard. “You know, I still can’t believe that David Newbury sold us out. His intel on the camp was really accurate.”

“That is true,” John told them. “I also have to say our attack took the North Koreans completely by surprise.”

“And I believe there’s a very good reason for that,” General Brooks replied, removing the demo IED and placing it back in the box at his feet. “We’ve come to understand that there are rifts between the members of the Eastern Alliance. The Chinese hold the North Koreans in contempt and the Russians feel the same way about both of their Asian allies.”

“There might be an opportunity to exploit that,” John said, rubbing the three-day-old stubble on his chin. Neither he nor Moss had shaved in days.

“With the attack on the concentration camp, I believe you already have,” Brooks replied. “The goal now is to push that even further.”

“If we can get our hands on some Chinese army uniforms,” Moss said, “and attack a North Korean outpost, then we may be able to do just that.”

“I’ll bring some members of the 3rd Infantry Division into the Rough Riders and put them in charge of that,” John said. As much as he would like to, he couldn’t be part of every single operation they launched. He would need to delegate command to subgroups of operatives, as he’d done with the IED team.

Ray cleared his throat, still pink around the neck from his impassioned plea for Phoenix’s execution. “If you’re looking for a juicy target, I may have picked up something of interest.”

Ripples appeared on General Brooks’ brow. “What’s your source?”

“I got a little shortwave in the shed behind my house. One I was using back when Oneida was trying to warn other communities about the danger of fifth columnists like The Chairman. Even built my own Faraday cage and everything.” Ray glanced up and saw the impatience on the faces around him. “Anyway, one of the contacts I made near Los Angeles harbor told me yesterday he saw a large supply shipment being sent east by rail. Must be at least a dozen trains loaded with armor and fuel set to run through the Midwest all the way to Knoxville. I should be able to find out what line they’re on. Some of those IEDs you’re making might come in handy.” Ray grinned widely, exposing the fillings in his back molars.

John and the others were impressed.

“And here I was convinced you were an aspiring stand-up comedian,” Moss quipped.

Ray let out a hearty laugh. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Sounds promising,” Brooks said and turned to John. “I want you to put together a plan as soon as possible.”

John nodded and made a note.

The general motioned to Higgs. The colonel went to the door and made sure it was closed. “Before we wrap this meeting up,” Brooks said, “I want to share some news I recently learned from General Dempsey. Our 3rd and 7th Fleets in the Pacific were not destroyed by the enemy as we originally feared. When the EMP struck, they were both docked in Australian ports, where they stayed for several months, unable to make contact with home. Apparently returns from Alice Springs’ over-the-horizon radar indicated a massive surge of activity along the eastern coast of China. The CIA and NSA agents in Pine Springs at the time were quick to reach out to the governments of Australia and New Zealand on behalf of the United States, suspecting correctly that our capital and the country’s nerve center had been destroyed. Retrofitting the ships to use GLONASS satellite navigation gave our men the eyes they needed to begin planning a counterattack. From there the joint navies of America, Australia and New Zealand set out to retake the Pacific and cut off the Eastern Alliance’s lines of supply from the sea.”

“Heck, it’s about time,” Moss said excitedly.

“All we know so far is that we’ve had some small victories and suffered losses. The battles in the Pacific continue to rage at this very moment and as I get more information, I’ll be sure to pass it along.”

Henry put his hand up. “Can I include this in my daily broadcast for The Voice of Freedom ?”

“I was hoping you would,” Brooks replied with enthusiasm. “But what I’m about to tell you gentlemen next can’t leave this room. Last night at approximately 0600 hours, a large NATO force landed near Halifax and took the port, opening a new front to the north. As the reinforcements from our European allies begin to flow, it should relieve some of the pressure on our boys along the Appalachians. It still isn’t clear whether that NATO force will move west against the Russians or south to threaten the Chinese left flank.”

Either way it didn’t matter. America was no longer standing alone and the cheers that went up were so loud and spontaneous, General Brooks struggled to quiet them down. “It’s important we keep this under wraps for now,” he told them. “The Chinese are struggling to get their communications and supply lines back up and running. We’d hate to leak news of a surprise attack and ruin the whole thing.”

General Wei Liang peered down from the VIP box at the fighting spectacle organized for the entertainment of his men. The improvised ring and stands, finished late last night, now contained nearly ten thousand PLA soldiers, enjoying some time away from the front lines. In the ring was a top kung-fu martial artist flown in from Hong Kong. Against him was an American POW Liang had had shipped up from one of the camps in Alabama. The American was bigger, of course, but what the Asian fighter lacked in strength, he more than made up for in speed and technique. Regardless, this would be an interesting battle and one that would help to feed Liang’s itch for gambling. The Chinese fighter was favored six to one and so Liang had discreetly put twenty-five thousand yuan on the American.

The bell had no sooner sounded than the kung-fu fighter charged out, swinging his fists and kicking aggressively. The bulky American backed away, his arms working to block the furious assault.

Just then an unusually tall, handsome Chinese soldier approached the general.

“You asked to see me?” he said, passing Liang’s guards and entering the VIP booth.

Down in the ring, the kung-fu fighter ducked a wild punch from the American and countered with a hammerblow strike to the chest. The crowd went wild.

“Your reputation for quelling anti-Communist uprisings in Tibet precedes you,” General Liang said without averting his eyes from the spectacle. The man next to him was Zhang Shuhong. Six foot two, with chiseled features, he was a special forces commander who, like the general, had come from a humble background in the city of Xinyu, southern China.

“I take pride in my work, sir.”

Confident, but not too cocky. Any more and he would have suspected Zhang was trying to compensate for some hidden insecurity.

Both men watched the fight for a moment in silence. The American wasn’t doing very well and the crowd was loving every minute of it.

“I asked you here to fix a problem for me.”

“Yes, I heard of the attack on Camp Shènglì.” The word meant ‘victory.’ The irony wasn’t lost on either man.

Since the incident, two more camps had been brazenly overrun by American insurgents. Now even more prisoners were on the loose and the escalating problem was beginning to eat up resources Liang couldn’t spare. He’d asked Zhang here to help him stem the bleeding. He handed the commander a folder.

Zhang opened it, reading the first of a series of dossiers. “John Mack. Age forty-five. A retired lieutenant with the 278th Armored Cavalry Regiment.”