Anna’s appetite left for good. She would have to ask for a doggy bag, even though she had no dogs, but a Persian cat. What can I possibly do that the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff cannot or the President of the United States? She didn’t know, but she did realize that she was going to work her thoughts overtime to finding an answer.
EL CAJON, CALIFORNIA
Captain Wei of East Lightning had a fixed smile on his face as he slid an enclosed helmet over his head. Today, they were going to try something new, something special for these infuriating American holdouts.
The attack had been going on for days. This was the twelfth or thirteenth wave assault. That meant…eight or nine days ago since command had launched the Blue Swan missiles. Eight, yes, it had been eight days ago and they were digging out these American holdouts.
Eight days, or a lifetime if one considered how many cowardly offenders he had gunned down. At first, he had found it difficult. And the fear in him standing at the rear of the battle-line so American soldiers could actually sight him with their sniper rifles—he had kept himself drugged ever since.
His battle-suit was the latest in combat technology. Certain White Tiger squads had them and East Lighting commissioners in the penal battalions.
He wore powered armor from head to toe. It was not science fiction armor. He had seen several Japanese movies about those. There, a soldier could jump fifty meters or run like a bullet train. He could do nothing so amazing, although what he did was spectacular enough.
The suit was mostly body armor, but of such weight that electric motors helped the wearer move. It was mostly heavy dinylon mesh with a carbide-ceramic corselet. With the helmet’s CBR filter, it protected him from chemical or biological attacks. The visor in the helmet had a HUD and targeting crosshairs. He had several computers integrated into the suit, connecting him to the HQ net and various video feeds. He had two weapons. The first was an integral 5.56mm machine gun. All he had to do was turn his head and paint the crosshairs on a target and the ballistic computer did the rest, firing from his shoulder. Sound-suppressor plugs in his ears saved his hearing. He also had an electromagnetic grenade launcher. It, too, had a ballistic computer, adjusting for range, height and wind speed. He could lob the grenade over a hiding spot, raining death on whatever coward had thought to sit out the battle.
The powered armor was amazing, prohibitively expensive, and ran off the latest batteries. That was the suit’s greatest drawback. The batteries supplied power for six hours. Then they needed recharging. With charged batteries and full magazines, however, he was a walking tank. Unfortunately, he lacked normal mobility and if his sensors failed, he became deaf to the world. It was the perfect thing for a political commissioner watching his penal soldiers from the back, ready to destroy those who lacked the zeal to continue attacking.
How the White Tiger specialists used their powered armor, Wei didn’t know or care. In his company, three East Lighting commissioners had died, either slain by Americans or enraged political offenders who had turned their weapons on their betters. That had sobered the rest of them. At first, the East Light commissioners had feared their charges. Later, after shrugging off bullets and grenade fragments, Wei and several others had felt invincible. Watching a RPG penetrate the armor of a follow commissioner had cured them of that battlefield malady. Still, they had learned how to motivate the penal soldiers to courageous acts of madness.
Now command had sent them a fresh batch of penal personnel. Some of these offenders already had combat experience. Wei had spoken with his lieutenants and first ranks. Some of the new men might be more dangerous than those they had processed so far.
Last night in an abandoned 7-11, Wei had received his inspiration.
“Why are we so eager to destroy Chinese citizens?” he asked the others.
They had remained silent, watching him carefully. The words he spoke, they were nearly heretical and therefore dangerous.
Wei had reached into a pocket and removed a blue pill. He had blue pills, red ones and yellow triangles that gave him fantastic hallucinations. Those he saved for his “let-down” times after battle, after killing too many of his offenders. Incredibly, shooting them outright had been much different than killing them on the torture table. Watching men crumple from his 5.56mm bullets, he had felt like a god inflicting such divine justice. It was an awesome sensation, but later gave him the shakes and a hollow feeling in his chest. At those times, to drive the emptiness away, that is when he’d popped the yellow triangles.
“Let us do as the Mongols once did,” Wei had told the others last night.
“Do you mean Genghis Khan?” a thin lieutenant asked.
“Yes, yes,” Wei said. “Genghis Khan was the greatest soldier in history. He was invincible in battle. Remember your studies, gentlemen.”
The lieutenants, and the first ranks milling behind them, continued to look at him in wary silence.
“We are consuming soldiers at too fast a rate,” Wei said. “That is what HQ has told us. Yet they also order us to clear minefields at once, or to storm a strongpoint and take it despite what casualties we might suffer. Excuses don’t matter. Am I right?”
Two of the lieutenants nodded. The taller of them squeezed a cigarette between his fingers, the tip glowing red as smoke curled.
“Yes,” Wei said. “I am right. Therefore, we have a contradiction. Win through at all costs but save personnel while you do so. The wave attacks have been succeeding, but at a terrible cost. Now I ask you, are we not the Chinese?”
“Yes,” a lieutenant said.
“Yes,” Wei said. “We learned at the hands of the greatest conqueror in history. Genghis Khan had his handful of Mongol warriors against China’s millions. He could not afford to spend his men like water against Chinese cities. What did he do? None of you knows, eh?”
Wei had eyed them, these hardened butchers, and he had seen their curiosity. This was amazing, as several of them had been as drugged as he was.
“The plan was simple,” Wei said. “The great Khan ordered his soldiers to gather Chinese peasants and captured city dwellers. These his soldiers drove with whips before them toward the besieged city walls. Enemy archers had a terrible choice, expended needed arrows to kill their fellow citizens or let the enemy get to the walls unscathed.”
Wei had smiled at them, a smile that had shown all his teeth. He had been genuinely happy with his thought.
“Tomorrow,” Wei told them, “we will gather a horde of Americans hiding in the ruins. Women and children, it doesn’t matter to me. Warm bodies are all that counts. Then we will drive them at the American strongpoints, letting our penal soldiers mingle among them. If the American soldiers fire, they will kill their own and possibly save some of ours.”
“What if the people try to run away?”
“We kill them,” Wei said. “We mow them down.”
The others looked at him. Then they looked at each other. Finally, those highest on drugs had grinned back at Wei.
Now morning was here and HQ had given him the order. They were supposed to wave-assault the American strongpoint that was holding the outskirts of El Cajon. The enemy had been adjusting, apparently trying to reshuffle their formations to gain strength to attack the northern-most Chinese. In other words, Army Group SoCal was trying to make a breakout in order to link-up with LA.
Inside his special body armor, Captain Wei grinned. His skin tingled and he felt good. He was pumped up. The men of his penal company had gathered nearly two hundred American civilians. With bayonets, they prodded the protesting mass up the street and toward the enemy strongpoint.
Last night, American artillery had laid quick-mines. Oh yes, the Americans were ready for a wave assault. But he doubted that they were ready for this.
“I am the son of Genghis Khan,” Wei told himself. “I am the conqueror.”
With his armor purring with battery power, Wei lurched out of the 7-11. He loved the clank of his footsteps. This was so differen
t from the torture table. This was glorious.
Within the enclosed helmet, Wei frowned. The old way in Mexico City seemed like a world ago now. Yes, it had been much more peaceful, and safe. Now he was out on the battlefield. He shuddered. He remembered Maria Valdez and her hated curse. But there was no God and therefore no curse. Wei could do as he wanted on this Earth and no one would ever judge him for it. It was good to know that. Yes, very good, otherwise he might not have been able to devise such a clever tactic as the one he was about to spring on the defenders.
FIRST FRONT HEADQUARTERS, MEXICO
“Sir, can you hear me?”
Groggily, Marshal Nung opened burning, bloodshot eyes. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. Then he recognized his aide bending over him. Yes, he was in bed. The days of endless decisions and worry had wearied him. His body wasn’t what it used to be. The doctor had finally convinced him that instead of stimulants and constant attention, what he needed was plenty of sleep. Then he could make wise decisions. The aide looking over him, Nung finally realized the man was worried.
“Is there trouble?” Nung whispered.
“Uh…Chairman Hong wishes to speak to you, sir.”
“Help me up,” Nung said.
The aide was a large man and easily pulled him to a sitting position. The wheelchair was at the foot of the bed. Nung had begun to hate the thing.
“Help me to my feet,” Nung said.
The aide licked his lips.
“Do as I command,” Nung said, for the first time speaking in his normal tone.
The aide gripped an elbow and helped Nung stand. A moment of disorientation followed. Then Nung felt better than he had since the “incident” with the tranks and amphetamines. With faltering steps, he stepped into the lavatory, turned on the facet and washed his hands and then his face. Oh, that felt good. Drying his hands, he returned into the bedroom. Maybe the doctor had known what he was talking about.
“Help me into my uniform,” Nung said.
Ten minutes later, the aide wheeled Nung into the communication room. With a boiled egg in his stomach and a bowl of rice, Nung felt ready to tackle the Leader. As he ate, he listened to a situational report. The main forces continued to squeeze the SoCal Army Group as the Fifth Army coordinated with the Hover Command for another thrust up Interstate 5.
Nung rose up out of the wheelchair and had the aide put it out of visual range of the computer screen. Then he sat in a chair and activated the link. He spoke to the Leader’s secretary and waited. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take too long.
Three minutes later, Jian Hong appeared on the screen. The Leader’s hair was jet black from the best hair dye. His face was wider than it used to be, evidence that the man had gained weight.
“I will make this brief,” the Leader said.
Nung bowed his head. The Leader’s tone troubled him.
“Marshal Kao has informed me of the situation,” the Leader said. “The sudden and now complete blockage of the Palm Springs-Los Angeles route is a disturbing occurrence.”
Kao! Nung thought. It seemed the old soldier on the Ruling Committee was always trying to torpedo him.
“It is accurate to say that the Americans surprised us,” Nung said. “They have developed an amazing tank and potentially one that could do us great harm. Fortunately, they are few in number. We know this is true because otherwise they would have gone over to the attack. Notice, the Americans are content to hold the Palm Springs pass. Therefore, in truth, the few superlative tanks do not change the balance of military power or the precarious American position.”
“Marshal Kao predicted you would say such things. He says you cannot see anything but for headlong assaults. Marshal Gang has concurred with this analysis.”
Within his chest, Nung burned at these insults and he felt his blood pressure rising. Why did such small-minded men always try to interfere with his greatness? They feared, perhaps, to risk everything for glory and ultimate, spellbinding victory.
“With all due respect, Leader, the two marshals are old men who have the lost the spirit of the warrior. It pains me to say this, but they quail like the enfeebled worriers they are at the idea of taking a risk to win large.”
“There is a risk?” the Leader asked.
“In war, one must always accept risks.”
“Do you seek to teach me, Marshal Nung?”
“I do not, Leader. I am the servant of the State, the State you lead with consummate skill.”
“Hmm. I find the latest reports disturbing. We have taken heavy causalities and expended massive amounts of munitions. Already, the Navy has rushed more supplies to Mexico. This rate of expenditure cannot continue indefinitely.”
The battle has just begun, and already the Leader’s nerves are shaky. I must proceed with caution.
“Sir,” said Nung, “we have smashed the heaviest fortification on Earth and driven the Americans back in reeling disarray. We have surrounded the main Californian Army Group and cut them off from their supply base, in this instance, Los Angeles. It is true we have accepted heavy causalities to achieve this. Yet we have far more troops than they do. Our factories churn out far more munitions.”
“Marshal Kao suggests we use maneuver to defeat the Americans instead of attrition.”
“Yes, these things are easy to say, Leader. Yet Marshal Kao does not know how to do such a thing. I do know, sir. I am outmaneuvering the Americans.”
The Leader frowned, looking confused. “You admit to great losses and yet claim to be using clever maneuvers. Yet our boldest maneuver ended in a bloody defeat.”
“I’m sure that is how Marshal Kao put it,” Nung said. “The situation is actually quite different, sir.”
“Your confidence is intriguing. I wish you to enlighten me, Marshal.”
“The situation is this, Leader. We have stretched the Americans in California, doing so in a little more than a week. We are about to devour their main Army Group. The reason we are doing this is our relentless assault. It is costly now in men and munitions. Soon, we will reap our reward, obliterating the Army Group and then snatching California. Marshal Kao should be congratulating me for bringing the fight to the brink of annihilating victory, and this victory despite the unveiling of a truly impressive enemy weapon system.”
“It amazes me how two marshals of China can see this in such a different light.”
“I suspect that Marshal Kao sees that I am in the process of shattering two of my armies. I have hurled them at the enemy and in urban areas. Many would consider that rash. What they cannot see is that I will annihilate the Americans and still have armies to rush into the rest of the state, snatching Oregon and Washington and setting up our defenses in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. That will allow us to proceed with the next step in conquering a continent.”
“What if the American Army Group breaks out of your trap?” the Leader asked.
“They will not break out. I am constantly attacking, lunging, grinding, refusing to give them time to regroup and escape.”
The Leader tapped a computer stylus on the table. Then he lifted it and bumped the end against one of his teeth. “There are reports of new reinforcements from the rest of the U.S.”
“Paltry sums, I believe. In any case, our amphibious assault in two days will change the equation even more in my favor.”
“China’s favor,” the Leader said.
“That is what I meant, sir. My victory is China’s victory.”
“Hmm. Yes, I’m beginning to appreciate your overall theory. It is much different from what Marshal Kao tells me. You will continue with your relentless assaults. Shock and awe the Americans, Marshal. Grind their bones to dust so we may ready our other fronts for the truly great Battle for America.”
“As you command, Leader,” Nung said, his voice ringing. “We will grind their bones to dust.”
EL CAJON, CALIFORNIA
“I don’t know, Lieutenant. We ought to retreat from this spot.”
P
aul Kavanagh glanced at the frightened man behind the .50 caliber machine gun. The forty-something man was a new levy, fresh from a training camp that had given him two days instructions.
There were fifty militiamen and soldiers hiding behind what had once been a Wells Fargo bank, a retail outlet and a Baskin Robbins ice cream shop. The buildings were piles of rubble, dust, shattered boards and rotting flesh. Rats had begun to appear everywhere, wild-eyed feral cats and flies, always the flies.
The Anaheim Militia Company was now composed of people from all over Southern California. Two of them were from El Cajon, their latest stop in the endless retreat from the border.
“Division told us to hold,” the Lieutenant told the man, the new Militia private. “So we’re holding the line until they tell us otherwise.”
The division had become an ad hoc grouping with a Militia battalion, a regular Infantry battalion, a company of mortars and a missile platoon, meaning three missile-carriers. It wasn’t much to hold the line. But it had finally begun, the careful withdrawal of select units in order to build a reserve in the shrinking area of Army Group SoCal.
Paul figured the reserve was meant to hurl against the Chinese in order to drive to LA. They had to break out soon or the Army Group was going to succumb to a lack of ammo and supplies.
“We’re exposed here, Lieutenant,” the forty-something Militia private whined.
The Lieutenant stared at the man. The young Lieutenant had aged since La Mesa. He’d lost the four young kids of the platoon Paul and Romo had joined. They had died fighting, holding their post.
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