Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5)

by Vaughn Heppner

  At high speed, miniaturized onboard computers went about their tasks. Finally, the vehicle burst apart, as a cloud of cold white vapor escaped. Sleek tungsten rods—fifty of them—separated from each other. Gravity did the rest, tugging at the crowbar-sized missiles. In moments, they sped Earthward, heading for the individual ships of the Chinese carrier group.

  PRCN SUNG

  Alarms rang in the command center aboard the supercarrier.

  “Sir!”

  Admiral Ling saw it on the big screen. A hated American satellite had just launched a bundle of THOR missiles.

  “They’re headed down, sir, coming straight at us.”

  “Alert the rest of the ships,” Ling said in a calm voice. “Begin emergency evasive actions. We have to make it harder on then.”

  “Sir—”

  “Listen to me,” Ling said.

  The deck captain snapped to attention.

  “We have the battleship. Use the particle beam. Now would be an excellent time to see if it can truly destroy these wasps. Use the SM-4Bs too, and use the lasers. Throw whatever we have at these things. Now!”

  The command center personnel went about their business with excited efficiency. This felt far too much like Alaska those many years ago. Then it had been ship-killing ballistic missiles coming at them. How the Americans loved missiles and loved using outer space.

  Admiral Ling watched the big screen. The fleet bolted in every direction like frightened mice. That was good. The Americans were getting their chance. Once it was over, he would exact a fierce revenge on their invasion fleet. The Americans thought to bring ships into these waters, the arrogant devils. No, their day was over. China would yet prevail.

  “Engage the hologram generators,” Ling said.

  “Yes, sir,” the deck captain said.

  From the Sung’s command center, the order dispersed to the fleet.

  Each capital ship possessed a hologram generator, meaning the two aircraft carriers, the battleship and the cruisers. The limiting factors were power and the size of the machinery. The hologram generator sucked up power. That meant it could be on for only short amounts of time.

  As Ling waited, Sung’s holo-imagers aimed at the sea, and a giant supercarrier ghost appeared. On the other side, a second ghost carrier came into existence. One after another, new Chinese capital ships shimmered into existence on the water.

  A careful observer would have noticed important differences. The sea didn’t wash against a hologram’s hull, but swept through it and disappeared. Would that matter to small THOR missiles hunting for targets?

  Admiral Ling knew that they were about to find out.

  LOW EARTH ORBIT

  A twenty-pound tungsten THOR missile—one of fifty just like it—began its descent into the atmosphere. At the start of its rapid fall, the missile had an ablative nose tip.

  As the rod plunged down through the atmosphere at meteor speeds, heating up by friction, the ablative nose tip wore away until finally it was gone. It had done its job as a mini-heat shield. Instead of a blunt nose or even a rounded one showing, the THOR missile had a sharp point and an arrow-like design. It sliced through the increasingly dense atmosphere, losing only a fraction of its terrific velocity.

  Despite the intense heat, the internal guts of the tungsten rod began to work. At three miles above the Tasman Sea, the nose cap popped off. That exposed the sensors. They were high-grade and rugged, and this particular missile spotted the PRCN Sung supercarrier, its priority target. Small flanges at the rear of the rod steered the projectile, adjusting as the supercarrier churned through the sea.

  At twenty pounds, the tungsten rod was less than an inch in diameter and four feet long. A luminous trail appeared behind it, as straight as a line.

  Traveling at the incredible velocity, the THOR missile neared its target.

  At that moment, the great Chinese battleship aimed its particle beam cannon at the speeding meteor. Giant generators roared with power, accelerating particles. A flash appeared for a microsecond. It was all that let anyone know the cannon fired its contents.

  The accelerated particles struck the crowbar-shaped THOR missile. Despite the missile’s ruggedness, the beam weakened the twenty-pound tungsten rod. Incredibly, it snapped in half. At these speeds, the atmosphere caused it to glow with molten colors. Friction began destroying the rod, eating it away.

  The battleship switched targets, tracking another THOR missile, destroying it too. It started on the third projectile…

  From many of the destroyers, SM-4B missiles launched. They roared toward the fiery objects as the battle now approached the critical few minutes.

  The sky was filled with downward streaking lines, glowing trails of the THOR missiles. From Chinese destroyers, more smoky lines appeared: the trails of the SM-4Bs.

  Several spectacular collisions took place as the SM-4Bs struck descending THORs. The Chinese rockets did little damage to those they hit, but they did knock them off course.

  The battleship destroyed its last THOR projectile. Now the space crowbars reached sea level.

  One THOR missile struck Sung’s sister carrier. The projectile had become a molten, orange-glowing meteor. It punched through metal and sliced down through deck after deck as if it were a Titan’s dagger. Then it tore a hole out of the bottom. Fuel storage tanks began to blow. Terrific friction caused munitions to explode with tremendous force. The stricken vessel shuddered.

  As the Chinese carrier tipped sideways, spilling drones and screaming sailors into the sea, the rest of the THOR missiles struck.

  Many orange meteors plowed through ghosts, making them waver. The sea hissed and boiled, but no one saw that because the holoimages hid the sight. Other molten THOR bars destroyed cruisers, destroyers and a fuel transport. A gigantic fireball billowed skyward.

  Ships exploded, turning into grenades, sprinkling the sea with shrapnel and other debris. Others sank, simply sliding into the deep and disappearing. One ship limped along with its aft area missing.

  It happened incredibly fast and then it was over. Fifty luminous trails showed in the sky, but they began to dissipate almost right away.

  PRCN SUNG

  Admiral Ling took stock of the situation. He’d lost a carrier, four cruisers and seven destroyers. Without the ghost imaging he would probably have lost the Sung and the battleship, too. Without enough destroyers as carrier guards…

  I have plenty of drones. They can hunt for enemy submarines.

  “Admiral Ling,” the deck captain said, saluting. “The carrier group awaits your orders, sir.”

  Old Admiral Ling eased up out of his chair. With a trembling hand, he touched his artificial eye. It always felt strange, foreign, the way a foot did when it went to sleep and he felt it. The ship losses hurt him deeply. Those were his vessels, and the damned Americans had once again struck a telling blow through space power.

  He had a glorious reputation as a ship commander. Well, he’d had one until Santa Cruz Harbor. Even that hadn’t really been his fault. He’d saved the fighting ships. Yet since then, the Americans had tarnished his reputation due to trickery.

  Space power is trickery. This is a sea battle. Can I let the Americans land their amphibious forces?

  He knew his history. The Pacific War during World War II had always interested him. The Japanese had often thrown away important naval victories by failing to take into account the strategic importance of an action.

  Ling fingered the artificial eye. It itched. Yet he didn’t want to horrify the command center personnel by scratching it all the time. Thus, he endured. At times like this, though, the itchiness became nearly unbearable.

  I must destroy the invasion fleet. I must keep Australia in the PAA. Yet if we lose too many of our oceangoing ships…

  “South,” Ling said.

  “Sir?” the deck captain asked.

  “We are going to head south and find the American invasion fleet. We are going to destroy them.”

  “Yes,
sir.”

  “Half the air will patrol for submarines,” Ling said. “They’re our greatest danger now.”

  “What kind of armaments should the drones carry, sir?”

  Yes, that was the question. Protocol demanded a careful sequence for using nuclear depth charges. But they didn’t have time for such niceties now.

  “They’re to go armed with nuclear depth charges,” Ling said.

  “Sir?”

  “Do not question me, Captain.”

  The man bowed deeply, no doubt shamed by the last statement. Ling knew he’d just spoken too sternly. The space attack had strained his nerves. Well, he was too old to worry about a deck captain’s shame now. He must destroy the invasion fleet.

  USS GRANT

  Through tersely given orders, Captain Darius Green maneuvered the USS Grant as he trailed the Chinese battleship. Destroying it would gravely weaken the enemy’s carrier group.

  Several hours ago, they’d detected nuclear depth charges. The bombs had their own horrifying signature sounds. Likely, everyone felt as he did that it would be good to go anywhere but here, but he had a job to do. If they could take out a rare Chinese battleship…under his breath, Darius kept begging Allah for that prize.

  The air had grown close in the control center. Wide-eyed and silent, the crew watched sensors and waited for his next orders. It was a cat and mouse game now, and Darius used every trick he knew. Above the surface, Chinese planes crisscrossed the sky, no doubt hunting for a sign of them. Helicopters dropped sonar buoys. They heard the distant splashes. As bad, the occasional destroyer plowed through the ocean, mostly heading elsewhere, sometimes getting too near the sub’s position.

  Darius lusted to kill the giant battleship. He couldn’t risk going in any closer, though. They would have to launch now or break off.

  He stood, and he spoke as calmly as possible. “Lock solution into the torpedo special and prepare to fire.”

  “Solution locked, sir. Ready to fire.”

  In the old days, Darius would have needed the XO to fire a nuclear-tipped torpedo. It didn’t work that way anymore.

  “Select torpedo special, tube one,” Darius said.

  “Torpedo special, tube one selected.”

  Darius hesitated before saying, “Fire one.”

  A thud and whoosh sounded as the torpedo was ejected from its tube by compressed air. It began its ten-mile run toward the Chinese battleship.

  “Left full rudder, all ahead flank. Come to course zero, zero, zero.”

  It was time to leave. The sensors showed a salty layer. It should shield them from enemy sonar. Should was a terrible word, though. If he guessed wrong…

  Time ticked by. Soon, at a station, a young operator sat up sharply. He wore headphones.

  The Chief of the Boat stood by the youngster. The bluff man from Kansas spoke a quiet word to the operator. The operator looked up, answering the Chief.

  The white man grew pale, and he turned, shouting, “Weapon in the water, Captain!”

  “Identify!” Darius snapped.

  “We have to dive now!” The Chief was clearly panicking, almost losing it.

  “Pull yourself together, man,” Darius growled. “Report!”

  Instead, the Chief pressed a button on the operator’s screen. It increased the thing’s volume. Then he tapped another spot on the screen. An unmistakable splash sounded from it, and the sonar analysis screen lit up with the code for a Chinese nuke.

  “Crash dive, now!” Darius shouted.

  A fantastic explosion cut him off. A Yellow Swan drone had dropped it at a precise location. In this instance, a regular depth charge would likely have proven good enough.

  The USS Grant had no chance. The nuclear warhead exploded, and first it crumpled and then tore the Avenger submarine in half. Like a fisherman’s lead, the wrecked vessel plunged toward the bottom of the Tasman Sea.

  Captain Darius Green, Sulu Khan, the Chief and the sensor operator—the entire crew—were all dead. Their last torpedo avenged them, however, detonating and taking out two Chinese destroyers. The torpedo failed to kill the battleship, but at least Darius had taken some of the enemy to the grave with him.

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

  INVASION OF AUSTRALIA, 2042

  2042, March 9-10. The Massacre of Tasman Sea. Admiral Ling’s Carrier Group consisting of the Supercarrier Sung, Battleship Canton and handful of cruisers, survived the THOR missile strike and raced toward Task Force A. Using air power Ling fixed the task force’s position and annihilated every vessel. There were few survivors.

  Now the utility of separating the American invasion fleet into three separate task forces became apparent. The two commanders wanted to turn around and head home. The game was up, they claimed. Chairman Alan of the US Joint Chiefs of Staff gave his famous, “You will invade, sir,” order. Tepidly, the remaining task forces headed for Australia. Their submarines searched for Admiral Ling’s carrier group. Where had it gone?

  BEIJING, CHINA

  Escorted by three Lion Guardsmen, Shun Li walked past large pigeon coops. Inside were amazing, exotic creatures that hardly deserved the name “pigeon.”

  She was used to the nuisance creatures that made a mess on public statues or strutted in the biggest cities beside open-air restaurants, pecking for crumbs.

  The pigeons in the coops had feathers on their feet, feather crests, and one kind called fantail was like a mini-peacock. They were extraordinary.

  Since the turn of Chinese fortunes in North America, the Leader had lost interest in his polar bears. She’d heard rumors about his new interest, but this was her first time experiencing it in person.

  The pigeon coops were on his estate outside Beijing. Then she saw him. The Leader sat in a chair before several show cages on a table. He wore blue flowing robes like some ancient emperor, with golden swirls sewn on it. That was most exotic, yes, just like his strange pigeons.

  The Leader studied several large birds as big as chickens. They stood in the metal cages on the table.

  The guards brought her near and came to a halt. The biggest guard cleared his throat.

  Without turning to look at them, Chairman Hong raised an arm, beckoning them near with a flick of his fingers.

  “Go,” a guard whispered, pushing Shun Li in the back, propelling her toward him. “And remember to bow.”

  Shun Li timidly approached the Leader. She still ran the Police Ministry, but it felt as if Hong watched her every move, and second-guessed most of her key decisions. The Indian-American alliance had been the final straw, it seemed, pushing Hong into these unusual antics.

  As the Leader lifted a metal door, releasing a bird into its cage, Shun Li dropped to her knees. Then she bowed low, letting her forehead press against the cool grass.

  “Ah, Shun Li,” Hong said. “This is a pleasant surprise. Please, rise, come sit beside me.”

  She stood, startled at his agreeable voice and manners. He patted a chair beside him. She took it, sitting on the edge.

  “What do you think?” he asked, indicating the pigeons.

  “I’ve never seen them so large,” she said.

  Hong smiled in a tolerant manner. “Clearly, you are not a pigeon fancier.”

  “Should I be, Leader?”

  “No, no, this is a gentleman’s hobby. You are a killer, Shun Li, a wader in blood. The world hates you for your part in the Red Dragon assault, among other atrocities.”

  She had discovered that for herself on many occasions. To her, the accusations from those in the world felt terribly unfair. But there was nothing she could do about it. The rest of the world—at least outside the Pan-Asian Alliance—considered her a war criminal. No doubt, that had been Hong’s intent from the beginning.

  “I do what I must for China’s glory,” she said.

  “I understand, and I applaud your efforts. But it means you cannot enjoy the finer things in life such as pigeon breeding. You are too coarse to appreciat
e such beauty.”

  She studied the bird, watching it coo. The thing was beautiful? Could the Chairman be right about her? Was she too coarse to see its beauty?

  “Shun Li,” he said, “I have a mission for you, a sacred task.”

  She dreaded hearing that, but smiled, nodding. I am a barracuda swimming with the world’s most dangerous shark. It is best to avoid his teeth.

  “No doubt, you have heard of Admiral Ling’s decisive victory in the Tasman Sea.”

  “I’m afraid not, Leader.”

  “That’s right. You missed the Ruling Committee meeting yesterday.”

  She’d missed it because she had been following the Chairman’s orders. Several days ago, she’d flown to Japan, studying the situation there. The country had become restless. The mass nuclear strike had something to do with that. Hong also disliked the Japanese, and the country’s displeasure had hardened him against them. He’d lowered their rank on the food chain, putting them on hard rations. The Japanese had become angry, rebellious and finally publicly outspoken.

  Two days ago, Shun Li had personally witnessed the execution of fifty-three high-ranking Japanese, including politicians, business leaders and police commissioners. Foreign news sources already laid the blame at her feet. They gave her credit for far more power than she deserved. Hong ran China through people like her. The important decisions were always his.

  “You dealt with the Japanese, did you not?”

  “Yes, Leader,” she said.

  “They are a stubborn people and understand a strong hand.” With a stick, Hong poked the pigeon, making it strut about the cage. “Once, many thought of the Japanese as a warrior people. They roamed the seas as we do now, but they only reached the Coral Sea at the height of their glory. We have gone beyond to the Tasman Sea, gone even farther south than the South West Cape of New Zealand. There, Admiral Ling smashed the American armada. His drone operators counted forty-five vessels, and he sank them.”