Shock of War (22 page)

Unless you were the operator under fire, of course.

The steeps hills and slim road net suggested that land mines would be particularly useful, but Zeus knew from their earlier briefings that most of the mines the Vietnamese had were ancient, a good number left from the American war, and were mostly of the antipersonnel variety, useless against heavy armor. Squad-level antitank weapons were virtually nonexistent—primarily RPGs that would bounce off the hulls of the Chinese main battle tanks and even some of the infantry fighting vehicles Zeus had seen.

Experience had shown over and over that a determined enemy could improvise tactics to defeat tanks if they had enough time and the right weapons. Typically, armor became more vulnerable as it slowed down and lost its advantage of mobility and speed.

But where would they get the weapons?

Zeus stared at the map. He'd concentrate on the time element first.

Maybe if you blew all of those bridges, it would take longer than a day. There hadn't been bridging equipment in the depot they'd attacked, and none had been spotted in the last set of reconnaissance photos.

The tanks could ford some of those crossings. Maybe all of them.

The Chinese were cautious, though. He'd seen that in the west.

Blow the bridges. That meant two days' delay, more if you could set up additional traps near them.

Highway 4A cut straight down from Lang Son. If the Vietnamese sent one of their tank brigades in that direction, then swung the second down and around so that it blocked off the approach to Hai Phong, they
might
have a chance at a flank attack.

Not really, thought Zeus. Their weapons would be hopelessly outmatched.

They could get more artillery into the area. Once the tanks stopped, the artillery fire could take at least a few out.

He sketched the ideas out for Christian. They weren't much; even Christian could see through them.

“Look, if we blow up every bridge, that's still only a few days at most,” he told Zeus. “A few days. I can't imagine it taking a whole week to get to Tien Yen, even without the bridges. You get there on Day Three, you have the whole rest of the coast open to you. South of Dam Tron, everything really opens up—you don't have to be Patton.”

Zeus stared at the map. If he were using that route, he would count on the bridges being blown, and use much lighter vehicles.

“If I were the Chinese, I'd welcome a counterattack,” added Christian. “It'd make them easier to kill.”

Zeus knew he was right. Still, there must be something here, something else they could use.

He straightened, and walked across the room.
Put the attack in perspective,
he told himself.
What is the goal?

Hai Phong. Had to be.

Nothing else?

Hai Phong was more than enough.

How did it fit with the rest of the strategy? The main attack was in the west. It was an armored strike, a lightning move designed to get deep into the country. They would be moving south and east soon, cutting the country in half.

You took Hai Phong and the northern coast, and the capital would be completely cut off.

And yet, something about it didn't completely ring true. There were better roads farther west, and a decently wide valley if you were pushed off it.

“There's going to be another attack somewhere,” said Zeus. “This has to be setting something else up.”

“Besides the amphibious landing?” asked Christian. “That must have been part of the plan.”

Zeus nodded. That was the context to see this in—it should have been launched with the attack they'd forestalled.

Too much fatigue, too much pressure. Zeus sat back in the seat, moving forces around in his head. There was always a danger of overthinking things. A lot of times you gave your enemy too much credit. Hell, he'd done that against Christian during Red Dragon.

Zeus watched Christian prepare some notes. He had to admit that Christian was holding up far better than he thought he would—that, in fact, Christian had changed over the past few days and had become much stronger, while he had become weaker, or at least felt weaker.

Zeus's eyes started to close. The air was fetid down here. He could use a nap, or a walk to the surface.

A knock on the door stopped the downward drift of his eyelids. Two Vietnamese officers entered the room. They were the staff translators. One was a major, the other a captain.

“We are ready?” asked the major.

“Good to go,” said Christian.

The captain looked blankly at Zeus.

“Yes, we are ready,” said Zeus. “Can we get some coffee?”

“There will be tea. Apologies; it is all we have.”

*   *   *

Zeus and Christian rose as the Vietnamese
generals and their staff officers came into the room. They reshuffled the chairs, moving around so that the Americans were on the right side of the room. Zeus wasn't sure if this was a feng shui thing or related to some sort of ritualistic honor he wasn't aware of.

Or maybe they just wanted to keep them far from the door.

General Perry came in, his face grave. He'd gone back to the embassy to talk with Washington; obviously he didn't like what he'd heard.

The last person to enter the room was General Minh Trung. Except for the army uniform—which was the plainest available, baggy at the knees and sides, with no ribbons and no insignia—Trung could have looked like one of the Buddhist priests conducting ceremonies in the orientation film Zeus had seen on the way over. He was several inches taller than Zeus, a veritable giant in Vietnam, but thin. His neck and forearms were sinewy; he stood extremely straight, his posture textbook perfect.

He nodded to Zeus, a smile appearing at the corner of his lips, then took his seat at the head of the table.

A colonel began the meeting by lowering a screen from the ceiling opposite Trung. One of the other officers opened a laptop on the table and took out a small digital projector. Flashing a situation map on the screen, the colonel gave a brief summary of the situation. He spoke in Vietnamese, stopping every so often to let the translators explain what he was saying. He ended with the sighting of the tanks and the action by the Americans.

“A most valuable contribution,” said the colonel, looking over at Zeus and Christian. “We are very grateful for all your help.”

“Several times now,” added Trung. They were the first words he had spoken.

The Vietnamese colonel turned back to the map. He predicted that the Chinese would launch their assault down the east coast by dawn. He swept his pointer downward, showing the projected path.

The Vietnamese had arrived at roughly the same conclusion Zeus and Christian had: The attack would come down the coastal road, aimed first at securing Tien Yen, then sweeping southward toward Hai Phong. The tank brigades would be rushed to that area.

“How do you plan to stop them?” Perry asked.

The colonel seemed a bit put off by the question, and began answering in Vietnamese even before the translator translated.

“We will fight with conviction for our homeland,” he said, using English.

“I know,” said Perry. “But the rounds in the T-55s aren't going to penetrate the Chinese armor.”

“We have strategies.”

“What are they?” asked Christian.

The Vietnamese were not completely unrealistic, Zeus thought; there must be some reason for their confidence. He took a guess at it.

“How many
Boltoks
do you have?” he asked. Turning to Perry, he explained. “Missles. For the tanks.”

The Boltoks were missiles that could be fired from the T-55's gun; they would also fit in the 100 mm smoothbores of the ancient SU-100s the Vietnamese had as well. They were relatively expensive missiles, manufactured by Russia. As far as Zeus or anyone else in the States had known until now, Vietnam did not possess any.

The Vietnamese colonel turned pale as Zeus's comments were translated. He turned to Trung.

“The major is, as always, knowledgeable and prescient,” said Trung from the end of the table. “You will understand, Major, that the existence of this weapon is, of course, a state secret.”

“I do understand,” said Zeus. “But I also have to tell you, they're not necessarily going to stop the Type 99s. The latest versions can penetrate armor to 850 millimeters. The tanks you're coming up against are thicker than that.”

“We will adapt to the realities of the battlefield,” said Trung. “The difficulty is to slow the tanks down. Our forces need time to prepare.”

“General, if I might interject,” said Perry. “We can be of most use if we know exactly what the situation is. Not informing us of your weapons is your prerogative, but it does hamper our ability to help you.”

“An oversight,” said Trung.

The meeting resumed. The Vietnamese colonel outlined a plan of harassment and delay, hoping to stall the Chinese drive long enough to launch a counterattack. Christian offered a few technical points. Zeus listened silently, taking stock of the Vietnamese. Not telling them about the antitank weapons was counterproductive and petty. More important, though, it indicated that some of the Vietnamese on Trung's staff didn't trust them.

Ridiculous at this point, but there it was.

The Boltocks alone wouldn't overcome the Chinese offensive. There were just too many Z99s. After the first blow, the Chinese would adapt their tactics. They'd concentrate on the T-55s if they hadn't already. In a war of attrition, the Vietnamese would inevitably lose.

They moved on to the other fronts: the preparation for the amphibious attack, which the Vietnamese now believed would come near Hue if it came at all, and the dagger that was stuck deep in its western side. In both cases the Vietnamese seemed to be optimistic, placing a great deal of faith in the ability of the reserve troops—the older men and women who formed what would be colloquially termed a home guard. The colonel spoke of guerilla attacks against Chinese pickets as if they were major victories. Blowing up a troop truck here and a depot there were certainly good for local morale, but they were pinpricks against the Chinese juggernaut.

Zeus suggested a spoiling attack against the Chinese before they moved across the swollen water in the west. If placed properly, it might provoke the Chinese into shifting their forces once more away from the offensive. But the Vietnamese didn't have the troops to pull this off, and the colonel told him that they were quite content with their “defensive posture.”

The meeting lasted two hours, a relatively short time given the gravity of the situation and the amount that was discussed. Zeus began to look forward to his dinner with Dr. Anway.

He pictured her again, this time trying to replace the medical clothes with something more attractive.

“You have done us great service,” said Trung as the session closed. “We are deeply in your debt.”

Christian grinned like a stuffed pig.

“Thank you,” said Zeus.

Trung nodded at Perry, then left. The rest of the Vietnamese officers filed out.

“What's up, General?” asked Zeus when they were alone.

“Trung wants to have a word,” he said. “He wants you and Christian to talk to his troops. It's voluntary.”

“Sure.”

“He also wants to thank you personally. It's the least he can do,” added Perry, with just the slightest hint of sarcasm. “Good work figuring out what they were thinking.”

“They don't trust us, do they?”

“Not completely. How potent are the missiles?”

“Depends on how many they have. In the end…”

Perry nodded.

“I don't know that we're getting outside help,” he told him. “We may be it.”

Zeus had feared as much.

“They'll get their asses kicked,” said Christian.

“Yes, Win, that does seem likely.”

“If the goal is to slow them down, they might let them get south a bit before attacking,” said Zeus. “The Chinese stop when they're surprised—it's a pattern. They get overconfident, then once they run into something they didn't expect, they stop and look around. They're really cautious.”

“What are you thinking?” asked Perry.

“Let them get down to Tien Yen. The armor moves quick—they'll stretch out, the tanks ahead of the infantry units. Just like they did in the west. We make the attack behind the forward units. Hit them really hard.”

Zeus laid out his plan. They would concede territory initially, and at the end of day, the Chinese would be in control of Tien Yen and possibly farther south. But if things went well, that force would be cut off.

“But you give up Tien Yen,” said Perry.

“True.”

“Why would they stop there?” asked Christian. “If you're going to hit them, why not get them at the border?”

“Because they expect resistance at the border, and all the way down to the city. It's the unexpected that throws them. They don't adapt quickly. That's really the key. Their generals are too cautious.”

“Tell Trung,” said Perry. “And what he's asking is purely voluntary. You've been through enough already. I'd send you home if I could spare you.”

*   *   *

Trung spoke
without an interpreter.

“We are very grateful for your heroic efforts,” he told Zeus and Christian. “You have done much for the Vietnamese people.”

Zeus bowed his head slightly, in the Vietnamese way.

“Many of the commanders have heard of your achievements,” continued Trung. “If you were to speak to their troops before the battle, it would be a very good for them. Their bravery would be reinforced.”

“It would be an honor,” said Christian.

“Thank you, Major,” said Trung. He turned to Zeus. “Your wounds?”

“I'm fine,” said Zeus. “Sure, we'll talk to your men. If it'll help.”