Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5)

by Vaughn Heppner

  HUNG, LIAONING PROVINCE

  General Stan Higgins walked past the giant wrecks of burning T-66 tanks. This latest combat reminded him of something he’d once read in Panzer Battles by Von Mellenthin. It had been concerning the German fight in Manutchskaya on 25 January 1943. Some clever maneuvers, a feint attack covered by smoke, with enemy tanks lured to the wrong place at the right time… Stan sighed as he recalled the action today. A quick and devastating artillery barrage and a rush of Jeffersons had let him defeat the tri-turreted monsters in the narrow lanes of Hung between neat brick houses.

  The Chinese had lost over five hundred soldiers here, killed or wounded. Stan had lost three dead, fourteen wounded. And yet, we’re losing the race to Shenyang.

  Stopping, putting his hands on his hips, Stan studied the last tri-turreted tank. This one lacked paint. He could see every bolt and weld on the metallic machine that must have left the factory less than a week ago.

  We need more soldiers, more tanks. What we really need are the Behemoths.

  Yet how would America ship three-hundred-ton tanks? Most bridges couldn’t survive one crossing over them. Yet even twenty Behemoths could make a host of a difference in Liaoning Province.

  A corporal ran toward him.

  I hope he’s not stupid enough to salute me out here. There could be snipers…

  Stan glanced at burning, smoking buildings. Last year, this would have been a small American city. Now, the Chinese got their taste of foreign invasion. How did they like it? Probably not very much.

  Turning around, Stan marched to intercept the corporal.

  “Sir!” the kid said. His hand began to move.

  “Don’t salute me,” Stan warned him.

  The corporal gave him a quizzical glance. Sudden realization made him look dazed. “Sir—I mean—”

  “What’s your message?” Stan asked.

  “The general is on the horn.”

  “Taylor?”

  “Yes… yes,” the corporal added, having obviously wanted to say, “sir.”

  “Right,” Stan said. He patted the kid on the back in a fatherly way.

  Moving briskly three streets over, he reached an awning between four parked Jeffersons. They were in a Deng’s parking lot—the grocery store blasted brick and shattered glass everywhere. His battle-net people had set foldup tables with screens and computer scrolls.

  “Over there,” an assault rifle-carrying sergeant on guard told him.

  “Thanks,” Stan said. He soon reached a small computer screen with Taylor showing, the general staring off into the distance.

  “Sir,” Stan said.

  On the screen, Taylor faced him. “I’ll get to the point, Higgins. The Chinese launched mass ballistic missiles at our troops circling Changchun.”

  “Nuclear?” asked Stan.

  “No. The straight stuff with some chemical warheads thrown in,” Taylor said. “The Chinese timed it with a breakout attempt from the city.”

  “We didn’t intercept the ballistic missiles?”

  “Seventy-three percent never made it to target,” Taylor told him. “But like I said, it was a mass strike. Don’t worry. We beat the assaulters back into their lair of Changchun. The bad news for us is that the Chinese used plenty of civilians in the attack.”

  “Why’s that bad?”

  “Because it means most of their regular soldiers survived and can do the same thing later.”

  “Oh,” Stan said.

  “It got bloody. The Russians took the brunt of it, but we have three thousand dead men and many more wounded ourselves.”

  “It must have been quite a missile strike,” Stan said.

  “I think that’s what I’ve been trying to say. In any case, we’re taking a battalion of Jeffersons from you.”

  “Sir?” Stan asked.

  “Do you have a bad connection? Can’t you hear me?”

  “No, sir,” Stan said. “But I need reinforcements, not to lose an entire battalion, my best one at that.”

  “Reinforcements are on their way from America.”

  “And when do the first ones get here?” Stan asked.

  “Another three weeks,” Taylor said. “I’ll admit it’s only going to be a trickle at first. Then we should get a solid fifty thousand soldiers.”

  “When?” Stan asked.

  “In six weeks.”

  “That’s not soon enough sir, not if we’re going to reach Shenyang this summer.”

  “We’ll reach it and beyond.”

  “How can you be so certain?” Stan asked.

  “Because I spoke to General McGraw, and he told me. No doubt, Director Harold told him. Any more questions, Higgins?”

  Stan had plenty, but he kept them to himself.

  “By the way,” Taylor said, “good work today. I read your report. That was clever maneuvering.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “That will be all, Higgins. Keep up the good work.”

  The screen went blank before Stan could say thank you again. Small exploding balls appeared on the screen. They kept changing color. He walked away, scratching his chin. The first premonition of Chinese intentions began to trickle into his brain.

  It was six weeks now since the beginning of the invasion. They had smashed through two-thirds of Manchuria, and they had begun to reach the heavy industrial region. Liaoning Province was a goldmine in strategic terms. China couldn’t afford to let Shenyang fall or to let it be encircled like Changchun.

  Stan snapped his fingers. He spun around and marched back to his battle-net people. It was time to do some deep thinking and time to use the computers. The mass ballistic missile attack combined with a bum rush out of Changchun…

  It means something is going on. He needed to figure out what exactly.

  BEIJING, CHINA

  Shun Li stood at attention before Chairman Hong. He sat behind a massive desk with absolutely nothing on it.

  As she’d entered, she’d caught a glimpse of a fleeing woman putting on a robe. The woman had been barefoot. A flash of a breast meant she had been naked beneath the robe.

  The Chairman appeared winded and his hair in slight disarray. Shun Li had the distinct impression the Chairman had used the top of his desk for sex. She’d heard rumors about this growing appetite. That image of him was quite at odds with the puritanical version his PR people projected to the world.

  “I’m very busy,” he said. Then both he and Shun Li noticed that he’d buttoned his jacket wrong. He began to unbutton them.

  “I realize you’re hard at work, Leader,” Shun Li said. “I’m afraid I have an emergency problem that needs your attention.”

  She finally ran the Police Ministry her way. As of yet, she hadn’t begun to flush the Chairman’s crowd of sycophants, the backstabbers, out of the key positions. That was going to take time and delicate maneuvering to get rid of them in any number. The backstabbers could always run to Hong or his Lion Guardsman liaison and complain about her. The trick so far was searching for those she could trust. She had Fu Tao and possibly three others. It would be some time before she felt even remotely secure as the Police Minister.

  “Very well then,” Hong said, as he began to re-button his black jacket. “Explain the situation.”

  She had learned what happened during her three days in solitary. The generals had rebelled. The fall of Harbin had brought about emergency procedures, which unshackled the top military personnel from East Lighting supervision. It had been a crack in the wall of Hong’s citadel of tight-fisted power, but it proved enough for the generals to move. Since then, the Chairman repaired the breach where he could. He wouldn’t be caught like that a second time if he could help it. Of course, the generals also played a subtle game of politics and security. Both sides needed each other. Hong needed the Army to defeat the enemy. The generals needed Hong to give them the supplies and flood of recruits, guerillas, militias and weapons to arm the urban fortresses.

  “Well?” Hong asked. “What is the
problem?”

  Shun Li cleared her throat. “Leader, my best source in the Indian League leadership says the Prime Minister—Mrs. Gupta—wavers concerning the China Policy. She believes it may be time to trash our agreement and attack, in that way gaining the majority of Southeast Asia for themselves. I believe the Americans have promised the Indians preferred grain shipments out of Australia.”

  “We still firmly hold Australia.”

  “I realize that, sir. The Americans promise what they do not have. Haven’t they always been free with other peoples’ territories?”

  “Does your source say other Indians agree with Mrs. Gupta?”

  “She appears to be the leading opponent against us.”

  Hong sat forward, placing his hands on the desk. He brooded, finally looking up. “What are your recommendations?”

  “Normally, I would suggest more detailed information from my source and careful briefs written on Gupta and her advisors. We want to be sure of our facts. For instance, maybe our source has a personal grudge against Mrs. Gupta and this is his way of getting back at her.”

  Hong sighed. “This is much too delicate a situation. If we knew it was only the Prime Minister saying this, I would suggest we assassinate her immediately. Still, high-level killings are tricky affairs. If the Indians learned we sanctioned her, they would declare war on us with a vengeance.”

  “Yes, Leader. I realize that.”

  “Do you recommend assassination?”

  “Normally, I would agree with you, sir, on the delicacy of the mission and possible repercussions. But we are ringed with enemies. We cannot afford the Indian League’s possible strike. I can send my best team tonight.”

  I will fill the team with pro-Hong operatives, who will never survive the mission.

  “You may be right,” Hong said.

  “Shall I—”

  Hong raised a hand. “Do not be hasty, Police Minister. I will consider your recommendation. In less than a week, we will unleash our offensive. Once the Indians see our power, watch as the Americans and Russians fall before us… No. Keep the assassin teams here. We will have to hope for the best from her. A few more days shouldn’t make that great a difference.”

  “As you wish, Leader,” Shun Li said, disappointed but trying to keep that out of her voice.

  “Was there anything else?”

  “No, Leader. Thank you.”

  Hong sat back, putting his hands over his stomach as he twirled his thumbs.

  Shun Li backed away, bowing several times. Then she turned around and departed. The Army would attack the enemy in Manchuria? That sounded more grandiose than she recalled Marshal Kiang suggesting. The Russians and Americans approached Shenyang. Keeping them out of the city and the great industrial basin would be hard enough. To drive the enemy back into Jilin Province and back to Siberia—she believed the Chairman was either bluffing or beginning to live in a dream world of his own devising.

  From Military History: Past to Present, by Vance Holbrook:

  The Invasion of Manchuria, 2042

  2042, July 22-August 3. Defense of Shenyang. Chinese resistance stiffened as Russian and American armies battled through the urban and industrial areas north of Shenyang. Marshal Rostov detached the Third Army from the Russian 7th Army Group in an attempt to swing west of Shenyang, using the Manchurian Plain as a freeway. Marshal Kiang unleashed the Sixteenth and Twenty-first Armies. They were newly mobilized but trained reserves inferior in quality to the Russians, but fresh, untried and grimly determined. As backbone, Kiang added the Twenty-ninth Army composed of veteran overseas units. Chinese armies were half the size of Russian. The Russian Third Army advanced at cost, expending their carefully hoarded stocks of missiles and munitions. By August 3, Third Army called off the Manchurian Plain offensive, still fifteen miles from their objective.

  In the center, Russian and Americans forces battled into the northern suburbs of Shenyang. The first trickle of American reinforcements encouraged the Expeditionary Force’s leadership, but the Russians slowed considerably, expending their artillery supplies instead of driving with their shock troops. During these battles, the Chinese took catastrophic casualties, although many of these were militia and citizen-armed units.

  DAOYIZHEN, LIAONING PROVINCE

  Jake had never felt more like an ant than today. What had it been? A lifetime ago, maybe, that he’d ridden across the Trans-Siberian railroad. Now, over two months later and almost down the length of Manchuria, he crawled through Daoyizhen, a suburb of Shenyang. Once, people had called the place Mukden. But times changed and so did city names.

  Dust coated the inside of his mouth and his face felt oven-hot, especially his forehead. Fires raged to his left, some oil refining facility and extra blocks thrown in. Filthy smelling, black smoke funneled up into the sky. It was as if an oil-storm was building to rain acid and gas down on their heads. The sun had taken a vacation several days ago, the same with the stars. Foul smoke that coated his lungs drifted over them like doom.

  Jake crawled on his belly through rubble. Mostly, that was Daoyizhen these days, an alien place reeking of death and destruction. Artillery, missiles and tank shells had knocked down nine-tenths of the buildings and started a hundred fires. A lot of those had guttered out. Some left hills of ash and charred brick. If you dug into those block-sized heaps, you soon found glowing coals that radiated baking heat.

  “Send in the infantry! Let’s make the final push!” The cries rang throughout the US 3rd Army Group. The big boys wanted Shenyang, don’t you know. It would show the Chinese who ran Manchuria, America’s badass soldiers.

  Only Jake didn’t feel so tough after months of slogging, shooting, hurting, grunting and killing. Their little outfit had received a few extra warm bodies from the States. That meant two new men in their squad.

  Jake ran it now. The company captain had bumped him up to sergeant. It meant more responsibilities and headaches. With the two newbies, the squad went from seven to nine grunts, still understrength but better than before.

  Rising to his hands and knees, Jake hurried to Chet and Grant. Grant lay at the edge of the machine gun pit, with a pair of binoculars glued to his eyes. Chet manned the fifty caliber, waiting for the lieutenant’s signal.

  Jake squatted beside Chet. Fires raged to his left and a moonscape of rubble and skeleton buildings spread out to his right. Through that slithered two companies of US Marines. Before them, a stretch of upward-sloping open ground came to a massive factory several city blocks long. It was a castle full of stubborn enemy, a monster place made of heavily reinforced concrete and steel, almost impervious to artillery and missile fire. Sure, there were a couple of gaping holes in those walls. It just gave the Chinese sappers over there something to fire their mortars through—they used them as direct fire weapons now.

  If the Marines and US Army could take the Daoyizhen Bulldozer Works, the good guys would essentially have the suburb. Then it would be time to think about making the final approach on Shenyang. Once they owed old Mukden, they would have the last provincial capital of Manchuria. Then the gateway to Beijing would magically open and the Russians would sow on a new pair of balls, and they could finish this war for good.

  “I don’t see no one,” Grant said.

  “They’re there,” Chet said. With his elbow, he nudged Jake. “You know, long ago when I lived at home, I used to hunt rabbits.”

  Grant lowered his binoculars, glancing back.

  “Yup,” Chet said, getting a faraway look. “I had a pellet gun in those days, not this beauty. You grabbed the barrel and pushed, cranking it once to load it with air. Then I’d slip in a little pellet and snap the barrel shut. I roamed by dad’s place. It was in southern California. I remember hunting those sneaky rabbits. They bred like flies and ate everything. The rabbits loved a big gully, the border of my dad’s land. Beyond the gully was a vast cactus plant, two, three hundred feet long.”

  “That’s big,” Grant said.

  “It was hug
e,” Chet said, “probably been growing since the time of the dinosaurs. Behind the cactuses was a chain-link fence and then the neighbors’ back yards. Anyway, I’d crouch in the grass across our side of the gully and just stare at the cactuses. I’d say to myself, ‘Chet, you know there’s a rabbit frozen there, watching you with its beady eye.’ That’s what rabbits do sometimes. They freeze, hoping you won’t see them. Well, I’d just scan and scan, and all of a sudden, I’d see a rabbit eye watching me. I felt like an Apache then, a tracker no rabbit could trick. Then I’d lift my pellet gun and shoot the sneaky bastard.”

  “How about that,” Grant said.

  “Don’t you see?” Chet asked him.

  Grant shrugged picked up the binoculars and scanned the Daoyizhen Bulldozer Works. After a time, he said, “I see a glint. Bet it’s a Chinaman’s rifle.”

  “Where is it?” Chet asked. “When this show gets started, I’ll give the fools some American love.”

  Jake’s link crackled in his ear. With a touch, he activated his throat-microphone.

  “Sergeant,” Lieutenant Wans said.

  “Here, sir,” Jake whispered.

  “There’s been a change in plans. The space boys want a crack at the plant.”

  “THORs, sir?” Jake asked.

  “They’re supposed to strike in ten minutes. Afterward, the Marines will go in.”

  “Sounds good,” Jake said. “I’ll pass that along.”

  “High Command wants to take Daoyizhen. They wouldn’t be using THORs otherwise.”

  “Got it,” Jake said.

  The lieutenant grunted over the link. They used to wish each other luck several weeks ago, but no one did that anymore. No one talked about it, but the feeling was the platoon had run out of good luck a long time ago. Asking God for it or even wishing it on another would only bring bad luck.

  Jake told his boys the news, and they waited. Ten minutes seemed to last forever. It was funny, or not so much. Take your pick. Before a firefight, time seemed to stand still. During combat, time raced at hyper-speed. Afterward, nothing mattered except that you’d lived through another journey in Hell.