Earlier this morning the briefing officer had told them how important the mission was. The American offensive had driven much deeper than anyone had expected. Marshal Liang had plans for these over-bold Americans. First, though, Liang needed the Behemoths destroyed. Tzu’s bombers were the key to that, or so the briefing officer had told them.
As Tzu sat up here in the bright sunshine, he had his doubts about that. The Behemoths had destroyed one hundred Goshawks in a matter of minutes in the Rockies. Here, the Behemoths would have even better targeting conditions.
There was another thing troubling him. Captain Tzu had been hearing for months now how each of his bombing runs was utterly critical to the war effort. He had fired many missiles and launched even more Goshawks. High Command had told the bomber teams many weeks ago that the Americans were almost finished. Yet now the enemy was on the verge of reaching Denver. If the Behemoths completed the encirclement, the Americans would have trapped Third Front in a gigantic cauldron.
How could twenty-seven Herons bring about a great enough victory to change that? Tzu didn’t know. But that didn’t matter now—there were many things he didn’t understand. What he did know was that he had a task to perform. As always, he hoped to survive the battle.
The longer this war lasted, the less likely that would be. One of these days, the enemy had to get lucky. The law of averages demanded it.
“Are you ready?” Tzu asked his navigator.
“Yes Captain,” the navigator said.
“Then radio HQ and tell them we’re nearing attack position,” Tzu said. “I’m curious to see how our missiles do against the Behemoths.”
WASINGTON, D.C.
Anna Chen sat in Underground Bunker Number Five. Like everyone else present, she was excited and terribly worried about today. The great spearhead of the American Counterattack—the Behemoth tanks—were about to face the dreaded Chinese laser system.
She’d watched the grim footage of the weapons destroying Denver bunkers and strongpoints. One seemed to peel away bricks so they tumbled to the ground and exploded into fragments there. She’d heard those beams explained by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Initially, the MC ABMs had been mobile strategic lasers to protect the Chinese from missiles and massed air power. Someone on the Chinese side had seen another use for the vehicles.
General Alan was speaking, explaining once again how the Siege of Denver had tied down critically needed Chinese Armies. Marshal Liang might have deployed those armies north, speeding the Chinese attack. General Alan believed those “missing” armies had been the margin. The Third Front’s drive toward Cheyenne and the North Platte River Defense had been contained these past weeks, although they had lost Cheyenne in bitter street-to-street fighting. If the Tenth and Fifteenth Armies had added their considerable weight to the attack, the North Platte River Line would have ruptured. As that line had mostly been composed of Militia formations, the Chinese would likely have encircled and annihilated them. America would have lacked the necessary numbers then to launch the counter-offensive.
“If Liang would have been content to smash the Rocky Mountain I-70 and mask Denver with a ring of garrison troops, he could have sent the Tenth and Fifteenth Armies north,” Alan said.
The President finally entered the chamber. After everyone had sat back down, Sims turned to General Alan.
“Are the ballistic missiles ready?” the President asked.
Alan nodded.
“Put me through to General McGraw,” Sims said.
Soon, General McGraw appeared on the wall screen. He stood in his headquarters, surrounded by staff and screens. It was a flurry of activity there, with a buzz of talking people. At last, Tom McGraw turned to Sims.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, sir,” McGraw said.
“No, no, that’s quite all right, General,” Sims said. “Are the Behemoths in position?”
McGraw motioned to someone off-screen. “If you’ll allow me, sir, I can patch the tactical situation through to your computers.”
“By all means,” Sims said. “Let’s see that.”
On the great computer table in Underground Bunker Number Five appeared the present spearhead of Army Group Washington.
McGraw explained what they were seeing. “The two divisions of Jeffersons—the 10th and 21st Armored Divisions—are spread out in a wide arc before the Behemoths. They’re the screen, sir. If the enemy uses T-66s or other armor, the Jeffersons are to engage and destroy them. If it’s Chinese missiles or air attacks, the Jeffersons will link their targeting computers and provide a wall of counter-missile or anti-air fire.”
“And if the enemy laser tanks take out the Jeffersons?” Sims asked.
“It’s what I hope they try to do, sir,” McGraw said. “That will give me time to study their capabilities.”
“All while they’re destroying our newest main battle tanks,” Sims said, angrily.
“Yes sir, that’s exactly right.”
“You’re a hard-hearted man, General.”
McGraw’s face tightened. “No more than you are, Mr. President.”
Anna glanced sharply at David Sims. Something dark passed before the President’s face. He didn’t like the comment, but he let it pass.
“When do you fire the ballistic missiles?” the President asked.
“Right after the laser tanks open fire. I want to know exactly where those Chinese MC ABMs are before we launch the missiles. Sir, those heavy stations are slow or practically immobile in a tactical sense. As important, through radar and thermal imaging our AIs will be able to track the beams directly to their sources. I consider that a flaw in the Chinese weapon system.”
“I hope you’re right, General.”
“So do I, Mr. President. I know you know the old saying. No plan of battle survives contact with the enemy. Today we’re going to—”
McGraw turned away as someone spoke to him urgently. A moment later, he faced the screen. “I’m sorry, Mr. President, but if you’ll excuse me.”
“Get to work, General. Kick the Chinese in the teeth.”
“Roger that, Mr. President.”
AURORA, COLORADO
Commander Bao of MC ABM #3 nervously sat in his command chair. The three sections of the laser vehicle sat on a hill in the outskirts of shattered Aurora. The city belonged to Greater Denver and was the closest to I-70 heading out onto the Great Plains.
From here, the laser vehicle had an excellent line of sight. The other MC ABMs were also in position. Already, Bao watched inflowing data from high-flying UAVs.
Smaller American tanks were between him and the approaching Behemoths. Marshal Liang had a surprise for those tanks, but that would take time to make it happen.
Bao swallowed and desperately tried not to think about his stomach. He had a carton of milk in his chair compartment, but he hadn’t opened it yet. He was so hungry. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday. He couldn’t afford to eat now. The combination made his mind a little fuzzy, but he would force such fuzziness away through willpower.
His mother had often told him he had a strong intellect, a strong will. Now was the time to use it. China watched him today. Marshal Liang had let the Mobile Canopy commanders know that Chairman Hong personally monitored the situation.
For such a time as this I was born, Bao told himself. Today, the giants fight for world supremacy.
The crew awaited his word. Each man sat at his station. Techs had replaced the worn lasers coils. New coolant gurgled in the bin-washers. Bao had carefully inspected the vehicle last night, all the interchanges and the hookups. The six hundred ton tier-system rested in a level position. If needed, the tractor would pull them behind the hill. Such an action would take time, and once they moved, it would take hours to recalibrate. The key was to save the MC ABM if the American Behemoths could do the impossible and outrange the lasers.
“The enemy tanks, Commander—”
“I see it,” Bao said, with an edge to his voice. His ulcer hurt. He was
hungry and feeling woozy, but he was still in charge of the MC ABM #3.
Sitting in his chair, surrounded by his screens, Bao watched data from high-flying UAVs. The great lumbering Behemoths rolled over the last blocking ridge. Bao tapped a console. The first Behemoth was a little over forty-one kilometers away.
“Prepare for firing,” Bao said, as he put his headphones/mufflers over his ears. The left one was sore and he winced from the hard contact.
Everyone else put on headphones, too.
“Engage the turbine,” Bao said.
The MPT whined into life, and the command compartment shook. Bao, along with the entire crew, winced at the howl. HQ had ordered the MC ABM #3 into action too many times these past weeks. It had fired far too often. Bao had replaced many worn components, but not all of them. Liang would have been wiser to save the laser vehicles for this critical moment, but hindsight was always more accurate than foresight.
The MPT sounded off, but it still worked.
“Energy levels rising, Commander. In twenty seconds, the laser will be ready.”
Bao nodded. The fuzziness in his mind faded as his adrenaline surged. He sat forward in his chair. The great moment of his life had arrived. It was inspiring. His frown evened away to a calm appearance. He forgot about the pain in his ears.
“Engage the lead Behemoth,” Bao said.
The MPT pumped massive power into the laser coils. The energy poured into the chambers and pumped the laser. The incredibly heavy beam struck the first focusing mirror. Then it shot out of the cannon in a tight ray, traveling at the speed of light and crossing the forty-one kilometers instantly.
Bao curled the fingers of his right hand into a fist.
“Miss,” the targeting officer said.
“Recalibrate,” Bao said, refusing to raise his voice. He could imagine American surprise, seeing the ground burn near the tank. He wanted the enemy to face an even greater surprise.
“We’re ready,” the targeting officer said.
“Fire,” Bao said once more.
The massive beam shot again, and this time it struck the Behemoth.
“Keep the beam on target,” Bao said. His eyes itched as he stared at the screen. Would it work? Did the MC ABM #3 have the power to burn through the thick armor?
“The tank is moving, Commander,” the targeting officer said.
“Keep the beam on target,” Bao said.
The MPT’s howl turned into something fiercer. Despite himself, Bao’s face screwed up in pain. The magnetic-propulsion turbine wasn’t supposed to sound like that. Bao clamped his hands around the headphones/mufflers, pressing them against his ears to protect his hearing from the horrible sound.
He watched the screen. The beam struck the same tank again. The enemy vehicle kept moving. The ferocious beam speared across the forty-one kilometers. It stayed on one spot now, burning and melting into the incredible armor. Much of the heat dissipated throughout the rest of the armor. The front plate began to glow. Liquid metal poured away as the beam chewed deeper into the armor. Then the beam breached the mighty Behemoth and exploded the power plant inside. A tremendous explosion blew off the top turret hatch. Flames geysered twenty meters high. The giant enemy vehicle ground to a halt, its crew dead and burned and its vitals destroyed.
“We killed it, Commander!” the targeting officer shouted.
“Good,” Bao said. “Shut down the MPT.”
Immediately, the horrible howl quit.
“Red levels in octagon regions,” the Engine Tech said.
“Flush it with number seven coolant,” Bao said. “We’re going to need the laser soon.”
“The recommended wait is twenty minutes, Commander.”
“No,” Bao said. “You have three. Now begin the procedure, we lack time for further discussion.”
I-70, COLORADO
“Fire!” Stan shouted from his commander’s seat.
For the seventh time so far, the mighty engine revved and supplied power to the rail-gun. A surge shook the tank. The penetrator roared from the cannon and sped at Mach 10 toward the hateful laser tanks.
Forty-one kilometers was longer than effective rail-gun accuracy. They were deadly accurate within ten kilometers. They could hit most of the time at twenty. Forty-one was too much for battlefield accuracy, although the shells had no problem reaching that far.
“Miss,” the gunner said.
Stan could see that on his screen.
“We’re heating up,” Jose shouted.
Stan heard the hateful sound once more. A heavy laser beam chewed through the armor. It was a bubbling noise and a high-pitch screech.
“Move, move, move!” Stan shouted.
He’d already lost three Behemoths to the lasers.
The air-conditioners began to hum and sweat beaded onto Stan’s face. The heat rose to an intolerable level in here. The great Behemoth lurched to the right and then it spun on one giant tread, and went back and left. The beam missed now, flashing past.
The terrible heat in the compartment lessened as the air conditioner did its work and because the laser no longer poured heat onto the tank.
“Fire again,” Stan shouted.
The engine revved, the surge came and Stan pushed out of his seat and climbed up, throwing open the hatch. He looked down. The front armor was still red hot, and there were three big burn holes, but none had breached the hull. Some of the melted metal had cooled into strange-looking lumps. Stan looked back, and he saw steam rise from clumps of burned-off Behemoth armor sitting in melted snow.
As Stan watched, Dan Clifford’s tank ground to a halt. The front armor was glowing red, with a hole in it. The top hatch blew away. Flames roared upward.
With a sick feeling, Stan slid back down to his seat. “Fire in a spread around our target,” he said. “Do it one right after the other. We have to hit one of those bastards or we’re all dead.”
Surge after surge powered out of the Behemoth. Each penetrator roared across the distance at Mach 10. Each missed except for the last. It hammered into the MPT trailer, cutting through the armor with ease. A terrific explosion caused the armored compartment to blow apart in a glorious and billowing geyser. It knocked out the first MC ABM on the enemy side.
Inside his tank, Colonel Stan Higgins led the cheering. “Keep doing that!” he shouted. He picked up the microphone and called the other commanders, telling them what he’d just done. He wanted them to barrage-fire into an area, hoping that one of the penetrators hit the targeted MC ABMs.
FORWARD EDGE OF THE BATTLE AREA, COLORADO
Captain Tzu took the Heron down low. With the other seven bombers, he roared at the American Behemoths. The order had finally come through.
“Tracking,” the navigator said.
Tzu pulled a lever. The standoff bomber shuddered. One of its big air-to-ground missiles detached from the bay and dropped. Its rocket engine fired and the missile shot toward the distant Behemoths, quickly gaining speed.
Tzu did the same thing again, dropping another missile.
“Captain!” the bomb specialist shouted. He monitored the Heron’s defensive gear.
Tzu looked back at the man.
“Americans missiles—”
The bomb specialist never had a chance to finish his sentence. A flock of anti-air missiles arrived from the Jefferson MBTs nearest the Herons.
An anti-air missile struck the left side, hitting the planet at the joint between the fuselage and wing. The warhead ignited, tearing the wing from the plane and creating a huge hole.
Captain Tzu looked through the opening. Then the Heron turned on its wounded side and began to plunge earthward. Tzu’s seatbelt held him in place. It felt like a hot poker had thrust through his gut. The fuselage began to spin faster and faster. He had been right about the law of averages. One of these times, the Americans would hit and destroy his bomber.
Centrifugal force rendered Tzu unconscious seconds before the Heron plowed into the pristine snow and exploded in
a fiery ball of destruction.
AURORA, COLORADO
Commander Bao clamped his hands to his headphones/mufflers. The whine of the MPT had risen to another pitch of unbearable. A hazy fume of smoke drifted through the main compartment.
The laser had operated much longer than it ever had during the Siege of Denver. Things were going wrong with the turbine and the laser coils had begun to overheat.
“Destruction!” the targeting officer said.
“We’ve destroyed two Behemoths,” Bao told the crew. Despite the smoke, the ulcer and the pounding in his head, Bao was proud. He had achieved greatness. He had destroyed two American super-tanks.
“Shut down the turbine,” he said. “We’re moving out.”
The targeting officer cast him a sharp glance. Other crewmembers shot him a look of relief.
“Is something wrong?” Bao asked the targeting officer.
The unbearable whine lessened and then went off altogether.
Bao shoulder muscles loosened.
“We haven’t received orders to move,” the targeting officer said. “We—”
“Ballistic missiles!” a crewmember shouted.
Bao snapped to his screens. Ah, the Americans attacked with missiles.
“Start up the turbine,” he said.
The turbine chief tapped the switch. He did it again because nothing appeared to happen the first time.
“Start it up now,” Bao said.
The man swiveled toward him. “It won’t start, Commander. It’s overheated.”
“Use override,” Bao said.
The man typed on his screen and began shaking his head. “We must have burned out the override system,” the man said.
Bao licked his lips nervously.
“You shouldn’t have shut off the turbine,” the targeting officer said.
Bao gave the man a withering glance. Who was he to give him a reprimand?
“Commander Bao,” his superior officer said from a screen. “Do you see the incoming ballistic missiles?”
Invasion: Colorado ia-3 Page 33
