Battlefield China

Chapter 17 Operation Gladiator

Brigadier General Sir Nick McCoil had an uneasy feeling in his gut about this mission. On paper it looked superb — a large airfield that jutted out on a small peninsula, easily defendable and ripe for the taking. Suzhou Guangfu Airport was a PLA Air Force base several kilometers west of the city of Suzhou and a kilometer away from Taihu Lake. It had very few approachable angles from the nearby city, and it also boasted a small, higher-elevated ridgeline to the east and north of the airfield, adding to the defensible terrain nearby. However, what General McCoil disliked about this mission was how deep behind enemy lines it would place them.

The plan called for them to capture the base and ready it for Allied use. His airborne force would be required to hold the base and the surrounding territory until the rest of the British and French forces were offloaded at the Yangshan port, 180 kilometers away. Once the tanks and other armored vehicles were ashore, they’d be able to cross the distance in three or four hours and link up with them. At most, his brigade was being asked to hold the position for seventy-two hours.

To augment his brigade, a regiment of French Foreign Legionnaires would be joining them. He hoped having 1,200 zealot-like warriors in addition to his own brigade would bring them luck. The trick to making this jump work was logistics. The Air Force and Navy had to clear a path through the PLA’s surface-to-air missile network. Once that had been achieved, eighty-four British and French Transall C-160 and A400M Atlas transport planes would fly in at varying intervals and begin to offload his brigade and the Legionnaires.

The first units to land would be his pathfinder platoon, a company from the 1st Royal Gurkhas Regiment, or 1RGR, along with most of 2 PARA. While this main force was dropping on the enemy airbase, the regiment of Legionnaires would land at Shangshengcun, three kilometers southeast of the airbase, to set up a blocking position along the main highway at Xiangshanzui. That would effectively isolate the entire southeastern half of the little peninsula the airfield sat on. His company of Gurkhas would advance to the top of the ridgeline at Jiaoli and begin to prepare it for when the rest of 1 RGR arrived in the second wave. The Gurkha battalion would have a several-kilometer vantage point of the surrounding area, giving his brigade plenty of time to spot any enemy formations heading toward them. It would also be one of the first locations the PLA would have to secure if they wanted to recapture the air base.

The second wave of aircraft would be much larger and arrive ninety minutes after the first. This wave would bring with them rest of 3 PARA and the three batteries of 7 Para RHA, giving his brigade eighteen 105mm howitzers for fire support. Three hours after the second wave was scheduled to land, the third wave would bring in the remainder of the brigade along with several air drops of ammunition. Two hours after that, a string of ten American C-17 Globemasters would complete the sortie by drag-dropping ten fully loaded Panhard ERC armored cars on the runway. These French-made 6x6 vehicles packed 90mm main guns, which would act as their light armor support until the main British Army showed up. If the air lanes were still clear, then eighteen hours later, his air taxis would return to offload additional munitions, retrieve his wounded and offload twenty Jackal 4x4 vehicles.

This was by far the riskiest jump any British or French forces had made in the war, and perhaps in their history. The head of British forces in Asia had convinced General Bennet that the mission not only was possible to achieve but would give the Allies a much-needed air and artillery base deep behind enemy lines, with natural barriers for defense. With the sales pitch already made and approved many months ago, it was now incumbent upon General McCoil to execute the plan. Operation Gladiator was a go.

Corporal Jordan Wright had joined the Army at the outbreak of war with Russia. Never in a million years could he have imagined that nearly two years later, he would be jumping out of an airplane, invading the People’s Republic of China. After all the political hoopla going on back home, he and his mates were just glad to be soldiering again and doing what they did best, fight.

The men around him had their faces painted for war and were ready to get the show on the road. Wright was eager too, even if hours of sitting in the back of the A400M Atlas was making his backside hurt like never before.

“Everyone up! It’s time to get ready,” shouted Lieutenant Lou Shay. The platoon sergeant stood next to him and though he didn’t say anything, his look implied that the guys better get a move on fast.

The paratroopers grumbled a little at being roused from their slumber, but at the same time, they were also excited to finally be doing something, anything that would get the blood flowing again to their lower extremities.

Once they started moving, Lieutenant Shay announced, “We’re twenty minutes out! Run through your equipment checks and make sure you’re ready.”

Even though the battalion had seen plenty of combat in Ukraine and Russia already, for many of them, this would be their first combat jump. Corporal Wright looked at the green members with a sort of kind pity; the first one was always a bit unnerving. Here they were flying in the back of a cargo plane, hundreds of kilometers behind enemy lines, hoping the American Air Force and Navy planes had successfully suppressed or destroyed the enemy’s surface-to-air missile systems…and they all knew that SAMs had already cost the Allies dearly in Russia.

Five minutes away from the drop zone, an urgent voice from the front of the plane called out for the lieutenant. He trotted quickly past Corporal Wright, muttering something under his breath as he made his way to the front. Wright watched as the lieutenant poked his head into the cabin. He couldn’t hear what the pilot was exclaiming, but clearly, he was worked up about something. Shay turned to look back at his men, his face as white as a ghost.

“Oh, this isn’t good,” Wright realized.

The lieutenant walked back and faced his platoon. “Quiet down, men!” he shouted. “I have some news to report. The pilots just told me our fighter plane escorts are engaging some enemy fighters in the nearby area. They also told me the aircraft carrying the pathfinder platoon came under heavy enemy ground fire on their drop near the airbase.”

A loud murmur started, and Lieutenant Shay quickly raised his hands in a gesture to try and get everyone to calm down. When they didn’t quiet themselves, he shouted, “Shut up! I’m not done talking yet!

“The pilot said one of the German planes escorting us is currently trying to silence the enemy antiaircraft guns at the airfield. Regardless of whether the Germans are successful or not, we are still jumping! We’re 2 PARA! Ready for anything!” Shay shouted the unit’s motto to try to rile up their spirits.

“He knows we’re jumping into a storm and there’s nothing he can do about it,” Wright realized. At least they could try to make the best of it.

As the lieutenant made his way back to his position near the rear door and his platoon sergeant, Corporal Wright grabbed his arm gently and leaned in. “Damn good speech, Sir. Thank you for giving us the heads-up.”

Shay paused for a second, searching Wright’s expression. “Thanks, Corporal. I’m counting on you and your squad,” he replied. He patted him on the shoulder and then continued down the line of men that made up his platoon.

Turning to the man next to him, Wright said, “Shay’s a fine officer, Flowers.”

Private Nigel Flowers shrugged. “If you say so, Corporal.”

“You know his family’s rich — and I don’t mean well off, I mean like filthy rich, right? Like billionaire rich. He put all of that aside and joined the Army when the war started with Russia. He’s kind of like me. I was a program manager at Google. I was pulling down £160,000 a year before I joined 2 PARA. Of course, my wife nearly divorced me, but now she thinks I look sexy as hell in my uniform with my beret,” Wright added with a wry grin.

Flowers stopped fiddling with part of his gear to look at Wright. “You mean to tell me our lieutenant is rich beyond belief and he put all of that aside to join the 2 PARA? And you gave up a job at Google making more than I’ve made in my entire life up to this point to join the military? You two are both crazy. Me…I got drafted.”

Corporal Wright had taken a liking to Private Flowers. He reminded him of his little brother who had died his senior year of secondary school from cancer. Ever since Wright had been promoted to corporal, he had kept Flowers near him, under his wing so to speak, and the two had been inseparable ever since.

“Hey, Nigel, I didn’t quit Google, I just took a military leave of absence,” Wright said with a smirk. “And like I said before, when this war is over and we all get out of the Army, I’ll get you a gig working on my team at Google. You keep sticking with me, Nigel, and I’ll look out for you.”

Nigel smiled and shook his head. “You’re a class act, Wright. I’m sure glad you left Google to be a part of this; I never would have met you otherwise. I told my mum all about you and how you’ve been looking out for me — she thinks it right nice of you.”

Before either of them could say anything more, the plane banked hard to the right, nearly throwing them all off their feet. While they were trying to catch their balance, a loud explosion overwhelmed their senses, causing them to instinctively guard their ears. Then the plane jostled in the air, like they had hit some bad turbulence. With their hands occupied, several soldiers actually fell over; they scrambled to quickly right themselves.

“Stand by to jump!” shouted the lieutenant. One of the crew chiefs pulled the side door to the aircraft open.

Wright caught the first glimpse of what was happening outside. Strings of green tracers appeared to be flying in all directions, intermixed with small little puffs of black smoke.

Plunk, plunk, crack, crack.

Without warning, several new holes appeared on the walls of the aircraft. One of the men in Second Squad dropped to the floor limp, while another soldier grabbed at his leg and screamed in excruciating pain. Then the crew chief grabbed the lieutenant’s arm and yelled, “Get your men off the plane!”

The lieutenant nodded, but he was obviously worried about his two guys who had just been hit. The jump lights turned green. Without further prodding, the jumpmasters next to the door yelled at the soldiers who had lined up. One by one, the soldiers moved quickly down the line toward the exit. When Corporal Wright made it to the door, he paused for less than a second before launching himself off the aircraft.

Gravity took over. The wind buffeted his face and body, caressing it like a long-lost lover. His chute opened and jerked him hard as it fought against gravity’s inviting pull, slowing his descent in seconds. He looked down at his feet dangling in the air. His ruck was still attached to his drop cord, where it should be. He began to take in his surroundings. At the top of the ridge he and the other Gurkhas were supposed to capture, he spotted the radar station. Nearby, there were at least five Type 85 twin-barrel 23mm antiaircraft guns, firing away at the planes delivering the paratroopers as well as the men dangling from their chutes.

Green tracers from the enemy guns continued to crisscross the morning sky as more and more parachutes opened all around him. It was now a matter of getting enough soldiers on the ground so they could neutralize the threats for the follow-on waves.

He also spotted what appeared to be a four-engine plane, maybe a C-130 cargo plane, that had crashed a couple of kilometers away from the airfield. The thick black smoke added to the surreal scene below him. Closer to the airfield, he spotted several buildings on fire, smoke billowing out of them. On the parking ramp, a few destroyed aircraft were scattered about, and what appeared to be a Eurofighter was burning near the end of the runway.

“That German fighter was probably trying to take some of these antiaircraft guns out,” Wright thought, sad that they hadn’t succeeded in eliminating more of the incoming threats.

Corporal Wright looked ahead where the wind was leading him, to an empty field at the southwestern side of the runway. An orange X had been painted there, and a red smoke signal puffed away.

“At least the landing site hasn’t been destroyed,” Wright mused.

Pulling on the navigation cords of his chute, he angled his chute in that general direction. He suspected the rest of his platoon was doing the same.

To his right and on the opposite end of the runway was another orange X with a purple smoke signal, indicating another safe landing place for those who were closer to that location. Half a kilometer to the east, nestled between two housing complex areas, was another large field also marked by an orange X and a yellow smoke grenade. Clusters of paratroopers circled toward each of the three drop zones the pathfinders had established.

“There were supposed to be two more drop zones,” Corporal Wright thought. Things were really not going according to plan so far.

Once Wright was closer to the ground, he could make out dozens of small figures running toward the DZ from the main buildings of the airfield that hadn’t been destroyed. As he squinted, he saw that some of those figures were pointing weapons at him. The muzzles of those guns began to blink rapidly.

Zip, zap, zip, zap.

Bullets whizzed past his head and all around him. Wright did the best he could to get himself on the ground as quickly as he could. Frantically looking around for help, he spotted a couple of pathfinders shooting at the attackers, doing their best to provide some covering fire for their brethren.

With the ground approaching fast, Wright bent his knees slightly as he prepared for his landing. In seconds he was on the ground, tucking and rolling to his side. Once his momentum had stopped, he quickly unsnapped his chute and rifle case, pulling his SA80 out and slapping a fresh thirty-round magazine in place. With bullets still whipping through the air, Wright quickly found the source. Bringing his rifle to bear, he aimed at the PLA soldier shooting at his comrades. Without another thought, he squeezed the trigger, hitting the enemy soldier squarely in the chest, dropping him where he stood.

His eyes quickly scanned for more targets. The rest of his squad continued to land around him — he needed to buy his guys more time to get on the ground and organized. Running toward what he assumed was one of the pathfinders, he shouted, “Where’s the enemy fire coming from?”

The young private turned to look at him with a bewildered look on his face. “I have no idea, Corporal. I must have hit at least four of the buggers, but more and more keep showing up. I can’t find anyone else in my squad after I got the smoke grenade going.”

Corporal Wright decided it was time to take charge of the situation. He looked back to see who else was ready to move and spotted Private Flowers.

“This way!” he shouted to his friend while waving his arms. Others in his squad heard his voice and ran toward him as well. With nearly a dozen men with him, Corporal Wright turned to the pathfinder.

“Round up our rucks and get them piled up near that cluster of trees over there,” he ordered. “We’ll take over from here.”

The pathfinder nodded, obviously relieved that someone more senior had assumed control, and went about collecting the paratroopers’ rucks while they sought out the enemy.

“Let’s go!” ordered Wright. His little gang of soldiers moved forward, hunting for targets to kill.

The motley gang made it to the edge of the drop zone and nearly ran into a group of maybe twenty PLA soldiers, less than thirty meters from them. The two groups of soldiers brought their weapons to bear on each other as they each dove for cover.

“Frag out!” shouted Flowers as he threw one of the small cylindrical devices toward a cluster of PLA soldiers near the perimeter fence.

BAM!

Pop, pop, pop, crack, ratatat, ratatat.

Corporal Wright sighted in on two enemy soldiers who were attempting to set up a machine gun. He squeezed the trigger multiple times, sending round after round at them until he saw them both stop moving. Looking to his right, he saw one of his soldiers clutch at his neck, blood squirting out between his fingers as he tried to stop the bleeding.

Crump, crump, crump.

Multiple Chinese and British grenades sailed back and forth between each side.

“Charge!” yelled a voice that sounded familiar to Wright.

He didn’t hesitate in the least once the order had been given, jumping up from his covered position screaming like a banshee. Running forward, he saw the terrified look on the faces of three PLA soldiers as he continued to scream, racing right at them. At this point he was practically firing from the hip as he emptied the remainder of his magazine on the three of them. Without thinking, he jumped right into their positions and reached for his Sig Sauer P226 with his right hand. He turned to his left and fired three quick shots at a PLA soldier who was trying to shoot at one of his comrades.

With the immediate threats neutralized, he placed his Sig back in his holster and replaced the empty magazine on his SA80 with a fresh one. “Damn, that was close,” he thought, and he vowed never to let himself run out of ammo again.

“Everyone on me!” shouted Lieutenant Shay.

Pointing to the ridge with the radar tower on it and those 23mm antiaircraft guns, the lieutenant said, “We have to take those guns out or more planes are going to get shot down. We’re going to collect our rucks, and then we’re going to double-time it around the airfield to get at that ridge. I’m not sure if the Gurkhas made it or not, but we can’t leave those guns untouched.”

With the orders given, the platoon set about rounding up their rucks from the drop zone and proceeded to head off to capture the radar station.

Brigadier Sir Nick McCoil couldn’t believe how terribly this airborne assault had started. Not only had the Spectre gunship the Americans had sent to provide them ground support on the airfield been shot down, but two additional German Eurofighters had also been destroyed while trying to fill in for the gunship. Then a swarm of those new PLA fighter drones had jumped their air cover and had succeeded in shooting down five of his transport planes before they’d had a chance to offload their paratroopers. He’d lost an entire company of French Foreign Legion troops, a company of Gurkhas and three platoons from 2nd Battalion, 2 PARA. To add further insult to injury, he’d somehow managed to severely sprain his left ankle on his landing, making it nearly impossible to walk.

“Twenty-six years as a paratrooper and the only time I get injured is during the most important combat jump of my career,” he mourned.

As he propped himself up against the side of a tree, Brigadier McCoil grabbed the radio handset his radioman held out for him.

“It’s connected to the strike group commander,” the soldier replied. The young sergeant turned to look for his pad of paper to write down anything important. A captain and major also knelt down near them as a couple of other soldiers secured the perimeter around them.

“Major, I want that damn airfield captured now! We have to get out of this drop zone,” McCoil barked at one of his operations officers.

Then he directed his wrath toward the admiral on the other end of the radio receiver. “This is Gladiator Actual. Where the hell is my damn air cover? I’ve lost five transports — that’s nearly seven hundred paratroopers! I’d better get some more air support, or my next call is to General Bennet himself!” he shouted into the receiver, the sounds of machine gunfire and explosions still going off in the background.

After holding the receiver to her ear for a minute and not hearing anything, Admiral Cord was about to hand it back to one of the communications officers when a distinctly British accent shouted into her ear. The sounds of explosions, men shouting and machine-gun fire in the background made it feel like she was right there in the thick of the action. She had to hold the receiver an inch away from her ear as the British brigadier ripped her a new one over the lack of air support.

She shot a quizzical glance to the Ford’s air boss and captain. Then, placing her hand over the receiver, she whispered, “What the hell is he talking about?”

The air boss leaned in, grimacing. “He’s talking about Kestrel flight being ambushed. We lost six Super Hornets in the dogfight. He lost nearly half of his first wave of paratroopers.”

Captain Fleece just shook her head. She was still in shock that they’d lost that many Hornets after the Air Force had done such a good job of clearing out the SAM sites.

“Gladiator Actual, this is Task Force 92 Actual. I’ve just been brought up to speed on your current situation. I’m directing all available fleet assets to assist you. Please have your forward air controller coordinate with my CAG on specific strike packages you need, and where you need them. I will also ensure your second wave of transports has more protection this time. Out,” she said. He handed the handset over to the Commander, Air Group to work out the finer details with the good general. She wasn’t about to listen to him chew her out one more time.

She went to find the task force’s operation officer. When she did, she stared daggers at Captain Zach Grady as she motioned for him to come to her. As Grady approached, she leaned in close and turned her body away from the others, speaking in a low voice. “I just got my head torn off by the British airborne commander for Operation Gladiator. He says nearly half of his first wave of transports were shot down before they reached the airfield and none of the antiaircraft guns at the base were destroyed. Want to fill me in on what the hell happened, Captain?” There was a sternness in her voice that she seldom used, but she was certain if she didn’t get to the bottom of what had gone wrong and fix it, Admiral Richardson or Admiral Lomas would have her head on a platter.

Turning a bit red at being talked down to by a female admiral, Captain Grady tried to reply in the usual macho dismissive manner he tended to use when speaking to a female officer. “Stuff happens, Admiral. We nearly lost an entire squadron of Super Hornets flying escort for them. They’re lucky they even made it to the drop zone, what with the number of enemy fighters the PLA jumped our guys with. The Chinese ambushed us with sixty of those new drone fighter planes. We’ve never fought them before and had no idea what their real capabilities were.” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

Admiral Cord wanted to slap him for his smugness but knew she couldn’t. “Not good enough, Captain,” she exclaimed. “Try explaining that to me again, without the sarcasm. While you’re complaining that we nearly lost half a squadron of Hornets, you just lost seven hundred paratroopers we were charged with protecting. Do you know how that’s going to look to the brass above me? You’d be wise to remember crap rolls downhill until it goes splat on someone.” She took an open right hand and smacked her left fist, so as to emphasize that he would ultimately be the one in the hot seat.

His demeanor changed a bit. “Good,” Admiral Cord thought. Maybe he did realize that the naval air support planning for this operation was ultimately his responsibility.

“My apologies, Admiral,” Captain Grady said. “Let me start over. The Air Force went in ahead of us and cleared out the SAMs. They did a good job, although they lost a couple of F-16s in the process. We sent in two squadrons of Hornets, one ahead of the transports to go with the AC-130 Spectre gunship. The gunship was supposed to silence the enemy antiaircraft guns and the radar station on the ridgeline around the airfield. Unfortunately, the gunship was shot down before it reached the airfield. When this happened, we redirected two German Eurofighters who hadn’t dropped their ordnance yet to go in and do the job. That’s when the PLA Air Force jumped our guys with those new fighter drones.

“As I said earlier, we had never fought or even seen them before, so we had no idea how effective they were in combat or how to really engage them. From what I’ve been able to gather from talking with one of the flight leaders that fought them, they came in two waves. One from high-altitude and one on the deck. The one that came in from high altitude drew all the attention from our fighters. The one that came in from the deck was able to slip past the first wave of fighters and sliced into our second group of fighters, which was escorting the transports. By the time our guys fought them off, half the transports had been shot up,” he explained. Then he proceeded to tell her of his revised plan for escorting the second wave of transports, which were just crossing into Chinese airspace.

Admiral Cord listened while he spoke without interrupting. “All I can say, Captain Grady, is that your group had better redeem itself with this second wave of transports, or there’s going to be hell to pay. You get me?” Her voice was still full of heat.

He nodded and went back to his section, barking orders to his own little fiefdom.

Brigadier McCoil handed the receiver over to his lone American naval special warfare guy who would act as the liaison for his air support. “I think I got their attention for you, Lieutenant. It’s now your show. Get me air cover over this place, and start taking out some of these anti-aircraft guns. Our second wave of transports arrive in exactly eighty-two minutes.”

A young captain ran up to their position. “Brigadier?” he asked, out of breath. “Sir, we’ve secured the remaining buildings at the airfield. We can move your headquarters over there now. Also, Baker Coy from 2nd Battalion is moving to assault the radar station and those AA guns on it,” he reported. As soon as he finished speaking, he took a swig of water to help catch his breath.

McCoil nodded. “Good job, Captain. Now help me up and give me a hand making my way over there,” he replied, holding his hand up to the captain.

The young officer looked down at the brigadier, and it was as if he realized for the first time that the general had his foot all wrapped up in a compression bandage.

“Ah, yes, now you see why I’ve been propped up against this tree trunk instead of leading the charge myself,” Brigadier McCoil said with a chuckle.

The captain pulled him off the ground and placed his arm around his shoulder. Together, they hobbled and walked the half a kilometer to the building that would function as his headquarters. Dozens of other soldiers were working to get communication antennas set up, along with computers, map boards and everything else he needed to run the brigade. Another group of soldiers worked on getting security established around the buildings they were going to occupy and making sure the airfield was being properly cordoned off from potential enemy soldiers as well as curious civilians.

McCoil looked around. The soldiers around him were clearly doubling their efforts to make up for their lack of personnel. With half of their first wave of airborne units killed before they even made it to the ground, they were functioning with a skeleton crew as they worked to get the place ready to receive the main body of the brigade.

Lieutenant Shay ducked behind a tree just as several bullets slapped into the trunk. “Someone take that gunner out already!” he shouted to his platoon mates.

Private Flowers heard the order and immediately took action. His SA80 had a grenade launcher attached to it; he was one of the few guys in the platoon with this setup. He popped out from behind the tree he’d been hiding behind and swiftly fired his 40mm grenade at the enemy machine-gun position.

Thump…BAM.

“Now!” shouted Corporal Wright. He and three other soldiers opened fire on the enemy position while another group of four soldiers leapt from their covered positions to charge. Continuing to fire at the enemy, the advancing fireteam of soldiers got to within twenty meters of the enemy line when they dove for cover. Another group of PLA soldiers further up the ridge had just arrived and were doing their best to provide their comrades with covering fire.

“Grenades! Hit them with grenades!” shouted Lieutenant Shay. He ran past Corporal Wright, charging up the hill to the fireteam that was lobbing grenades at the enemy soldiers.

Zip, crack, zip, crack, crump, crump, crump.

Explosions burst everywhere as both sides lobbed grenades at each other. Wright’s fire team continued to bang away at the enemy soldiers with their FN Minimi Para light machine gun.

Ratatat, ratatat, ratatat.

“Alpha team, covering fire!” shouted Wright. He signaled for his bravo team to move forward.

Zip, crack, zip, crack.

Bullets snapped past their heads, hitting branches, bushes and everything around them as they rushed forward.

“Oomph,” one of the soldiers muttered — he was spun sideways when a couple of rounds slammed into his body armor. Falling to the ground, the soldier yelped, “I’m hit, Corporal!”

Wright stopped charging. He dropped down next to the wounded man, quickly assessing him. “It looks like it hit your armor — did it go through the plate?” he asked.

The young man looked panicked. He used his hands to feel around and then shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he answered.

Corporal Wright didn’t blame the young kid — even through the plates, a gunshot could break ribs or cause some serious bruising. “Listen, Private, I’m going to leave you here while you catch your breath and recover. I need you to keep shooting at the enemy. We still need your help. Do you think you can do that for me?” Wright asked, concern in his eyes and voice.

The young private nodded and gave a thumbs-up. “You can count on me, Corporal. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll catch up to you guys.”

Wright nodded and then raced to catch up to Bravo Team. When they made it online with Alpha, they switched turns, providing covering fire while Alpha bounded forward, this time into the enemy defensive works. Once Alpha Team was inside the enemy trench and foxholes, Bravo Team rushed forward to join them.

It took them another ten minutes to finish clearing the enemy out of the radar station and the enemy antiaircraft guns, but their platoon had secured an objective that had been assigned to an entire company of Gurkhas. That was no small feat for the men of 2nd Battalion, Baker Coy.

Brigadier McCoil hobbled over to the window of the building his headquarters staff had taken over and watched as row after row of paratroopers continued to descend in and around the airfield. More and more of his force was finally arriving and starting to get formed up, which was reassuring considering how the operation had started. He spotted several large packages being dropped directly on the runways. It appeared the Americans were dropping off his Jackal 4x4 vehicles ahead of schedule, which was fine by him.

“Brigadier,” called out a new voice. Colonel Jacques Vidal of the French 2nd Foreign Parachute Regiment had just walked into the building. The Legionnaire quickly walked up to him rendering a quick salute. “Brigadier, I’m proud to report the remainder of my force has officially landed and we’ve secured the road junction at Xiangshanzui and the surrounding area. My men are working on turning the area into a veritable fortress as we speak,” he proclaimed proudly.

General McCoil smiled for the first time in hours; he couldn’t be happier to hear this news. He’d been extremely concerned when the company of Legionnaires had been shot down early on and unable to secure the site earlier. If any PLA tanks or other armored vehicles were going to attack his position it’d most likely come from the highway interchange at Xiangshanzui or Huqiu to his north, at least until the Gurkhas arrived and moved to the area.

“Glad to hear it, Colonel,” said McCoil. “When the ERC armored cars arrive, I’ll send half of them to your command. It’s imperative that your men hold that junction. Make sure your men have plenty of antitank rockets and missiles ready to deal with the PLA when they do start to show up. My guess is we’ll start to see some heavy PLA resistance before the day’s out and certainly by tomorrow.”

Colonel Vidal nodded. “I believe you’re right, Brigadier. I had my men jump with twice as many antitank weapons as they normally do. We’ll be ready for the PLA, and when the ERCs show up, it’ll only strengthen our position,” he said confidently. “If I may, when will our artillery support be available?” he inquired.

McCoil turned to look for one of his operations officers. “Major, when will 7 RHA be operational?” he asked.

The major walked over to them, explaining, “They just landed. It’s going to be at least an hour to get them unpacked and moved to their firing locations. If the guns are needed right now, they probably could be made ready, but I’d like to get them moved to their firing location and out of the way for future drops.”

“That’s fine, Brigadier,” the French colonel responded. “I don’t believe we’ll need their support within the next hour. I just wanted to make sure they’ll be operational by evening, in case the enemy does start to show up.” With that, the two officers shook hands, exchanged a few more directions and then parted ways. The French had a critically important area to secure, and McCoil didn’t want to keep the colonel stuck here with him any longer than he needed to.

“Now, if only my Gurkhas could get organized and ready,” he thought.

A few minutes later, Lieutenant Colonel Ganju Lama walked into the building. As soon as he spotted Brigadier McCoil, he headed over to him. “Sorry for my tardiness, Sir. It appears a few Chinese soldiers wanted to greet my arrival,” he said with a half-smile. “My men are now on the ground and getting formed up as we speak. Is there any change to my orders or am I still to proceed to Jiangsu National Forest Park?” he inquired.

“It’s good to see you, Colonel,” said McCoil as he held out his hand to shake Lama’s. “My condolences on your company of men that didn’t make it. It was a terrible tragedy, what happened with our air support.” He paused as if giving a moment of silence for the departed. “As to your original orders, I want you to continue with the original plan. Your battalion must hold that position at all costs, even though the PLA is going to throw everything they have at you to get at this airbase. You’ll have artillery support and as much help as I can give you from here, but we’ve got to keep our claim on that position. When the rest of 3 PARA arrives, I’m going to send another company of soldiers over to help you as well. Do you have any further questions on your orders, Colonel?”

“No, Sir,” Lieutenant Lama answered. “We’ll get that place turned into a real nice fortress. You can count on that.” A wicked grin spread on his face.

With his orders in hand, the Gurkha commander turned and left the building to go form up with his men. They had a couple kilometer road march to get to their position and they needed to get set up and ready to defend the area as quickly as possible. Nobody knew when the PLA forces in the area would get organized enough to launch an attack, so it was a race against time.

Like an expectant father in a hospital, General John Bennet paced back and forth in the operations center as he waited for confirmation that the second wave of his joint British and French airborne force had made it to their drop point. He had been livid when he’d found out the Navy, who was supposed to provide fighter escorts for them, had lost half of the transports they were charged with protecting during the first wave. It had nearly cost them the entire operation.

He had placed a three-way call to Admiral Lomas and Admiral Richardson and thoroughly dressed them down over the loss of 700 paratroopers and those critically important transports. He replayed the conversation in his mind.

“It’s not just that we lost those soldiers, which would be horrible enough — we needed those transports to keep ferrying men and supplies behind enemy lines,” he’d explained. “Let me clear this up for you. In no uncertain terms, if another loss like this occurs during the airborne operation, I will relieve you both on the spot.”

They had assured him that this wouldn’t happen again. Admiral Richardson said he’d ordered two additional carrier airwings to beef up air cover for the remaining transports and told him he’d ensure the ground commander had at least one full air wing available for air support until they were relieved by the ground forces from the ports. Still, General Bennet was worried. He continued pacing.

Finally, Bennet went to find his J3, and spotted him standing next to a bank of radios and computers. When he finished making his way over to them, he simply asked, “Did they make it?”

His J3 looked up and nodded, a smile spreading across his face. “Yes, Sir! We just spoke to the pilot of the last transport. They all made it and the paratroopers are on the ground. They’re turning back to base now.”

Several soldiers exchanged high fives at that news. General Bennet allowed himself to relax a bit, although the wait wasn’t totally over. This operation had been a huge gamble, and it wasn’t totally in the bag just yet. They still had to get a third wave of transports in to finish off the PLA forces, and then another wave to land their extra ammunition, water, medical supplies and everything else the 9,000-man force would need to hold their ground for the next ninety-six hours.

“Excellent work,” Bennet allowed himself to say. “I’m glad to see my talk with the Navy had the desired effect. Now to the ports — how are operations going there?”

His J3 signaled for Bennet to follow him over to the map board he had set up on the wall. “The Royal Marines have secured the entire island and port facilities of Yangshan with few casualties. I think we caught the PLA by surprise when we landed forces there because they had a very small garrison of soldiers for what is truly a prize target. With the entire port facility in our control, the Navy’s gone ahead and pushed the security perimeter out and brought in the roll-on, roll-off ships and heavy transports.

“The King's Royal Hussars of the 12th Armored Infantry Brigade are being offloaded now. That’ll give us three squadrons of Challenger tanks in a couple of hours. The rest of the 12th Brigade should be offloaded by midnight.” He held up a hand. “As soon as an intact unit is offloaded and paired up with their crews, they’re moving off the island and linking up with the Israeli forces holding the other end of the bridge. The 12th’s main objective is to hold the bridgehead with the Israelis until the rest of our ground forces can get offloaded.”

General Bennet smiled at the preemptive answering of his question. “How are things going at the Shanghai Pudong Airport? I heard the fighting there had turned fierce.”

“The Rangers captured the airport without much of a problem,” the J3 explained. “There was some resistance from a local military unit that was a few blocks away, but nothing the Rangers couldn’t neutralize. The entire 82nd Airborne Division has finally arrived. We had to use a lot of commercial airliners to get them all in, but we did it. Fortunately, we didn’t have any enemy fighter planes try to interdict our effort either.”

Pausing for a second to look at the map, Bennet saw where the paratroopers had expanded the perimeter, and the locations of the enemy units they had spotted up to this point. From his perspective, it looked like a battalion of PLA tanks were slowly snaking their way through the city of Shanghai heading right for the paratroopers.

His eyes studied the map a moment more before he said, “My concern is this large enemy force that’s headed to the airport — it looks like at least two full battalions of PLA infantry and God only knows how many militia forces are moving in that direction. There’s a major battle brewing, less than a few hours from starting. Do we have enough forces on the ground to handle it? What sort of armor support do we have to help them?”

“All three artillery regiments have been offloaded at the airport, along with the division’s attack helicopter squadrons; the division packs more than enough punching power to hold the airport against a substantially larger force than what is bearing down on them, Sir,” he answered confidently. “By this time tomorrow, we’ll have two full divisions of armor on the ground, along with three divisions of infantry. In three days, we’ll have five armored divisions and three more infantry divisions. Unless the PLA somehow mobilizes the population of Shanghai to take up arms against us, they just don’t have enough forces in the region that can push us out. By the time any substantive forces do arrive, we’ll have landed over 200,000 soldiers and it’ll be a moot point. They won’t dislodge us.”

General Bennet thought for a moment about what his operations staff had concluded and felt a bit more at ease about the situation. Things were certainly still fluid, and a lot could change, but they had the momentum on their side right now, and they’d achieved complete and utter surprise with their attack on Shanghai.

“The question now is, will the Marines further south capture the critical province of Guangdong and hold it?” he wondered. So far, the fighting had been absolutely brutal there, with the PLA resorting more and more to using poorly trained and equipped militia forces to overrun the Marines. In some cases, that strategy had worked, which only further spurred on their use by the PLA. With casualties mounting, it was becoming a grave concern for the President and the Joint Chiefs back home as to whether or not that offensive should continue.

If they held the ground they’d captured up to this point, it’d put them just shy of taking over the manufacturing centers they had originally invaded the province to destroy in the first place. In Bennet’s opinion, at this point, they were pot-committed and needed to see it through to the end. Another 80,000 Marines would be filtering into the province over the next couple of days — he hoped that would be enough forces to capture their objectives within the next week. Once Guangdong Province and Shanghai were firmly in the Allies’ control, then the United States would finally reach out to the Chinese government and offer terms of surrender.

“Just a few more weeks and this bloody war will be over,” Bennet hoped.

Taking advantage of the lull in the fighting, Staff Sergeant Moshe Dayan savagely devoured his Israeli version of an MRE. He was famished — he definitely hadn’t eaten much in the last twenty-four hours.

In between scarfing down bites of food, Dayan and his platoon mates also reloaded empty magazines for their rifles. A couple of the privates had returned ten minutes ago with several crates of rifle ammo and more grenades. They had been running low on ammo after the last enemy charge an hour ago.

One of the young corporals paused eating and looked up at Dayan for a second with a quizzical look on his face. “Sergeant Dayan, how can the enemy keep charging our positions like they are? I mean, how do they not break when they see so many of their fellow soldiers getting cut down like that?” he asked.

The other soldiers in his platoon stopped what they were doing and looked at Dayan, waiting to see what he would say. Even the captain nearby had stopped reloading his magazines to listen to his response.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, Sergeant Dayan looked back at the corporal who had asked the question, and then to the rest of the soldiers in the room. “They fight like this because we’re invading their homeland. It’s no different than us. If someone attacked our homeland, we’d fight just as hard and just as viciously.

“The difference between the PLA soldiers we’re fighting and the Allied force we’re a part of is we didn’t start this war. We didn’t invade dozens of countries seeking conquest. We fight not as conquerors, but as liberators — liberators of a repressive communist regime that would seek to impose its version of government on the rest of the world.

“We’ve all seen the social media campaign of ‘social credits’ and how we can use technology to censor ‘hate speech’ and political dissent. It’s all a lie to sell us on a form of government and system that would steal our freedom, our ability to politically disagree with each other, all in the name of conformity. No, I won’t let my children grow up in a world or country that won’t respect other people’s views and opinions. I may not agree with you or even like you, but I’ll always value your right to your opinion, and I will fight and die to make sure you and your family will always be free to express that opinion without government persecution.”

When Staff Sergeant Moshe Dayan finished his little impromptu speech, a man walked in from behind them and clapped, and so did two other people. When the platoon turned around to find the source of the applause, they all jumped to their feet. Sergeant Dayan stood ramrod straight. “General Barak, we had no idea you were visiting the front,” he said. “My apologies if I spoke out of turn.”

Brigadier General Sami Barak just smiled, beaming with pride as he walked up to Staff Sergeant Dayan. He placed both hands on his shoulders, looking the man in the eye. “I couldn’t be prouder to command such men as you, Staff Sergeant. Your wisdom and courage are why Israel as a country has a bright and long history ahead of it.”

The general then turned to face the rest of the paratroopers as he kept one hand on Dayan’s shoulder. “Men, I know the last twenty-four hours have been hard on you, and the last twelve hours have been horrific since the PLA started sending in human wave assaults against us…I’m not going to lie to you and tell you it’s going to get easier. It’s not. The enemy is in its final death throes, and as such, they are desperate.”

The general then moved over to a chair and took a seat, signaling for everyone else to do likewise. When the rustling ceased, he resumed speaking. “The most recent intelligence passed to us by the Americans says the Chinese have mobilized a massive militia force several kilometers away. That force is going to move and attack our positions in the next hour, along with a battalion of T-99 tanks and two battalions of motorized regular army infantry. This is it — the big attack that they think will break through our positions and drive us back to the ports.

“What I can tell you is that even as we speak, Allied warplanes are on their way to bomb the hell out of them before they even get to us. However, when they do arrive, they’re going to come at us with a fervor like nothing we’ve seen before. The PLA has been spreading lies to their people, telling them that the Allies are systematically killing their women and children in the occupied parts of the cities. Even though nothing could be further from the truth, this deception is motivating tens of thousands of people to grab a rifle, shovel, or knife to come at us and try to kill us.

“An hour ago, the British 12th Armored Infantry Brigade began to move to our position. Even now, their tanks and infantry fighting vehicles are filtering into the city and our lines to help us hold our positions. When the enemy does attack, they will help us beat back their advances. Once the PLA has spent themselves on our lines, we will go on the offensive. General Bennet has given our brigade and the British 12th the task of fighting our way to a captured Chinese airfield 180 kilometers inland. Right now, a 9,000 man British and French airborne force is holding ground there. They are surrounded and deep behind enemy lines…we will break through the enemy positions here and relieve them.

“Once we’ve broken through the enemy lines here, the British 20th Armored Infantry Brigade will link up with us, along with the German 21st Panzer Brigade. To support our efforts, the American 42nd Infantry Division will secure the ground behind us and act as a reserve force in case we need them.” The general paused for a second, letting the information sink in. It was unusual for the general to share this level of detail with a platoon of grunts, but Sergeant Dayan reasoned that seeing the big picture would help them all to fight harder.

“You guys can do this,” General Barak continued. “You’ve got one of the best company commanders in the brigade and probably the smartest, toughest staff sergeant in the airborne to lead you. I’m counting on you all, and so is our country and the rest of the world. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get moving. It was a pleasure being able to talk with you all.” He stood, as did all the other soldiers out of respect. Then the general’s two escorts led him to the door that would take him down the stairs and out of their building.

The soldiers stood there, momentarily frozen, a bit in shock that their commanding general would stop by and have such an open and frank discussion with them.

Finally, Staff Sergeant Dayan spoke up. “OK, enough lollygagging,” he announced. “We have work to do. Finish eating and getting your ammo sorted. I want these window positions ready for the next assault. Get those extra Claymores set up in front of those barricades we have downstairs, and make sure first platoon has enough hand grenades. It’s our job up here to make sure those guys down there don’t get overrun. Understood?”

His gruff orders sent the platoon back into their battle rhythm. Nearly an hour went by as the soldiers listened to outgoing artillery and mortar fire head toward the enemy. The constant sound of explosions and dull thudding became intermixed with the sounds helicopters and warplanes flying overhead. It was very difficult to attack an enemy army inside a city. Many of the Chinese soldiers simply moved into the buildings or moved along the edges of them, making it very hard to spot them, and even harder for artillery fire to hit them. Most of the artillery ended up slamming into the roofs or sides of apartment buildings. While the projectiles certainly caused a lot of damage, they were also indiscriminate in who they killed; more often than not, the artillery also led to a lot of civilians being killed or injured.

“Here they come!” shouted a voice over the radio. Dayan’s men had a couple of snipers placed on the upper floors of the office building they were in; it was their job was to find the officers or men who appeared to be the leaders of the army or militia forces and take them out.

Staff Sergeant Dayan walked over to the window and leaned up against the side of the wall. He peered out, spotting the lines of enemy soldiers moving along the edges of the building two or three blocks away. Traveling in the center of the road, was something of grave concern — a T-99 battle tank was steadily making its way toward their barricade. The metal tracks creaked and cracked against the road. The deep rumbling of its diesel engine was the unmistakable roar of a main battle tank. Suddenly, the tank stopped, swiveled its turret to face the barricade and fired.

Boom. Bang!

The explosion blew apart a car the Israelis had parked in the center of the road. Then the turret turned slightly and fired again.

BOOM, BANG!

The next vehicle in the barricade was obliterated, sending flame and shrapnel in all directions.

“Someone take that tank out before he blows our entire defense apart!” shouted their captain into the radio.

Pop…swoosh…BANG.

A missile flew out of the fifth-floor window above them, streaking like man-made lightning toward the T-99. It slammed into the roof of the turret, the thinnest part of the tank’s armor, and the shape charge blew its deadly contents directly into the crew compartment. The internal ammunition cooked off, and in fractions of a second, the turret of the tank blasted toward the sky.

Then several loud whistles sounded, which sent a shiver down the spines of every soldier defending the line. A mighty roar of hundreds, maybe even thousands of people could be heard as the street in front of them filled with people, all screaming at the top of their lungs as they charged, fire and hatred burning in their eyes as they sought to close the distance.

Ratatat, ratatat.

The light and heavy machine guns of the Israeli positions opened up on the crowd, cutting down the first several ranks of attackers like a scythe. Yet for every soldier that fell to the ground, another took their place as they continued to charge forward.

Sergeant Dayan looked down the sight of his rifle and continued to pull the trigger time and time again at the mass of humanity that was charging toward them. In less than a couple of minutes, the enemy had made it to the remains of the vehicle barricade, which was now burning. When they reached that position, the soldiers of First and Third Platoon who were on the ground level detonated their Claymores.

When the mines went off, it was as if some giant invisible hand just flattened the first four or five rows of enemy soldiers. In that brief second, the mob halted their advance, but then more whistles could be heard, and they resumed their charge. More enemy soldiers from further behind them surged forward.

“My God, how can they keep coming like this?” thought Sergeant Dayan. Truthfully, the way the Chinese kept attacking in the face of all of certain death was impressive to him, despite the speech he’d given not too many minutes ago.

“Keep shooting, men!” he shouted. “We have to keep them from overrunning our guys on the ground floor!” Looking down the line to check on his guys, he saw the ground was becoming completely covered in empty shell casings from their rifles.

One by one though, his guys were starting to get hit. The façade of the front of their building was becoming riddled with bullets. It was statistically only a matter of time until some of the incoming enemy rounds found the soft flesh of his men and either killed or wounded them. When one of his soldiers hit the ground, a medic would run up to him, grab him by the back handle of his body armor and pull him away from the wall, deeper into the building, so he could begin providing first aid.

Just when Sergeant Dayan didn’t think they were going to be able to hold the line, a British Challenger tank fired a canister round into the mob, cutting a huge swath of the Chinese soldiers down. Then a company worth of British soldiers ran forward and shored up the Israeli lines, and more British armored vehicles joined the fray.

In less than a minute, the enemy attack fell apart and began to retreat. At the sight of the enemy falling back, the British troops that had just arrived charged forward, quickly followed by their armored vehicles. As Dayan watched them charge after the enemy, he felt nauseated; the tanks were literally running over both the dead and the dying that carpeted the street below.

Staff Sergeant Dayan slumped to the floor and placed his face into his hands. He began crying uncontrollably, and he didn’t even know why. Perhaps he just felt overwhelmed by all the emotions of what he had just gone through, or perhaps the gruesome sound of the bones crunching under the advancing tanks had been a burden too heavy to bear. In either case, he wasn’t the only soldier to break down in that moment.

President Xi was practically beside himself as he listened intently to General Wei Liu, the overall PLA military commander, explain how their most recent attacks against the Allied invasion force in Shanghai had just failed. Somehow, three divisions of regular army forces and five divisions of militia had been badly mauled by enemy air and artillery attacks before they’d even made it to the front lines.

“Sir, it was as if the Allies somehow knew exactly where we were forming up and when we would be moving in order to make these attacks,” General Wei concluded, forlorn.

It was a theme. Somehow, over the past month and a half, the Allies had managed to anticipate every move, every attack, in advance. President Xi was beginning to suspect they had a mole somewhere inside the government that was feeding them information.

General Xu Ding then took his turn regaling them with tales about the success of the Air Force’s new UAV fighter drone program. Xi did have to give the man credit; the new UAV fighter drones were actually performing pretty well.

“It’s too bad we don’t have enough of them to really make a difference in this war,” he thought. Xi’s mind went back to what was happening in Guangdong Province. The bulk of China’s aerospace industry had been relocated there after the nuclear attack on Shenyang. It seemed odd that the Americans would launch such a massive invasion in southern China unless they somehow knew of the importance of Guangzhou and Dongguan to their production of these new drone fighters and their aerospace program.

The Minister of Defense, General Kuang Li Jun, leaned forward as he glared at General Wei. “General, you have failed us and your country. Your services are no longer needed,” he stated. Then he waved his hand, signaling several soldiers standing near the exit to apprehend him.

General Wei’s eyes grew wide as saucers as he attempted to protest his dismissal. “Mr. President, please! You can’t allow this to happen!” he exclaimed loudly. The guards rushed forward, grabbing him by his arms, pulling him out of the room.

Shaking his head in disgust, President Xi stood as he signaled for the others to stay seated. “We have meticulously planned this war, collaborating on it with the Russians and many other allies. We should have won this war nearly a year ago. Instead, we find ourselves the last nation standing, our homeland invaded. What I want to know is how are we going to repel these invaders? Can we still defeat them?”

The remaining generals and admirals in the room all squirmed a bit in their chairs, not knowing what to say. They certainly did not want to be the next person dragged out of the room. They all knew what was going to happen to General Wei and none of them wanted to suffer the same fate.

Seeing that no one had the guts to look him in the eye, or even attempt to answer his immediate question, Xi sat down and then reached under the table and depressed a small button. “Since it appears none of you have any ideas on how to defeat the enemy or reclaim victory, it would seem I need to find new generals who do,” he said to the sudden shock and horror of the remaining generals. The side doors opened and a group of security personnel, the President’s personal bodyguards, walked in and moved to detain each of them.

A short scuffle broke out as some of them pleaded with President Xi to save them. “Please, give me one more chance!” shouted one. “I’m the only one with an idea of how to defeat the Americans!” cried another.

Xi just shook his head and waved them off with a flick of his wrist. Once the generals were removed from the room, he heard several shots fired as they were dispensed with in the hallway. It was a rule of his not to allow any chances for insufficient leadership to call to their commands for help.

“Liquidate them and replace them before anyone can raise a fuss about it,” he told himself, rubbing his temples in frustration.

“That went about as well as could be expected,” Chairman Zhang said. He took a sip of his tea, the entire scene having no effect on him. The Minister of Defense nodded in agreement.

“It needed to be done many months ago, but this recent setback has given me the latitude I needed to do it and still maintain the confidence of the military,” asserted President Xi. He paused. “Bring in General Yang Yin,” he ordered.

Zhang nodded and got up to head down the hall to a room where the general was waiting patiently. As the chairman left the room, Xi nodded toward one of his bodyguards, who proceeded to screw a silencer onto his pistol and quickly followed after Zhang.

The Minister of Defense tried to keep his face as neutral as possible. It was obvious that Xi was purging the PLA leadership right now, and he was hoping that he was not next on the list.

When General Yang Yin walked into the room, Chairman Zhang was noticeably absent as the security guard closed the door behind him. He noted the empty seats and read the name placards before him before looking to the center of the table at the supreme leader.

President Xi motioned for him to take a seat opposite him, next to the Minister of Defense, who was looking a little pale.

As Yang sat down, Xi began to speak. “General Yang, I’ve called you here because our country is in grave danger, and none of my military leaders will give me an honest answer or provide a valid plan for how we’re going to defeat the enemy. You have served the people well in the war thus far. Your battlefield defeats are not yours alone. You were defeated because the generals above you gave you an impossible task to accomplish and did not heed your warnings or your pleas for support.”

Yang nodded cautiously.

“I’ve read your many requests for reinforcements, changes to battle plans and suggestions for how to turn the war around,” Xi continued. “Each of them fell on deaf ears, but not mine. I’ve heard your pleas for help, and your ideas for how to turn the war around. What I need from you now is to take charge of the military and lead us to victory. Can you do that?” President Xi asked. He leaned forward, staring into the eyes of the one general who had given China its only victories in this war.

In that moment, General Yang seemed to understand exactly why these chairs were empty. He took a deep breath in and slowly let it out as he sat up a bit straighter. Doing his best to keep his face stoic, he said, “I need to know what the status of the country’s military force is if I’m to make an accurate assessment of whether the war can be turned around. As you know, I have been focused on fighting the Americans in the south of China, where my command is. I’m not fully aware of what the Allies are doing in the north or in Shanghai.”

Xi smiled at the bluntness. “Finally, a general who isn’t afraid to speak his mind, even if it might get him killed.”

Xi depressed an intercom button and instructed several PLA colonels to come in and provide General Yang with an update on the war. The Minister of Defense also brought him up to speed on their military production capability and ability to support and sustain the war.

For the next three hours, the colonels presented Yang and Xi with an update on each sector the Allies were attacking from. The last brief was on the country’s economy, its financial health, and then the overall morale of the people. It was a lot of information to take in.

Xi had no intention of losing power. If he had to make a peace deal with the Allies, then the only one he’d accept was one that left him still in control. He hoped General Yang could accomplish that task.

After the colonels left the room, General Yang sat silently looking over the materials they’d left behind. First, he looked at some of the maps and initial statements of what was happening in the north, then he focused in on Shanghai, and then his own theater, the south. What astounded him the most was how effective the Allies had been at deceiving them with their invasion of Shanghai — the PLA leadership had been caught completely flatfooted by the invasion.

The other thing that confounded him was what that American Army group was doing in the western part of China. It appeared a large American Army group had invaded through Mongolia last fall and that, when spring had come, they’d entered Inner Mongolia. Even now, they were driving nearly unopposed on Beijing from the west. The Allies had truly encircled China and were slowly chopping her up into smaller, more manageable chunks.

Looking up at Xi, Yang asked, “You know how you eat an elephant, Sir?”

Snickering at the question, Xi replied, “One bite at a time.”

“Exactly,” Yang responded. “In this case, the Allies knew they couldn’t defeat us by attacking from one front, so they’ve opted to attack us from multiple directions. They also knew they needed to destroy our Air Force and our ability to protect the skies and our ground forces. The army that rules the skies tends to win.”

President Xi nodded, but he didn’t look very pleased. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know,” he quipped. “Why do you believe the Allies invaded Shanghai and Guangdong Province? It would have made more sense for the Allies to marshal all their forces in the north and sweep down across the country from a land border they had already secured. Why did they deviate from that conventional wisdom?”

Leaning back in his chair, Yang knew exactly what Xi was after and why none of the generals before him were still alive. Holding his chin out a bit, Yang replied, “If you will indulge me, Mr. President, I’ll attempt to explain why the Americans have done what they’ve done and why the other generals failed to see it.”

Xi nodded for him to continue. He also signaled for an aide to bring them more fresh tea and some food as well. General Yang was grateful for that — it was likely they’d be there most of the evening, talking.

“As you already know, Mr. President, I grew up in America,” Yang began. “I was educated in their schools and I even went to the prestigious American military academy, the Citadel, in the state of South Carolina. While studying to become an American military officer, I was extensively taught American military history and how their generals think. As a cadet, I was taught what every officer in the military is taught, how to lead soldiers and to accomplish the mission, to think outside the box and bend the rules when necessary. I was also able to attend the prestigious advanced infantry school’s Ranger program my senior year.”

President Xi nodded, but it was clear his patience was wearing thin.

“I tell you this because I’ve been trained to think like an American officer. Many of the American colonels and lower-level generals we’re fighting now are some of my classmates from twenty years ago. The reason the Americans are attacking us from Inner Mongolia, northern China, and the Korean Peninsula is simple: they wanted our focus and attention to be on northern China. They wanted my predecessors to move all our forces toward the north, and to that end, they were very successful.”

Xi leaned in at this point and interrupted him. “Are you saying the Americans wanted us to believe these three fronts they’ve been attacking us from in the north for what, eighteen months, were a ruse? A well-groomed trap?” he asked incredulously.

Yang leaned forward as he replied, “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Explain,” Xi said, voice tense.

“When the Americans launched their massive offensive in the north, General Wei Liu moved nearly all of our reserve forces there and to the west to deal with them. While this move has largely stalled the Allied offensive, it has also left us with very few reserve forces to deploy anywhere else. Let’s also look at the air side of things. The American stealth bombers, or what’s left of them, have focused nearly all their attacks not on going after our command-and-control headquarters, communications nodes, or even our Air Force or military units — they’ve focused their attacks on key railheads, bridges and tunnels linking northern, central and southern China together.”

He pulled out a series of rail maps the briefers had left behind and showed Xi what he was talking about. “Once we had committed our forces to the north and stopped their offense, the Americans invaded Guangdong Province.”

Xi obviously became annoyed with the history lesson and slapped his hand on the table “I know this! Tell me why!” he demanded angrily.

“To go after our manufacturing base and our finances. If we can’t produce the tools of war — the drone fighter planes, infantry fighting vehicles, small-arms munitions — then we can’t fight. By attacking Guangdong Province, they’re hoping to capture more than forty percent of our military manufacturing base.”

“Then why did they also invade Shanghai?”

“Because Shanghai accounts for more than thirty percent of our tax base. With the Shanghai region and Guangdong Province in their control, the Allies will occupy more than fifty percent of our military manufacturing base and more than sixty percent of our tax base. They’re going to starve us financially and cripple our manufacturing ability to sustain the war.” Yang concluded his explanation of the Allies’ strategy as he saw it.

President Xi had this look on his face as if a literal lightbulb had just illuminated in his head. “Is the war lost?” he asked.

“That’s an incredibly loaded question,” thought Yang. He looked at the empty chairs before him and considered carefully whether he should tell the truth as he saw it or lie and try his best to prolong the war as long as possible.

Xi must have seen his perplexed look. “General, please give me your honest opinion. I’m not going to have you shot for telling me what I don’t want to hear. Unless we acknowledge the obvious, we can’t hope to find a solution.”

Yang nodded and let out a deep sigh. “Mr. President, the war is lost. We can’t reverse the damage that has been done. At this point, it’s more about managing the loss. The Americans have a presidential election coming up. For the next twelve months, their political parties will be fighting amongst themselves to win or retain control of the government. As I see it, we have two options: we can either try for a peace deal with the current administration, or we can try and prolong the war and hope the opposition party wins control of the government and we can achieve a better peace deal.”

General Yang’s heart raced as he waited for Xi’s reaction. When he wasn’t immediately executed, he slowly began to try and breathe again. President Xi didn’t say anything for a few moments. Yang could tell that the wheels were turning inside his head as he weighed his options. The general wondered what his decision would be as the leader of the country. If they tried to prolong the war, it would mean more of China would fall to the Allies, and if that happened, it would be harder for him to negotiate an acceptable peace deal. Then again, if he threatened to wage an endless guerrilla war if they didn’t accept his proposal, he might be able to gain a better deal.

Finally, Xi spoke. “What about our nuclear weapons? What if we used them on our own soil to destroy the Allied armies? Could that be enough to turn the tide?”

Yang paused briefly. “That’s a tricky question, Mr. President. The Americans know where our nuclear missile silos are, so using them is out of the question. They would move to destroy them all as soon as they thought we might use them. If we used our mobile launchers, I believe we could catch them by surprise, but personally, I’d recommend against using nuclear weapons. Once we do, you can bet the Americans will use them on us. We saw what they did to North Korea and to Shenyang.” General Yang hoped the President would not pursue that path.

Xi slumped back in his seat, the wind taken out of his sails. He had finally heard the sobering truth…Yang wondered what he would choose to do with that information.