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electronic supplies.
    He, Preston, and Mo Wang then checked the silos again and made sure everything was safe. He didn’t like guarding a missile with so much destructive power; and he ordered a couple Air Force nuclear engineers who had worked on the American versions of this type of missile to make sure that if it was launched, it would never deliver an active warhead. General Patterson anticipated that he might come across this problem and had brought the two specialists with him. He already knew that there was a fourth Pakistani missile which needed to be terminated, forever.
    They left the base with the eleven still-operational troop carriers behind the jeep and, under Mo’s guidance, headed to the city of Harbin. There were few people around, and those who did see the convoy must have been shocked to see U.S. soldiers driving around in local Chinese military trucks.
    They drove for 30 minutes and found the airfield. It was as the Marines had left it, stated Lieutenant Colonel Clarke who had returned with the general. He had been stationed here for two days waiting for the attack.
    The large warehouse was off to one side and was surrounded by a type of high fence normally found around a prison. The gate was not guarded, and the two large entrance gates had large padlocks and several signs saying that anybody entering would likely end up dead.
    It didn’t take long to open the gates, and they drove up to the large aircraft hangar doors. Preston noted that a C-130 or several of them could be stored in this one large hangar. He was wrong; it was totally empty, except for three more Z-10 Helicopters parked there, totally alone, and looking rather small in the large space. He radioed Major Wong who was in the air with the first transfer that he needed to collect another three helicopters here and the group then left for the factory.
    It was another 20 minute drive to the factory through more densely populated areas, and through the built-up areas the convoy really got interesting stares.
    This time the factory gates did have two armed guards—security guards, not soldiers— guarding them. The general drove up and waited for them to open the gate. It was a weird scene; two security guards standing there, one phoning into the main office that there just happened to be a convoy of 12 Chinese military vehicles full of American soldiers.
    It seemed that nobody believed him; a third guard, their superior, walked over to check out the story.
    “Mo, tell him who you are and to allow us in, or we will just drive through the closed gates and declare war on this establishment,” stated General Patterson sitting in the front seat of the jeep. Mo did and, shaking his head, the third soldier got onto the phone to relay the latest demands.
    A few seconds later a man in command gave orders to the two security men who opened the gates to allow the convoy to drive through. Once through and in front of the main office, the Marines erupted out of the trucks to make a perimeter defense for the general still in the jeep. There was still no opposition.
    Again the general just sat there with Mo and Preston waiting for something to happen. A single, older man in a smart civilian suit exited the main swing doors to what looked like the front office building in front of a much larger factory complex. He walked up to the jeep and bowed deeply.
    “What can I do for you?” he asked simply in Chinese.
    “I am Mo Wang. I was on the Politburo of Zedong Electronics under Chairman Chunqiao. The Chairman is dead, and so are Zedong Electronics and its Politburo. These men would like to see the working of your factory, and what it makes.”
    “I’m sorry to hear about the death of our beloved CEO and president,” the Chinese man replied bowing again. “Since it now seems that I am in charge, or maybe it is you, Comrade Wang, who is in charge. I would be honored if you completed a tour of our facility. We are the only operational complex and factory