Invasion: New York (Invasion America)

by Heppner, Vaughn

  A minute ticked by, and Gunther sweated harder than before. Everyone in here watched the big screen. This was too much. He wished it would end. The suspense…

  No, you must remember every sensation. If you live, you must describe everything to father.

  “Did we get them all?” Kaltenbrunner asked.

  “I’m not sure,” the admiral said, with the first hint of unease in his voice.

  Then, from outside, came a tremendous, violently bright explosion.

  Gunther’s jaw dropped. He watched the big screen. A vast, yellow symbol showed where a thermonuclear warhead destroyed a supercarrier and—one by one, other ship symbols winked out. In all, nineteen vessels disappeared from the screen.

  Gunther sat back in shock. When was the next nuclear warhead going to ignite and destroy yet more ships?

  “What about radiation?” General Kaltenbrunner asked in a loud voice. “Are we in danger from radiation poisoning?”

  “Look,” the admiral said, pointing at the big screen. “That particular warhead ignited at the southern edge of the fleet. We’re steaming away from the blast. The radiation—”

  “What if there are more bombs?” Kaltenbrunner shouted. “What if—” The general stopped shouting as the admiral touched his arm.

  “Look at that!” Gunther shouted, as he stared at the screen.

  General Kaltenbrunner, the admiral and everyone else in the chamber turned and stared at Gunther Weise. He had stood up and now pointed at the big screen. It showed a red hit, and then another and another. They came in swift succession, and they numbed Gunther. Were those more successful nuclear strikes? If so, then why were they still afloat? Why hadn’t more blinding flashes occurred?

  Slowly, it dawned on Gunther that people stared at him. Few of those were friendly stares. Burning with shame, Gunther hurriedly sat down. He wished he could disappear.

  “What of those?” Kaltenbrunner asked. “What do the red hits signify?”

  The lieutenant poked Gunther in the shoulder. “You’re a GD sailor. Act the part, mister.”

  Gunther put his hands on the controls trying to overcome the growing static.

  “Is that it then?” General Kaltenbrunner asked.

  Gunther didn’t know if the general meant the end of the attack or the end of the armada. Maybe the admiral didn’t know what Kaltenbrunner meant either.

  “General?” the admiral asked.

  “Those red splashes we’re seeing,” Kaltenbrunner said. “How many nuclear strikes can the fleet take?”

  The admiral chuckled softly.

  “Are you mad to laugh at a time like this?” Kaltenbrunner asked in a thick voice.

  “No, no, excuse me, please,” the admiral said. “I’m relieved.”

  “Talk sense,” Kaltenbrunner said, angrily. “We’ve lost ships, far too many ships.”

  “General,” the admiral said. “I think I know what happened. The Americans must have also attacked with regular ASBMs.”

  “What?” Kaltenbrunner asked.

  “With non-nuclear ballistic missiles,” the admiral said.

  “The Americans destroyed more ships?”

  “Yes,” the admiral said. “I should not have chuckled. We have taken losses. Many good men and women died just now. I am relieved that the Americans failed to destroy us as a fighting force. The realization of our success—I’m afraid I laughed out of nervous relief. Please, forgive me.”

  “Failed?” Kaltenbrunner asked. “They just destroyed over… How many ships did we lose?”

  The admiral accepted a slip of paper from a major. The small officer glanced at it, crumpled the slip and let it drop to the deck. Then he looked up at Kaltenbrunner. “As of now, sir, we’ve lost twenty-five vessels. Two of those were carriers, and that is a terrible blow. One of the lost vessels was a battleship and one was a major troop ship. The rest were minor ships. The Americans made their great assault, General Kaltenbrunner. They made it and failed to hurt us significantly enough to halt the invasion. While I mourn the loss of twenty-five good GD vessels, I still realize that we’re about to end this campaign in glorious victory. And you are going to spearhead that victory with your ground troops. Congratulations, General Kaltenbrunner.”

  The admiral held out his hand. In a bemused fashion, Kaltenbrunner took it, and the two commanders shook.

  “History,” Gunther whispered to himself. I was there and I even said a word or two.

  Gunther wanted to caw with laughter. He felt so relieved to be alive. He had just survived a nuclear attack against the fleet. It was the first nuclear naval attack in history, and now, they were going to make the Americans pay for attempting it.

  -13-

  Annihilation

  From Military History: Past to Present, by Vance Holbrook:

  Invasion of Northeastern America, 2040

  2040, July 16-18. Invasion New York. In Southwestern Ontario between Windsor and London, the two forces were locked in bleak, attritional warfare. The Americans used blood, artillery and extensive jamming to whittle down GD Army Group A. Holk staved off the increasingly heavy push in the south as he battered his way east into the Niagara Peninsula. US Fifth Army vainly tried to stave off Holk’s attack as Zeller’s two corps attempted to shut the door at Buffalo. It had become a wrestling match as the Fifth Army paid in blood to extricate itself out of Buffalo and fight its way south toward Pennsylvania.

  Meanwhile, US XI Airmobile Corps and the first smattering of Canadian troops fought savagely on the approaches to Syracuse. It proved a losing fight against GD Twelfth Army, but the American soldiers were buying their country time. Zeller asked Mansfeld for Kaisers and Leopard IV tanks in order to spearhead his assaults along the interstate.

  On the high seas, General Kaltenbrunner’s GD Army Group D left Cuban ports and headed for the selected Atlantic invasion beaches of New York-New Jersey. The great trap neared completion…

  SAINT CATHARINES, ONTARIO

  Jake Higgins didn’t know anything about ICBMs or GD armadas. He was dirty, sore, bleeding across his left eye so he had to keep wiping it to clear of blood and he was hungry like a junkyard dog.

  The enemy pounding had been going on for some time. He was in a basement with the others, with Charlie, Lee, the lieutenant and MDG Sergeant Dan Franks. There were others of the penal battalion, a pittance compared to their beginning numbers.

  After the survival of no-man’s land, he and the others had retreated until they’d found the lieutenant. It had been a nightmare since then. The GD poured everything at Fifth Army, particularly the AI Kaisers and the dreaded Leopard IV tanks, together with air sweeps and missile bombardments.

  They had fought their way to St. Catharines along the shore of Lake Ontario. The city burned, with oily fumes churning into the sky. Fifth Army was dying, and the penal battalions along with it.

  The lieutenant had said something yesterday about those in Buffalo holding open a corridor long enough so the rest of the Fifth Army could escape the GD trap. It didn’t look as if they would be part of the escapees. This was reminding Jake more and more of Texas last summer.

  As dawn rose to another brutal day, the rear guard in St. Catharines was supposed to fight its way free of the enemy and hurry for Buffalo. Yeah, that was a good joke.

  Jake wiped blood out of his left eye and peered out of a basement window. A marauding Leopard tank clanked into view past piles of rubble. Behind the tank followed crouched-over GD infantrymen in their high-grade body armor.

  “But sir,” Sergeant Franks was saying, “if we attack now, they’ll attack us. If they attack, they’re going to get help from the offshore artillery. They’ll demolish us down here. This will become our grave.”

  The lieutenant stubbornly shook his head. “We’re fighting for our country, Sergeant. Maybe it means we’re going to die for our country, but that’s every soldier’s lot in war. Now set up the machine guns. We have to kill those infantry.”

  Sergeant Franks bit his lower lip.
Clearly, he didn’t like the order, but to disobey a direct command…

  There wasn’t much difference now between the penal militiamen and their jailers. Everyone was in this together.

  Franks bellowed and he pointed at militiamen, telling them to hurry.

  Jake heaved, lifting the .50 caliber into position. Charlie helped him. Lee waited behind the weapon.

  “Fire!” the lieutenant said, as he peered out his own window.

  Jake glanced at the young man. There was a fanatical fire in the lieutenant’s eyes. These past days hadn’t diminished the man’s resolve, but hardened it. If he had to die fighting, so be it. The lieutenant clearly planned to kill Germans, as many as he could.

  Lee pressed the butterfly triggers. The .50 caliber jackhammered its bullets at the enemy. Jake watched. The GD infantrymen had great body armor, but at this range, it meant nothing. They tumbled to the cement, some in a bloody spray.

  The Leopard tank’s treads stopped churning far too fast. Its turret swiveled, the huge cannon swinging around toward their building.

  “Get down!” Franks shouted.

  Jake, Charlie, Lee, the lieutenant, everyone hit the tiled floor of the basement, taking their weapons with them.

  A thunderous roar sounded from outside. A shell exploded inside the building on the first floor. That still had an effect down here. Masonry flew everywhere, raining in upside-down geysers. Militiamen fell as cement chunks struck them. A few disappeared, buried under rubble. Dust billowed. Militiamen choked, coughing with hacking sounds.

  “Up, up, get up!” the lieutenant shouted.

  From on the floor, Charlie and Jake exchanged glances. Their looks said, Is he a madman?

  The lieutenant was close by and he might have seen their questioning looks. He drew his sidearm and aimed the pistol at Jake. “Lift the machine gun, Private. We have to attack. We have to hurt the invader while we can.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jake said. The pistol aimed at his head didn’t bother him. Such things had happened too many times in the penal battalion. “We’ll do that exactly as you say, sir, but wouldn’t it be a whole lot better if I climbed the stairs and shot an RPG down on the tank turret? That will do more damage than bullets against the tank’s front armor.”

  The lieutenant stared at him, with his eyes shining strangely. “Go!” he said. “Do it, and then get back down here.”

  First wiping blood out of his left eye, Jake scrambled away from the window. Another thunderous roar from the tank heralded another HE shell. One of the reasons they fought from basements was because a tank’s cannon couldn’t depress far enough to directly fire at them. This 175mm shell blasted the floor above them. The concussion of it hurled Jake down as if someone had used a mallet. He lay on the floor panting.

  How much longer can I keep doing this? He didn’t know. Part of him just wanted to lie down and quit. Yet if he did that, he would be dead or captured by the Germans. He shook his head. He was a Higgins. A Higgins never quit; he kept on fighting. Why not fight until you’re dead? Which ought to be pretty soon now.

  With a groan, Jake climbed to his feet. He helped Charlie up and staggered to several RPGs. He grabbed one. Charlie grabbed another and Lee a third. Then they started for the ruin of the stairs.

  “They’re going to run away on us, sir,” Sergeant Franks said.

  The lieutenant didn’t even glance their way. He peered out the window. He now spoke in a loud whisper. “Put the machine gun back up,” he said. “The tank crew is thinking about it now. Let’s nail any Germans slinking behind the monster.”

  Jake didn’t hear any more. He climbed over debris and made it to the first floor. If the Leopard crew decided to fire yet again, he was dead. He coughed because some of the drifting dust found its way into his throat. Then he dashed through the rubble-strewn area, heading for stairs leading higher. As he did, he wondered about running away. What did he owe those bastards down in the basement anyway? Not a whole heck of a lot, that’s for sure. But he didn’t run away. He wasn’t sure where he could run to. St. Catharines swarmed with enemy soldiers. As far as he could see, this was the end of the line.

  Jake climbed broken stairs, having to climb over debris and smashed wood. He smelled smoke. He listened to bombardments, chattering machine guns and the clack of tracked vehicles coming up. This war was never going to end. The world would fight it out in North America until they were all down to the level of savages. It was a new Ice Age. Maybe this would bring about the death of the Industrial World. Maybe this war was mass suicide of the human race.

  The building shook. Bricks fell, striking the floor and bouncing crazily. The crackle of flames from somewhere near threatened to turn the place into an inferno. From below, heavy machine guns rattled endlessly, and the clang and clack of .50 caliber bullets bouncing off heavier armor told its own tale.

  The three of them raced to a window. Enemy gunfire drove them back as the walls around the window sprayed cement and chalky dust.

  “Now what are we going to do?” Charlie shouted.

  Jake wondered about that. As he did, a salvo of HE shells hit the base of the building. Everything shook more than ever. Jake expected the floor to open up and swallow him.

  “We’re going to die,” Lee said in a calm voice.

  Jake looked at him. Corporal Lee gazed back.

  “What the heck,” Jake said. He readied his RPG and raced back to a window. Lee took the other window. Jake aimed the RPG down, aimed at the top of the nearest Leopard turret. There were two tanks there now. He fired, and the shaped-charge grenade flew down. Jake stumbled back as a bullet slammed against his chest. That caused him to fall backward, hitting his helmet against furniture. An explosion came from below, bewildering him.

  Jake might have passed out. The next thing he knew Charlie was dragging him. The potato-grower was weeping.

  “Is there something wrong?” Jake asked.

  “Lee’s dead,” Charlie said.

  Jake wiped blood out of his eye. He climbed to his feet and his head throbbed. His chest hurt too. He felt the front of his body armor over his heart and the size of the depression there. He was lucky to be alive.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Amid the bombardments, amid the crash of shells and bullets and the sway of the rooms, they made it back into the smoky basement. The other tank had gone away, and so had the rest of the GD teams. Only one militiaman lived down here. He was propped in a corner as he bled to death.

  Jake and Charlie hurried across the rubble to him to see if they can help the man.

  It turned out to be one of the MDG Sergeants. The sergeant grabbed Jake’s arm and held on with a fierce grip. “You bastards killed one of the tanks, but Franks killed the lieutenant.”

  “What?” Jake asked.

  “The lieutenant wanted Franks to keep firing but Franks chickened out. So he drew his gun and blew out the lieutenant’s brains. He took off, Higgins. You listen to me. You kill that filthy traitor, Dan Franks. You punish him for running away in the face of the enemy. You…”

  The sergeant’s grip failed. His hand dropped away and his head slumped to the side. The MDG was dead, his eyes glazed.

  Charlie swept his hands over the eyelids. Jake got up and went to the lieutenant. The young man was very dead, with the front of his head blown away. Jake checked the back. He’d seen enough death to know now. Someone had put a pistol there and fired. He could see powder burns.

  “What do we do?” Charlie asked. “Everyone is dead.”

  Jake stood. He turned to Charlie. Then he picked up his M16 and headed for the way out. They had to escape this deathtrap and reach Buffalo before the GD closed the door on what was left of Fifth Army.

  He knew what he was going to do. “Franks,” Jake whispered, and then he didn’t say anything more.

  WASHINGTON, DC

  When General Norton hurled his hat across the room and swore fierce profanities, Anna understood that the combined ICBM-ASBM attack had failed
to stop the invasion.

  Director Harold scowled, staring at Norton. Finally, the director lifted both of his fists and slammed them against the table.

  The President slumped deeper into his chair. His eyes became staring and hollow. It was a ghastly transformation. Anna would have preferred him to swear like Norton and show anger like Max.

  “We need to use more ICBMs,” Max said. “One thermonuclear warhead got through. If we saturate bomb them this time—”

  “Look!” Norton said in a grim voice. “The enemy fleet is beginning to spread out. They’re preparing for us to strike again.”

  “Then we must strike again now, immediately,” Max said. “We must hit them before they disperse.”

  “With all due respect, Director, I don’t think so,” Norton said. “They have space mirrors in place, operational mirrors. ICBMs are much easier to destroy during boost phase when they are full of fuel. With the mirrors, they’ll be able to reach down into the central US to do that. No. I don’t think we can—”

  “Destroy the mirrors!” Max shouted. “Let’s use our strategic lasers against them.”

  “Have you studied the angle?” Norton asked. “The GD mirrors aren’t close enough.”

  “Then how can lasers bounce off the mirrors and hit our ICBMs during boost phase?”

  “It should be obvious,” Norton said. “As the ICBMs lift upward, they pass the angle of the Earth and come into the mirrors’ line-of-sight.”

  Max shook his head. “That can’t be it. We can’t have failed in this.”

  “I agree with you there,” Norton told him. “The fight is far from over. We will entrain troops to New Jersey—”

  “No!” Max said. “We must stop the fleet. We cannot let the enemy soldiers land and complete the encirclement of the First Front.”

  Anna was frowning. There was something in the back of her mind. There was something else…

  “Mr. President,” Max said. “I suggest another nuclear strike.”