Ilham faded from the picture with no explanation, but when Laks thought to ask about him—which, to be honest, took an embarrassingly long time—he was assured that the troubles of Ilham and family were behind them, at least as far as immigration, food, and shelter were concerned. With a moment’s reflection,
of course, it was clear why Ilham—who still had family in Xinjiang—would not want to become world famous doing what Big Fish’s School was doing.
The Chinese, of course, were not without resources of their own. So there were no more victories as easy as that over the Bonking Heads. Laks lost some fights against wushu stick fighters who knew what they were doing—and who, he realized, had spent time watching videos of Laks’s earlier duels. “Opponent-specific training” was what Major Raju called that. Laks now had to do it too if he didn’t want to fall off the leaderboard.
Meanwhile, the temperature was dropping, and even in these high arid places, snow was falling. The time would come quite soon when the Line of Actual Control would freeze in its current position until spring. Ski-and snowshoe-borne regulars might patrol, maneuver, and trade harsh language and snowballs, but almost all the volunteers would go home.
They were, in other words, building up to the season finale. And there weren’t a lot of options as to where that would happen. When there were only a few pieces remaining on a chessboard, you could guess where the moves were going to be made.
It turned out to be a valley between two ridges that had been bare during the summer but during the last couple of weeks had become covered with snow to a depth of a meter. Farther up that valley, at about fifty-eight hundred meters of altitude, was the foot of a glacier whose meltwater created a stream that ran down the valley toward the salt lake of Pangong Tso. In former days, the glacier had extended quite a bit farther down. At its foot, after the 1962 cease-fire, the Indian Army had set up a base and constructed a few buildings, of which the only one that wasn’t a total ruin was a barracks. This was a stone and mortar crackerbox consisting of two stories of soldiers’ quarters above a ground floor with a mess hall and other common rooms. It had long since been abandoned by the receding glacier, which because of the valley’s curve could not even be seen from its windows. The ridge to its west was almost always on the Indian side of the Line. From its top you could look west into territory that was, beyond all dispute, Indian. The
ridge to its east was almost always on the Chinese side, and from there you could see the sun rising over China.
The barracks had been garrisoned by Indians until late in the current campaign season, when Chinese volunteers had broken into the ground floor and occupied it. The Indians who’d been using it as a base retreated up the stairs to the first story, then, a few days later, to the second story and the roof. Since then, after being resupplied by drones, they’d made some headway with a counteroffensive down a fire stairway, but at the moment held only a beachhead on the disputed first story, three-quarters of which was still Chinese-held. Barricades had been thrown up by both sides to fortify that line. The Line of Actual Control, in other words, had become a three-dimensional Surface of Actual Control, and you needed augmented-reality glasses to visualize its convolutions.
Which was not a mere figure of speech. The army had given Laks’s crew access to such equipment. In virtual-reality mode, sitting far from the front, you could pull up a 3D map, Google Earth style, and pan and zoom up and down the length of the Line all day long, or until you were overcome by motion sickness. From a distance it looked fat and solid but as you zoomed in, it frayed to a loose-spun yarn. He remembered taking art classes in school, learning that instead of laying down a simple firm stroke you should make many fine scratches and gradually thicken the ones that were in the right place. That was how the Line looked when you zoomed in, each scratch being the record of where it had been for ten minutes three weeks ago.
When you put the device in augmented-reality mode it showed you nothing unless you were actually there, with line of sight to that fiber bundle. The day before Laks and the School were inserted, Major Raju drove him, in a snow machine, up to the top of the western ridge so that he could have a look down into the valley. The barracks, hundreds of meters below, looked like it had been trapped in glowing red cobwebs. Laks used the UI to filter out all but the last month’s data. He was then able to watch in time lapse as the front crept down from the opposite ridgeline, then suddenly formed a fist-like salient that snaked down a tributary
ravine and punched in the door of the barracks. For a few days this beachhead had been connected to the main Chinese position only by a frail stalk, but they’d broadened and fortified it while the Indian defenders had been distracted trying to maintain their toehold on the upper story.