Invasion: Colorado ia-3

by Vaughn Heppner

Of the five tanks left, three of the force cannons had lost their fine calibration. They could hit close objects, but not the miles-long distant enemy.

  As the Behemoths backed up, retreating at speed as friendly artillery laid down thick, anti-thermal clouds, he judged the flank attack a success, at least while it had lasted.

  The Pan-Asian Alliance Tenth Army had ceased to exist as a fighting formation. The Fifteenth had stalled. The new Sleeper mines had done some damage to it. Mainly, however, the Chinese were now out of position and would need time to redeploy.

  Already, elements from American Second Tank Army raced for the empty trenches facing what was left of PAA Army Group A. Their encounter with the southern Chinese had been decisive.

  Stan retreated, dragging two hulks of Behemoths with him. The others he left on the battlefield.

  The remaining super-tanks would need a lot of repair to fix them back up to full efficiency. But it appeared right now that they had more than fulfilled their role as America’s saviors. They had blunted the Chinese breakthrough attempt.

  The question remained, though. How was Jake doing? Was his boy still alive?

  Stan sat in his commander’s chair, too tired for words.

  -13-

  Readjustments

  GENESSE PARK, COLORADO

  Corporal Jake Higgins trudged along I-70. In the distance behind were the ruins of Greater Denver.

  The bulk of the Chinese Army had pulled out several days ago. The remnants in the ruins shot at Jake and the others, but it was desultory fire. The danger came from sporadic artillery barrages.

  “Incoming!” the Lieutenant shouted.

  Jake sprinted off the freeway and hit the snow, hugging the ground. Shells roared overhead and slammed against the Earth. Jake felt the tremors and relaxed. From endless weeks, he knew the shells hadn’t landed near enough to hurt him.

  “They’re taking revenge against us,” the Lieutenant said.

  Jake looked up. Everyone around them was flat. They waited for more salvos. More didn’t come this time. The Chinese fired here and there at random, seemingly trying to catch soldiers by surprise. It was a petty way to make war, going for more wounded to make life miserable for the Americans. Like the others around him, Jake dragged himself to his feet and continued walking.

  After a little while, Jake trudged past freshly killed soldiers. Companions dug graves for them.

  “That’s lousy luck,” Goose said.

  Jake nodded. After the endless weeks in the city, surviving flame-throwers, grenades, sniper fire, artillery and bombs, and now to die as they marched for freedom, it was rotten luck.

  What a thing, Jake decided, his thoughts bouncing all over the place today. He’d survived the encirclement in Amarillo, Texas this summer. He’d survived the harrowing trek to Colorado and now it looked like he might survive the siege of Denver. If they reached Idaho Springs, they should be safe until the next venture. It would be nice if they could stop the Chinese advance for once and push them back.

  Four hours later, Jake, Goose and the Lieutenant sat around a small sterno flame that burned under their tin pot. They heated a can of pork and beans, a delicacy after their nearly starvation diet.

  Darkness fell around them, and Chinese artillery boomed in the distance. The flashes played off the low clouds. One flash highlighted a cloud that looked like an arrow pointed back at the enemy.

  “They don’t want to let us go,” the Lieutenant observed.

  Jake stirred the pork and beans. The aroma was killing him. He was hungry and his stomach ached.

  “You know what I think,” the Lieutenant said.

  Jake shook his head as he kept his eyes on the beans. When it began to bubble, they would be ready.

  “We’re the ones who broke their back,” the Lieutenant said.

  “We’ve lived like rats for months,” Jake said. “I don’t know how that broke anyone’s back.”

  “I don’t mean just you and me. I mean all the ordinary Americans who picked up a gun and joined the Army, the Militia or the partisans. Here in this hellhole, it was all of us working together. The Army has better equipment, but we held just the same.”

  Jake thought about the earliest battle where most of the Eleventh CDMB had run away. Still, some had fought the enemy until the very end.

  “I don’t know if I agree with you,” Goose said. “The Chinese chased us out of Denver, didn’t they? And they destroyed it.”

  The Lieutenant snorted so snot flew out of his nose. He used his sleeve to wipe his nostrils. “Sorry, but I don’t feel as if we were chased out. The enemy shoved and we shoved back. Yeah, they pushed us out of the majority of the city, but we made them pay in blood. We made them pay so much that our Army had time to regroup and turn the tables on them. Why did that happen? I’ll tell you, because you and me picked up our guns and fought to the last drop. We ground them down and weakened them enough to give the tank lords the opportunity. But without us, the Chinese would have conquered America.”

  “Seems to me they’re still in America,” Goose said.

  “Yeah,” the Lieutenant said, “with a noose around their necks. Give it a little more time, and we’ll hang these SOBs.”

  Jake used the spoon and scooped some pork and beans. He ate the sample. It was hot and tasted great. “Supper’s ready,” he said. “Are you guys?”

  Goose and the Lieutenant held out their tins. Jake divided the pork and beans evenly into three parts.

  “Another few days,” Jake said, after he licked his spoon and tin clean. “And we’re out of—”

  “Don’t jinx us by saying it,” Goose said.

  Jake blinked at his friend and finally smiled. “No. I won’t jinx us. Let’s clean up and get some shut-eye.”

  “We’ll clean up,” the Lieutenant said. “But then we keep moving. I want out of here and now’s our chance. So we move until we’re out or we’re dead.”

  “Yes sir,” Jake said. “I like that advice.”

  IDAHO SPRINGS, COLORADO

  Paul sweated from the hard work and his hands were sore. “Ready?” he asked Romo.

  “One, two, three,” Romo said, grunting the last word.

  The two of them lifted a stretcher with a soldier on it. They carried the man from a truck out of Denver to a waiting Chinook helicopter. The helo was near capacity and Paul and Romo had carted at least a quarter of the patients into it.

  There were here because SOCOM had been ordered to harass the Chinese in Denver. They hadn’t started on their mission yet because the medical people were short-handed and had asked for help.

  The soldiers coming out of Denver looked more like skeletons. They were gaunt, all of them with the thousand-yard stare and too many having lice. The last few weeks had been the worst for them, as most of the airdrops hadn’t landed near enough the besieged soldiers to give them enough supplies.

  Paul knew the orders for these men. The strongest were supposed to hike west along I-70, bypassing the ballistic-missile damage. It would take strong men to do that until they reached waiting trucks.

  So far, eight thousand of these survivors had reached Idaho Springs. Belatedly, the Chinese attacked the rear guard, halting another eight thousand hastily digging trenches to face their tormentors.

  Paul used his forearm to wipe his forehead. He was dog-tired from lifting stretchers and he was tired in his soul. SOCOM had been using him and the other LRSUs back and forth in the hottest spots for weeks on end now. He’d been fighting too long, and it had taken its toll to his spirit.

  “Poor bastards,” Paul said.

  “What did one of your great generals of the past say?” Romo asked. “War is Hell.”

  “That it is,” Paul agreed.

  A truck’s brakes squealed as it lurched toward the Chinook. MPs raced over to block it. The trucks were supposed to wait behind the barricade for inspection.

  A tough-looking man with a Mexico Home Army uniform jumped out of the driver’s seat.

 
“You!” he said to Paul. “I have men that need loading.”

  The MPs moved up.

  Paul recognized the mean-looking driver: the man was an assassin for Valdez. Paul wasn’t sure what motivated him. “Just a minute,” he told the MP captain. “I think I might know some of these men.”

  “Doesn’t make any difference,” the MP said.

  “Is Colonel Valdez here?” Paul asked the driver.

  The Mexico Home Army driver’s head swayed back. He squinted at Paul, and recognition flared in his eyes. Slowly, suspiciously, the driver nodded.

  Paul faced the MP. “Sir, Colonel Valdez is a VIP to the President of the United States.”

  “What?” the captain said.

  “He’s an important figure to our allied soldiers,” Paul explained.

  “What’s going on here?” the captain asked.

  A hand clutched one of Paul’s elbows. Romo whispered in his ear, “What are you doing?”

  Paul wasn’t sure. Maybe he was paying back a blood debt to Maria Valdez. The Colonel wanted him dead, could hate like few others, but he had fathered Maria and Paul hadn’t been able to rescue her from the Chinese. It still bothered him. He couldn’t give the Colonel his life, as Paul wanted to live, not die. But maybe he could give the Colonel back his own life as payment for a grim burden of the soul.

  “Sir,” Paul told the captain, “I belong to SOCOM. The President tasks us from time to time with secret missions. I happen to know how important Colonel Valdez is to America’s war effort. Let us carry him and as many of his men as it can hold aboard the Chinook.”

  The MP scowled and finally threw up his hands. “Hurry it up then. The helo is slated to take off in ten minutes.”

  The captain and his MPs stalked off.

  The driver studied Paul. The man’s features had become stony and then thoughtful. “You have a lion’s heart,” he said. “Follow me.” The driver took Paul and Romo to the back of the truck and opened the gate.

  A dozen Mexico Home Army soldiers sat in the gloom on benches. On a stretcher lay Colonel Valdez. One of the men held up Valdez’s head. Another whipped back a blanket covering the Colonel, showing that Valdez held a pistol aimed at Paul’s chest.

  Paul saw eyes of burning hate. Those eyes flickered to take in Romo.

  “Both of you are here,” Valdez whispered. His skin was gray and he seemed feverish.

  Paul wondered how much of an idiot he was, but he decided to play it through. “Do you want to live?” he asked the Colonel.

  “I want to put a bullet in your chest,” Valdez whispered. “You are a pig and a traitor.”

  “Colonel,” the driver said, surprising Paul by speaking up. “This man just interfered for your sake. The MP would have forced you to wait. Now you can leave on a helicopter and get the medical help you need.”

  “I heard what this traitor said,” hissed Valdez. He glared at Paul. “Do you think you can buy my forgiveness?”

  “Apparently not,” Paul said.

  The Colonel began to cough and his gun-hand lost strength so he set the weapon on the floorboard, although he kept his hand around the butt and his finger curled around the trigger.

  The Mexico Home Army soldiers in the truck stared at Paul and stared at Romo.

  “He needs medical help,” Romo said. “I doubt he’ll get it if he shoots the American.”

  “Traitor,” Valdez hissed so spit flew from his mouth. A particle landed on his chin as he raised the gun.

  Before he could fire, the driver lunged into the truck. The man had a leopard’s swiftness. He grabbed the gun and twisted. A shot rang out. Amazingly, the bullet hit no one.

  The captain and his MPs raced back. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

  The driver had ripped away the pistol, holding it in his hands. With hostility in their eyes and as they gripped their weapons, the others in the truck watched the MPs.

  “The Colonel is delirious,” Paul said. “He thought we were Chinese soldiers and fired at us.” Paul put his fingers on the end of the stretcher. “Come on, Romo, give me a hand.”

  Paul dragged the Colonel out of the truck-bed and Romo grabbed the other end of the stretcher.

  “Let him go with the Colonel,” Paul said to the captain. He used his chin and pointed at the driver. “The others can wait.”

  “The others can walk along I-70 with everyone else,” the captain said. “Only the wounded are getting a ride out. Well, he can go, I guess. But don’t give him the gun until he’s well.”

  “I won’t,” the driver said.

  “Come on,” Paul told the driver. “I’ll show you the way.”

  Paul and Romo carried a sick Colonel Valdez onto the Chinook, laying him down among other wounded.

  Valdez’s hot eyes flickered open. “This changes nothing,” he told Paul.

  “No,” Paul said. “You’re wrong. This changes everything. I just saved your life. Heck, I probably saved you from jail, too, or from the firing squad. That’s what would have happened to you if you’d killed me.”

  “My men—”

  “Would have been badly outnumbered here,” Paul said. “Anyway, just shut up for change. I’ve listened to you rant before. The way I figure it is that you owe me big time. Most people are grateful to someone saving their life. How about you: are you an ingrate and a dog, or are you a man who pays his debts?”

  Valdez’s eyes seemed to burn hotter.

  “Think about it,” Paul said. “What I know is that I’ve paid you back for what happened to Maria. There isn’t any more guilt in my heart that you can tap. If you keep coming after me, I’ll kill you just like the assassin Santiago that you sent after Romo.”

  “Words,” Valdez said with a sneer.

  “It’s time to start channeling your anger the right way,” Paul said. “Kill the Chinese, drive them home and then worry about your stinking honor, as worthless as yours is.”

  “No one speaks to me like that.”

  “You ready?” Paul asked Romo.

  “Si.”

  “Then let’s go. Be seeing you,” Paul told the driver. “And thanks. I owe you one.”

  With that, Paul left Colonel Valdez in the Chinook, which took off five minutes later. It was strange, but it felt good saving a life for once instead of taking it, even that of a man who hated him.

  BEIJING, PRC

  Shun Li knelt in the cage with the small polar bear cub. The fur was so soft and she loved listening to the little fellow as she held the milk bottle for him.

  He sucked strongly, drinking deeply. The Chairman no longer let the mother bear pace in the next chamber, watching. Shun Li smiled. She wondered how much longer she would get to do this.

  She’d been agonizing over the correct course of action. The Police Minister’s plot continued apace. She had written many reports for Xiao, and his questions about the Chairman and his Lion Guards had become very pointed. She enjoyed Tang and his rough lovemaking. She loved this little polar bear cub. But she did care for either enough to die for them?

  She had come to wonder if the Chairman’s days were numbered. China’s armies had suffered hard defeats. The North American conquest hung in the balance. How could the Chairman defeat Xiao if the military backed the secret policeman?

  She stroked the cub’s fur as he suckled.

  “You love him,” the Chairman said.

  Shun Li twisted around in fright. She hadn’t heard the Chairman sneak up behind her. Tang waited with Hong.

  There was one thing about Tang that impressed Shun Li. The Lion Guardsman never acknowledged her while he was on duty, never winked or joked. He acted utterly like the Leader’s protective guardian. He was loyal.

  “I have been studying you,” Hong said. “And I have finally reached a conclusion.”

  That sounded ominous. She tried to smile, but failed. So she went back to helping the cub suckle the bottle.

  “There,” Hong said, as if speaking to Tang. “That is why I trust her. She loves
the cub. Xiao Yang could never love.”

  “He loves China,” Shun Li heard herself say.

  “He is a fanatic,” Hong said. “He has always been a fanatic and it warps his judgment. I’ve begun to wonder if having Xiao around me has warped my judgment.”

  Shun Li stared at the cub. If Xiao won, he would slaughter the polar bears. She sighed as she thought about that. She had spent a lifetime killing people. It had warped her. She had no doubt about that. Likely, she was going to pay a bitter cost for her killings. She’d fled to China to escape her fate, but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen.

  She thought about an interview she’d had with Xiao several days ago. The Police Minister had almost seemed emotional, delighted as he told her about the Behemoth Manufacturing Plant. It had proved much smaller than her estimate. He had wondered aloud if she had doctored her document. The threat was obvious. He would tell the Leader about the forgery if she did not do exactly as he wanted.

  “Sir,” Shun Li said. “I have something to tell you.” As she squatted before the cub, holding the bottle, she twisted around.

  “The Police Minister has…forced me to write reports about my visits here.”

  Hong glanced at Tang. When the Leader looked at her again, he seemed like a different individual. His eyes had hardened and his lips firmed.

  “The Police Minister spoke with Marshal Gang in his office,” Shun Li said. “It occurred the day the heavy lasers destroyed many Behemoth tanks.”

  “Gang was in Beijing?” the Leader asked.

  “Yes sir.”

  “You have evidence of this?”

  “Only the evidence of my eyes,” Shun Li said. “And that of the two East Lightning operatives who escorted me to Xiao’s office.”

  “So…” Hong whispered. The Chairman of Greater China began to pace before her. “The Army thinks I am weakened by these temporary setbacks. Yes, the marshals are clever. They realize they must pry me from my secret police.”

  Hong stopped, and he stared at the cub suckling from the bottle. The Leader stroked his chin.

  “The polar bear is an unpredictable beast,” Hong said. “Often he lazes on the Arctic ice. He will amble in peace and go away if a man approaches him. Sometimes, however, the polar bear turns savage, and then nothing can stand before him.”