As Stan leaned against the tank, a jeep roared up. The driver was a Militia teenager, a skinny boy with an oversized helmet. There were too many youngsters in the Army like him, too many hastily drafted kids out of LA.
Slowing down, the kid shouted, “Captain Higgins?”
“Yep. That’s me.”
“I’m here to take you to HQ.”
Stan climbed into the jeep. The kid glanced at the razor wire, shuddered and cranked the wheel. He drove faster, dodging shell-holes and big chunks of rubble and other debris. They passed Militia clearing this street, using their hands and wheelbarrows. A bulldozer would have been better. A lot of things would have been better.
The driver took to him Battalion HQ, a relatively intact Rite Aid store. Battered Bradley Fighting Vehicles used the parking lot, together with beat up Humvee Avengers, their Blowdart missiles aimed skyward.
Stan followed the driver, who took him to an old storeroom in back. Data net men swarmed the area with their equipment. Soon, Stan spoke with the colonel, a Militiaman and a former high school football coach. He was big and balding, and had bowed legs.
“I’ve spoken to the General,” the ex-coach said. “We’re pulling out your Behemoths.”
Stan raised his eyebrows. “I thought we were stiffening the line.”
“You were. But the eggheads who decide such things have changed their mind. Now the Behemoths are going to form LA’s reserve.”
“Because the Chinese have taken a siesta?” Stan asked.
“Did you notice all the razor wire they’ve put up lately?”
“That could be a trick,” Stan said. “Maybe they’re trying to lull us.”
“Or it could indicate a change in mindset.”
“There is that, too.”
“Anyway,” the ex-coach said, “here’s the schedule for the pullout. We’re going to do this by stages.” The colonel handed Stan a folder.
He tucked it under his arm.
“By the way,” the colonel said, as he checked his watch. “You have a call in ten minutes. It’s from the Detention Center.”
Stan’s heart went cold. This was highly unusual. By law, there were only a few places allowed to communicate with the Detention Center facility. The middle of a battle zone wasn’t one, either.
“Is it about my son?” Stan asked.
The colonel shrugged. “You can use the comm-equipment over there. Let me say it in case you don’t know. I’m glad you and your tanks were here, Captain. As far as I’m concerned, you saved all our butts.”
The man held out his hand. Stan shook it. The ex-football coach had a bone-crushing grip.
Soon, Stan found himself sitting at a table, staring at a computer screen. What had happened? He hoped Jake had kept his nose clean.
In time, a Detention Center officer came onscreen. The woman looked angry. She read off a list, asking a series of questions.
“What is this about?” Stan asked.
“First,” she said, looking up, “I must confirm that you are Captain Stan Higgins of the U.S. Army. Until such time, I cannot answer any of your questions.”
Stan kept his face neutral and told himself he couldn’t afford another fight with them. He answered the many and sometimes intrusive questions. Finally, the officer gave him a perfunctory smile.
“Thank you, Captain Higgins. You are clearly Jake Higgins’s father. I will now patch you through to him.”
“Is Jake all right?”
“You can confirm that in…” she checked her watch. “In fifteen seconds.” She faded from view.
Stan waited, and in exactly fifteen seconds, Jake appeared onscreen.
“Dad, are you okay?”
Stan found himself grinning from ear-to-ear. “It’s good to see, son. Are you in trouble?”
A wary look came over Jake. “No sir, I’ve learned my lesson. America is the greatest country in the world and President Sims is just the man to see us through these terrible times. I made a stupid mistake in protesting against him. I see that now.”
Stan nodded, but he felt saddened. Yes, America was the greatest country, but no one should have to force that idea onto his boy. It should have come naturally. Still, he couldn’t fault Jake. The Detention Center surely monitored the call. The more he’d thought about it during the weeks, the more he’d liked it that his boy had stood up to them. But there was a time and place to speak up and a time to keep your mouth shut. Maybe this was a sign of Jake finally growing up: knowing when to fight his battles.
“Are you leaving the Detention Center?” Stan asked. “Are you coming home?”
“I am leaving,” Jake said. “But I’m not coming home. I’ve signed up.”
“In the Militia?” Stan asked.
“That’s why I’m calling, sir. I want to thank you.”
“What did I do?”
“You won the Medal of Honor in Alaska, and the exploits of your tanks in California have been in the news almost every day. The Detention Center Commandant has spoken to the President about me, asking for a reprieve.”
Stan’s face split into a huge smile. “That’s wonderful!”
“Yes sir. It means I can volunteer for any service I want.”
Stan blinked rapidly. “What’s that? What are you talking about?”
“I’m enlisting in the Army, sir. America is under siege and she needs every patriotic citizen she has. I’m going to request armor, but I’ll go wherever my country needs me.”
“When do you leave for boot camp?”
“Today, sir.”
Stan stared at his boy. There was something different about Jake, about how he was acting. “Is this your idea?”
“Of course it is.”
“I’m—”
Jake glanced to his left, and he nodded to someone mumbling off-screen. He faced Stan again and said, “Sorry, Dad. My time is up. The train is leaving in twenty minutes and I have to be aboard. I’ll call you once I’m out of boot camp.”
“You can write letters during boot, can’t you?”
“I don’t think I can.” Jake stared hard at him then. It almost felt to Stan as if Jake was giving him a secret message. “I’m going to make you proud of me, sir.”
“I’m already proud.”
“Bye, Dad.”
“Good-bye, Jake. You take care of yourself, and you remember what it really means to be a good American.”
“I understand you. Believe me, I do.”
Before Jake could say more, the screen dissolved. The former Detention Center officer reappeared and congratulated Stan on the news.
“Yes,” Stan said distractedly. “Thank you.”
Shortly thereafter he left the Rite Aid store. His tank was ordered out of the front line. The Chinese storm had stopped for the moment. Now it sounded as if the Behemoths were going to be regrouped again. That was a good idea. What about Jake, though? What had all that been about? Stan didn’t know, and he wondered what branch of the service Jake would enter. At least it wasn’t the Militia. They were good people, but their training and equipment were always substandard.
Stan headed for the young driver and his jeep. Jose would want to hear this. All the Behemoth tankers would, those who had survived the terrible battle.
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Several days after Stan spoke to his son, Anna Chen listened as the briefing major spoke in the underground bunker.
There had been a massive shift in Chinese behavior. It was clear the Chinese offensive in southern California had halted. Through drone-intel and other sources, they learned key formations had already left the area and were headed for the Second or Third Front.
“Are the Chinese going to attack in Texas?” the President asked.
“We’re not sure if it’s Texas or New Mexico,” General Alan said. “What does seem clear is that the Chinese and the South Americans are planning a summer offensive somewhere there and sometime soon.”
“What about the Germans?” Sims asked.
; “We expect them to attack, too, yes sir.”
“In Florida?”
“That would seem the likely candidate, sir, although we cannot rule out Georgia or Louisiana. If it were me, I would attack Louisiana while the PAA and the SAF assaults Texas. They could help each other.”
“That would also allow us to concentrate against them in one area,” Sims said. “It would help us.”
“There are pros and cons for them no matter what they decide,” Alan said.
“If they even do decide to attack,” Sims said.
“I’m certain they will attack, sir. Every indicator points that way.”
“What about California? Are they done with it for now?”
“That’s an interesting question, sir. They smashed irreplaceable equipment on our side and killed and captured far too many of our soldiers. What’s more, Los Angeles and the Bay Area are under a state of siege. The fight isn’t over there, just the intensity has receded. Yet they could resume their offensives at any time.”
“We’ll be better prepared if they do,” Sims said.
“In some ways, yes sir,” Alan said.
The President tapped his computer stylus on the table. “What are your recommendations for the state?”
“We should shift forces to the Bay Area and drive the Chinese into the sea,” Alan said. “Los Angeles can hold for now. It’s excellent defensive terrain with even better defensive areas behind it. I mean the Grapevine Pass in particular.”
“Can we spare the troops elsewhere to use in the Bay Area?”
“Maybe the right kind of troops, sir,” Alan said. “I’m thinking about the Behemoth tanks.”
“No. That’s the wrong kind of terrain for them.”
“Then—”
“Here’s what I believe,” Sims said. “I was thinking about this last night.” He grinned. “You used historical evidence before, telling me about World War I. I think it was about the Battle of the Somme.”
“Yes sir.”
“The British and French attacked Turkey during World War I. It was called the Gallipoli Campaign.”
“I’ve heard of it.”
Sims nodded. “In all, the British sent 410,000 soldiers there and the French 70,000. They were tied down on a narrow strip of land, never able to achieve anything other than dying in ill-coordinated attacks against the Turks. Those badly needed troops could have been used elsewhere to great advantage to help hasten the defeat of Kaiser Germany. Instead, because of a number of unforeseen problems, the British and French jailed themselves on the Gallipoli Peninsula with the Turkish Army acting as their wardens. I’m wondering if we might stymie the Chinese in a similar way, at least those attempting to capture the Bay Area.”
“You mean lure them into staying there, useless? That could be one way of looking at it,” Alan said. “The enemy troops also tie down our men there.”
“We would have to leave soldiers there anyway to guard the Bay Area from other amphibious assaults.”
General Alan became thoughtful. “Your theory might work, sir, provided the Chinese don’t land too many more troops. I still think we should use the Behemoths to drive them into the sea.”
The President tapped the stylus. “I think one thing is clear. If we’re talking about pulling the Behemoths out of Los Angeles, it means we think the great Chinese offensive into California has stopped.”
“Clearly, for the moment, it has.”
“It was the commandos who bought this success,” Anna said. “Without Nung driving them, the enemy shifted their strategy.”
The President and General Alan, along with everyone else in the chamber, regarded her.
President Sims nodded. “I concur with your analysis, Ms. Chen. It was a good idea and it worked. We’re not out of the woods yet, however. There are still millions of enemy soldiers waiting to invade our country. We’re going to need more ideas like that. In fact, Ms. Chen—”
Sims glanced at Director Levin. “I’m taking her away from you.”
It almost seemed as if Levin was going to shrug. Instead, he said, “If you so desire, sir.”
“I do desire. Ms. Chen, I would like to make you a member of my staff. Does that fit with your approval?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Anna said. This was wonderful.
“We’ll speak after the meeting.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
Sims glanced around the room. “We’ve stopped the Californian Offensive. It will likely continue as a siege, but we can deal with that for now. Now I want us to concentrate on how to meet the next Chinese thrust in other areas of the country and to look into ways of stopping any Germen Dominion offensives. We don’t know much time we have, days or weeks, but we’d better start thinking hard about these things.”
The President clicked his stylus onto the table. “First, I would like to look into the possibility of…”
The End
To the Reader: I hope you’ve enjoyed Invasion: California. If you would like to see the story continue, I encourage you to write a review. Let me know how you feel and let others know what to expect.
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