Invasion: California

by Vaughn Heppner

  “I doubt it,” Deng said.

  A wash of emotional heat welled up in Nung. “Foreign Minister, doing the unexpected often shakes an opponent’s confidence. It is an ancient dictum of warfare and has done more to win more battles than any other factor.” He clicked his scroll. “I would like to read to you what Sun Tzu had to say.”

  Sun Tzu had written The Art of War two and a half thousand years ago. His work was considered as the quintessential treatise on Chinese thoughts concerning war.

  Nung quoted, “All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.”

  Nung looked up. “The Americans believe themselves safe behind their defenses. Therefore, that is exactly where we shall begin the grand assault.”

  “And if your bloodbath means the Americans pour reinforcements there?” Deng said.

  Nung allowed himself a faint smile.

  “You would desire such a thing?” Deng asked, sounding surprised.

  “Not a bloodbath, as you suggest, but their pouring reinforcements south,” Nung said.

  “Why?”

  Nung began to manipulate his computer scroll. The six members of the Ruling Committee watched his plan unfold on the holomap. It involved an armor thrust swinging well east of the southern Californian urban areas and heading straight for LA and the all-important Grapevine pass to Central California.

  “A clever plan,” the Leader said later. “I am impressed.”

  “Yes, yes, very clever,” Deng said. “Yet several matters outside the scope of the assault bother me. I do not wish to appear pessimistic…”

  “I called this meeting so we could air our thoughts,” the Leader said. “We six guide Greater China to glory and world dominance. I hold the reins of final authority, but I desire your input and need your cooperation and, hopefully, your enthusiasm. To that end, I would rather hear your disagreements here so I can have the opportunity to persuade you.”

  Deng nodded. “I have been to Berlin, Tehran and Brasilia. I have spoken with our allies and have received the privilege of listening to their generals. The Germans and their allies are still reluctant to attack America. Yes, they have sent airmobile and hover brigades to Cuba. They have moved a battle fleet into the mid-Atlantic, but they are still uncommitted to an assault. The South American Federation lusts after American farmlands. Of that, I have no doubt. Their military prowess, however, is in doubt. I am not a military expert, but I have been led to believe that our other fronts are not yet ready to assault the Rio Grande Line in Arizona, New Mexico and Texas.”

  “Marshal Kao?” the Leader asked.

  Old Marshal Kao, with his aesthetic features, bowed solemnly. He had an unusually sharp nose for a Chinese citizen. There were rumors it had been bio-sculpted, and the thin shininess of the flesh at the base of his nose suggested the rumor was true.

  “Leader,” Kao said, “the Expeditionary Army in Mexico stands ready to achieve the greatest conquest in history. We have six million soldiers of the highest quality, each man keenly devoted and trained to—”

  “How long until the Army can attack all along the line from California to Texas?” the Leader asked.

  “Marshal Nung is a hasty soldier,” Kao said. “It is his trademark and the reason perhaps why he seems to excel on a fluid battlefield. He has given us a…an incredible plan for taking California. The bulk of the Blue Swan missiles have been allocated to his front. More missiles will be en route from the factories for the New Mexico and Texas fronts in the coming months. The missiles are in limited supply, unfortunately. Thus, the attacks there will commence along conventional lines.”

  “Can the other fronts be ready to attack in two weeks?” the Leader demanded.

  Marshal Kao fidgeted, highlighting his long fingers. He was an accomplished violinist. “The other Front commanders will need another month at least, Leader. I would prefer another six weeks.”

  The Leader turned to Nung. “What can the Americans do in another month? I mean those facing you in California and with their having learned about Blue Swan.”

  “In a month, they can change many things,” Nung admitted.

  “Too much?” asked the Leader.

  “The possibility occurs. The greatest danger would be their pulling units out of the fortifications and placing them in strategic reserve.”

  “What else could they do?” the Leader asked.

  “If they were wise,” Nung said, “the Americans would harden what electronics they could. More importantly, they would bring massive quantities of simpler weapons to the fortified line and widen the depth of their defense. That would take time, but a month would be better for them than a mere two weeks.”

  “Why haven’t they already done that?” Deng asked. “The Americans are not fools.”

  “I would suspect cost and time,” Nung said. “They have a limited supply of both and must balance each decision for maximum effectiveness.”

  Deng turned to the Leader. “If the rest of the Army cannot attack, it will leave Marshal Nung’s forces open to a concentration of American forces. Despite the brilliance of the plan, his three armies cannot face the full weight of American might.”

  “If the Leader would permit me to speak to the issue?” Nung asked.

  “By all means,” the Leader said.

  “Foreign Minister Deng raises cogent points,” Nung said. “But I do not believe they are insurmountable obstacles. One, the Americans will not know we are unready to attack into Texas, New Mexico and Arizona. We should use selected areas and have our troops there perform demonstrations of force. We must deceive the Americans into thinking we are about to unleash our mass into Texas. Greater troop movement and open supply rearrangements will focus their attention to the wrong sector.”

  The Leader nodded thoughtfully.

  “Likely, the Americans do not realize the Germans want more time,” Nung said. “With our demonstrations, the Americans will anticipate an assault on the wrong front, holding their various theater reserves in place. Therefore—”

  “Will they do that if California is about to fall?” Deng asked. “Won’t they instead risk depleting inactive fronts and rush those reinforcements to hurl your armies back into Mexico?”

  “There are three reasons why I don’t believe so,” Nung said. “First, the speed of our assault will strategically surprise the Americans. We will not give them the time to shift those reserves. In other words, by the time they think about doing as you suggest, we will have conquered the Golden State and sealed it tight.”

  “And if your attack fails to keep the pace of your desired speed?” Deng asked. “It is my understanding that clever military plans seldom survive contact with the enemy.”

  Nung bristled. Who had reached Prudhoe Bay despite every impediment set before him? Who had won the Siberian War? The answer was he had through his swift attacks.

  While clearing his throat, Nung squared his shoulders. “Foreign Minister, Leader, I stake my reputation on achieving a swift and California-conquering assault.”

  The others stared at him, and Nung realized his temper had gotten the better of him. He had spoken too bluntly and too boldly, too much like a Russian barbarian—at least how the others would view it.

  “The second reason,” Nung said, deciding to drive ahead with his analysis, “is the nature of California. Much of it sits behind the Sierra Nevada Mountains. If it looks as if it will fall, the Americans might decide to try to seal us in the Golden State. That, too, will weaken their resolve toward sending other theater reserves into California.”

  “How does their sealing us in California help us?” Deng asked. “This sounds like a reason to leave California alone and concentrate on a greater conquest by driving through Texas into the American heartland.”

  “As you’ve stated earlier,” Nung said, “we are attem
pting a continental conquest. You do not shove an entire cake into your mouth to eat, but slice off pieces, eating a little at a time. First, their attempt to seal us in California would help us defend what we conquer. It would help us digest California. Californian foodstuffs are also important in their own right. Central California particularly produces great quantities of agricultural goods. However, if the Americans are so foolish as to strip their other fronts of reserves to save California—”

  “And thereby smash one of our fronts,” Deng said, “as they defeat your armies in detail. I had been led to believe that the coordination of all our assaults would be what would lead us to victory.”

  “That would be optimum, of course,” Nung said. “But, as I was about to say, I also mean to send airmobile troops to the Sierra Nevada mountain passes, stopping or slowing any reinforcements into California.”

  “This is possible?” Deng asked. “Will you also stake your reputation on this?”

  “I will!” Nung said.

  Deng sat back, staring at him.

  “You spoke of a third reason,” the Leader said.

  Nung bowed to the Navy Minister. “I do not presume upon naval matters. But I have been wondered about something.”

  “Tell us,” the Leader said.

  “Can I show you rather?” Nung asked.

  The Leader gestured for him to do so.

  For the next half hour, Nung outlined an amphibious assault he had worked out toward securing the Monterey Bay coastal region, the Bay Area and then a strong thrust into the Central Californian Valley.

  “The question becomes,” said Deng, “how long until the Navy could gather the needed forces to attempt such a thing?”

  The Navy Minister licked his lips. “Leader, the Navy could attempt this amphibious assault in three weeks, perhaps sooner.”

  Deng’s head swiveled around as he stared in shock at the Navy Minister. The man was supposed to be his staunchest political ally.

  The Leader sat back in his chair, looking like a satisfied cat licking its paws.

  Nung had spoken via satellite phone with the Leader during his Pacific crossing. It had been his suggestion about how to turn the Navy into the Leader’s ally in this.

  “Marshal Nung,” the Leader said. “You have spoken boldly and honestly. I appreciate your candor, your enthusiasm and your military skill. What you are suggesting is breathtaking in scope. You have achieved near military miracles in the past. Yet it seems to me that your forces are too small to grasp this amazing prize. What additional units do you feel you would need to insure the conquest of California?”

  “To make the continuous assault against the fortified areas a certainty, I would need the 19th and 33rd Reserve Armies,” Nung said. “They are presently in the strategic reserve and simply need dedicated transports to reach my front. For my armored thrust, I would require the addition of the 233rdTank Corps. It is presently in the Third Front and would need to be sent via rail. I would hope they would begin to entrain several days from now. Once the assault has commenced, I would also need the transfer of the 7th Army from Arizona. For the duration of the campaign, I require the dedication of the 10th, 13th and 18th Air Fleets.”

  Marshal Kao flexed his violinist’s fingers. They were long and had large knuckles. It seemed impossible he could ever slip his gold wedding ring off its finger. He now tapped on his scroll. After reading what was there, Kao looked up, scowling. “Combined with the amphibious invasion, that amounts to over two million troops: a third of our Expeditionary Force.”

  “That is correct,” Nung said.

  Marshal Kao blinked repeatedly.

  “We have moved six million soldiers into Mexico,” the Leader said. “The South Americans have moved three million. The Germans, I believe, will become greedy and eager to slice off their portion of America once we show them the possibility of it.”

  “Storming and capturing California is a grave risk,” Deng said.

  “And yet, as Marshal Nung has pointed out,” the Leader said, “it is a risk in a limited theater of war.”

  “Provided his airmobile brigades can block the strategic passes in the Sierra Nevada Mountains,” Deng said.

  “It is a risk,” Nung admitted. “That is why we need the Blue Swan missiles. They are the key to the assault. We must smash through the border defenses at speed and trap the bulk of California’s armies there. That will panic the Americans and make the amphibious assault that much more deadly to enemy morale.”

  With half-lidded eyes, Deng stared at Nung as if taking his measure. “I happen to recall the Arctic crossing seven years ago. You delayed then. Why won’t you delay again at precisely the wrong moment?”

  Marshal Nung opened his mouth in anger. Those delays had not been because of him. They had been because of—

  The Leader cleared his throat.

  Nung glanced at the Leader. A cold feeling crept through him. He’d almost told these men the truth. That would have ruined everything.

  “I have learned from Jian Hong,” Nung said. “I will not make the same mistake twice.”

  “Sir,” Marshal Kao asked the Leader. “I wonder if we might add one precaution, especially as we recall that you had to prod Marshal Nung seven years ago.”

  “Yes?” the Leader asked.

  “I would like to send Field Marshal Gang to the First Front,” Kao said. “Gang would report to us—the Ruling Committee—particularly if he sees that Marshal Nung is spending our troops too liberally against the enemy fortifications. Also, if he feels that the Marshal is stalling, Gang could report that to us as well.”

  “I object,” Nung said. “Divided commands are a serious impediment to—”

  “Excuse me,” Kao said. “I am not speaking about a divided command. Marshal Gang would be an observer only. Surely, you cannot object to the Ruling Committee having its own personal representative at your front?”

  “The implications—” Nung said.

  “I would feel better if Marshal Gang joined the First Front,” Deng said. “It would alleviate my last qualms and help me to convince our allies. Naturally, we would have to empower the marshal to act in an emergency.”

  The Leader drummed his fingers on the table. Very well,” he said. “Marshal Gang will return with you, Marshal Nung. He will observe, and he will be granted emergency powers, provided the need occurs.” The Leader glanced at the others in turn before looking at Nung again. “In two weeks, you will unleash the greatest assault in history, smashing the Americans.”

  Nung nodded, delighted at the prospect but wondering how much Marshal Gang was going to try to interfere with him.

  -3-

  Deployments

  OCEANSIDE, CALIFORNIA

  Paul Kavanagh ran along the beach, trying to outdistance his guilt. His angular features were contorted with concentration. He repeatedly went over in his mind what had happened in Mexico.

  Beside him, ocean waves rolled in, crashing against the sand, with swirls of cold saltwater and white foam reaching for his running shoes. In the water, tanned surfers rode the waves. They seemed like humanoid seals to Paul, moving with such ease and grace. He’d surfed a few times. The freedom of lying there on his board as the water rolled under him…it had been magical, among the most peaceful moments of his life.

  The thud of his feet and the roar of the ocean couldn’t absolve him of guilt, couldn’t even hide it for long. He’d abandoned Maria Valdez to the Chinese. It hadn’t been his choice. He hadn’t known the helicopter drone was going to take off with only him in it. He’d thought it would pick up Maria and the last guerilla. There had been three seats in the drone.

  Paul wore mirrored sunglasses, but he didn’t bother glancing at the beauties lying on the sand on their towels. Most would have already untied the back of their bikinis to get rid of tan lines. Today—actually, ever since coming back from Mexico—he wasn’t interested in any of these women. Running, pumping weights, drinking beer interested him, anything to exhaust him o
r take his mind off lifting away as White Tigers fired shock grenades at Maria Valdez, knocking her unconscious.

  By phone, he had complained to General Ochoa about the drone. The four-star general had told him he’d look into it. The drone was supposed to have picked up all survivors, not just him.

  You don’t leave your own on the battlefield. It was a Marine saying that had long ago been drilled into him.

  Paul flung his head to the side so sweat flew off. He kept his thumbs “out.” When you clutched your thumbs with your other fingers while running that meant you were about to flag, to quit. He now forced himself to swing his arms in rhythm and keep his knees up. He was too old to allow himself to get out of shape. If he wanted to succeed at his recon duties, he had to keep in top condition.

  Years ago, many years ago, he had arrived in Camp Pendleton for basic training. It was only a few miles down the beach from here. That had been a grueling time for most of the recruits, but he’d excelled at it. While on leave, he’d met Cheri in Oceanside. She had been lying on the beach, one of the babes with her string bikini untied. He needed to call her later this evening. She wanted to know where they were posting him next. He still didn’t know. General Ochoa—

  Hey! What was this? An MP in his white helmet stood fifty yards down the beach, waving his arm at him. Several sunbathers had propped themselves up onto their elbows to stare at the man.

  What do they want with me now?

  Figuring this would be the end of his run today, Paul accelerated. He sprinted for the MP. The initial burst made him feel as if he was flying. He loved it. The sand whizzed by in a blur. He felt like a young god, as if he could run forever. Then it hit him: the long run and the demand he’d already placed on his aging body. His lungs wanted more air and his legs lost their feather-like lift. Paul snarled, forcing himself to run just as fast. It lacked the same effortless joy, though.