Monroe Doctrine: Volume VIII

Book 8: Monroe Doctrine

by James Rosone, Miranda Watson

Genres: War & Military; High-tech & Sci-fi Thrillers; Military Sci-Fi; Military Thrillers; japan; military thriller; Taiwan; Future warfare; AI war; wargaming; Drones; America China war; South Korea; Autonomous Combat Vehicles; military suspense; bestselling military series

Synopsis

To destroy Jade Dragon’s lair…

…an unthinkable weapon is unveiled.

Had the Allies gone too far?

The Chinese super-AI had achieved its master plan—an autonomous robotic army, air force, and navy. As President Yao and the People’s Liberation Army faced defeat on the battlefield, full command of the PLA was handed over to Jade Dragon, which says it can slay the enemies of China to usher in a new dawn of global Chinese hegemony for the 21st century.

The robots were coming…

With the Terracotta Killers walking the land, Shadow Dragons and Dark Swords prowling the skies, and Sea Dragons roaming the Yellow Sea, a dystopian science fiction nightmare had become real. Machines now dominated the battlefield.

Were these wonder weapons being unveiled too late?

Was Jade Dragon’s robotic army enough to turn the tide?

Every inch of ground was surveyed, monitored, and fought over as man fought machine for survival. Could the arsenals of democracy outproduce China? Could the West outlast the East, or would Jade Dragon pull off the impossible—and win the AI war?

With victory or defeat balancing on a razor’s edge, the Allies refused to go quietly into the night. They had a secret technological breakthrough of their own. Would the ends justify the means if it led to victory or were the unknown risks too big to accept?

President Delgado was about to order the unthinkable.

You’ll love this eighth and final book in the Monroe Doctrine series because the way the limits are pushed is frightening beyond imagination.

Get it now.

Release date: October 21, 2023

Publisher: Front Line Publishing Inc.

Print pages: 374

Sample

Chapter One
Battle of Shenyang

 

Late October 2027

Joint Battle Command Center

Northwest Beijing, China

 

Bang, bang, bang!

President Yao Jintao was startled violently from what had been a restful slumber as his security detail barged into his room.

He sat straight up, adrenaline rushing through his system. “This had better be good,” he practically shouted.

“Mr. President, the allies have launched a missile attack. We need you to get underground to the Maglev.”

Yao suppressed the urge to shout obscenities; they were just the messengers, and it wouldn’t do any good any way. Instead he shooed them out of the room just long enough for him to slip out of his expensive silk pajamas and throw on clothing befitting a world leader. And then he raced with a speed that was close to Olympian speedwalking. He felt running was too undignified for him, but he understood the urgency.

As his ride began, Yao felt the walls of the train tunnel closing in on him. The blur of its hypnotic lights zipped past them. Each frantic high-speed journey beneath the earth to the Joint Battle Command Center felt like another failure, a concession to the allied bombardment. The longer this war continued, the more the allies continued to bomb his country. His military had made great strides in introducing the world’s first-ever autonomous fighter drones. Yet it didn’t seem to matter. The allies continued to bomb his nation, its factories and infrastructure, with impunity. There was a time when he could be chauffeured to the JBCC. Now, it was too dangerous for him to travel on the streets of Beijing.

Yao yearned to stand firm on the surface. To assess his soldiers in person and to speak to crowds of his people, to visit the great cities of his nation. Instead, he had been driven to the safety of the underground labyrinth they had created for such situations. It galled him to seek out safety below ground—but he had. Of course, the plastic smiles of his security detail brooked no objection to this course of action. They did what they were told and did whatever it took to keep him safe.

“Tianbao Station is now approaching,” announced the conductor.

Yao grunted, hearing the station’s name—Heaven’s Fortress. He had insisted on the name years before the war, wanting to project the idea that this command center wasn’t a place of retreat, but a fortress of divine importance and a sign of the blessings of the heavens into which China would lead the world in the future. Now…that future felt more uncertain than he cared to admit.

The journey from his residence in the city to Fragrant Hills Park had taken less than ten minutes. It was here, deep beneath the surface of the old imperial garden, that the Joint Battle Command Center had been built over many decades. With the Beijing Botanical Gardens above them and with easy access from the Haidian District of Beijing, the edge of the Western Hills made for a spectacular site to locate an underground capital should the need arise.

“We are entering the station now,” Yao overheard the head of his security detail say.

The Maglev train slowed as it pulled into a cavernous station lit with bright artificial lights designed to mimic the effects of the sun. Yao stared out the window as the train came to a stop. He could see the station was bustling with activity. Workers were coming and going, moving carts of supplies or talking animatedly with each other as they moved about the platform.

“We are ready to move when you are, sir,” his head of security informed him, no doubt eager to get him moved into the mountain fortress.

As Yao disembarked the train, his strides belied none of the roiling frustration he felt within. He had an image of strength to project, especially with troubling reports awaiting him. The security detail led him towards a waiting tram that would take them further into the mountain complex.

The ride was short—just long enough for Yao to think about what was happening above.

“We are here, Mr. President,” the head of his security said. They exited the tram and headed toward the door leading into the giant command center.

*******

President Yao was greeted by the grim faces of his generals and their staff, who were busily coordinating counterattacks and assessing the damage caused by the missiles that had already hit. As Yao looked at the large monitor in the operations center, it was apparent this was a much larger attack than previous allied bombing raids or missile strikes. Some icons denoted hits while others showed missiles still inbound to their targets. These missiles appeared to be aimed at the fringes of their territory, much further away from the actual fighting.

More attacks against our road and rail networks, he surmised. These attacks have to stop…we cannot possibly win this war or hope to turn it around if we cannot regain control of the skies above our cities and factories.

“This way, Mr. President,” a military aide said as he directed them towards the fishbowl. At least, that’s what Yao liked to call it. A sizable boardroom-like briefing room four meters above the ground floor, the fishbowl gave those inside a view of the entire command center while sealing them off from the noise and chatter of the dozens of people working the various terminals below.

Yao walked into the fishbowl, heading towards his seat at the center of the table. He resolved to greet the news with an iron facade, the anger and rage he felt simmering in his heart wanting to explode—but it couldn’t.

Perhaps it is time to initiate Yunlong.

As Yao sat in his chair, an aide poured him a fresh cup of tea, piping hot with just the amount of honey he liked. Sipping the tea, he seethed as he cycled through the damage reports that continued streaming into the terminal in front of him from the various locations the missiles had hit.

How could the allies have slipped over a thousand missiles past our defenses? he asked himself glumly. Have we become so impotent?

Finally, Yao broke his silence, his temper having simmered long enough. “Someone explain to me how the enemy managed to launch a cruise missile attack on this scale and why we appear to have been unable to even respond to it,” he demanded.

Yao waited to see who would be the first to respond to his question. To his surprise, General Li, the head of the People’s Liberation Army, shifted uneasily in his chair before replying, “It was a trick—a well-orchestrated deception play.”

“Really? Do tell, General Li,” Yao replied, surprised by Li’s bluntness.

“This attack wasn’t like previous missile or bombing attacks. They surprised us because they didn’t use stealth or traditional bomber assets. Instead, this attack originated from their regular run-of-the-mill cargo jets. That’s how they caught our radar crews and interceptors off guard.”

“Huh. That is your expert military opinion? The allies converted cargo planes into makeshift bombers to launch waves of cruise missiles?” Yao’s voice dripped with icy contempt.

Jade Dragon must have sensed an opportunity as he interjected, “Mr. President, you are more or less correct in your assumption. For more than a decade, the American Air Force has pursued a strategy called Rapid Dragon. This strategy called for utilizing existing cargo jets to carry a palletized container capable of carrying cruise missiles in either a six-tube or a nine-tube disposable pod module. This system allows the American C-130 cargo aircraft to be fitted with two of these six-pod disposable modules, whereas the C-17 Globemaster can carry five nine-pod disposable modules. This approach effectively allows their cargo planes to fire between twelve and forty-five cruise missiles per aircraft. I would like to note this is only the second time we have seen the allies use this weapon against us. I had not anticipated the allies using this tactic nor their industrial ability to scale their cruise missile production to conduct this significant an attack. I have recalculated my assessments of the allied industrial capacity,” JD finished.

Yao paused as he thought about what JD had just said. Perhaps he had been too hasty in rebuking his generals. This novel weapon system seemed to have slipped past JD, despite the AI’s highly advanced capacity to track and assess the allies’ various threats and capabilities. Still, the damage inflicted rankled him.

“OK, so Jade Dragon appears to have dropped the ball here. What about our aircraft? How did our fighters manage not to down the scores of cargo jets that were part of this operation?” Yao pivoted to General Luo, his Air Force Chief of Staff. “What happened to your Shadow Dragons—our Dark Dragons…why did our fleet of drone fighters fail to stop them?”

Luo bristled at the implied criticism. “On the contrary, Mr. President. Our fighters eliminated twenty-two jets—seven fifth-generation fighters and fifteen cargo aircraft. While it is true that many of our installations suffered damage, we were, however, able to prevent critical installations, like Area 43, from sustaining any damage.”

When Yao heard that Area 43 had survived the attack unscathed, he felt immensely better. Supposing they could continue to protect this particular production facility, then they might be able to produce enough of their superweapons to make a difference in turning this war around. But one question still nagged at him.

“I am glad to hear Area 43 did not sustain damage. What was the intended target of all these missile attacks?” he asked Luo. “Over a thousand spread across most of the country—why?”

Jade Dragon interjected, “The allies’ aim was disruption more than outright destruction, except for northern China and General Song’s First PLA Army. The bulk of these missile attacks did not overwhelm any one particular area. However, they made a point of destroying rail and road bridges, tunnels, and major interchanges and connections. Hitting logistical networks to further impede our ability to supply our northern forces seems to have been the primary objective of this attack. In addition to attacks on our logistical networks, these strikes also stressed our air defenses, probing for weaknesses ahead of what I assume will be a new ground offensive.”

As Yao listened to JD’s assessment, it seemed to ring true, no matter his thoughts. Yao again appreciated JD’s ability to discern strategic patterns beneath surface outcomes. Perhaps it is time to consider expanding Jade Dragon’s purview and autonomy to make decisions…

Just then, a nervous aide interrupted Yao’s thoughts. “General Song is now on the line and prepared to update us on his current situation.”

“Excellent, put him through,” Yao ordered. He steeled himself as the First Army commander’s image appeared on-screen. It was time to take charge of this conflict before the allies could gain further momentum.

*******

 

First PLA Army HQ

Shenshuiwan Park

Shenyang, Liaoning Province

 

General Song bristled as General Xue Jia, the Commander of the PLA Ground Force, shouted his question through the secured video teleconference interface. “What is the situation following the missile attack, General Song?” demanded General Xue.

“The situation is grim, General,” Song admitted, the tension of the moment evident in his voice. “Just prior to the missile attack, the allies initiated a rocket and artillery bombardment of the entire Dengta front line. I have reports coming in from every sector along the front that they are under heavy bombardment. My rear-echelon and reserve units are also reporting being under rocket artillery attack in addition to these cruise missile strikes hitting fuel and ammunition depots and vehicle yards. It’s a damn mess right now.”

President Yao’s face appeared where General Xue’s had been moments before. “General Song, do you believe the allies are preparing to assault the Dengta Line or do you believe they are up to something else entirely?” Yao asked.

“Mr. President, I believe this is the allied offensive Jade Dragon and our intelligence reports have been alluding to for some time. With the Russians pressing our lines in Inner Mongolia and the NATO Plus force pressing into northern China, it makes sense that the allies would initiate another offensive here, in the south of my AOR, to stress my ability to supply and support three defensive positions at the same time,” explained General Song.

“I concur with General Song’s assessment,” Jade Dragon chimed in. “The allies have been building up forces on the Liaodong Peninsula and the southern Liaoning Province for some time. While this offensive is still in its early stages, I would not be confident in saying that the allies were not planning to launch another offensive soon, perhaps to further disrupt our ability to support our forces in northern China.”

General Song privately fumed as the AI pontificated on possible allied this and allied that. That stupid machine is guessing at what the enemy will do just as much as we are, he argued with himself as the President seemed to agree to whatever his toy machine told him. It won’t be long before the President places that machine in charge of us all…

“General Song! Are you still there?” demanded General Xue.

“Yes, I am still here. I am distracted by the reports from my units. Is there something more I can do for you, or can I get back to fighting the allies?” he snapped before regaining control of his emotions.

“General Song,” the President started, “from our position here, we are able to see what is happening from a wider vantage point than you. We, too, believe this is the start of a new major offensive action by the allies. As such, I am ordering you to relocate your headquarters to a position further from the front lines. You are too valuable a commander to risk being encircled, or worse, incapacitated. I do not care which of these alternate command locations you choose, but begin the process of relocating to Changchun or Siping immediately.”

As if to amplify the danger of his current position, another missile or rocket artillery hit the building above General Song’s headquarters. The lights in his command center briefly flickered as their ears rang from the nearby blast.

It took a moment for General Song to compose himself before responding as he brushed debris off his shoulders. “Mr. President, I appreciate the concern. While your plan is not without merit, it is far easier for me to manage the most important battlefield decisions if I remain close to the frontline positions.”

President Yao was about to respond when General Song heard the familiar voice of Jade Dragon interject. “You are right, General Song, it is easier for you to identify problems with your commanders the closer you are to the battle. But as the President mentioned, you are too valuable to place yourself in this kind of jeopardy. I clearly have the ability to communicate with not just one of your local unit commanders, but all of them at the same time. Because I can handle any modifications to troop dispositions and react to the enemy faster than you or your staff, it would be wiser to have you relocate to a safer position and allow me to assume this risk.”

Wow, the balls on this machine to speak to me like this…I’d have you shot if you weren’t made of ones and zeros.

“That is a good point, JD,” President Yao said, parroting the AI’s concern. “General Song, I imagine as a soldier, you want to be where your men can see you—for them to know you are there with them, sharing the same sacrifices and risks they are. But we have lost far too many of our more capable generals throughout this war. The Army can ill afford to lose our most capable military commander at such a critical moment.

“General Song, this is an order from your President. You are to relocate your headquarters and yourself to either your alternative command post at Changchun or the one at Siping—your choice. But you are ordered to leave the city now, before you become trapped and unable to evacuate. Is that understood?” The President glared, leaving no room for negotiation.

Damn you, Jade Dragon…you are going to cost us the war.

“Understood, Mr. President. My staff and I will be on the move within the hour.”

Yao shook his head. “No, General. You will be on the move within the next ten minutes. No more. Time is of the essence. You mustn’t dither; there isn’t time.”

Doing his best to remain calm while the call was still connected, General Song agreed to be on the move within the time allotted. Once the call disconnected, his aides and deputies moved with a purpose as computers were shut down and maps folded up.

Boom!

Bam!

The building shook from another explosion as more erupted nearby.

“It’s probably another HIMARS attack,” a major commented.

“General Song, if those rockets are HIMARS, it’s likely the enemy knows your headquarters is here or nearby,” elaborated Senior Colonel Wang Xiubin, one of his most trusted aides.

General Song pounded the desk in frustration, cursing that damn AI beneath his breath. Looking to his aide, he said, “You are likely right, Colonel. But before we leave Shenyang, I need to know where Major General Wu Kehua is located. I must speak to him before we leave.”

“Yes, General, let me find out where he is while we search for available helos we can use to relocate the headquarters. Do you have a preference between Changchun or Siping?” asked Colonel Wang.

“Changchun—let’s relocate there. In the meantime, get us enough helos to make the move, and also find us some gunships. There is no way in hell I want to travel on the highways with as many drones as the allies probably have in the air by now,” Song directed, and his staff went to work making it all happen.

As the time continued to tick by, Song felt himself growing more nervous by the minute. He still hadn’t found out General Wu’s location or been able to contact him. Wu was hands down his most capable Group Army commander. If Song was being ordered out of Shenyang, then he was going to bring General Wu with him. He still didn’t trust that AI enough to rely on it like an advisor.

It wasn’t long before the sounds of helicopters could be heard approaching Shenshuiwan Park. It was time to leave the refuge of his headquarters to head for the helos.

Just as he was about to leave, an officer ran up to him. “Sir, I was able to connect to someone on General Wu’s staff. He said the general was visiting some units at the Taoxian airport prior to the missile attack. His staff assured me the general is fine, but he’s staying at the airport for the moment until it’s safer for him to move about. Do you want me to pass along a message to him before you leave?”

“Yes, Major, tell General Wu I’m relocating my headquarters to Changchun. But before I leave the area, I’m going to direct the helo pilots to make a stop at his location. Tell him to be ready to travel within minutes of my arrival—say twenty minutes from now. I’ll see him then,” General Song instructed. Then he followed his bodyguard and key staff out to the waiting helos.

*******

 

Ten Minutes Later

IVO Mozishan Park

 

General Song Fu was beginning to question his choice to relocate to Changchun via helicopter after seeing the helo next to them explode. The next thing he knew, the pilot dove for the ground, banking sharply to the right, but not before Song was able to catch a glimpse of the Taoxian International Airport just kilometers away.

Something’s not right, he thought. Wait…those aren’t our vehicles.

It suddenly dawned on General Song that the airport was under attack. At first, he had thought the pillars of black smoke rising at various points around the airport were remnants of the earlier missile attack. Now he realized they were likely from destroyed vehicles meant to guard the airport.

Could the Americans really have taken over the airport? he wondered, suddenly feeling a full-fledged sense of panic. How could ground elements have broken through the lines and advanced this far?

“Sir! The airport—it’s under their control!” shouted the pilot. “We’re being targeted. Hold on!”

The helicopter veered violently as the pilot tried to abort the landing. General Song glanced out the side window, and his blood ran completely cold. A vapor trail from the ground was streaking toward them—a missile.

“Incoming, brace for impact!” the pilot yelled as he pulled wildly on the controls, trying to evade the dangerous projectile.

Bang!

The explosion was deafening, the sudden jolt violent. The Z-9 lurched to one side, rotor RPMs dropping dangerously. Alarms blared in the cockpit.

“We’re hit! Damn it, the tail boom is gone!” the copilot reported.

The helicopter was spiraling out of control.

General Song tried to see through the spinning out his window where they were headed—a copse of trees came into view. The pilot wrestled with the controls, trying desperately to slow their descent.

“Brace for crash landing!”

The helicopter clipped the tops of the trees, severing branches that raked the fuselage with a screech of tearing metal. The ground rushed up to meet them. With a bone-jarring impact and an explosion of dirt, the helicopter smashed into an empty farm field, skidding to a grinding halt.

General Song lay dazed, the breath knocked out of him. The stench of kerosene filled the battered cabin. He looked around in shock at the mangled interior. The pilot and copilot were dead, their bodies a tangled mess of flesh intertwined with the wires and metal of the helo. He tried to move. Then he felt a stabbing pain, and his world turned black.

 

 

Chapter Two
Did We Just Bag a General?

 

Bravo Company, 3rd Rangers

IVO Heyan Village

Sujiatun District, Shenyang

 

The sounds of battle raged all around them: the whistles of artillery, the screams of rockets firing, the rumble of tanks, and the roars of jet engines high above. The fight to defeat the First PLA Army was on, and it was in full swing.

“Hang on back there—we’re about to go mudding!” howled Corporal Yangst excitedly before swerving their vehicle off the road into an empty field leading to the airport’s outer perimeter fence.

Sergeant First Class Amos Dekker grabbed for the crash bar as the vehicle practically went airborne. As they bounced and raced across the field, Dekker wasn’t sure if he should be hooting and hollering with the others or saying a quick prayer to the Lord to get him through the next couple of moments without dying. While Dekker and his unit sought to outflank the unit they’d initially encountered at the roadblock, the enemy was now fully aware of their presence, and it was only a matter of time until more PLA showed up.

“Hey, check it out!” shouted PFC Dutton. He swiveled the Mk 19 automatic grenade gun around and then gestured wildly. “Second Platoon just breached the fence! They’re in!”

Looking in the direction Dutton had pointed, Dekker saw the platoon’s ISVs accelerate rapidly onto the taxi ramp next to the main runway. Then two of the gunners manning the top-mounted .50-cals opened fire on something just outside his view. Moments later, something whipped overhead before he heard the roar of jet engines. A pair of giant fireballs suddenly burst forth where the two ISVs had been just moments earlier.

“Holy crap! Enemy aircraft, nine o’clock!” shouted Dutton.

“One of you guys grab the Starstreak and get it ready for me!” Dekker shouted before turning to Yangst. “Pull over. We gotta take that thing out before it circles around.”

Yangst brought the vehicle to a stop, and Dekker jumped out of the passenger seat. He motioned for the soldier who’d just unfastened the MANPAD from the vehicle’s roll bar to toss it to him. Catching the cylindrical tube, he readied the missile just as he spotted the J-10 leveling out of its turn as it lined up for another attack run on the Rangers breaching the airport’s perimeter.

Aiming at the rapidly approaching aircraft, he placed the targeting reticle over the J-10. When the paths of the jet and the missile lined up perfectly, he pressed the trigger. The missile took off, shooting out the tube and leaving a trail of smoke in its wake.

The Starstreak, a supersonic missile designed with three dart-like submunitions, each with its own separate propellant, shot through the sky like a lightning bolt. Then, with an earsplitting sound and a brilliant flash of light, it slammed into the J-10, ripping the front of the plane off the body of the aircraft. The separated pieces of the plane cartwheeled over their heads into the field behind them as it exploded into a ball of fire.

“Hot damn, Sergeant! That’s three planes and helicopters you’ve shot down!” PFC Dutton exclaimed.

Then Corporal Yangst asked, “Whoa, if you’re able to shoot two more of them down, does that mean you’re an Ace?”

The comment caused Dekker to laugh. Then he tossed the spent tube to the ground and hopped in the vehicle. “We got bigger things to worry about, guys. Let’s get back on mission. We still have an objective to seize.”

Corporal Yangst got the vehicle back on the move and they took off in the direction of the platoon. Following after the vehicles ahead of them, they drove through the cut in the fence and were on the taxiway moments later.

Once Dekker had oriented Yangst on where they needed to go next, he sped them along quickly, approaching the vehicle’s top speed. Their platoon had been assigned an objective on the opposite end of the airport. Having stopped the vehicle so Dekker could use the Starstreak, they were now behind schedule, and the other ISVs of the platoon had already raced well ahead of them. For better or worse, Dekker and the other ISV traveling with him would have to make up for the lost time and hope the rest of Bravo Company had already seized control of the Shenben interchange without incident.

The Shenyang Taoxian International Airport sat roughly twenty kilometers south of the city center of Shenyang in the Hunnan District. The airport was a quick jaunt down the Shenben avenue otherwise known as the 3rd Ring Road, or southbound on the nearby Shendan Expressway—the 4th Ring Road. Maintaining control of the on- and off-ramps of these two high-speed eight-lane highways was critical if they didn’t want to lose control of the airport they had just captured.

The first interchange junction point, Shenben, was a little more than two kilometers north of the airport’s main parking garage. The second interchange was another one and a half kilometers north of Shenben, placing the two ring roads in close proximity to each other. It was vital for the Rangers to maintain control of both, or reinforcements might be able to overwhelm them at the airport before friendly units were able to relieve them.

“Oh, crap, Sergeant Dekker. Looks like more helicopters headed towards the airport from the direction of the city,” PFC Denton shouted as he pointed off to their nine o’clock position.

Dekker cringed at the mention of helicopters. Unless you took ’em down quick, they could rapidly mess up an offensive with a barrage of fire-and-forget ATGMs. As he looked more closely at the trio of helicopters, one thing instantly stuck out to him as odd. Leading the trio appeared to be a pair of Z-10 attack helicopters, while the trail helicopter looked more like one of the Harbin Z-9 utility transports. As the helicopters continued towards them and the airport, a thought occurred to him.

I don’t think they’re aware we took the airport yet.

“Hey, I got an idea,” Dekker announced as he pointed to the side of the road. He told Yangst to pull over under some trees for cover, then told the guys to get out of the vehicle and set up a perimeter.

As his Rangers moved further from the vehicle, he stepped up onto the side of the door frame, reaching up the roof rack, where he unfastened the last pair of Starstreaks they had with them. With the sound of helicopters getting closer by the second, he hurried to get the pair of missiles ready, hoping he might be lucky enough to nail ’em before they realized the airport was under enemy control. Once they were aware of that, the pair of Z-10s could seriously hurt their efforts to hang on to the airport.

Readying the first Starstreak, he started to wonder if he should use both missiles against the Z-10s. But the fact that they were escorting a Z-9 told him they were probably flying cover for someone important. Important enough that he should use one of their remaining missiles on it.

“Those helicopters are almost on top of us, Sergeant,” one of his soldiers exclaimed. The whomp, whomp of helicopter blades grew louder by the second.

Lifting the MANPAD to his shoulder, Dekker aimed at the gunship, waiting long enough for the targeting system to acquire, then fired.

Moments after the missile was ejected out of the tube, it took off like a lightning bolt straight for the gunship. The pilot tried to react, dispensing flares and taking defensive actions. But it was to no avail as Dekker kept the targeting reticle steadily on the Z-10 until the beam-riding missile unsheathed its trio of tungsten darts, which plowed into the helicopter before exploding.

Dekker tossed the spent tube to the side while his soldiers cheered and hooted excitedly. Paying the ruckus no heed, he grabbed for the second missile he’d already made ready and brought it to bear.

He rapidly searched the sky, hoping the transport helicopter hadn’t gotten away before he could get a shot off.

“Sergeant Dekker—over there!” shouted one of his soldiers, pointing off to his left. Sure enough, the transport, a Harbin Z-9, had dived for the deck, likely hoping to slip past whoever had just fired on one of their escorts.

Dekker changed positions and tried to aim the MANPAD at the Z-9 but failed to secure a lock. There were too many trees blocking his attempts. Undeterred and not wanting to let the bastard get away, he took off in the direction of the road they’d just been on, hoping to find a gap in the trees or an opening that might let him get a shot off with the missile before the helicopter could get away.

As he reached the center of the road, he tried to regain control of his breath—steady his breathing as he looked to the sky. It took only a moment; then he spotted the Z-9. He centered the targeting reticle just long enough to gain a lock before firing.

Whoosh!

The missile leapt from the tube, almost floating through the air for a moment before its second-stage booster kicked in, hurling it like a bat out of hell as it accelerated to Mach 4.

The Z-9 reacted like its escort—ejecting flares and taking evasive maneuvers. But Dekker kept the missile on target, until the pilot made a daring last-second move and turned tightly to one side, causing one or more of the trio of darts to miss the main body of the helicopter. Instead, one of the darts sheered the tail boom clean off the body of the helicopter, sending it into an out-of-control spin.

Seeing the helicopter thud into the ground about a kilometer from their position, Dekker ordered everyone back to the ISV and told Yangst to hightail it to the crash site. With no loud explosion or fireball rising into the sky, there was a high likelihood of survivors—survivors Dekker was determined to capture if possible.

The ISV roared towards the crash site. The helicopter was a twisted wreck, its nose crushed, its tail boom sheared off. It was a pitiful sight. Civilians had started to gather, their curiosity piqued, but they scattered at the sight of the Americans.

Yangst brought the vehicle to a halt at a safe distance. Dekker’s orders were swift. “Form a perimeter. Didukh, with me.” He turned to Denton, manning the Mk 19. “Get Captain Loach on the radio and give him a SITREP. He’s probably losing his mind by now, wondering where we are.”

Dekker’s mind was racing as he approached the smoldering wreck. If there were survivors, they had to act fast. He hoped the fuel was spent. He didn’t fancy being blown up by his own kill.

Didukh’s voice broke through his thoughts. “We need to get this door open, Dekker.” Together, they wrestled with the jammed door until it finally gave way. Dekker’s rifle was up in an instant, trained on the unconscious men inside.

One of them stirred, a cry of pain escaping his lips. He pointed at another figure, his hand slick with blood. Didukh moved in, checking for pulses. The first few were dead. As he reached the injured man, the guy grabbed his arm, fear and pain in his eyes. Dekker reacted instinctively, a right hook sending the man into unconsciousness.

They dragged him out, then went back for the man he’d pointed out. Dekker’s heart pounded as he saw the rank insignia. A general. They’d bagged a general. The cabin was filling with smoke, the heat intensifying. The fire was spreading.

“We don’t have much time,” Didukh warned. They struggled with the harness, finally freeing the man as flames began to lick at the cabin. They dragged him out, laying him next to the first man.

“Holy crap, isn’t that a general’s insignia on his uniform?” asked Didukh.

“Yeah, it is. Who do we have here?” Dekker mused to himself. “Didukh, you speak some Chinese, right?”

“A little, but my Chinese sucks.”

Dekker rifled through the general’s pockets and tossed the wallet to Didukh. “We caught a whale, Didukh—I just need you to tell me which one.”

Didukh flicked through the identification card and other information before him. “Did we just capture the commanding general of the First PLA Army, Dekker?”

A laugh bubbled up from Dekker’s throat. He shared a grin with Didukh, then signaled for Yangst to bring the vehicle over. He picked up the radio, ready to make the call that would change everything.