Invasion: New York ia-4

by Vaughn Heppner

  He’s been waiting to make his suggestion, Anna thought. He’s let David see the hopelessness of the situation because…why? There’s a reason why Alan has built this up.

  “Tell me,” the President said. “We don’t have time to dither. We have to act now to save the situation before it’s too late.”

  “Sir,” Alan said, “I suggest we move all of XI Airmobile Corps from the Atlantic coast and entrain it for Syracuse.”

  David bit his lower lip, gnawing on it with his front teeth. Finally, he stammered, “W-What defends the seaboard from an amphibious assault then? What protects New York City and protects Boston, New Jersey—?”

  “That’s the rub, sir,” Alan said. “I don’t think we need to defend the coast.”

  “But the amphibious troops waiting in Cuba—”

  “Mr. President,” Alan said. “I don’t believe there are any GD troops in Cuba, not in any meaningful numbers.”

  “How can you say that?” the President asked. “Our experts have shown—”

  “Our experts knew nothing about a GD invasion across Lake Ontario,” Alan said. “We didn’t realize the Germans had been collecting freighters and ore haulers. Our enemy has become an expert at misinformation, at the clever ruse. That’s what I’ve been thinking about during my ride here. I finally asked myself a key question. What does the German Dominion lack in their North American invasion?”

  “They don’t lack anything,” the President said.

  “That’s wrong, sir,” Alan said. “They’ve always lacked numbers of actual soldiers. That’s why they have so many drones. They’ve worked overtime to compensate for their lack of numbers, for boots on the ground. Are we to seriously believe that the GD has let two hundred thousand soldiers sit idle all this time in Cuba? No, sir, I believe those are dummy troops. The enemy wants us to believe they’re ready to sweep onto our coastline. That ties down an unbelievable number of our formations defending the seaboard. We’ve already stripped much of the East Coast southern shores. That’s given us the advantage in Southwestern Ontario. We’ve turned the tide there because we quit letting ourselves get faked out by the nonexistent Cuba-based troops.”

  The President appeared thoughtful, and he began to nod. Then he leaned forward and tapped the map. “Looking at this, at Rochester, it seems clear that the Germans wanted us to stuff all our extra troops into Southwestern Ontario. Those men are engaged now at the wrong point and can’t rush around easily to plug the new gap.”

  “That may have been the German intent, sir,” Alan said. “It’s more than possible. Whatever the case, though, I believe the Cuba-based forces are an illusion. That means we can safely entrain the airmobile corps to Syracuse. They will form the heart of my defense.”

  “How many soldiers is that?” the President asked.

  “Roughly, sir,” Alan said, “twenty-four thousand.”

  The President rubbed his chin. “That’s better than the scattering of battalions on the ground now. Still, twenty-four thousand soldiers, no matter how good, will not stop the mass of Twelfth Army for long, if at all.”

  “I agree,” Alan said.

  David scowled in a way that said—then what are we talking about anyway? “We need more troops,” he said. “But we don’t have any more, unless we wish to deplete the Oklahoma defenses and make ourselves vulnerable to the Chinese.”

  “That’s not exactly the case, sir,” Alan said. “There is a supply of unused soldiers we can possibly tap.”

  “Don’t hold me in suspense,” David shouted. “What’s your answer?”

  “Right here, sir,” Alan said, tapping the Canadian province of Manitoba.

  The President’s scowl worsened. “Don’t be oblique. Just tell it to me.”

  “At the start of the campaign, the Germans smashed the Canadians on the Ontario-Quebec border,” Alan said. “In rough numbers, the GD killed or captured about a third of that force: two hundred thousand soldiers. A different third retreated toward Toronto and has been fighting in Southern Ontario with our soldiers for some time now. The last third retreated west. First, they headed to Sudbury, Ontario. From there—just as the British in WWII retreated from Burma to India—the Canadians moved away to Thunder Bay and toward Manitoba.”

  “What does that mean for us?” the President asked.

  “If we can get the Canadians to agree,” Alan said, “I suggest we entrain that army to New York State. They’ve been idle, well, recouping from their terrible ordeal against the GD. With those soldiers, we can keep Syracuse—if they get to the city fast enough and if our airmobile corps fights heroically.”

  David sat back against the sofa. Finally, he said, “It’s brilliant.”

  General Alan couldn’t hide his grin. “First, sir, you’ll have to get the Canadians to agree to the idea.”

  “This may be a stupid question,” Anna said. “But if the Canadians all board the trains and leave, why won’t the Germans march into an unprotected Manitoba?”

  “Because they lack the numbers to do so,” Alan said, crisply. “The Germans simply don’t have enough boots on the ground to do everything at once. Just like the British in Burma used distance to flee from the victorious Japanese, so the Canadians have used distance to get away from the Germans. At this point, the GD needs every soldier they have to take New York State.”

  “Yes,” David said. “Your plan gives us hope.”

  “That’s all it is right now, sir,” Alan said, “a hope. We have to move those Canadians as fast as we can, and we have to fight like hell with the airmobile corps to stop the rushing onslaught of the Germans.”

  “What if the GD troops in Cuba are real?” Anna asked. “What happens then?”

  David cast her a nervous glance.

  “If that’s the case,” General Alan said. “We’re going to need those Canadians sooner than ever.” He looked at the map. “If the Germans are in Cuba, we have to do everything double time.”

  “Maybe the Germans commanders are thinking the same thing,” Anna said.

  Max looked as if he wanted to say something, but the director closed his mouth and remained silent.

  Anna wondered what he’d wanted to say.

  The President sat up and brushed his hair with his fingertips. “We have hard, dark days ahead of us. The Germans have stolen a march on our country. We have to work to the utmost now and hope we can outfight and outmarch them.”

  We haven’t been able to do that so far, Anna thought. But she wasn’t going to say that. This was a plan, and they would have to implement it as quickly as possible. Just like last winter, much rested on the Canadians. Would they be willing to send those previously defeated soldiers to New York State? Would they be willing to leave Manitoba undefended for now, or defended solely by space? There were too many unanswered questions for comfort.

  HAMILTON, ONTARIO

  Without knocking to give warning, Mansfeld opened the door and stared at General Holk. The pudgy general sat at his desk, with his tie undone, his hat on the floor and his thin hair messy on his head as if he’d been running his hands through it.

  “General Mansfeld,” Holk said, obviously startled. “This…this is a surprise.”

  Mansfeld had received a strange communication this morning. It had come from a colonel on Holk’s staff. The man said General Holk had become increasingly listless and indecisive throughout the past few days. Mansfeld could hardly believe such a thing, as it was a tossup as to who was the better offensive general: Holk or Zeller. How could such an excellent commanding officer lose self-control at such a critical juncture? Still, it was best to check and see for himself, which was why he was here.

  Mansfeld closed the door behind him, cutting off the keyboard noises of the situation room. He had much to do today and a thousand things to oversee. The offensive had reached one of its most decisive stages. At Rochester, Zeller had peeled off two corps from Twelfth Army, sending them toward Buffalo sixty-five miles away. Twelfth Army headed toward Syracuse, sev
enty-five miles away from Rochester. Everything now depended on speed, on surprise and aggression.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Mansfeld asked. “I checked, but found that Fourth Army has failed to make any attack yet against US Fifth Army this morning. Were my orders unclear?”

  Holk blinked at him, and almost appeared unable to answer.

  “This is undignified,” Mansfeld said. “Put on your hat, sir, and straighten your tie.”

  For a moment, Holk looked confused. Then he spied his hat on the floor. He reached, and his swivel chair creaked as he bent down and picked it up. First smoothing his hair, he put the hat on his head.

  “Hurry,” Mansfeld said. “Tighten your tie. What’s the matter with you?”

  Holk appeared to think about it before finally tightening his tie.

  The slowness angered Mansfeld. “On your feet, sir!” he snapped. “Stand at attention when I’m speaking to you.”

  Something seemed to spark in Holk’s eyes, a touch of belligerence perhaps.

  Finally, Mansfeld thought. What’s wrong with you, man? Have you lost your nerve? Must I sack you and find a replacement? What a wretched encumbrance this is.

  Holk stood slowly and then came to attention.

  Mansfeld understood that he’d been pushing his generals hard, but he’d chosen Holk and Zeller for a reason. War demanded strong nerves. Sending men into battle where those soldiers died took a certain kind of officer. Holk had been making difficult decisions for many weeks now. His enemies had outnumbered him almost all along the line. Yet each time Holk had maneuvered and fought brilliantly. Had the man used up his inner reserves? Mansfeld had thought Holk made of sterner stuff. Was the general a weakling after all?

  “Why hasn’t Fourth Army begun its attack?” Mansfeld repeated. “My orders were explicit on that account.”

  “I understand, sir,” Holk said.

  “If you understand, why hasn’t it happened?”

  Holk just stood there.

  “Is the pace of the campaign too fast for you?” Mansfeld asked.

  Holk stiffened, and the fire in his eyes increased.

  Mansfeld had to know whether Holk could continue to act decisively or if he needed to find a replacement for the general. Putting a scathing tone in his voice, Mansfeld said, “I come here and what do I find? You sit with your hat on the floor. You run your hands through your hair as if you’re bewildered by the pace of events.”

  “You are wrong, General.”

  “Then what’s the matter with you? Tell me.”

  “Herr General,” Holk said. “With all due respect—”

  “No!” Mansfeld snapped. “Get to the point.”

  The words seemed to flick a switch in Holk. He quit standing at attention. With a shift of the neck, he regarded Mansfeld. Holk spoke now in a crisp, clear voice, “Sir, we’ve bitten off too much of a bite.”

  That caught Mansfeld by surprise. He almost turned around and shouted for the staff officers to assemble. It looked as if he would have to sack Holk after all. The only thing that caused him to hesitate was uncertainty as to who could take Holk’s place. The general had operational flair. Such men did not grow on trees.

  “My time is limited, sir,” Mansfeld said. “Get to the point.”

  “I’ll do exactly that, General,” Holk said, with the fire entering his voice. “You’ve flung my army group as a man flings a spear, caring nothing as to whether it shatters or not, as long as it impales the enemy.”

  “What does any of that have to do with your failure to attack Fifth Army?”

  “Everything,” Holk said. “My soldiers are grossly outnumbered and still you force me to hurl them at the enemy.”

  “You’re fond of historical parallels. Did not British General O’Connor drive the Italians before him in North Africa in 1941?”

  “Sir?” Holk asked.

  “Bah,” Mansfeld said. “You study German military history. I study all military history. Let me make it easier on you. Didn’t Rommel drive the British pell-mell before him in the desert later in 1941?”

  “The Americans aren’t Italians or British,” Holk said. “And we’re fighting on their home soil.”

  “In point of fact,” Mansfeld said, “we are not. Zeller is fighting on their home soil, and he’s driving them before him. You’re facing Americans in Canada.”

  “Zeller faces minuscule resistance,” Holk said. “I face the bulk of the enemy. There is a great difference.”

  “By your tone, I believe you still have fire in your belly,” Mansfeld said. “I want to know, therefore, why you’re sitting in your office fretting over my commands.”

  Holk opened his mouth, and he closed it.

  “Come, come, sir,” Mansfeld said.” I don’t have time to dally. Get to the point while you’re still able to do it.”

  “Is that a threat, sir?” Holk asked.

  Mansfeld refrained from answering. He’d pushed the general to find out whether the man had lost his nerve or not. It didn’t seem as if the commander had, not yet anyway. He needed to get to the root of this and do it now. To that end, he stared silently into Holk’s eyes.

  Holk held the stare for a total of two seconds before looking away. He scowled so lines appeared in his forehead. “Sir, my command withers away around me. The Americans rain artillery at us, turning this into an attritional contest, one that I cannot afford to play. The area where we battle is too small, leaving me without room to maneuver. That’s our specialty and mine in particular. Now you want me to smash against Fifth Army. You know they’re heavily entrenched in the Niagara Peninsula and fortified to resist me. The enemy will meet any breakthrough on my part with suicidal counterattacks led by their penal battalions.”

  “My only question for you, General,” Mansfeld said, “is this: so what? That doesn’t tell me why you’ve failed to obey a direct order.”

  “There may come a point very soon now when the Americans begin to drive me back toward London,” Holk said, angrily. “We’ve bitten off too large a bite. We don’t have the men—”

  “Hold it right there,” Mansfeld said. “I’m beginning to suspect the real reason for your petulance. And it has nothing to do with what you’re saying.”

  Holk stiffened, and two red spots appeared on his cheeks.

  “You’re an attacker, sir,” Mansfeld said. “It appears you do not have an appetite for defending. Yes, for now, at this place and at this time in Southwestern Ontario, you are on the defensive. Yet you must attack Fifth Army in the Niagara Peninsula in order to fix them in place. The Americans have foolishly put their men in the wrong places, at least in the numbers that they have. The Niagara Peninsula is a trap, but only if you can keep the Americans on your end from pulling out too many excess troops to turn around and face east. The enemy will need those extra soldiers to stop Zeller’s III Armored Corps and IV Corps heading for Buffalo. You must fix the Americans in place and cause them to use all their soldiers to stop you breaking into the peninsula from the west.”

  “It will be a bloodbath, sir,” Holk said. “It will uselessly burn up my men, the ones I need to hold back the Americans in the southwest as they drive north for London.”

  Mansfeld stepped closer as if he was an American baseball manager ready to argue an umpire’s call. He clutched a pair of leather gloves in his left hand. Instead of slapping Holk across the face with them, he slapped the desk. “Speed, sir. You must employ speed and burn up whatever number of troops and machines of ours that are necessary. This is the moment where we scoop up trapped Americans. Once we destroy Fifth Army in a Cannae maneuver, freeing that flank, you will easily be able to withstand the southern American assaults. I know you see that.”

  Holk looked away.

  “It’s that stubborn pride of yours,” Mansfeld said. “You’re angry that Zeller has the glory. Isn’t that what’s causing you to pout?”

  Holk’s head snapped back. He glared at Mansfeld while the red spots seemed to burn a brighter re
d.

  “Yes,” Mansfeld said. “That’s what this is about. Finally, I understand you.”

  “No,” Holk said.

  “Yes!” Mansfeld said, and he raised his gloves as if to slap the general across the face.

  Holk glared harder, and suddenly, his shoulders deflated. Without asking for permission, Holk sat on his chair. He stared at the floor, opened his mouth and managed a shrug.

  “Listen to me,” Mansfeld said.

  Holk continued to stare at the floor.

  Mansfeld almost told the man to look at him, but he decided it wasn’t needed. Holk was listening finally, truly listening.

  “Yours is the precarious position,” Mansfeld said. “I have entrusted you and no other with the most difficult task. Do you think my memoirs will gloss over your part? Zeller attacks. I have not called upon him to preform difficult defensive maneuvers. You are the Renaissance general, the one able to both attack and defend. You have the true mettle, sir, not Zeller.”

  “I’m not concerned about such things,” Holk whispered.

  Mansfeld laughed aloud.

  Holk looked up.

  “Let us not lie to each other, Erich,” Mansfeld said. “What military man doesn’t seek glory in combat? You are a genius at battle. Your reputation means everything to you just as it means everything to me. We are older men now, but we still have the spirit of the boy in us. We are human. We’re not machines. Don’t think of yourself as a machine. We all have breaking points and we all have fierce pride. I want you to harness that pride for the glory of Germany and for your own glory, sir. Do not let Zeller hear about you sulking. Let him see that no matter what kind of military situation you find yourself in, you excel. Beat him at being the well-rounded general.”

  Slowly, Holk nodded.

  Who would believe I needed to give such a pep talk to a GD general like Holk. Yet I spoke the truth a moment ago. We all have the boy hidden in our spirit. Men fight because in the end they like to.

  Holk stood up. “I’m sorry about this, sir.”

  Mansfeld clapped Holk on the shoulder, and he held out his hand. The two generals shook.

  “Can I count on you to the end?” Mansfeld asked.