Invasion: California

by Vaughn Heppner

  For a while, Jian watched the polar bears. At last, he turned to the patiently waiting Xiao. The man had no time or instinct for appreciating such beautiful animals as these. It showed that he lacked spirituality. Xiao’s patience, however, was another sign of Jian’s power. It also showed him that the Police Minister truly was dangerous. Patience was a priceless gift if wielded skillfully.

  “Would you like one of the cubs?” Jian asked.

  Xiao bowed at the waist. “You honor me, Leader. I would be delighted.”

  Jian laughed. “You do not want a polar bear cub.”

  “Even so, Leader, I would gladly accept one.”

  “And if it died from inattention and a lack of love?”

  “I would execute the zookeeper who would have failed me,” Xiao said.

  “Hmm,” Jian said. “Tell me, why are you here today? Does it concern California?”

  “Yes Leader.”

  “Are you going to tell me that the others on the Ruling Committee are worried about the mounting casualties?”

  “Yes Leader.”

  “Ah, I see. Then you may now consider me told.”

  “Leader…if you would allow me to speak further on the matter…I would greatly appreciate it.”

  Jian watched the mother bear climb out of the pool and shake herself like a dog. “Very well,” he said, “what is your warning?”

  “I have inspected the numbers, Leader.”

  “Do you mean the casualty lists?”

  “Yes Leader.”

  “They are exorbitant. Is that what you want to say?”

  “I believe Deng and his clique expected heavy losses,” Xiao said. “I think they also expected a larger area of conquest in exchange for the blood of Chinese soldiery.”

  “I have spoken to Marshal Nung. He has assured me that the heavy losses will bring us exceptional victory. We must have patience in order to realize complete victory.”

  “I understand that you support Marshal Nung, Leader, but…”

  Jian released the rail and tore his gaze from his beloved polar bears. He studied Xiao. The Police Minister looked at him as a giant goldfish might. The thick glasses were like peering through an aquarium.

  “But what, Police Minister?” Jian asked in a silky voice.

  Xiao hesitated before saying, “Leader, it appears as if the assaults have bogged down.”

  “This is your assessment?”

  “No Leader. Marshal Kao told me—”

  Jian raised his right hand, halting Xiao’s words. “Let me explain something to do you. Marshal Kao despises Marshal Nung.”

  “I am aware of that.”

  “I will tell you something more. There is no one in China like Marshal Nung. He hastens to the attack while others careful weigh options. He takes an army and grinds the enemy down with it, destroying them so he can achieve victory.”

  “He is chewing through his own army as well, Leader.”

  “I grant you that,” Jian said. “Yes, he is not afraid to spill blood. Even so, we have far more soldiers and more equipment than the Americans do. Nung has nearly obliterated an entire American Army Group in some of the toughest defensive terrain in the country. What is more, he is on the verge of smashing through Los Angeles. Once he breaks through into Bakersfield, I believe he will give us the entire state and perhaps the whole West Coast. It will be a bitter and devastating blow to the enemy. My analysts tell me it will shatter American resolve. Perhaps you don’t believe that. But it is a historical fact and rather well known that the Americans loathe losing men. They do not have the stomach for sustained combat that brings death to hundreds of thousands of their own soldiers.”

  “That has been true in the past during their foreign adventures into other countries,” Xiao said. “Will that hold true as they defend their homeland?”

  “Americans are Americans.”

  “Ah, yes,” Xiao said. “That is succinctly put, Leader. Yet if I may be so bold, I would like to tell you about Marshal Kao’s charts. It outlines—”

  Jian began shaking his head. “I have seen Kao’s precious charts. I have also witnessed Nung’s continued advance and the tens of thousands of Americans marching into captivity. Perhaps I will even keep some here next to my polar bears.”

  Xiao chuckled politely, a false noise like a sitcom’s laugh track.

  “The fact is,” Jian said, “that Marshal Nung will soon capture Corona. Ah, you no doubt didn’t believe I followed the situation as carefully as that, but I attend a daily briefing on the battle. Our Nung will bottle the Americans that the giant tanks freed from the Escondido Pocket.”

  “And if he fails in that, Leader?”

  Jian looked away. He didn’t care for the Police Minister’s insistence in this. “As long as Marshal Nung advances, I will support him. The man has an iron will when it comes to devising ways of outmaneuvering the enemy.”

  “Yes, I see. If I may ask one more question, Leader?”

  “Speak,” Jian said, letting a hint of annoyance enter his voice.

  Xiao hesitated once more before saying, “What if Marshal Nung destroys the sword you’ve given him as he dashes it against a rock-like defense?”

  “Hmm…that was well said. Yes, I must consider such a possibility, shouldn’t I? Are you suggesting we halt the offensive?”

  “No,” Xiao replied. “But I urge you to give Marshal Kao’s analysis greater weight. Perhaps Nung is correct and the Americans are on the verge of collapse. We have killed and captured the majority of them in Southern California. If he captures the state and if he carves out the entire Western Coast, then he would be a hero of the people. But if he destroys the sword you’ve given him, Leader, he will have become a veritable devil to our great cause.”

  Jian thought about that as he watched one of the cubs nursing. Could Kao be right? Nung was such a fighter, a real fire-eater. The man had told the Ruling Committee in advance that his armies would sustain heavy casualties during this battle. Hadn’t the others been listening? This…situation wasn’t a surprise. Well, maybe the broad extent of the losses was rather grim. But China possessed young men in abundance, eager to win marriage permits. Joining the military was one of the quickest ways to do so. There were always more hungry young men to feed the furnace of war.

  Jian faced the lip-wetting Xiao. Truly, that was a disgusting habit. “Police Minister, Marshal Nung fights, and China needs a fighter, as North American cannot be conquered any other way. As long as he advances, I will support him. Now, if you will excuse me?”

  Xiao bowed at the waist and he bowed deeply. “Thank you for your time, Leader.”

  “No, I thank you for your forthrightness, old friend. Now, I bid you a good day.”

  INTERSTATE 215, CALIFORNIA

  Colonel Wilson stood in the top hatch of his Behemoth. The monster clattered and clanked at twenty-five mph. It tore up the freeway, spewing concrete chunks behind the treads.

  A few Strykers acted as scouts, roaming ahead on the freeway. Thirteen M1A3 Abrams roared behind the Strykers but ahead of the Behemoths. Behind Wilson’s five experimental tanks followed Bradley Fighting Vehicles. These also carried extra ammo and battery supplies for the Behemoth tanks. Interspaced among the heavier vehicles were Humvee Avengers carrying Blowdart anti-air missiles.

  This was a suicide run, a desperation gambit by SoCal Command to halt the Chinese assault toward Corona—at least for a little while. The formation came up from the south toward Riverside, if nothing else, to destroy the Chinese supply line feeding the assault units heading toward Corona.

  America needed time to get the soldiers out of Escondido and Temecula. Then command needed time to set the men into strong defensive positions in Greater Los Angeles and rearm them with supplies rushed west through the Sierra Nevada passes.

  The Chinese had to know the Behemoths were coming. Wilson was surprised that so far the enemy hadn’t—

  He put a hand on his headphone. “Sir,” his comm-officer inside the Behem
oth told him. “I have word from SoCal Command. Chinese aircraft are on their way.”

  Wilson slid down from the hatch, closing it with a clang. The Avengers were useful, but they weren’t tac-lasers and couldn’t handle a truly concentrated air attack. No. Today, as Captain—as Major Higgins had shown earlier, the Behemoths would have to provide the chief anti-air defense with their amazing electromagnetic cannons.

  Wilson strapped himself into his commander’s seat. He was surrounded by screens and knew the Behemoth to be the most advanced tank the world had ever seen. Science fiction novels had predicted tanks like this. His father used to read to him. He remembered the Bolo stories by Keith Laumer. These tanks weren’t sentient like those in the series, but the internal AI gave them yet another edge over the Chinese.

  Wilson had listened to Higgins before telling the other officers about the superior Chinese equipment during the Alaskan War. This time, it was different. Yet now they were throwing away these marvelous tanks in a seemingly futile effort.

  “Sir,” the comm-officer said. “The Chinese appear to be using drones. And it looks as if they have stand-off bombers behind them.”

  Wilson nodded. The American Air Force had taken a terrible beating in the earliest phase of the war. It was unconscionable the U.S. lacked air superiority over its own land. Yet such was the case here. The Chinese, Japanese and Korean factories simply poured out too much materiel. It was the reverse of World War II, where America had swamped the Axis Powers through abundant supplies, materiel and hard fighting by tough soldiers.

  “Link the defensive net,” Wilson ordered.

  “Yes sir.”

  The Behemoths slowed, and the Humvee Avengers circled the big tanks. The engine revved and the huge monster began to shake with power.

  Four minutes later, the attack began as Chinese UCAVs roared at treetop level, with their main cannons chugging shells and other drones firing air-to-ground missiles.

  The nearest Avengers fired as Blowdart after Blowdart hissed out of the tubes and rocketed at the enemy.

  “I’m switching over air command to the AI, sir.”

  Wilson rubbed his mouth nervously. It was a strange feeling giving the Behemoth control on the weapon systems. He had never gotten used to that. It made him feel like a mouse inside a steel trap.

  “Yes, switch over command,” Wilson said.

  The turret swiveled, the cannon adjusted and the SLAM of the shell leaving the gun made the three-hundred ton monster shudder.

  Wilson watched on his screens. It was incredible. The drones bored in, chugging shells at them. The Behemoth 30mm cannons fired defensively and the flechette launchers filled the air with clouds of metal.

  A heavier air-to-ground missile appeared. It must have come from a standoff bomber. Yes, the drones were a shield for the more dangerous aircraft: how very elementary and yet clever of the enemy. An M1A3 exploded, rocking the seventy-ton vehicle as both sets of treads peeled away. The Bradleys joined the Avengers and fired anti-air missiles.

  Wilson clenched his jaws so tightly that the muscles hinging them throbbed with the effort. A drone disintegrated, pieces of it raining like hail. Then three more blew up.

  Inside the tank, the turret swiveled fast with its electric motors. The cannon adjusted yet again and the great tank repeatedly shuddered. Like duck hunters gone wild, the five Behemoths blew down the drones. In some cases, they reached out twenty miles and destroyed fleeing bombers.

  “Five Abrams are gone,” the comm-officer informed him.

  “Keep advancing,” Wilson said. “We’re not going to stop the Chinese if we stand still.”

  “Cruise missiles!” the comm-officer shouted.

  “It’s all up to the AIs now,” Wilson said, speaking much more calmly than he felt.

  The engine revved, thrumming so his bones shook, and Wilson wondered if that had occurred because the AI had willed it so. How long would it take before such tanks dispensed with their human crews and highly advanced artificial intelligences did the job?

  Rubbing his sore jaw, Colonel Wilson watched the screens as if they showed the Super Bowl with his favorite team, the quarterback daring to sprint for the end zone, with the opponent’s most brutal safety heading straight at him.

  “Hit!” the comm-officer shouted.

  On a screen, Wilson watched a cruise missile explode, the fiery parts raining on a grove of nearby peach trees.

  Eleven seconds later, Wilson groaned as he watched another Abrams blow up. Farther away, Strykers became burning hulks. The cruise missiles were so damned fast and agile against the Blowdart missiles. Fortunately, the Behemoth’s AI and the electromagnetic cannon were too good for them.

  “How many more cruise missiles do they have?” Wilson asked.

  The comm-officer was slow in answering. Checking his screens, Wilson couldn’t see that there were any more.

  “SoCal Command just called, sir. It sounds as if that’s it for the moment.”

  As he hunched over the screens, Wilson blinked furiously. Had they really survived the combined air and cruise missile assault? These tanks were amazing. It was incredible. “How…how are we doing on shells?”

  “Our tank is down to forty percent ammo supply, sir.”

  “Are the other Behemoths in a similar predicament?”

  “I’m sure they are, sir.”

  “Then we’re calling a halt, a short one. Some of those Bradleys survived. I want them to load us up to the gills. Then we’re continuing the advance to Riverside. I can’t believe it. These tanks work even better than I’d expected.”

  “That’s good for us, sir.”

  “Indeed,” Wilson said. “Now let’s get moving.”

  SAN YSIDRO, CALIFORNIA

  Marshal Nung scowled at General Pi. They both stood around the computer table, witnessing the giant tanks shrugging off a combined air-cruise missile attack.

  “What are your orders, Marshal,” Pi asked.

  “We destroyed most of their attendants,” Nung muttered. He meant the Abrams, Strykers and some of the Bradleys. The giant tanks were beginning to feel invincible to him. How many of those tanks did the Americans have that they could just throw these away in a suicidal fury? Yet was it a suicidal attack? Clearly, the Americans attempted to thwart his advance toward Corona. What was the right move? Should he let the T-66s race ahead, or should he order them to turn south and destroy these five giant tanks.

  “Sir?” General Pi asked.

  “I dare not let the American soldiers run free into Los Angeles,” Nung said.

  “Many have already left Corona, sir, heading for Fullerton, Anaheim and Pomona in the north.”

  “I understand that.” Nung frowned for a time before saying, “Los Angeles is a heavily urbanized environment. I had hoped to destroy the American army before having to wade through the great city.”

  “Begging your pardon, Marshal?”

  “Yes, yes, give me your wisdom.”

  “I do not believe we can allow the American tanks to run amok among our supply vehicles. Those tanks—”

  Nung hung his head, and he shook it. He hated to give the order. He loathed the idea of turning back. He had never done such a thing in Siberia and during the Alaskan Campaign with the swift run across the Arctic ice…

  “They are slow tanks,” Nung said.

  “They’re fast enough if we cannot destroy them, sir.”

  Nung slammed a fist onto the computer table. “Turn the T-66s. We must destroy these tanks first. Then we will race to Corona.”

  “As you command, Marshal,” General Pi said, motioning to the chief communications officer.

  RIVERSIDE, CALIFORNIA

  Colonel Wilson fingered the microphone as he sat in the commander’s chair inside his Behemoth. He neared Riverside after enduring several air assaults and cruise missile attacks. Most of the accompanying vehicles were burning wrecks. Each of the five Behemoths had survived. They kept heading north toward the main enemy concentration nea
r Riverside.

  Several computer screens surrounded Wilson, giving him visuals outside and images from an Air Force recon UAV that sneaked onto the battlefield. The U.S. drone wouldn’t last long, but while he could, Wilson studied the situation from an aerial view.

  The Chinese had burst through Riverside. Chinese triple-turreted tanks and IFVs charged toward Corona. Now, some of those T-66s had turned back, likely to engage his Behemoths.

  He had to keep buying the U.S. Army time. Most of the troops freed from Escondido carried personal weapons and little else. That meant most of the heavy equipment remained in the pocket. The soldiers didn’t have the weaponry needed to face T-66s, not yet, anyway.

  Wilson opened communications with the other four Behemoths. “Men, we’re too slow to run away. Otherwise, I might suggest it now that we have the T-66s turned around.” He closed communications because suddenly his throat was too dry to speak. He tried swallowing several times and finally twisted open one of the bottled waters. He sipped several times.

  Let’s try this again.

  Clicking on the microphone, he said, “Sorry for the interruption. Men, it has been an honor serving with you. We helped create the greatest tank ever made. We’ve also shown the Chinese a thing or two I’m sure they hadn’t expected. Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but there is not another, a finer company of men, of soldiers, that I would rather die with.”

  There. He’d said it. They were going to die. There was no turning back with these slow monsters. Thus…thus…Wilson took another swallow of water.

  “I have an idea, gentlemen. I mean to teach the Chinese a lesson that they will never forget. I mean to show them what Americans can do when they are good and pissed. I’m going to walk among their best tanks and proceed to kick their sorry asses from here to kingdom come. I’m going to use these Behemoths as they were meant to be used, and that is to ram my fist down their collective throats and make them gag.”

  Wilson frowned. That sounded like a speech. He had been making those all his life. He couldn’t stop that even here at the gate to death. Well, maybe that was all right. He had been giving speeches and acting like a prick for far too long. Now he could redeem everything by fighting bravely and with deadly force.