The largest enemy breakthrough had occurred at San Ysidro, one of the cornerstones of the SoCal Defenses. Chinese mechanized infantry had thrust through, battling remorselessly, using wave assaults when they had to. They were in Carlsbad now. Another branch was headed up Interstate 15 along the Escondido, Temecula route to LA.
“As we feared, sir,” General Alan said, interrupting the major’s report. “The Chinese launched another hover assault last night. They swung through the ocean and hit Camp Pendleton from the west early this morning. They have landed infantry hovers, unloaded troops and have already gained footholds there.”
The President ran his fingers through his hair as the general continued to talk.
The casualties had been brutal these past four days. With the amount of actual fighting—due to endless round-the-clock assaults—and the vast expenditure of munitions, these four days would have been like eight or even twelve days of the hottest World War II battles. Because of that, the entire southern front was buckling under the fierce Chinese assault.
Anna listened to General Alan wax eloquent about the battle. In his opinion, the Chinese kept attacking the trapped formations so they couldn’t regroup and push north to LA. It was costly in Chinese lives, but it was ruthlessly brilliant if victory were the sole objective.
“If you’ll notice this, sir,” General Alan said, as he motioned to the major.
She brought up fresh images on the holo-vid.
“Tri-turreted tanks,” the President said.
Anna grew concerned. This was the real reason for the meeting. On the holo-vid were masses of the triple-turreted tanks. They were big, one-hundred ton vehicles. They churned dust, creating billowing clouds. Behind them followed smaller, conventional tanks and missile-carriers and then fleets of trucks and fuel carriers.
“The Chinese have broken through in the east, sir,” General Alan said. “They appear to be heading for the Salton Sea, which lies in the Coachella Valley. I would guess their objective is Palm Springs.”
“We have to stop them before that,” Sims said.
“Agreed, Mr. President,” General Alan said. “We wish to unleash the last of the strategic reserve in Central California and rush it to Palm Springs. We have to stop those tanks or risk losing LA. Without LA, it will be over for Army Group SoCal.”
“How big is this tank attack?” the President asked.
General Alan looked down at his hands before he said, “It looks to be several corps’ worth, sir, making it a Tank Army. There are literally thousands of enemy tanks rushing Palm Springs.”
The President shook his head. “They’ll annihilate our reserve armor.”
“We have to slow them down before they get through to Palm Springs. We have to give the trapped Army Group time to break out to the north and head to LA. If the Chinese take LA and trap the forces south of the city, it means we simply won’t have enough soldiers to hold the rest of the state.”
“We shouldn’t have massed so many troops on the border,” Sims said.
“I agree with you, Mr. President. But if you’ll recall, for political reasons, you had no other choice.”
Sims nodded slowly. “Are there further suggestions on how to stop this Tank Army?”
Like many of the others, Anna looked down as the President glanced at her. She noticed beads of condensation on the nearest water-pitcher. One of those beads slid down onto the table, entering the pool of moisture there.
Like a drowning man, Sims picked up his glass of water, although he didn’t drink. With a thud that startled Anna, the President slammed the glass back onto the table, causing water to splash up over the rim and drench his hand. “Yes!” he said. “Release the last of the strategic reserves in Central California.”
Does all this spilled water signify something? Anna wondered.
In response to the President, General Alan tapped his computer screen.
“Sir,” Anna asked, “what about the experimental tanks? Couldn’t you send those to Palm Springs?”
The President brightened and asked General Alan, “Where are they?”
“They’re also in the Central Valley, Mr. President.”
“Why there?”
“Well, first, they’re hard to move,” General Alan said. “Most bridges can’t support them. Secondly, we wanted to keep them secret until we’d perfected the tanks. Maybe California isn’t the right place for them.”
The President’s scowl worsened.
“And finally, sir,” General Alan said, speaking faster as the President opened his mouth. “We believe the Chinese are planning an amphibious assault. There are reports of an invasion armada somewhere in the Pacific. The San Francisco area makes the most sense. It’s what I would do given Chinese numbers and capabilities.”
President Sims shook his head. “If I were them, I would land in LA, make certain of taking it.”
“LA is a possibility,” General Alan conceded. “San Francisco seems more likely, given that the Chinese would like to stretch our forces to the breaking point.”
“No,” the President said. “If we lose LA now, it’s over. We have to use everything in Central California. Send the Behemoths to Palm Springs.”
“They might not make it in time,” General Alan said.
“Send them,” the President said gruffly.
General Alan nodded.
President Sims stared at a wall. He soon asked, “What’s happening in Texas?”
The meeting now moved to the additional fronts.
As others talked, Anna tapped her computer scroll and studied the SoCal situation. Despite the commando gamble, the great Chinese surprise had worked. What would have happened if they hadn’t learned about the Blue Swan missiles or not done anything to blunt the blow? Likely, the enemy attack would have been even more successful and she would be sitting in on a complete catastrophe. Would the central reserve armor slow the Chinese Tank Army? Could the SoCal formations break out of the trap? Maybe if the Americans fought in a superhuman fashion… Unfortunately, it was starting to appear as if someone on the other side knew exactly what to do to gain a supreme victory.
FRESNO, CALIFORNIA
Stan Higgins was nervous and sweaty. Grunts were loading the Behemoths onto tank carriers and the carriers would be ready to roll in another hour or so. He didn’t have much time left.
Stan was in the Detention Reception Center in Fresno. The city was in the middle of the Central Valley, a dusty place with myriad irrigation canals feeding peach and almond orchards and mile after mile of wheat fields.
He had spoken to a government coordinator and now waited in a special cubicle with a computer screen. He could hear others in nearby cubicles speaking to relatives in the Central Detention Center in Colorado. These cubicles were the only way to communicate with someone in a Detention Center. The government, he knew, kept careful records of who spoke to detainees and how often they did it. Too much, and it went against your political profile.
The screen came to life and an officious, thick-lipped woman with a mole on her nose regarded him. She wore a tan uniform of a Detention warrant officer and a tan, military-style hat with a red band.
She glanced at something off screen by her hands, his profile, no doubt. “You’re Captain Stan Higgins?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Stan said.
“Hmm. You’re in the Army?”
“That is correct.”
“What is the nature of your call, Captain Higgins?”
He’d already told a Detention official here in Fresno why he was calling. He’d had to fill out several request forms to get this far. The warrant officer he was talking to must know that. Instead of saying any of that, Stan pasted the best smile he could on his face.
“I’d like to speak with my son, Jake Higgins.”
“Hmm,” she said, studying something. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible. Your son is presently in solitary confinement. He has three more hours to serve on a five-day offense.”
“What?” Stan asked.
The warrant officer frowned. “I’m not sure I like your tone, Captain Higgins. According to this,” she said, tapping a computer scroll, “you’re in the active military. Ah, I see you won the Medal of Honor in 2032, ah, in Alaska. You’ll understand then what it means to follow orders.”
“No,” Stan said. “I received my medal for disobeying orders and doing what needed doing to beat the Chinese.”
The warrant officer’s frown hardened, and there was a gleam now in her dark eyes.
Stan knew he’d made a mistake. “Look. I’d just like to say a few words to my son before I go off to face the Chinese.”
“You’re in California?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Near the front?” she asked.
“Not yet, but I’ll be there in a day at the latest.”
“You realize that I cannot let your son out of solitary.”
“Can I ask you what he did?”
“He assaulted a guard,” the woman said.
“Jake did?” Stan asked, horrified to hear this. That was just like Jake’s grandfather. “Did my son have a reason for the assault?”
“There is no good reason, Captain.”
“No, I’m sure there isn’t,” Stan said. He needed another angle with the woman. “You know,” he said, “The Chinese are attacking viciously. According to what I’m hearing, they mean to take the state in what looks like one fell swoop. I might die in the coming fight. I would really appreciate it if you would somehow see it in you to let me speak to my son before that happens.”
“I’m sorry, no. He’s in solitary confinement as I told you and I’m not authorized to break the rules. Despite your earlier statement about disregarding rules, we here in the Detention Center know how to achieve our tasks while coordinating with our superiors.”
“I’m not condoning my son’s actions. I would just dearly like to speak to him one more time. Maybe…maybe I could help straighten him out.”
“I think you already had your chance, Captain, when your son lived with you for over twenty years.”
Stan turned away, biting his lip. Couldn’t they let him talk to his son? Jake only had three more hours to serve in solitary. What was wrong with these people? “Look,” he said, facing the screen. “Do you have any children?”
“I have a daughter, as a matter of fact. But I don’t see what that has to do with this.”
“What if she was in a Detention Center and you had to go fight the Chinese.”
“My daughter would never be sent to a Detention Center,” the warrant officer said in brittle tone.
“I’m sure that’s true,” Stan said. “How about if the government had made a mistake in putting her there?”
The warrant officer’s features tightened. She leaned closer into the screen. She had terrible skin and visible pours near her nose. “Are you suggesting the government made a mistake with your son?”
“No, of course not,” Stan said. And then, his words just stopped. For a second, he wanted to lift the screen and smash it against the floor. He wanted to slug the woman—the warrant officer—in the face. He could hardly blame Jake for striking a guard if this is what they were like. Maybe he should be proud of his son for standing up for freedom. What was wrong with protesting anyway?
“You know, lady, I’m laying my life on the line for my country and for my family. In a way, I’m putting my body in harm’s way for you and your daughter. And you can’t even let me speak to my son for what might be the last time. That’s un-American to me, just flat-out wrong.”
“Would you like me to record your statement?” the woman asked.
“Yeah,” Stan said, “go ahead and record it. Put it down. I said it and I meant it.”
They stared at each other with growing hostility.
“Good-day, Captain Higgins,” she said.
“I want to speak to your superior.”
“No. I don’t think you do.”
“What’s wrong? Are you afraid now?”
She stared at him. Then she glanced to the side. “My superior happens to be right here. Are you sure you’d like to speak to him, Captain?”
“Absolutely,” Stan said.
The woman rose and stepped out of sight. There was muffled talk and a few moments later, a thin man sat down. He didn’t need to frown, as his long face seemed to have frozen into a scowl.
“I’m afraid I cannot help you,” the man said.
“I think you can,” Stan said. “I’m in California.”
“Sir, the only reason I’m talking with you is so that you understand we back our people to the hilt. We stand as one. Your son has seen fit to protest the President’s actions. That is disloyalty to our country at a time of national emergency. Now he has struck a guard and he has found himself time for serious thinking in solitary confinement. We do not break the rules here in the Detention Center.”
“Don’t you have any heart?” Stan asked. “I might die in combat defending our beloved country and all I want to do is say a few words to my son. I fought in Alaska and won the Medal of Honor. Surely, that should count for something. If you’ve been following the news, you must realize the Chinese have turned this into a bloodbath. Let me tell him goodbye. As you have any mercy in your heart, I’m begging you to do this for a fellow American soldier.”
The man stared at Stan. Finally, he nodded. “My father is in the Militia. He’s a colonel. I would want him to say goodbye to me. Very well, Captain. I’ll give you two minutes.”
“Thank you,” Stan said, surprised at this turnaround.
“Give us a few minutes here to coordinate the call,” the man said. Then the screen went blank before Stan could say anything more.
For the next few minutes, time seemed to crawl along for Stan. Had they forgotten about him? Would they monitor the call? Yes, of course they would.
Oh, Jake, what have you gone and done?
Two minutes later, the screen resumed and his son stared at him. Jake was a younger version of Stan, with a thinner face and now with hollowed-out eyes. There was a strange gleam in Jake’s eyes. It reminded Stan of his father.
He’s been in solitary confinement for some time. Remember that.
“Dad?” Jake asked in a rough voice.
“Hello son. It’s good to see you.”
“Dad…I’m sorry about this.”
Stan nodded because his throat tightened and he was afraid to say anything just then.
“I guess I went and protested the illegal—”
“Jake! Listen to me. Will you listen a bit?”
“Sure. Is everything okay?”
“No,” Stan said, “I’ve been called up and chances are I’m going to face the Chinese soon.”
“You said that wouldn’t happen this time around.”
Stan smiled sadly. “I didn’t think it would. But they need our…they need us, I’m thinking. It must be pretty bad. Son…I love you. I want you to use your head from now on.”
“You think I was wrong protesting the emergency decrees?”
“This is probably the wrong place to talk about that,” Stan said.
“I know we’re being monitored, Dad. That’s why I’m protesting.”
Stan nodded. His boy looked terrible. He looked used up, but he was standing for his rights. That took moral courage, something usually much more lacking in people than physical courage. Thinking about that made Stan’s heart swell with pride.
“You’re an American, son. I’m proud of you. Real Americans stand up for freedom and fight for what they believe in. We may not have the perfect system, Jake, but it is worth fighting for because the other side is ten times worse.”
“I’m not arguing that.”
“I know you’re not. You watch yourself, son. Don’t attack guards unless it’s a matter of self-defense. I…I might not get to talk to you for a time.”
“Dad…I’m proud of what you’re doing, sir.”
Stan no
dded, afraid to speak again lest his voice betray what he was feeling.
“When they let me out of here, I’m going to join up.”
Stan shook his head. “I’m not sure you can with a Detention mark on your record.”
“They’ll let me join a Militia. I’m going to fight then, and when I’m done, I’m going to study how to fix our system.”
“Ten seconds left,” a disembodied voice said.
“Good-bye, Jake. You take care of yourself.”
“You too, Dad. Kick their asses, huh?”
Stan forced a grin. “I plan to.”
“Show these invaders what it means to mess with real Americans.”
Stan nodded. As he did, the screen faded and the thin official reappeared.
“Thanks,” Stan told the man. “Watch over him for me—if you know what I mean?”
The man stared at him, and there was an odd look in his eyes. “Yes sir, Captain Higgins. Good luck to you.”
“Thanks. I’m going to need it,” Stan said, wondering if the tank carriers were ready yet.
SALTON SEA, CALIFORNIA
In a vast armada of armored power, the one-hundred ton T-66 tri-turreted tanks clanked through the desert sands beside the Salton Sea. Many of the commanders were half out of the main hatches, using binoculars to scan forward.
Before them, light Marauder tanks raced ahead, scouting for a sign of the enemy. To the rear of the 83rd Brigade clanked several UAV-launching vehicles. When the time came, they would give them tactical eyes and provide the armored thrust with airborne Annihilator platforms.
First Lieutenant Sheng commanded A platoon of Seventh Company: three T-66s at the head of the battalion.
Sheng wore a black tanker’s uniform with a skull patch. He also wore black gloves and had a pair of powered goggles over his eyes. He’d waited a year for this chance to show the Americans what he could do to their paltry armor. They had nothing to compare to the T-66. He had studied the Alaskan Campaign of seven years ago. The frozen terrain up there had worked against the T-66. These desert sands would give Chinese armor its full scope.
First Lieutenant Sheng beamed with pride just thinking about it. His T-66 had two hundred centimeters of Tai composite armor in front. It also possessed three turrets. Each could traverse 180 degrees and each had a huge, 175mm smoothbore gun. They fired hypervelocity rocket-assisted shells against enemy tanks, and HEAT shells for lesser targets. Six 30mm auto-cannons and twenty beehive flechette defenders made the tank sudden death for any infantryman out in the open. Linked with the defense radar net, the massed T-66s could knock down or deflect most enemy shells. The main gun tubes could also fire Red Arrow anti-air rounds, making it a deadly proposition for attack-craft trying to take it on. The tank had a magnetically balanced hydraulic suspension, so Sheng’s gunners could fire with astounding accuracy while moving at top speed.
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