William Weber - Turning the Tide

“That should read colonel,” Liang said. “He’s been promoted.”

“What are the Rough Riders?” Zhang asked, scanning the page.

“Apparently it’s the name they’ve given their particular insurgency group.”

Zhang smiled. “Sounds like something from a western.”

Returning the gesture, the general said, “I assumed the same thing. They’re in love with that bygone era and fail to see the future even when it’s staring them in the face. I want him and his men caught. Dead or alive. Either one is acceptable. And when you’re done, Mack’s corpse will be displayed as a warning to anyone who dares stand against us.”

Down in the ring, the kung-fu fighter threw a spinning back kick. The move was caught by the American, who swept his legs out from under him. The larger man then fell on top of his small, but agile foe, slowly working him into a choke hold.

The sound of the Asian man’s neck snapping stunned the crowd into silence. Their surprise was so complete that the smirk on Liang’s face went unnoticed by those around him. It was the look of a man who was heading for a winning streak.

The light from an oil lamp flickered off the walls of the Rough Rider headquarters. In the planning room, John, Moss and Specialist Heller, the explosives expert from Alpha squad, were pouring over maps of Lenoir City, Tennessee, an area south of Oak Ridge and west of Knoxville. A section of the Norfolk Southern Railway line ran through the town, hugging the Little Tennessee River on its way to Knoxville. John followed it with his finger until he came to a turn in the rail line.

“This is where we’ll set the IEDs,” he told them.

“On a curve?” Moss asked, moving closer to get a better look at the map.

“Always,” John told him. “First off, it’ll give us the best chance of derailing the train.”

Heller’s eyes lit up. “And second, there are plenty more straight tracks than curved ones so repair will be more difficult.”

“Precisely. We’ll wire up three mortars buried beneath the tracks and attached to a pressure plate. As soon as the Chinese steam engine rolls over it, the IEDs will blow and derail the train along with its supply cars.” John glanced over his notes. “Only six of us will be going on this one.”

“What about the others?” Moss asked.

“I’ve got another Rough Rider team under Hoffman heading east toward Johnson City to take out a low-level Chinese general. Another group is going west to attack a North Korean checkpoint dressed as Chinese soldiers.”

“You found the uniforms?” Moss asked.

John shook his head. “Sort of. We decided to use what we pulled off the dead Chinese soldiers who attacked the town. It took a bit of mix-and-matching, but I think it turned out all right.”

Heller didn’t look convinced. “Don’t you think they’ll be able to tell Americans from their own people?”

“No one at the checkpoint will be left alive to talk about it, but we’ve picked a place where there’ll be plenty of witnesses. From a distance, all they’ll see are Chinese uniforms.”

Nodding, Moss said, “You want the North Koreans to think the Chinese are giving them payback for failing to stop the attack on the truck depot and the concentration camp.”

“Bingo. Listen, they may not totally buy it, but I wanna plant a seed of doubt in their minds. Anything we can do to drive a wedge into this fragile alliance only works in our favor.”

A knock came at the door and John pulled it open to find Gregory. He checked his watch, seeing that it was nearly eleven at night. “I thought you were asleep?”

“I tried. Kept tossing and turning.”

John glanced back at Moss and Heller. “I’m kinda in the middle of something important, bud. There’s a couch over there. Why don’t you lie down and try to get some rest.”

Gregory did and John couldn’t help but wonder if the horrifying images of what he’d seen at the camp were keeping his son from sleeping.

As the meeting resumed, the look of unabashed optimism on Moss’ face was almost contagious. “You know me, boss, I’m about as skeptical as they come, but I’m starting to feel like we may have a real chance of winning this thing.”

John nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“I mean, that meeting we had with General Brooks. Australia and New Zealand helping us in the Pacific. The NATO landings. We aren’t alone anymore.”

John let out a sigh as he rearranged the papers on the desk.

“What is it?”

“Heller, will you excuse us for a moment?” John said.

“Sure thing,” the specialist replied, confused. “I’ll start putting those pressure plates together.”

When he left the room, Moss took a step back, his body stiffening as though John were about to lay into him.

“There’s something you need to know about that meeting with Brooks,” John said.

“I don’t like that look on your face.”

“The intel on the war in the Pacific is accurate, but that NATO force…” John trailed off.

“What are you saying?” Moss asked. It looked like he’d just been kicked in the gut.

“I’m saying I’ve heard from other sources the landing in Halifax isn’t nearly what Brooks made it out to be. It’s far closer to the Dieppe raid than it is to D-Day. We know and trust each other, which is why I’m telling you this. I just didn’t want you getting your hopes too high.”

“But why feed us a bunch of lies?” Moss said, baring his teeth. “And don’t feed me a line about morale and propaganda.”

“It is, in part,” John admitted. “It’s also about making sure everyone’s on the same team.”

“But we caught Phoenix,” Moss almost pleaded and then paused. “You mean there might be more spies?”

“I don’t think so,” John said. “But Brooks is just making sure.”

Another knock at the door and this time Moss was the one who answered it.

Henry looked up at them, his shoulders drooping. “I’ve got some bad news.”

“There’s a shocker,” Moss spat.

“We’ve just got some intel that the team you sent to plant IEDs along I-40 have been killed.”

John felt the blood drain from his cheeks. “Any word how it happened?” he asked, his fingers curling into tight fists.

“We’ve only got one army translator, but from the bits of chatter we’re picking up, it sounds like they were taken out by Chinese special forces.”

John tapped an index finger on the map table. “Okay, Henry. Thank you.” His radio operator turned to leave when John called him back. “Keep this between us for now, will you? I wouldn’t want this sort of news getting out.”

A hint of reluctance showed on Henry’s face before he acknowledged the order and closed the door behind him.

“It was only a question of time,” John told his number two, “before they brought in counter-insurgency teams.”

“Those are the risks,” Moss replied. “But do you really think keeping it a secret is the best play? We’ve already got a handful of top people thinking the cavalry’s on its way from Halifax harbor to help turn things in our favor. Have we become a nation of folks who lie for the greater good? I mean, the EMP was a horrible thing to happen, but it’s given us another shot at starting over. At doing it right this time.”

“America didn’t invent state secrets, Moss. As much as the world likes to blame us for everything that goes wrong around the globe, this game’s been going on for thousands of years. Revolutions have been fought over the centuries to overthrow elements of human nature we can’t change. The Russians tried in vain to end inequality by ushering in a system that failed to take into account the realities of what makes us tick. Whether we like it or not, each of us is controlled by our emotions. Before the EMP a huge chunk of the population voted for new presidents based on how they looked and a few choice soundbites. If he’d been born decades later, a wheelchair-bound president like Franklin D. Roosevelt would have faced a resounding defeat. So you’re right. We do have a chance to change things, but we can’t change the wiring deep down. People need hope and sometimes you need to keep that flame from going out by withholding the bad news and exaggerating the good.” John grew quiet for a moment before he said, “I wish I could say more, but you’ll understand soon enough.”