Invasion: Colorado (11 page)

Zhu’s helmet was closed and he’d dressed warmly, but that didn’t help after forty-five minutes in the night air. He shivered, wishing he could sit before a glowing orange heater. Since he was so skinny, he didn’t retain heat as well as the others did.

They were on Partisan Standby. It meant the Z4A had climbed up high into the sky, loitering. American ears had grown wary, and partisans bolted at the first sound of Chinese helos. So command had decided on a new tactic: up and out of sight and sound until the instant of partisan combat.

High-flying modified AWACS watched the ground for partisans. Once spotted, this battle-taxi could zoom. The new modification to the Z4A was afterburner-equipped tri-jets.

Zhu had been on several afterburner runs. They were wild rides, exhilarating and
fast
. The trouble was, few Eagle flyers could dismount in the accepted manner when the battle-taxi flew that fast. Once the Eagle commando stood up to launch, the wind hit him hard, pushing him back into his seat. The trick was to fall backward like a skydiver.

For the moment, as his teeth chattered, Zhu tried to figure out how to enjoy the patrol. He was cold and getting colder. He studied the nearby Rocky Mountains. They were majestic, but their snowy sides…no, looking at them just made him shiver more. The ground was far below. The distant I-25—it went north to south—was the tiniest of ribbons. On that route went most Chinese supplies to the PAA Third Front.

Zhu’s helmet crackled with sound. “Soldier Rank Zhu,” he heard.

Zhu chinned his controls. “Yes, First Rank.”

“I’m so cold my balls are going to freeze off,” Tian complained. “How I am going to please the hot American women then? Tell me that.”

Zhu blinked in confusion. Was this a code? Orders mandated quiet from Eagle flyers during a combat air patrol. Tian must have spotted something vitally important to break radio silence.

“Are we jumping?” Zhu asked.

“No,” Tian said. “I told you my balls are cold. That means I’m freezing. How do you keep yourself warm?”

Oh, Zhu understood. Tian must realize how easily he became cold. The beefy First Rank must be saying this to make him feel better. It was thoughtful of Tian, but it made Zhu uncomfortable.
Does he think I’m too weak to take the cold?

“First Rank,” Zhu said in a chiding voice. “Orders state we must maintain radio silence.”

“I’m too cold to be silent,” Tian said. “If I have to sit another moment with my thoughts, I’m jumping off and going to ground where it’s warmer.”

“The officers would mark you AWOL.”

Tian chuckled. “Zhu, Zhu, Zhu, why are you so serious all the time? Aren’t you cold?”

Instead of answering—he never wanted to lie to Tian—Zhu said, “What if the officers hear our radio chatter?”

“You were a Hero of Los Angeles and now you’re worried about a few prissy officers?” Tian asked. “Soldier Rank, are you worried about a few demerits?”

This must be a secret test. Zhu nodded to himself.
Tian and likely officers wish to see if I have moral courage. I cannot show moral cowardice. Yet, I am supposed to obey orders. I don’t know what to do
.

“Are you still there, Soldier Rank? Or have you already jumped off to get warm?”

“I am at my post,” Zhu said.

“Are you cold?”

“No, First Rank,” Zhu said.

“Did you just lie to me?”

“Well…” Zhu said, “Yes, I’m a little cold.”

“So a Hero of Los Angeles is mortal after all.”

Zhu had a won a Hero of China medal for his actions in Los Angeles. “First Rank, I wish you would not mock my efforts in California.”

“Do you remember that my mother went to an astrologer before I left and she discovered that I wouldn’t die in North America?”

“I remember,” Zhu said.

“I wonder if the astrologer was true or if she was a charlatan like people say they are. If she was false, it means I might die here. This country is so big, and there are so many Americans who take up their guns to fight us—do you think we can win this war?”

“China cannot lose,” Zhu said.

“Why is that?” Tian asked.

“We fight better,” Zhu said in surprise. “We have the greatest soldiers in history. The Americans have retreated constantly before us. It is impossible for us to lose.”

“That’s a nice speech, Soldier Rank. Now tell me what you really think.”

“I’m…” Zhu glanced to his left. First Rank Tian looked at him. The big commando raised an arm and waved.

Zhu let go of a handlebar and waved back.

“I have a report of a band of partisans, First Rank Tian,” the Z4A’s pilot said. “They’ve blown up three trucks nine kilometers from our position. Are your commandos ready for a dive?”

“Get set, Eagle flyers,” Tian radioed the others with wide band. “We’re going down.”

Zhu gripped the handlebars with both hands. He lowered his head and heard the ripping wind pass his ears. Sometimes when the afterburners roared hottest, wind slipped over the windshield. He’d seen a flyer torn out of his seat before.

The Z4A modified battle-taxi tipped earthward. A second later, the helo shot forward. Afterburners roared and orange flame flickered.

Zhu’s fingers slipped. He tightened his hold and crouched lower still. He shifted his feet as he leaned as low as he could, managing to get his boots in front of the foot bars. The tri-jet afterburners didn’t let up. As they dove, it was a struggle to remain on his cycle-seat.

“Ease up on your dive,” Tian radioed the pilot.

“Orders,” the pilot said. “I’m to dive at maximum speed.”

“And if your orders kill us by tumbling commandos, whose head do you think will roll?” Tian asked.

The battle-taxi eased up in its dive, giving Zhu time to re-grip the bars and lean into a better position.

“If we’re late…” the pilot said.

“Don’t threaten me,” Tian said, and there was menace in his voice.

The pilot didn’t say anything more, nor did they increase speed again. Zhu could understand the pilot’s fear. He’d fought Tian before and lost miserably. But losing a fight didn’t mean you backed down. He would rather take the blows of a beating than show cowardice.

The First Rank fed them data as he received it. The ground rushed nearer and I-25 had grown considerably. Zhu could see a blaze on the road. The partisans must have struck an oil hauler.

“Was the partisan strike by mine or machine gun?” Zhu asked.

“Looks like both,” Tian told him.

“There!” another Soldier Rank cried. “Look at three-dash-five. They’re riding motorcycles, two people per vehicle.”

Zhu swiveled his helmet while turning on the HUD coordinates. He spied the partisans with his night vision. The motorcycles fled for a forest three kilometers away. If the Americans reached those trees, it would be hard to find and kill them.

The Z4A swept out of the night sky like a proverbial bat out of hell. The afterburners and dive gave the helo speed.

“They’re splitting up!” the Soldier Rank shouted.

“We can hear you just fine,” Tian said. “There’s no need to shout.”

“Which motorcycle do you want me to follow?” the pilot asked.

Tian was quiet for a moment. Then he began to instruct the pilot and the team. “Zhu, you and Qiang will take the left motorcycle.”

The helo lurched right. Tian was giving him the hardest target. Despite that, the others would laugh at him if his motorcycle got away.

“Get ready,” Tian said.

The battle-taxi zoomed at the chosen motorcycle, gaining on it.

“Launch,” Tian said.

Zhu released the handlebars and thrust up with his feet. It was a tricky maneuver, and he twisted his boots. They could easily tangle with the handlebars. He cleared the helo and flew forward through momentum. He also dropped. Only now did he engage the jetpack. If a flyer shot up too soon, he could cause a bad accident for both him and the others.

“Zhu,” Fighter Rank Qiang said.

“Follow me,” Zhu said, “but stay to my left.”

“Yes, Soldier Rank,” Qiang said.

Opening the throttle, Zhu flew after the leftmost motorcycle and the two partisans. He made a quick calculation and gave himself maximum thrust. That ate up jetpack-fuel at a prodigious rate. But this wasn’t an endurance flight. He had to reach the motorcycle now. It was harder flying fast, though, trickier, more prone to misjudgments.

He gained on the pair. Did they hear him? One of the riders looked back. She had long hair whipping in the wind.

It’s a woman. I don’t want to kill a woman
.

The woman sitting on the back of the bike didn’t have any compunction about shooting at him. She twisted around and fired a submachine gun. It spat flame.

Zhu wasn’t worried about getting hit up here. She rode a bike over bumpy ground and he flew in the air. She’d need divine luck to shoot him down like this. He’d learned through bitter experience that the dangerous ground soldiers were those who fired deliberately while standing in one spot.

“Qiang?” Zhu asked.

“Behind you and to the left,” Qiang said.

Zhu glanced back. In the darkness, he could barely make out Qiang. The Fighter Rank had fallen far behind.

“Get high up,” Zhu said. “You’re going to watch where they go.”

“I need to give you fire support.”

“You must obey me!” Zhu shouted.

“Yes, Soldier Rank.”

Zhu glanced at his grenade launcher. It was perched on his left shoulder like a predatory eagle. He gained on the motorcycle and fired a grenade. It sailed into the darkness and exploded to their left by forty meters.

The driver never swerved. Sometimes partisans panicked, but it didn’t look like these two would. Zhu fired another grenade for good measure.

The submachine gun blazed.

Zhu grinned to himself. He zoomed lower, gaining even more speed. He was a mere thirty meters above them. He flashed over them and sped ahead.

Now the motorcycle swerved, taking a different direction.

“Talk to me, Qiang. Tell me where they’re going.” Zhu didn’t want to take his eye off the ground. This was going to get tricky. While he was this low, he didn’t want to keep looking back to see where they were.

Qiang fed him data on his targets.

Zhu made a quick judgment and roared ahead for a rough piece of ground. Eagle flyers had broken many an ankle trying this. He needed full concentration.

“Zhu, they’re heading straight for you! I think they know what you’re going to do.”

The girl must be firing the submachine gun, but Zhu wasn’t going to worry about that now. He needed concentration.
You’ve trained doing this many a time. Just get it right. Get down and then worry about the combat situation
.

Too many Eagle flyers tried to do two things at once. You needed to land right first. Then you could fight. Fighting while trying to land meant you would spill badly.

Zhu watched the ground rush up. He swiveled his body and applied thrust, braking himself. He dropped, braked harder, and dropped at just the right angle. Seconds later, he ran lightly across the ground. His feet blurred and he brought himself under control.

“They’re coming for you,” Qiang radioed.

“They are brave,” Zhu said.

He ran, and with a flick of his hands, he shed the jetpack. It fell, and he ran faster, lighter now. Then he dove, thudding onto the ground, skidding with his chest, using his toes to drag and brake. As he stopped, he yanked his QBZ-95 from the rack and swiveled on his stomach.

“How did you do that, Zhu?” Qiang asked. “I can’t believe it.”

Soldier Rank Zhu ignored the question. He concentrated on combat.
I must fight with superior bravely against these courageous Americans
.

He sighted the assault rifle, and he let the pair roar at him over the bumpy ground. The headlight wavered and the enemy gunfire quit. The woman must be switching magazines.

Deliberately, Zhu pulled the trigger. The stock shoved against his shoulder as he lay on the ground. Flame belched out of the barrel, illuminating the iron sight on the end. He began firing bursts, and in a moment, the motorcycle slid and the two Americans went down. Zhu watched. The driver stayed down, for he’d shot the partisan in the head. The woman with the flying hair got up and staggered.

Zhu hesitated.
She is a woman
.

The partisan looked around wildly. Zhu heard her sob. Then he shot her, and she too went down—and she stayed down.

He thought about that—killing a woman, and it emotionally drained him. He lay on the ground and began to shake. He hated this about himself. All the excitement was over and now his body betrayed him. He shook, and he hated the fact of killing a woman.

“Zhu,” Qiang radioed from the ground, from beside the motorcycle. “They’re both women. They…they look like sisters.”

Soldier Rank Zhu closed his eyes. He didn’t like partisan hunting. The Americans were brave to do what they did. Yet he had to kill them and make them stop. If he didn’t, China would wear herself out in battle.

“Are you well, Soldier Rank?” Qiang radioed. “I see you lying on the ground.”

“I’m fine,” Zhu said. He sat up, and the trembling increased. He had been scared making the landing. He was glad no one else knew that.

As he walked toward Qiang, he realized that he wasn’t cold anymore.

How much longer would the squad continue to hunt partisans? When was the war going to get hot again? He wanted to fight American soldiers, not their motorcycle-riding, submachine gun-firing women partisans. It wasn’t fair to him the Americans did that and he wanted it to stop.

REYKJAVIK, ICELAND

It was November 2
and Anna Chen’s hands trembled as she stood before her hotel mirror.
I’m the wrong person for this. I’m going to make a terrible mistake and it will cost America everything. Why did he choose me?

Anna wore a modest blue dress with a matching purse and shoes. Today, she wore her dark hair down past her shoulders.

Should I put my hair up? This is awful. I don’t even know how to dress for something like this.

She stared at herself, trying to drum up a modicum of self-confidence. She was slender, some said beautiful—Anna had a hard time admitting it to herself—and she was half-Chinese in a country undergoing its worst crisis because of the Chinese. Many, many people hated her because of her ethnicity.