Kavanagh raced past the dying guards. He cut down another man and then he burst into what had to be the command chamber. It held a large computer table and more stations than he could count. Some of the personnel had backed away. Others fired at him with handguns, but they were small caliber weapons.
Paul fired back, cutting down the First Front High Command. Bullets spanged off his body armor, and kinetic force caused him to stagger back. One bullet smashed through and singed his cheek, creating a bloody furrow. None sank into his flesh to kill him.
A blazing line of liquid fire arched toward the enemy and Chinese officers began to burn and scream hideously. Smoke chugged and the stench was wicked. More bullets ripped into them, and mercifully they went down.
“Is he here?” Donovan shouted.
Paul flung out a spent magazine. This butchery made him sick. It felt wrong. Yet he rammed another magazine in and continued to do his duty. He was here to kill, to try to end the conflict by eliminating the mastermind behind the relentless orgy of destruction that the Chinese committed upon America.
-14-
Conference
BEIJING, PRC
Jian Hong paced restlessly in his study. The room was on the third floor of his palace in the middle of Mao Square.
He could not believe the news. Marshal Shin Nung was dead, slaughtered in his headquarters like a pig. American commandos had burst into the bunker during a particularly savage cruise missile assault. If the reports were true, Nung had burned to death beyond easy recognition. A dentist had identified the marshal through his dental records.
It was this burning to death that troubled Jian.
A knock sounded, and the door swung open. A secretary poked her head in. “Leader, Police Minister Xiao is here to see you.”
“Yes, yes, let him enter.”
The secretary retreated and Xiao entered. It was very late and behind his thick glasses, Xiao’s eyes were puffy. The Police Minister must have already been asleep.
“Have you heard the news?” Jian asked.
Xiao nodded even as he swayed slightly.
“Sit, sit,” Jian said. “You look like you’re about to tumble over.”
Xiao pulled out a chair and sat down.
“The Americans have apparently slain Marshal Nung.”
“It is startling,” Xiao said.
Jian laughed mirthlessly. “It is more than startling. I find it impossible.”
“Leader?”
“These so-called commandos burned Nung to death beyond recognition.”
Xiao blinked several times and nodded hesitantly.
“It is obvious,” Jian said. “This is a staged event.”
“By whom, Leader?”
“That is why I have summoned you. This piece of treachery will not stand. I want to know how such an attack against my chosen marshal could succeed in the center of a heavily guarded headquarters.”
Xiao seemed awake now, and he appeared to choose his words with care. “Are we certain someone among us did this? Perhaps the Americans really—”
Jian laughed harshly. “Do not be naïve, Xiao. Treacherous and cunning enemies surround us. I suspect Deng Fong. Yet if that is true, it means his hooks have sunk into those in the Army. Marshal Kao would have to be complicit in this. Normally, I would not believe it, but I know that he loathes Marshal Nung.”
“I’m sure you are right, Leader,” Xiao hastened to say. “But it seems incredible Kao would help slaughter Marshal Gang.”
“Ah! That was the second piece of evidence that showed me the truth of the matter. Marshal Gang survived the so-called commando raid.”
“How?”
“He wasn’t in the bunker, but in his quarters. He sustained injuries from the cruise missile assault, but they were minor and he is otherwise fit. And listen to this. Kao has already contacted me and suggested that Marshal Gang assume responsibility for the First Front. He was too eager, too ready in this.”
The Police Minister squinted and soon began to nod. “I’m beginning to think you are right, Leader. There are too many coincidences. And you say Nung was burned to death? Why do you believe that is important?”
“We know the depth of Kao’s hatred for him. The burning shows spite. It is Kao’s fingerprint on the assassination.”
Xiao stood and straightened his uniform. “Leader, this is a grave matter.”
“Yes, yes, finally you’re awake. My enemies—our enemies—are making their move against us even as we wage war.”
“It is diabolical.”
“I have learned a valuable lesson concerning these matters,” Jian said. “One must strike first. Well, our enemies have secretly struck against us by chopping at one of the roots of our military high command. Perhaps they believed this blow would frighten me into inaction. Or maybe they thought I was too dull to see this for what it was. No! I’m neither dull-witted nor frightened. Instead, they have roused me to swift action. Tell me, Xiao. Are your flying squads ready?”
“Once you give me the code word, Leader, I can have them knocking on doors in fifteen minutes.”
Clasping his hands behind him, intertwining his fingers so he could feel his knuckles, Jian began to pace. “It is a bold thing we plan. It frightens me, this step. But we cannot wait for our enemies to finish their strike against us.” He whirled on Xiao. “Arrest Marshal Kao and arrest Foreign Minister Deng Fong before dawn.”
“The Foreign Minister has powerful bodyguards,” Xiao said.
“If you cannot do this, tell me.”
The Police Minister straightened. “I can do it, Leader. May I ask one thing?”
“Speak!”
“Arresting Deng Fong might bring repercussions with the German Dominion. They trust him. This could also cause division in our Pan-Asian Alliance.”
Jian laughed grimly. “So be it. I cannot wait for Deng to strike at me. Because he has political power, do I let him plot and execute his assassinations with impunity? No! They made their play. Now, I am about to make mine. Take Marshal Kao into police custody and shoot him in the deepest basement you can find.”
“Yes, Leader,” Xiao said.
“Once you have Deng Fong…use your best doctor. Inject the Foreign Minister with something to bring about a heart attack. We will say you learned of a death plot and hurried to his quarters to warn him. Alas, you were too late and found him beyond recovery.”
“I doubt anyone will believe our story.”
“Perhaps not,” Jian said, “but it will give them a way to save face. People believe Marshal Kao is my man. I thought he was too, until this commando raid left his protégée in control of the First Front. The Japanese leaders and our Southeast Asian allies will not link these two deaths together. Who knows what Germans think? They are a mystery to me.”
“Leader, these…deaths will damage our war effort at a critical time.”
“Not necessarily,” Jian said. “These undercurrents have no doubt sapped Army morale all along and we weren’t even aware of it. Unity of effort is a critical component of successfully waged war. With Deng gone and Kao out of the way, we can prosecute the rest of the North American conquest with singleness of purpose.”
Xiao nodded, albeit with seeming reluctance.
“You have your orders, Police Minister. Now go, eliminate these saboteurs for the good of Greater China.”
“I need the code word, Leader.”
Jian Hong gave it to him.
Xiao turned smartly and marched out of the study.
As the door closed, Jian felt the restlessness surge in him. Yet he sat down, as he was weary. This was a grave risk, and it could cause unforeseen political turmoil. But he had to strike. Otherwise, he would be a fool, waiting for his enemies to finish him. Once in the highest office, one was never completely secure. The death of the Old Chairman proved that.
Jian flexed his hands. He had shot the old man himself while visiting him in the deepest bunker. It had been the hardest thing he had ever done.
>
What should we do in California?
Jian massaged his forehead. Nung was dead and Kao soon would be. Yes, to confound his enemies, he would let them have Marshal Gang in the First Front. But he would strip the marshal of power by ending the great assault. Jian smiled cruelly. He would remove one of the reserve armies, sending it back to the Second Front. Yes, he would let Marshal Gang employ the old method of heavy artillery bombardments combined with a creeping infantry assault. That would necessitate time for reorganization, which would mean an end to Nung’s strategy.
Jian breathed deeply. His enemies had slaughtered poor Marshal Nung. He been a great fighter, a worthy soldier and officer. China would mourn him. Yes, he would give Marshal Nung a splendid State funeral and would deliver the oration himself. Through Nung, China had pulverized the Americans and destroyed masses of air power. Now it was time to look elsewhere on the continent for ultimate victory.
Nung was gone. Gang could wither on the vine and therefore be taken out of play. His enemies thought they could outmaneuver him. No. He was too cunning for them, able to see through their subterfuge and more than willing to act decisively.
By first light today, Deng and Kao would be dead. He would need replacements for them on the Ruling Committee. He would have to give his enemies a place at the table. Yes, it was wise to give them a spokesman. Now he would have to redouble his Lion Guardsman, as many of his secret enemies would yearn even more to assassinate him.
Am I acting wisely? The restlessness stirred in his heart. They burned Marshal Nung. If they hadn’t burned him, I might have missed the clue.
“Your hatred foiled you, Kao. You should have kept to your charts and battle maps.”
CALIFORNIAN-MEXICAN BORDER
Paul Kavanagh helped Romo sit on a large rock. The assassin’s left arm was in a sling. A bullet had torn muscle and put the man into a state of shock.
Neither of them wore body armor anymore, having shed it long ago. Both were battered, Romo more so.
Paul grunted as he sat on the ground, putting his back against the rock. He unclipped a canteen, unscrewed the cap and took two swallows of water. He held it out to his blood brother.
Romo gripped the canteen and drank greedily. The assassin gasped and handed the empty canteen back.
“What…” Romo licked his lips. “Where are the others?”
Paul closed his eyes. The others were dead, including Donovan. Getting out of the bunker and then the compound…Donovan had remained behind with a heavy machine gun, covering their escape. The Green Beret had been shot in the leg and he’d realized he had been as good as dead.
“I’m too old for this,” Paul said.
“Si.”
Paul checked his watch. They didn’t have much time left. He forced himself up and gripped Romo’s good arm.
“Leave me,” the assassin said. “I’m too tired.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Paul dragged Romo to his feet.
They walked until nightfall, and they reached the rendezvous area. Paul clicked the communicator, and it guided him to a hidden drone.
“Do you believe that?” Paul asked, staring at the tiny aircraft.
Romo was feverish, and although he had his eyes open, he likely didn’t see anything.
Paul guided Romo inside, buckled in and the portal snapped shut. Ten second later, the ultra-stealth drone buzzed into life and lifted.
“Looks like we’re going home,” Paul said.
Romo muttered, shaking his head.
“What did you say?” Paul asked.
“I have no home. I am a man adrift.”
“You’re my blood brother, amigo. I’m going to introduce you to my wife and son. You’re always going to be welcome in my home.”
Juan Romo let his head slump back as he closed his eyes.
Feeling his pulse—it was beating strong—Paul decided not to worry about the assassin right now. Against all odds, he was alive. He was going home and he would go AWOL if they didn’t let him see his wife. Had this stunt slowed the Chinese advance? He didn’t know. He’d find out soon enough.
Paul Kavanagh made himself comfortable, closed his eyes and fell asleep.
MEXICO CITY, MEXICO
Several days later it ended where it had begun, with Colonel Peng of the Fifth Transport Division. He was tired from endless weeks of work. There was a lull right now with the change of command, so he had taken the opportunity to use his special pass.
The lovely Donna Cruz had sent him a written message. It was just like her to pen this little love note. She was a romantic girl, and her ass was so delicious. Peng had been thinking about it ever since the last time they had made love.
It was true it had been a crudely written note, at least in terms of penmanship. She had also written it in Spanish. It would have been too much to expect her to write with Chinese characters. This was a land of barbarians, after all, even if very beautiful and sexual barbarians.
Peng turned the wheel of his jeep and entered the Coco Hotel parking lot. Vines snaked up the posts at the head of each parking space. A few of the vines displayed beautiful purple flowers.
She had mailed him the card-key and said she would be ready for him at 11:00 AM sharp. Smiling, Peng eased his jeep into a slot, shut off the engine and picked up his box of chocolates. Inside was a thousand pesos. He knew she still suffered from the abortion. Maybe he shouldn’t have forced it on her. Guilt had driven him. If Donna had a child, Peng knew he would feel compelled to help raise it. He could barely afford Donna and continue to send his own mother enough money. If he also had to support a child—no, it would be too much.
Colonel Peng shook his head. The chocolates and money would help Donna forget. And she would help him forget the endless weeks of drudgery.
Clutching the box to his chest, Peng hurried up the stairs to Room 14. He knocked and waited, but no one answered.
Was she out somewhere?
Peng looked around at the neat little homes and tall trees. This was a suburb of Mexico City, and looked like a nice residential area. Maybe Donna was visiting a friend. He shrugged, dug out the card-key and slid it into the slot. While clutching the box with his arm, he twisted the door-handle and opened it.
“Hello,” he said, in Chinese.
It was dark in here, hard to see. Ah, he heard the shower. She must be cleaning herself for him.
Grinning, Peng stepped into the room, tossed the chocolates onto the bed and heard the heavy door whomp shut behind him. He turned toward the bathroom and took two steps before stopping in surprise.
“Oh,” he said in Chinese. “I’m sorry. D-Do I have the wrong room?”
An old Mexican man sat in a chair watching him. The man frowned and seemed angry.
Colonel Peng took a step back. Why hadn’t the man said something when he’d first entered?
“Who are you?” the man asked in atrocious Chinese.
“I’m Colonel Peng,” he said, attempting Spanish. “Do you know Donna Cruz?”
The old man nodded. “She is my daughter.”
Peng blinked and then it came to him. Relief flooded his chest. “Oh, you’re her father. Yes, I’ve sent you—”
Colonel Peng’s mouth dropped open as speech failed him. The old Mexican—Mr. Cruz—aimed a gun at him. This was illegal. Mexicans weren’t supposed to have guns.
“You must put that away,” Peng said in Chinese.
A terrible light now shined in Mr. Cruz’s eyes. He struggled upright to a standing position. It appeared as if his knees troubled him.
“Is Donna in the shower?” Peng asked.
The gun barked four loud reports, with flashes belching from the barrel each time. Bullets slammed into Peng until he found himself lying on the carpet. The world spun crazily and narrowed to a tight focus. Peng saw as from a great distance Mr. Cruz standing over him. The old man pointed the gun at his face.
“No,” Peng whispered.
He didn’t hear the sound, but he saw the final
muzzle flash. It was the last thing Colonel Peng of the Fifth Transport Division saw before he died.
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
Three days later, near noon, Stan climbed out of his Behemoth and noticed a terrible black cloud over LA. It seemed gray now rather than black. That was something, at least. The fires were dying out, often because of a lack of fuel. Perhaps the flies would die soon too.
From the top hatch of the tank, he surveyed the enemy lines. He saw a great trench in the rubble, with coils of razor wire before it. The Chinese had put that up yesterday with huge, bulldozer-like machines. He could see machine gun emplacements. Many of those were fake, meant to draw American fire.
Frowning, Stan wondered why the Chinese hadn’t bombarded them today and yesterday. That went against the Chinese methods shown these past weeks. Could the great and mighty offensive have finally halted?
It was too soon to believe that. Yet time in southern California wasn’t on China’s side. Every hour helped JFC SoCal stiffen the defenses. Every hour allowed more trucks to bring badly needed supplies. It meant exhausted and battle-shaken troops could rest and regain their morale. Stan snorted. It allowed the mechanics time to bring the remaining Behemoths a little closer to shipshape.
“Professor!” Jose shouted up from within the tank.
“What is it?”
“They’re sending a jeep for you. You’re to report to Battalion HQ.”
“Now? The Chinese could resume their offensive at any moment.”
“I’m just relying orders, Professor.”
Stan eased out of the hatch and used the rungs on the side of the tank to crawl down to the ground. The weird thing was he actually felt more tired now than he had several days ago. He’d stopped taking stims to stay awake and he almost slept normal hours. It was as if his body had used every reserve it had to keep him going, and now that things had slowed, it was letting go, collapsing from exhaustion.
He leaned against the tank and his mind shied from the endless death and destruction he’d been part of. The things he and the crew had done to stay alive were terrible. Yet what choice did they have? It was either kill or become Chinese slaves.
Invasion: California Page 44
