Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5)

by Vaughn Heppner

  “You surprise me, Marshal. Do you not know by now that I understand these things perfectly? You are, of course, quite correct. If we let the antimissile systems operate freely, they might destroy the majority of the cruise missiles. Those systems, however, will be too busy to focus on the nuclear attack.”

  “Busy doing what?” Chao Pin asked.

  “Why, destroying what remains of our air force as they make a close assault, letting nothing deter them. The Japanese had to train special units to make kamikaze attacks. Our pilots will sacrifice themselves simply because we order it.”

  “This is madness,” Chao Pin said.

  “You know it isn’t. Instead, why don’t you admit that you lack the resolve for the hard choices, Army Minister? What good is an air force if it cannot achieve air superiority? Why, nothing, of course—except as decoys. They will attack en masse, diving against the tac-lasers, the Patriot missile batteries and the particle beam platforms. The cruise missiles will follow from behind, detonating and destroying everything, including the American air units.”

  Shun Li could hardly believe what she heard. From the shocked expressions around her, neither could the other ministers. Hong suggested vast butchery, and yet…as plans went, it sounded better than a horrible defeat.

  Chao Pin shook his head. “What you’re suggesting would need large numbers of nuclear weapons. I wonder if you understand the magnitude of what you’re saying. To halt the onrushing American armor, you would condemn hundreds of thousands of Chinese soldiers to death. Perhaps as bad, the nuclear warheads would irradiate wide swaths of agricultural land. That would defeat the purpose of our invasion.”

  “The enemy has already killed masses of Chinese soldiers,” Hong said. “The enemy has also used nuclear weapons on more than one occasion.”

  “True,” Chao Pin said, “but the Americans have never used such weapons in abundance on land.”

  “Santa Cruz wasn’t on land?” Hong asked.

  “That was different,” Chao Pin said.

  “You are wrong. Santa Cruz was just like Oklahoma. We face a disaster as they once did. They did not hesitate to solve the problem with nuclear missiles.”

  “This is a matter of scale,” Chao Pin said. “The Americans used a single nuclear warhead, maybe two on Santa Cruz, wrecking the port facilities and our amphibious landers all bunched together there. You would have to use hundreds in Oklahoma against the dispersed enemy.”

  “Scale, scale,” Hong scoffed. “It is a matter of usage. Today, I resolve to smash the Americans with atomic weapons in order to fix our problem as they once used a thermonuclear device against Chinese arms. Yet you are right in one regard. With this strike, I propose to kill a million enemy soldiers at a blow, maybe more.”

  Silence reigned in the room. It was almost painful to Shun Li. The pistol threatened to slip out of her weakened grip. She had to make a conscious effort to tighten her hold.

  Army Minister Chao Pin looked older, seeming to grope for words. “Why…for your outcome… We would need to saturate the battlefield with nuclear weapons. Doing so would murder millions of our soldiers and those of our SAF allies.”

  “Why am I the only one able to see the logic of our situation?” Hong asked. “Perhaps I alone have the breadth of vision and the resolve to make the hard decisions. Can’t you understand that most of our soldiers are already enemy captives or will surrender in the next few days? In other words, they are already dead to our cause—they cannot die a second time to us. Therefore, we lose nothing by the nuclear weapons that we haven’t already lost. The choice is clear. Do we accept our present losses and run with our tails between our legs? Or do we expend our air force and use the cruise missiles and kill American armies? In fact, such a vicious strike might well end the war in stalemate in North America. That will give us time to deal with the Indians and Russians.”

  Chao Pin sat in his chair blinking. Finally, he stirred, shaking his head. “I cannot agree with you. We have fought and lost in Oklahoma. Now it is time to retreat, save our armies and regroup for another battle. Unleashing these cruise missiles—in the mass you suggest—could well lead to a strategic nuclear exchange—and that would be the end of the world.”

  “Your timidity startles me,” Hong said. “It shouldn’t, but it does. The Americans have shown the resolve needed for these decisions. Why, last year they destroyed the GD Atlantic fleet with nuclear weapons.”

  “Yes,” Chao Pin said, “they used nuclear weapons in the ocean, leaving no holes in the water. We have done likewise with nuclear depth charges. What you’re suggesting…it will change the nature of the war. Tactical nuclear usage will quickly turn into strategic exchanges, which is mutual suicide. We must find a different solution or face possible human extinction.”

  “What solution do you suggest?”

  “I do not know yet,” Chao Pin admitted.

  Chairman Hong faced the other ministers and his forehead gleamed. “We have come to a crossroads. We cannot follow Chao Pin in accepting this bitter defeat. I believe that will begin a chain reaction all along the line against us. The entire North American war effort might collapse in a mass rout. If that happens, the nine of us in this room will not survive in power. I guarantee you that. In fact, some in China might well put us before firing squads. I do not think we nine have a choice. We must see this through to the end even if that involves a nuclear war.

  “Agricultural Minister,” Hong said. “You have heard rice rioters asking for your head on a pike. The clamor for that will broaden once word of this defeat grows. The people will realize that no more wheat or beef will arrive from Texas. Many more than before will go hungry in China.”

  The Agricultural Minister rubbed his throat as if he could feel a rope tightening there. “Use the cruise missiles,” he said.

  Hong nodded. “Yes. You understand. Now the rest of you must decide. Fail to act and die. It is your choice.”

  “No, no,” Chao Pin said. “We have a moral obligation. We cannot just—”

  Hong laughed scornfully. “Does that obligate our soldiers to die because of your shameful handling of them? I say no. I can save them, well, some of them. Fortunately, for China, I have foreseen this disaster. If you had listened to me last year, none of this would have happened. If you do not listen to me today…”

  “Use the missiles,” the Manufacturing Minister said.

  “Finance, Transport,” Hong said, “How do you advise?”

  “Use the missiles,” the Finance Minister whispered.

  “It is a hard choice,” the Transport Minister said, as sweat made her skin glisten.

  “Do you wish to die horribly?” Hong asked her.

  “No.”

  “Then support me,” he said in what sounded like a reasonable tone.

  The Transport Minister looked down at the table. A moment later, she nodded, although without looking up.

  Hong’s eyes gleamed and he pointed at old Chao Pin. “The man is a traitor to China, in the pay of the CIA. Shun Li, shoot him.”

  “You’re mad,” Chao Pin said, and he reached for his revolver.

  In a daze, Shun Li raised her nine millimeter and pulled the trigger three times. The gun barked with awful sounds as she fired into his face. The old man blew backward as pieces of his skull rained against the wall. Blood smeared the Navy Minister’s shoulder and neck. He cringed away from Chao Pin beside him.

  Shun Li stood frozen as smoke drifted from her barrel. “What about the Navy Minister?” she heard herself ask Hong.

  The minister’s eyes widened with terror.

  “How do you vote?” Hong asked the Navy Minister.

  “F-Fire the cruise missiles,” the man stammered.

  “Excellent,” Hong said. “I am going to need your aid for this. Many of the fighters and drones belong to the Navy. They will follow your direct orders. Will you help China in this grim hour?”

  “Freely and gladly, Leader,” the Navy Minister said.

  L
eader? Shun Li thought. We are returning to the old ways. She holstered her pistol and headed for the door. It was time to unleash her own murder squads against former Chao Pin’s closest supporters in and around Beijing.

  It was happening. They were doing it.

  SIERRA MADRE ORIENTAL, MEXICO

  First Rank Fu Tao of East Lightning was smoking a cigarette when the order to launch came through. He stood beside the Army major of the five missile platforms.

  The Mexican mountains were cold, with snow on the ground. Stunted trees grew nearby, and an icy wind made Tao shiver. Far in the distance, he spied the ribbon of the Rio Grande River. Beyond was Texas, the newest province of Greater Mexico.

  Tao was young, a mere twenty-three years old. He had a round face and a wisp of a black mustache. Small for his age—four foot eleven in English measurements—he smoked three packs of cigarettes a day. Despite his slight frame, he had lightning reflexes. More importantly, he killed without remorse.

  Tao had gone hungry the first sixteen years of his life. He came from the border region near Tibet, growing up in various orphanages. The sexual abuse and beatings had scarred him physically, mentally and spiritually. He ate well these days, but preferred his smokes.

  Killing in cold blood was easy for Tao. He simply imagined his target was one of several rapists he’d known. After joining the secret police, he’d had the privilege of returning to the border region. There, he hunted his old tormenters. The talks with the men had proven long, exhausting and strangely unfulfilling. Finally, he realized the problem. The pain of their shot-out kneecaps prevented them from savoring the terror of their deaths.

  The last man, Mr. Yuen—

  As the order to launch came through from the Ruling Committee in Beijing, First Rank Fu Tao grinned around the dangling cigarette between his lips. He remembered Mr. Yuen, the shivering, the pleading and finally the hopelessness in the man’s eyes. Yes. That session had been rewarding.

  Afterward, Tao had used a knife, and the amount of blood in ancient Mr. Yuen amazed Tao. He would never have suspected the old rapist would have so much gore inside his sickly body.

  The Army major, a man in his forties, blinked at the screen. “Is this accurate?” he asked the person in Beijing.

  “Fire your missiles at the designated coordinates,” the woman in the screen said.

  “Do you realize our missiles carry nuclear warheads?” the Army major asked.

  “Is there an East Lightning operative nearby?” the woman asked in an exasperated tone. She had shortcut hair and dark eyes of a compelling nature.

  Of course, Tao recognized her. He threw his cigarette into a snowy patch. The cigarette hissed, guttering out. “First Rank Tao speaking, Police Minister,” he said.

  “Instruct the major that he must obey at once,” she said.

  Tao hated looking up at anyone—the major was five nine. Still, orders were orders. Tao drew his gun, and he gave the major a flat-eyed stare. “You must obey.”

  “I realize that,” the major said. “Yet I’m not sure—”

  First Rank Tao had a callus on his trigger finger. It pressed against the metal, and he heard a click as he shot the man in the stomach. He delighted in the look of shock. Oh, this was good. The major might have fallen backward. Instead, he thudded onto his knees, and he cradled his stomach as blood began to drip between his fingers.

  Now you’re shorter than me. Controlling his urge to laugh, Tao stepped up to the man. He shoved the barrel of his gun into the major’s mouth. Suck on that, you whore.

  He pulled the trigger three times. The corpse toppled into the snow as it began to twist and jerk.

  Every Army officer and specialist of the missile unit turned to stare. The rest of the East Lightning operatives drew their weapons, training them on the nearest individual.

  “Was that truly necessary?”

  Tao spun around in surprise. “Yes, Police Minister. He disobeyed your direct order. My instructions were clear. Kill without hesitation any who fail to obey.”

  “I see,” she said. “How long will it be until you can find the new man in charge?”

  “In less than three minutes.”

  “See to it,” she said.

  It took Tao less time than that. He crunched through the snow to the nearest Army man. “Where is the second in command?” he asked.

  The man stammered; his eyes were still on his former commander.

  Tao shot him, too. The next Army man pointed at a slack-faced captain. With a shout, Tao forced the man to sprint to him. The First Rank pointed at the screen, following as the man ran to it.

  He arrived in time to hear the captain say, “Yes, Police Minister. At once, Police Minister. Yes, we have the coordinates.”

  The only piece of self-awareness that Tao possessed was the realization that once he started killing, he found it difficult to stop. If it were up to him, he would shoot every Army soldier in the unit. He could not do that, however. Well, he could, but he wouldn’t continue in his East Lightning post then.

  Therefore, he had to look down. If he saw their frightened faces, the urge to kill would overpower his resolve.

  First Rank Tao understood that few people could kill in cold blood as quickly as he could. It’s why he’d become a First Rank—a sergeant in American terms—at twenty-three years of age. Sometimes, Tao wondered if the sexual abuse in his youth had aged him before his time.

  Maybe, but he didn’t like to think about that. Instead, he shook another cigarette from his pack. He lit it and inhaled. The smoke felt good in his lungs.

  At the Army captain’s orders, the missile personal ran to their platforms. They worked in haste, and most of them had stiff, unbelieving faces.

  Five minutes later, they were ready to launch the missiles. Fu Tao knew that nuclear missiles made bigger bangs than other types. He didn’t care otherwise or really understand the significance of what he witnessed here today.

  The Army captain shouted at him. That made Tao angry. With startling swiftness, he drew his gun and marched at the man. How dare the captain take that tone with him?

  “You whore!” Tao yelled. “I will show—”

  “No, no,” the captain pleaded, pressing the palms of his hands together in front of his chest. “You misunderstand me, sir.”

  “I’m a First Rank, not an officer,” Tao said angrily.

  “Of course, of course,” the captain said. “The missiles will launch in seconds.”

  “They’re supposed to.”

  “I shouted at you to move because the exhaust flames might harm you.”

  Tao squinted at the Army captain. Finally, he motioned to the other East Lightning operatives. Then he followed the captain to a safer location.

  Thirty seconds later, the missiles ignited. One after another, the rockets roared with power. Flames melted snow and created great billowing clouds of smoke.

  Impressed and frightened, Tao watched them climb into the sky. The higher they flew, the faster they went. In seconds, each missile sped out of sight, heading for America.

  “We did it,” the captain whispered. “We’ve launched nuclear warheads at the terrible Americans.”

  Tao wondered why the man sweated as he did. Tao noticed the gun in his hand then. With a grin, he thought about putting the barrel against the man’s forehead and pulling the trigger. Sighing, Tao holstered the weapon. Not today. No, it was time to report to the Police Minister that the Army personnel had done exactly as instructed.

  TEXAS

  Turbofans roared as the Red Dragon cruise missiles reached maximum velocity at a little over eight hundred kilometers per hour. Each missile was seven meters long, weighing 1600 kilograms at liftoff and carrying a Z13 nuclear device.

  Countless cruise missile brigades launched from the mountains of northern Mexico. At first, five, then ten, fifteen, twenty Red Dragons crossed the Rio Grande River, entering Texas airspace. More kept coming, masses like a bee swarm, flying low to the ground, at treetop level
.

  Their internal navigation systems unerringly sped them for Oklahoma, for their specific destinations. Within the span of fifteen minutes, nearly five hundred cruise missiles fanned out, carrying destiny in their nosecones.

  FORWARD EDGE OF THE BATTLEFIELD, OKLAHOMA

  Captain Penner of the Canadian Air Force was on loan to the Americans in the Southern Front. He’d survived the Germans last year in New York, and now faced the Chinese and their allies on the Great Plains.

  Penner flew an F-35A2, with advanced air-to-air missiles attached. He and Lieutenant Aachen, his wingman, provided air cover for the exploitation tanks down below. Far to the rear flew American AWACS, giving them tactical instructions.

  The captain looked down out of the cockpit and saw giant Behemoth tanks. They were dots on the landscape heading for Oklahoma City.

  His radio crackled, and the air controller told him, “Twenty enemy fighters approaching, bearing one eight zero at three hundred knots, fifty-three miles out.” Then the air controller swore.

  “What’s wrong?” Penner asked. There were several moments of static, as he strained to listen.

  I don’t think the Chinese are jamming our communications.

  Then the air controller said, “Don’t know what this means, but it looks like the Chinese are throwing every air asset they have left against us. It’s a blizzard. Drones, fighters, bombers—maybe everything the Chinese have been saving—are coming out to play. This must be an all-out air offensive.” He swore again. “They’re attacking all down the line, everywhere. Okay, okay. We’re sending twelve, no, eight V-10s your way, Captain; not as many as first planned, but let’s hope it’s enough.”

  “Roger that,” Penner said.

  “You’re on your own for several minutes.”

  “We can handle it.”

  “Whatever else happens, Captain…”

  “I know,” Penner said. “Don’t let them touch the Behemoths.” He knew the mantra. The super tanks were supposed to be the war-winning weapon. He received more data on the approaching enemy and began to arm his missiles.