Invasion: California

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Yes, sir,” Stan said. He could have added that one of these times the Chinese were going to get lucky. Actually, the enemy didn’t even need to get lucky. The odds would finally catch up with each Behemoth.

  But what did it matter saying that? Everyone knew the odds. At least for another hour this portion of the line in Anaheim still held. It would give command time to reorganize. Maybe it would give the teenagers time to stop and catch their breath. Maybe it would even give the Militia enough time so their nerve returned and they went back to holding their part of the defense.

  USS SOUTH DAKOTA

  Like a deadly Great White Shark, the Virginia-class fast attack submarine glided through the deep. It was in the main shipping lane between Chinese-controlled Hawaii and the U.S. Pacific Coast.

  It sped from its grisly handiwork, the sinking of a Chinese SI transport, with thousands of dead and dying Chinese soldiers in the water. With critical intelligence received twenty-eight hours ago, the South Dakota had moved into range, then crept into position and Captain Leroy Clay had proceeded to hunt.

  Two modified Mark 48 torpedoes had left the tubes and demolished the large cargo vessel. Now the submarine glided away, heading deeper, sinking through a cold-water layer, called a thermocline.

  The sonar men listened. The rest of the crew waited in terrible anticipation and Captain Clay stared into space. He was a six-foot-six black man, often having to hunch as he moved through the submarine.

  There, the sounds of distant, underwater explosions told the story.

  “They’re hunting us now,” Captain Clay said.

  “They’re well out of range, Captain,” the chief sonar-man said.

  “And we’re going to keep it that way,” Clay said. “Conn, take us deeper. I want the cold water layer hiding us.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  For the next thirty-seven minutes they played the old cat-and-mouse game first begun in World War I between the British and Germans. The submariners endured the hammering thuds against the skin of their vessel. None of the depth charges—giant grenades really—were near enough to cause concussion damage against the hull integrity of the fast attack submarine. This time the South Dakota was going to beat the Chinese, or they should have.

  Forty-one minutes after the sinking of the SI transport, the rules changed in the deadly game at sea.

  “I think they’re leaving, Captain,” the chief sonar-man said.

  Clay nodded, and he continued to wait. It was perhaps his greatest virtues as a submarine captain.

  Later, the sonar-man added, “I don’t hear any enemy ships, sir.”

  “They can still use helicopters to drop the depth charges,” Clay said.

  The South Dakota continued with silent running. Fifty-three minutes after the transport’s sinking, the sonar-man cocked his head. He might have heard—

  A terrific and terrible underwater explosion occurred. This depth charge wasn’t any closer than the previous ones had been. The difference was in its explosive power, fueled by a nuclear warhead. Then came another enormous explosion.

  The first concussion shock slammed against the South Dakota, tilting the submarine and throwing officers and crew out of their chairs or positions and onto the deck. Before they had time to right themselves, the second shockwave struck, breaching the integrity of the hull, ripping it open like a bear smashing a can of beans.

  Cold ocean saltwater poured into the submarine. Captain Leroy Clay looked up from where he lay on the deck. Water boiled and rushed toward him. He would have won. He had won, but the Chinese were changing the rules.

  The water picked up the six-foot-six captain and hurled him against a bulkhead. It knocked him unconscious and then ocean water flooded the South Dakota. The crumpled war vessel sank like a stone, beaten to death by nuclear detonations.

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  Ushered in by the secretary, Anna timidly stepped into the Oval Office. President Sims sat behind his desk, leaning back as he spoke to General Alan. The two of them seemed to be in an earnest conversation. Both men turned as the secretary and Anna entered.

  “Ms. Chen,” Sims said. “Good, I’m glad you’re here. Perhaps you can help me convince the General I’m right.”

  The secretary quietly took her leave, closing the door behind her.

  “Help, sir?” Anna asked.

  Sims scowled as he said, “The Chinese Navy has begun to use nuclear depth charges against our submarines.”

  Anna closed her eyes as if she could shut out reality. If she couldn’t see it, it wasn’t real. Here it was—the escalation of nuclear weapons. This was exactly what she had feared. She opened her eyes, deciding to face fate head on.

  “Using Levin’s spy-ring in Beijing, our commanders were able to target several SI transports, but at a terrible cost to our dwindling submarine fleet.” Sims shook his head. “We’re running out of options. If the Chinese have begun using nuclear weapons at sea, we have no course but to do the same.”

  “Oh,” Anna said.

  General Alan became stone-faced.

  “First the attack in Donner Pass, now this,” Sims said. “It has to stop. We no longer have any choice.”

  “Uh…if you’ll recall, sir,” Anna said, “we used nuclear weapons first.”

  Sims’s face thundered and he banged a fist on the desk. “I need to speak with Director Levin.”

  “Sir, if you would just—” Anna said.

  “Not now,” Sims said. “The Chinese are raining nuclear weapons—”

  “Mr. President!” Anna said, speaking louder than she ever had to him.

  Sims raised an eyebrow, glanced at General Alan and sat farther back in his chair.

  “Sir,” Anna said, speaking more softly and with greater deference. “You know surely that I understand the Chinese mindset.”

  “Dr. Levin made that clear to me, yes.”

  “I think if you take a step back a moment, you will see that they have carefully chosen how they use these nuclear weapons.”

  “Explain that,” Sims said.

  “The Chinese have not targeted cities and they have refrained from attacking land formations.”

  “It’s simply a matter of time now before they do,” Sims said.

  “Sir, I would like to point out that we used nuclear weapons first. In the Alaskan War, we used nuclear torpedoes on two different occasions. Not once did the Chinese do similarly.”

  “Are you suggesting the Chinese are superior to us,” General Alan asked in a biting tone.

  What’s wrong with him? Anna wondered. She and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs were on the same page regarding nuclear weapons. Now his racial bigotry was interfering with his better judgment.

  “I’m simply pointing out that Jian Hong must have been under tremendous pressure to retaliate against us,” Anna said, “to allow his military to hurt us with nuclear weapons just as we’ve hurt them.”

  “Then you are saying they are morally superior to us,” Alan said. “You’re suggesting we forced them to use nuclear weapons.”

  “If that’s true,” Anna said, “then they forced us to use them. They attacked us. They’re invading our country, which makes them the aggressors. Men—and women, too, for that matter—aren’t always logical. In my opinion, we are not even rational beings, but rationalizing ones. We act on our emotions and then make up reasons—rational sounding reasons—for why we do X Y and Z.”

  “What are you suggesting with this mumbo-jumbo?” Sims asked.

  “That further nuclear weapon usage will escalate into a possible world-wide holocaust.”

  “Our ABM stations will protect us from that,” Sims said.

  “We’ve seen three different instances now where the nuclear attack came from everything but an ICBM,” Anna said. “Will the ABM stations protect us from other, imaginative nuclear weapon use?”

  “Are you suggesting we drop our pants for the Chinese?” Sims asked. “That we let them nuke us at will?”


  “No, sir,” Anna said, her voice hardening. “I’m suggesting we beat the Chinese in Los Angeles and slow the speed of the enemy assault.”

  Sims sat blinking at her. “That’s a swift change of topic.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Very well,” the President said, indicating a chair. “Make your case.”

  Anna sat down and proceeded to tell the President and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs about Operation Flipper and Operation Vengeance in World War II. Each time, the raid had targeted an enemy commander.

  “Are you suggesting we attempt to assassinate Chairman Jian Hong?” Sims asked. “I’m not sure I like the idea of starting an assassin’s war between heads of state.”

  “Mr. President,” Anna said, “I have evidence that shows the critical nature of Marshal Shin Nung’s presence in the current conflict.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Sims said.

  Anna told him what she had learned about Nung and his previous exploits in Alaska and Siberia.

  “Let me see if I get this straight,” Sims said. “You believe the speed and ferocity of the present attack is due to Marshal Nung?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying, yes sir,” Anna said.

  The President turned to General Alan. “What are your thoughts on this?”

  Alan stared at Anna. Slowly, he began to nod. “It’s an interesting concept, certainly. How do you suggest we exploit this information?”

  “In a similar manner as we solved the Blue Swan missile crises,” Anna said. “Maybe we should contact General Ochoa of SOCOM.”

  “Send our commandos in one more time?” Alan asked. “It would be their death sentence. Frankly, I doubt they would get anywhere near Marshal Nung.”

  “I’m not saying it’s a good chance,” Anna said. “I’m just giving you another option, a way to help our beleaguered troops in Los Angeles. If you took away the guiding hand, it might slow down the pace of the enemy assault. That could possibly be the margin—”

  “Yes!” the President said, slapping his hand hard against the desk. “I like it. It’s bold, and it’s something other than just waiting to lose. In the end, in some fashion, we have to go over to the assault to win. I know it will risk the lives of these brave men, but that’s better, I think every one of them would agree, than waiting to die in their foxholes.”

  “Should I look into this?” General Alan asked.

  “No,” Sims said, picking up his phone. “I’m going to talk to General Ochoa and get the ball rolling right now.”

  -13-

  The Raid

  LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

  As the battles raged on the front lines in Costa Mesa, Huntington Beach, Fullerton, Anaheim and Pomona, Paul Kavanagh soaked in a hot bath. He was in the northern edge of Los Angeles, in a Best Western Hotel.

  Romo and he had arrived last night, and slept like the dead. In the middle of the morning, Paul soaked in the steaming water. His body ached and his soul was numb. After a time, he let some water out and turned on the faucet, adding more hot liquid. This felt good.

  With the back of his head resting on the bathtub’s porcelain, he began to think about Sheri and Mike. There were close now, a short drive north to Newhall. Was it time to go AWOL and see them?

  I’ve done my part. The military can’t reasonably expect any more from me.

  It was time to take his family to Colorado. From what he’d seen, China was going to capture Los Angeles. There just didn’t seem to be any way of stopping the enemy. For sure, he didn’t want his family to end their days in a PAA labor camp.

  “Amigo!” Romo shouted through the door as he banged on it. “Are you about done in there?”

  “Are you waiting to get in?” Paul asked.

  “Me? No. There are some men out here who wish to speak with you.”

  Paul blinked lazily and slid down, letting the hot water soak his face. Several seconds later, he surfaced, and he was frowning.

  They’d made it, Romo and him. Had the assassin contacted Colonel Valdez? They were blood brothers, right? But did that hold now that they were safely behind American lines?

  With a groan, Paul emerged from the bath, with water dripping from him. He was sore everywhere, and there were a dozen black bruises on his skin. The worst was a fist-sized mark in the middle of his left thigh. He stepped out of the tub, wrapped a towel around his waist and lifted a thicker towel. He had a pistol hidden on a stand, with a bullet already chambered.

  Taking the gun, Paul put his ear against the door. He couldn’t tell who was out there, if anyone. Quickly, he opened the door, with his gun aimed—

  Sergeant Donovan of the SOF sat in a chair. The man raised his eyebrows. “Expecting trouble?” the Green Beret asked.

  Paul lowered the gun. “I’ve been in combat mode for a while.”

  “Sure,” Donovan said. “Hey, Romo, you can listen to this, too. General Ochoa would like to speak with both of you.”

  Romo looked up from where he dealt cards onto a table. He turned toward them, and his dark eyes flickered as he took in Paul’s gun.

  “What’s this concerning?” Paul asked.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” Donovan said.

  “And if we don’t feel like going with you?”

  Donovan grinned. “Orders, Sergeant. Why make life tough for any of us?”

  “Yeah,” Paul said. “I see what you’re saying. General Ochoa is already going to do that for us, isn’t he?”

  “Maybe,” Donovan said. “Maybe he wants to talk to you about some medals.”

  “Yeah, sure. Give me a minute. Let me get dressed.”

  Donovan grunted as he stood and stepped outside onto the balcony.

  “I keep my word,” Romo said, as Paul headed for the bathroom.

  Paul glanced at his blood brother, Colonel Valdez’s best assassin. Romo didn’t miss much. Since there was nothing he could say, Paul nodded, entered the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

  ***

  Twenty-three minutes later, Paul, Romo and Donovan strode down an underground corridor. MPs stood outside a door. The smaller one opened the door, keeping hold of the knob as the three men filed inside.

  There was a table with a computer screen on it, a bar with bottled drinks and four empty chairs.

  “Are you staying?” Paul asked Donovan.

  For an answer, the Green Beret sat down and opened a Gatorade.

  Paul rubbed his eyes. This felt like déjà vu. Man, he was old, too old for any more of this. Let the young have their shot at being a hero. He was sick and tired of desperate action. Had he ever craved this sort of thing? Yeah, he’d been young and full of piss and vinegar once. He had fallen for the catchy slogans and loved being in prime condition. Now…now he just wanted to go home. He wanted to sit on his sofa and watch TV, maybe go outside sometimes and weed his vegetable garden. Everyone kept one these days.

  The screen came to life. It showed a haggard-looking General Ochoa, with a large American flag behind him. His dark eyes seemed to bore into each of them.

  “I’m going to be brief,” General Ochoa said. “The President has spoken with me, and he believes we can slow down the relentless Chinese advance.”

  “Does it involve us doing something harebrained?” Paul asked.

  Ochoa gaze slid away from Paul’s for a moment. “You’re the three best commandos I have in the theater of operations. You know my beliefs about using the best and this is going to be the most important commando raid so far.”

  “More important than the Blue Swan fiasco?” asked Paul.

  “Son,” Ochoa said, staring him in the eye. “I’ve had just about enough of your quips. You’re in SOCOM and you’re under my orders. The President believes and I concur with him that this next mission is vital to the integrity of our country.”

  Paul struggled to rein in the compulsion to get up and walk away. What would Ochoa do? Likely, the general would order the MPs to throw him in the brig. Did it matter what
he had done before? Not enough that it would sway Ochoa, the man was pure hard-nose, all business.

  Ochoa’s pause seemed longer than necessary. Finally, he said, “You three are going to lead a raid on Marshal Nung’s Headquarters.”

  “That sounds important,” Paul said. “Who is he anyway?”

  “Marshal Nung is the enemy First Front commander, the Chinese officer running the California Invasion. His HQ is in San Ysidro, where the Ninth Division used to be. I believe you were there not that long ago, bodyguarding Colonel Norman.”

  Paul stared up at the ceiling. This was worse than he’d expected.

  “I know this will be a dangerous mission,” Ochoa said. “And we don’t have much time to prepare. Fortunately, Colonel Valdez has agreed to help us from Mexico.”

  Paul glanced at Romo. The assassin shook his head in the way that meant he didn’t know anything about this. Paul regarded Ochoa. In his experience, the General never forgot anything, and that would include Valdez wanting his death.

  “Uh, I have a problem with that,” Paul said. “Last I heard, Valdez still lusts for my head. Seems stupid of me to walk into Mexico and give it to him.”

  “Colonel Valdez will have to wait for your overvalued head,” Ochoa said. “Right now, I have need of you.”

  “And you’ve no doubt already told him that. Is that what you’re trying to hint to me…sir?”

  Ochoa turned his Aztec death-stare onto Paul. “Gunnery Sergeant, I’ve studied your profile on more than one occasion. You have trouble with authority. So far, I haven’t needed to reprimand you for insubordinate attitudes. Do I need to summon the MPs to take you to the brig?”

  “Yes sir, I think that would be a good idea. I don’t mean any offense, but I don’t relish having you send me to my death.”

  “Listen here, Kavanagh. The country is at war with the most powerful alliance in history. The PAA, SAF and the GD, along with the Iranian Hegemony, are all lining up against us. The bigger war is going to start soon. We need to end this conflict or stabilize it as soon as possible.”