He flew at the circled vehicles. The magnetically propelled grenades sailed in beautiful parabolic arcs. He let go of the launcher, letting it drop. When it hit the ground, the first egg-shaped explosive detonated, soon followed by the others.
A Chinese soldier lying on the firing line, getting a bead on Paul, screamed and rolled over. Most of his scalp disappeared as blood jetted. Paul hadn’t aimed a grenade at the man. He hadn’t even seen the enemy. It was just good luck, battle mojo of the best kind.
Throttling wide open, his jetpack whining like an out-of-control lawn mower, Paul zoomed toward the hard ground. It inched closer, closer to meet him.
“Son of a bitch!” he roared. Then Paul churned his legs as fast as he could go, running over the ground. He tripped, and might have plowed face-first into the sod, but he reflexively gave himself lift. His legs dangled for an instant and an enemy rocket-propelled grenade flew beneath him. It exploded fifty feet behind, a harmless expenditure of ordnance.
Paul tried it again, easing down. He ran faster than any hound, laughed crazily and quickly brought his speed to a manageable rate. This was the trickiest moment of all. He sprinted in his body armor as his arms roved about his body, fingers unbuckling clasps. He shed momentum fast, and then the jetpack fell away, striking the ground and raising dust behind him.
At that moment, enemy bullets scored. Their high-velocity impact killed much of his forward momentum, striking him hard against the chest. If he’d been standing still, the bullets would have knocked him down for sure. He lost his breath, and the impacts hurt, making him swear. When he’d played football, his opponents had quickly learned that giving pain to Paul Kavanagh gave him maddened strength. It was the same on the battlefield.
He didn’t know how it happened. Probably, the enemy soldier hidden in a fold of ground wasn’t sure either. Paul had his assault rifle in his hands. It was as if it just appeared. The rifle bucked each time he pulled the trigger. The Chinese major trying to line up another shot never got the chance for a repeat. A hole in his face ended the war for the major.
“They’re cutting us down!” the US commando colonel shouted over the link. “Go to ground. Go to ground.”
“We have to leave you, Colonel,” a Cherokee pilot said. “It’s too hot for us here, and the coordinator says bogies are on their way. We need air cover and we ain’t got any here.”
“Go!” the colonel shouted. “Save the helos.”
Paul heard the words. He didn’t check his HUD to watch the Cherokees book it out of there. He had backward-aiming cameras slaved to his computers. Every ounce of his concentration was focused on his task.
Even so, some part of his brain calculated. If the colonel told the men to go to ground, it meant the enemy had them under heavy fire. In a phrase, the Chinese had the commandos pinned, ducking for cover. All that the enemy needed to do then was wait for some air assets to eliminate the problem for them. That meant someone had to suppress the enemy fire so the boys could get moving again.
Paul’s HUD pinpointed the strongpoints: two IFVs poured 12.5mm machine gun fire and 30mm autocannons with fragmentation shells at the commandos. They would kill the team in short order.
The thoughts raced through Paul as he sprinted for a truck with a dead driver. A Chinese rifle lay just outside the door. Paul was far ahead of the pack. Speed happened to be his MO. Hit ’em fast and hit ’em hard.
Paul flipped his weapon’s selector switch to full auto. He jumped onto the running board, yanked open the door and crawled into the truck cabin. A back portal opened that led into the comm-vehicle’s interior. Paul’s burst caught the surprised Chinese soldier in the chest, hurling the skinny man backward. Paul followed, reaching the portal and looking in. Techs with headsets turned on their swivel chairs to stare at him, at the American. Several Chinese mouths dropped open. With quick bursts, Paul cut each of them down so they flopped and sprayed gore. Space was tight in here. It likely stank worse than an outhouse now. Good thing he wore his NBC helmet and integral mask.
Paul fixed a short bayonet on the end of his rifle and stabbed bodies. He didn’t want anyone jumping up and coming from behind once he passed the corpse.
For three seconds, he paused. He took deep breaths and held the last one. That helped cycle down his racing thoughts, allowing his tactical mind to take over.
“Give me a picture, sir,” he whispered over the battle-net.
“Where are you, Master Sergeant?” the colonel asked.
Paul gave him the position. With a split HUD, he spied the situation from the colonel’s vantage. Yeah, it was just as he thought. The enemy IFVs had the boys pinned out there on the prairie.
They needed a drone: a small, airmobile, robot warrior. Next time—if there ever was going to be a—
Paul shook his head. Forget distractions, just sweet concentration and action.
He kicked open the rear door. Three Chinese soldiers ran toward the truck. Paul didn’t have any time for niceties. Pulling the trigger, he hosed fire, cutting them down as if the enemy were part of the crew of a B-movie.
He found himself airborne—a leap—and then landed hard with a grunt, racing for the first IFV. The thing was a workhorse for the Chinese Army. It had a powerful rotary engine and carried space in its belly for six fully armed infantrymen. The IFV also boasted 73mm of ceramic and ultra-aluminum armor. The lightness of the armor shell together with the rotary gave the machine its speed.
Like good little boys that wanted to live forever, the crew inside were buttoned up tight. Every hatch must be sealed and locked. The autocannons and the machine guns belched and chattered at the commandos out there. One part of Paul’s brain doubted any of his buddies had survived: the impressive IFV firepower gave that feel. The cool part of Paul’s mind knew better. Bullets and shrapnel had to hit to wound or kill. Ground gave protection. That’s why infantrymen hugged it so enthusiastically.
Wish I still had my grenade launcher. Life was a bitch and combat made it worse. What were you going to do, huh?
Paul ran. Speed, baby, make it work for you. He emptied the assault rifle’s magazine and didn’t have time to put in another. He reached the IFV and slapped his satchel charge to its side. He was one of the few commandos to carry one. Normally, the team used them to breach bunkers, not vehicles.
He dropped to the dirt and crawled away. As he did, he switched magazines, leaving the empty one on the ground. A loud explosion made the IFV rock so its springs squealed, and black smoke drifted.
Paul stood, and exploding enemy bullets hitting his body armor made him stagger sideways. If they had been depleted uranium penetrators, he’d already be dead. A ricochet off his helmet made his ears ring. He didn’t have time to return fire.
Reaching the IFV breach, he tossed a fragmentation grenade inside and slammed his back against the vehicle’s armor. He heard a crump of sound from within. Men screamed. Paul came off the armor, poked his assault rifle through the beach and shot everyone inside the machine. He crawled through as more Chinese bullets whanged off IFV armor and struck his body armor with shrapnel.
Fierce elation filled him. A crazy laugh bubbled out of his throat. He shot the corpses and stabbed them. He was like a blood-maddened weasel killing chickens and couldn’t stop.
“Kavanagh!”
Paul snarled, twirling around, emptying another magazine in the close confines.
“Sergeant Kavanagh, are you in an IFV? Is it still operational?” the colonel asked through the battle-net.
That brought Paul back to sanity. Gore plugged the rifle’s orifice and Chinese blood dripped from the bayonet. He’d done this before, used enemy weaponry against them. Now he was going to do it again.
In seconds, he realigned the IFV’s heavy machine gun and the autocannons. He poured ordnance against Chinese targets, concentrating on vehicles.
“Use Kavanagh’s IFV as the rally point,” the colonel said over the radio. “Now move. This is our chance.”
The command
os out on the prairie did one of the hardest things in combat. They got up and moved under enemy fire. Because they were the best and knew the odds, they attacked.
The others were only a little less lethal than Kavanagh was, and the commandos used every advantage he gave them. Another ten minutes of combat ended the fight, with every Chinese soldier dead, dying or running away onto the prairie. At great cost to the SOCOM commando team, the enemy HQ had been neutralized and the rest of the Chinese 34th Mechanized Division thrown into confusion. There was no more brain to tell them what to do and when to do it.
It didn’t look as if the last Chinese reserves were going to hit the lead Americans with any kind of coordination.
-4—
The Event
BEIJING, CHINA
Shun Li watched on the wall as a giant-imaged Marshal Meng informed the Ruling Committee of the failure of Eighth Corps. Meng used to stare boldly at them as if to challenge the entire body. Now, as he reported, the marshal gazed down.
“Someone in my command must have betrayed their formation,” Meng said in a low voice, his lips barely moving. “Helicopter-borne commando teams and surprise missile assaults struck Eighth Corps’ various headquarter battalions. After their destruction, it became impossible to coordinate our assaults. Piecemeal, the formations…” Meng straightened his shoulders, and for a moment, his gaze darted upward, showing bloodshot eyes.
This is a defeated soldier, Shun Li realized.
Meng looked down again, and his voice continued to drone. “I feel I must inform you that the three divisions attacked valiantly, at times charging headlong against Behemoth regiments. It…” His voice cracked and he breathed deeply like a bull about to face the butcher. “The Americans have finally mastered the art of combined arms. It has long been one of our secret weapons—”
“Stick to the issue,” Chairman Hong snapped. The medium-sized man in the black suit no longer tapped his stomach with his thumbs. He sat up, acting the part of the Leader as he used to do.
As if slapped, Meng stopped speaking. Lines appeared in his forehead.
He wonders if he can be angry at the interruption. Shun Li realized. The Chairman would never have interjected like this even four days ago.
“None of the three divisions respond to my calls,” Meng whispered. “As a fighting formation, Eighth Corps is gone, although I would hasten to add that no doubt many of their soldiers remain.”
“Yet you have just told us that only coordinated formations count, and disorganized corps, divisions and brigades are useless,” Hong said.
Meng didn’t answer.
“Hmm…” Hong said. “Marshal Meng, you will await the Ruling Committee’s orders.”
Meng glanced at Marshal Chao Pin. The tall old man said nothing.
“Not for your benefit,” Hong said, “but for China’s brave soldiers, I will add that the battle is not yet over. It is, however, unfortunate that you have allowed the army entrusted to you to die so miserably.”
Meng looked on with astonishment. Shun Li could see now that he had golden flecks in his eyes. Clearly, Chinese marshals were no longer used to this sort of talk.
Marshal Chao Pin stirred and raised his white-haired head. “I must protest your last comment,” he said.
Hong ignored the old man as he stared at Meng’s image on the wall. “I will speak to you again soon. What I say then will give your shattered army renewed life.” The Chairman made a dismissive gesture.
The major in charge of communications hesitated. A second later, Meng’s image disappeared.
That’s interesting, Shun Li thought. The major didn’t even glance at Chao Pin for confirmation.
“What hope can you possibly give them?” Chao Pin asked.
As he stood, Chairman Hong ignored the Army Minister. Instead, he gazed as the other assembled members. There was something different in Hong’s eyes. They were dark indeed and glittered with authority.
“Police Minister,” Hong said.
Shun Li’s head snapped up. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Those murder squads…
“Yes, Chairman,” she answered.
“Come stand by me,” Hong ordered.
Shun Li slid back her chair, stood and stepped to him. She noted how the two military ministers eyed her. They were wary and— They’re afraid, she realized. They should be.
“Stand here,” Hong said, pointing at the floor beside him.
Shun Li obeyed, standing on the spot like a young police cadet at attention.
“Draw your sidearm,” the Chairman told her.
“This is unseemly conduct,” Chao Pin said. “Yet if you insist on a demonstration, I also have a gun.” The old man unlatched a holster flap at his side and drew a heavy revolver. With a clunk, he set it on the conference table.
Hong ignored Chao Pin as he stared at Shun Li. “I have given you an order,” he told her.
She had to decide now, this second, where her final loyalty lay. If she drew her pistol, she must act decisively and go all the way for the madman who had implicated her with treasonous conduct. Hong was cunning, and he could strike fast and ruthlessly. The others were overmatched.
Shun Li drew her nine millimeter pistol, letting her arm hang down so the weapon rested against her leg. She knew that if Chao Pin touched his revolver, she would empty her magazine into him. She’d have no other choice.
“Excellent,” Hong told her.
“We have important matters to discuss,” Chao Pin said in an angry voice. “The Americans—”
“Have smashed our armies in Oklahoma,” Hong said. “We have no one to blame for this but ourselves. We waited behind our defensive lines last year. The Germans fought savagely in the Great Lakes region. If we would have attacked then—”
Chao Pin snapped his fingers. “The Germans deserted us in our hour of need the year before that in 2039. We lost face then and lost the battle because of their treachery.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Hong said. “But they certainly fought in 2040. If we would have taken advantage of that and attacked in coordination with them—”
“No,” Chao Pin said. “Last year we lacked supplies to make meaningful assaults. We also lacked tanks, hovercraft, MC ABMs: all devoured in your ill-considered offensives into Colorado and Nebraska.”
Hong’s lips stretched into a devious smile. “And by waiting, as you have done, we have enough today?” he asked.
Chao Pin bristled. “I am not a schoolboy. I am the leader of the Army. I took our military that you had squandered—”
“Shun Li!” Hong said.
She could feel everyone staring at her. Warm and cold sensations surged through her body.
“Shun Li,” Hong said, “you lack formal military training. Yet you are an excellent police leader. Tell me, in your opinion, in Oklahoma, can we turn defeat into victory?”
“I do not know how,” Shun Li said.
“Army Minister, how can we salvage this disaster?” Hong asked.
“We must retreat,” Chao Pin said. “We must trade space for time as we rush reinforcements from Mexico and Arizona. We can possibly stabilize the line in middle Texas.”
“You mean to run away with the Americans on our heels?” Hong asked. “Is that not inviting an even worse disaster, a total defeat everywhere?”
“This is a bitter day,” Chao Pin said, as his lips twisted with distaste.
“No,” Hong said. “This is the day we will smash the Americans and teach them a lesson they will never forget.”
Shun Li couldn’t help herself. She’d been listening to him but keeping her gaze focused ahead. Now she glanced at Hong. His dark eyes glowed with a strange power as evil stirred in him. He frightened her, and yet, she held the gun.
“I am forced to question your reading of the situation,” Chao Pin said.
“Can you solve our dilemma?” Hong asked the marshal.
“Sometimes, as painful as it is, the enemy outfights one,” Chao Pin sai
d. “This has happened here. Now we must deal with it.”
“The answer is no, you cannot solve the dilemma,” Hong said. “But I can solve it.” The devious smile became sinister. “Tell me, Army Minister. What good are you if you can only grant us lost opportunities and defeats?”
“How can you possibly change what has happened in Oklahoma?” Chao Pin asked.
Hong turned his gaze onto the other Ruling Committee members. “Did you hear that? Chao Pin has finally broken down and asked the only one here with an answer to our problem. I find that illuminating. He claims to be a military expert, yet has nothing to offer us.”
“You spout rhetoric but fail to give us your vaunted solution,” Chao Pin said.
“Of course there is a solution. But I doubt anyone has the resolve to carry it out except for me.”
Chao Pin frowned, and understanding lit his eyes. “I hope you do not mean to say nuclear weapons.”
“Yes!” Hong said. “That is exactly what I mean.”
“The American ABM systems—”
“Bah!” Hong said. “Unless they can scramble hundreds of Reflex interceptors, the Americans cannot strike enough low-flying cruise missiles fired from northern Mexico.”
“There are no such cruise missiles in northern Mexico,” Chao Pin said, “certainly not in the abundance you’re implying.”
“But of course there are,” Hong said, “for I have foreseen the Army’s failure. Secretly, under East Lightning guidance, I have smuggled vast quantities of cruise missiles into North America.”
“You spout madness,” Chao Pin said. “Firstly, one or two warheads might get through the American antimissile screen. That wouldn’t be enough for your purposes.”
“You are wrong. Most would get through.”
“I must inform you that the Americans have mass produced tac-lasers and mobile particle beam platforms. Surely, you are aware that the new systems have driven our air force from the front lines. It is one of the reasons the enemy has made these breakthroughs and extended their penetration drives.”
Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5) Page 10