Invasion: California

-9- Amphibious Assault

Old Admiral Niu Ling commanded the invasion fleet from the supercarrier Sung.

The ship was massive, displacing one hundred and eight thousand tons. It was seven years older since the last time it had been in battle during the Alaskan War. The supercarrier had missed the Battle of Oahu in the Hawaiian Islands where the Chinese had annihilated the last American flattops. Instead, the super-ship had been near the coast of Australia with the waiting Chinese invasion fleet.

During the Alaskan War, Sung held ninety modern fighters, bombers, tankers and electronic warfare planes. This time, it held one hundred and sixty smaller UCAVs, giving it nearly double the punch it had seven years ago. There were five other supercarriers in the invasion fleet, giving China six altogether and a heavy influx of air power. Each floating airfield had its escort of cruisers, destroyers, supply-ships, submarines, helicopter-tenders and other necessary vessels.

Admiral Ling was old and he was still missing his left arm, as he’d rejected a prosthetic replacement. He’d lost the arm many years ago in a flight accident while he had attempted to land his plane on a carrier. The left side of his face was frozen flesh, although he had a new eye that gleamed with hideous life. Ling had found that the eye intimidated people more than his rank or age did.

He presently stood in the ship’s command center, watching via screens as his UCAVs swept the San Francisco coastal regions, particularly the shores along Monterey Bay. The last time he’d led an invasion fleet against American territory, the enemy had launched Anti-Ship Ballistic Missiles (ASBMs) against his vessels. It had been a terrifying experience. This time, his fleet was better protected against such an attack. He wondered if the Americans realized this. Perhaps it was the reason why they had not yet launched a mass missile-assault against him.

The greater protection was due to new, laser-armed cruisers. Destroyers still used the SM-4 missiles and the fleet possessed COIL drones with chemical lasers that could shoot down incoming ballistic missiles. The cruisers were the latest in ASBM protection, their lasers heavier than the tactical variety used by the Army. These were midway in size and power between the strategic lasers for continental defense and the mobile lasers beaming targets on the battlefields of Southern California.

Even so, Ling’s stomach churned with worry. He was far too old for this, but the Leader had insisted he command the assault. Now Ling had to risk his reputation one more time. Maybe if he had been younger, he would have liked the idea of a rematch against the Americans. All he could think about now was what a failure would mean for his son and grandson.

Yet how could he fail? The American Fleet of old was a dinosaur of the history books, its brittle bones littering the bottom of the oceans. From its glory days of invincible power, the vaunted American Fleet had become little more than a handful of fast attack boats like the Iranians used to use, and the still potent but far too few submarines. Yes, the Americans had air power, and they could surely gather it here in overwhelming strength and drive him away. But those airplanes and drones fought in Southern California in a life-or-death match or they waited in Texas and Florida for the great hammer to fall.

Ling smiled bleakly as he watched the screens. Chinese UCAVs blasted runways and destroyed radar installations. He watched a missile enter a large shack through the window and explode. The radar disk rotated wildly in the air before landing and shattering into pieces. The UCAVs shot down the few enemy drones that came up to challenge Chinese air superiority. Even better, they hunted for mobile military hardware to destroy and concentrated on American SAM and laser sites.

“The enemy appears to be defenseless before us, sir.”

Ling didn’t bother glancing at the Commodore who stood beside him. It was a younger, newer man, not his old friend who had been with him in Alaska. This man was far more political and lacked wisdom.

Still, Commodore Wu spoke truth. They had caught the Americans with their pants down around their ankles. Hmm, perhaps it was even worse than that for the enemy.

“Do you think this is a trap, sir?”

“No,” Ling said.

“But why are they conceding—”

Short Commodore Wu failed to finish his thought as Ling turned his gaze upon the man. It was the left eye, of course. It gleamed with a metallic color. Worse, it moved like a twitching eyeball. It was a video recorder. In his quarters at night, Ling often downloaded the video and watched what had occurred around him during the day. It meant, in effect, that he had a photographic memory. It also seemed to terrorize his underlings as if he was a superior being, or as if perhaps he was a demon.

The knowledge gave Ling cold comfort. At least it stopped the otherwise endless chatter from these younger officers. Far too many of them had gained rank through political connections and knew how to scurry for favor. Too few of them had a warrior’s instincts. Too few cared to risk an independent comment. Instead, they sought to figure out how he felt about a situation and then parrot it back to him.

“Where are their lasers?” Ling asked.

“Shipped south to the cauldron,” Wu suggested.

“Or waiting until our amphibious boats, hovers and helicopters race for shore,” Ling said.

“A grim possibility,” Wu agreed.

Admiral Ling watched the UCAVs. His carriers were far too close to shore, but they had to be in order to give full air support to the landing. This was the most dangerous operation of war: landing on an enemy shore. So much could go wrong, and if it went wrong, it could go badly wrong. If that happened, there could be staggering losses to report to Chairman Jian Hong.

“It is time,” Admiral Ling said.

“Sir?”

“Send the signal. It is time to unleash our amphibious assault against the Americans.”

Anna Chen entered the hushed command chamber together with Director Levin. They sat down at their places. Anna noticed that people avoiding looking at each other today. This was the great crisis, greater even than the encirclement of the SoCal Fortifications. The soldiers in SoCal fought an unequal battle, but they fought with courageous zeal and inflicted heavy damage on the enemy. On the Northern Californian coast it was different, turning into a full-scale rout and disaster.

The door opened and a powerful Marine entered the chamber. He said in a deep voice, “The President of the United States.”

Chairs scraped back and everyone stood. President Sims strode in, with General Alan following. Sims had red eyes and he slumped his shoulders, as if the burden had become physically too much. He stared straight ahead, moving to his chair.

The Marine advanced and pulled the chair out for the President.

Sims sagged into his seat and slowly lifted his head. During most of the meetings, he had tight facial features. Today, his face looked doughy.

This is grinding him down, Anna realized. The responsibility is devouring his strength.

General Alan moved to his seat, conferring in a whisper with his aide, the major. Soon, the general looked up and said, “Sir?”

“Report,” Sims said in a quiet voice.

The voice calmed Anna. It held power and it told her the President was far from giving up.

General Alan motioned to his aide. She turned on the holo-vid and began to speak in her professional style:

“The Chinese have made a massive amphibious assault into Monterey Bay. It’s still unknown the exact number of naval infantry they landed. We mined those waters heavily, but the Chinese cleared paths through them at unprecedented rates. They did lose ships. If you will notice…”

She pointed at the holo-vid in the center of the conference table.

Anna watched absorbed. A squat-looking vessel moved through the water. Suddenly, a geyser of water blew thirty feet high beside it.

“One of our mines struck and destroyed a mine-sweeping ship,” the major said. “The trouble is that the Chinese seem to have decided on an aggressive new policy.”

“Meaning what?” Director Levin asked.

“Meaning that what we’ve seen in Southern California is holding true here, too. The Chinese seem to be accepting heavier casualties in the interest of speed. In Monterey Bay, they rushed minesweepers into the selected areas. That’s interesting for several reasons. First, until quite recently, the Chinese possessed few minesweeping vessels. Now they have deployed them in great number and engaged them aggressively. We have reports, too, of many enemy underwater demolition teams. They saturated our shores with them to blow beach defenses and to climb onto land to patrol. Our people, particularly the local Militia companies, have inflicted losses on those demolition teams. That brought immediate air attack against the Militiamen.”

Anna watched as two Chinese UCAVs flashed onto the holo-vid. Silvery containers tumbled from their underbellies. The containers exploded onto American troops. The militiamen burned up in a holocaust of napalm. It was awful.

The President scowled and that tightened his skin.

“I’m afraid it gets worse,” the major said. “From our studies, it appears the Chinese have learned effective amphibious assault doctrine. Their naval infantry hit the shores and their helicopters raced farther inland to block the major arteries against us. That is, blocking us from sending quick reinforcements against their beachheads.

“Now it’s true that we’ve kept our remaining Northern California troops concentrated in the Bay Area. Unfortunately, terrain, Chinese air superiority and aggressive, inland assaults have blocked our soldiers from retaliating. That has allowed the enemy to grab the urban sites from Monterey to Santa Cruz, everywhere along the edge of Monterey Bay.”

“I understand all this,” the President said impatiently. “They’re building up behind the local mountains and will likely launch an assault against the Bay Area soon. It will give the Chinese priceless ports.”

“I’m afraid they’ve already taken port Santa Cruz. We were unable to demolish enough of the port’s infrastructure as we had hoped.”

The President stared at the major. She looked down. Slowly, the President turned his gaze onto General Alan. “Explain this to me.”

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs cleared his throat. “Sir, it was a simple matter of miscommunication. The speed of combat caught the local commander flat-footed.”

“The Chinese have taken Santa Cruz intact?” the President asked.

“Unfortunately, sir, the speed of the Chinese amphibious assault caught the commander in Santa Cruz flat-footed.”

“Don’t repeat yourself,” Sims said. “I want facts and I want them straight.”

General Alan blushed and anger flashed across his thin face. “Yes, sir. This occurred because of a lethal combination of helicopter assaults and jetpack Eagle Teams in unprecedented numbers. Also, Chinese expenditure of cruise missiles and yet more commandos made it impossible to rush troops from the Bay Area to the affected coast. Frankly, I believe we’re seeing the entirety of the Chinese naval infantry. We’ve managed to slip a few drones out to sea and have spotted an enormous convoy of troopships approaching Santa Cruz. At least, we believe that’s their destination.”

“Continue,” Sims said. “Tell me the worst of it.”

“Sir, if those troopships unload their cargos of naval infantry and armor at Santa Cruz, they will swamp us if they can break out into the Bay Area. We entrained the bulk of the northern forces down south to stave off defeat in Palm Springs and LA.”

“We must use our submarines,” Sims said. “They have to sink the troopships. And our soldiers in the Bay Area need to contain the Chinese. The mountainous terrain between Santa Cruz and the Bay Area must become a death trap for the enemy.”

“In theory that’s an excellent idea, sir,” General Alan said. “But the truth is that we need more troops. Without a fresh influx of soldiers, it will simply be a matter of time until the Chinese grind through into San Francisco and San Jose. The great danger then is that they will head inland into Central California.”

“Yes, agreed,” the President said.

“How many reinforcements are we talking about?” the Army Chief asked. He took off his hat and ran thick fingers through his hair, scratching the back of his head. “I have to tell you, the Germans are building up fast in Cuba. By my estimates, they’re ready to go now. We don’t want to strip ourselves bare from Georgia to Louisiana just so the Germans can do to us there what the Chinese are doing here. And I don’t have to tell you about the South American Federation. They appear ready to mount a massive armor assault into Texas. They daily add to their tank formations along the border.”

“Clearly,” General Alan said, “the aggressors are trying to stretch us thin everywhere.”

“They’re not only trying,” Sims said, “they’re succeeding.”

Silence descended on the chamber as the weight of the President’s words settled.

Anna looked down as she rubbed her shoes together. They’d known the Chinese had an armada waiting out there. This went back to the Blue Swan missiles. Enough of them had hit and worked to turn the SoCal Fortifications porous. The engineers who had designed and built the defenses had boasted how they would hold back the world. That had been the great hope, and it had proven futile. For several years now, Sims had used the draft and he had created the Militia battalions. America had millions of soldiers under arms, but it still wasn’t enough.

Anna noticed Levin then. The CIA Director sat right beside her. He drew squiggles on a piece of paper. With a lifting of his chin, Dr. Levin set down the pencil and cleared his throat.

“I have a suggestion,” he said into the quiet chamber.

Sims stared at Levin. “Not yet,” the President whispered. “I don’t want to hear it yet.”

“Better sooner than later, Mr. President,” Levin said. “Let’s nip this invasion in the bud and get on with the business of defeating the Chinese in Southern California.”

With a touch of horror like a cold hand on her neck, Anna realized Levin meant the U.S. use of nuclear weapons.

“Not yet,” the President repeated, his voice firming. “I want you to work out a troop transfer,” he told General Alan. “We must send NorCal Command reinforcements. Then communicate to the Bay Area Commander that he is to bottle the Chinese in Santa Cruz.”

“There are masses of refugees clogging all routes,” Alan said. “They’re making military movements difficult.”

Sims shook his head. “I don’t want the details on this now. I want the Chinese contained on the Monterey Bay coast.”

“Sir,” Levin said. “I respectfully would like to point out the need to stamp this invasion flat instead of merely containing it. Otherwise, it has the potential of becoming another front that we simply cannot afford to face. Don’t we need every soldier we can spare in Southern California? You must free the trapped Army Group and you must free it now.”

“He has a point, Mr. President,” the Army Chief said. “If there was ever a time to use the nuclear option, this is it. An amphibious assault takes time for its commander to shake out the troops and get them into place. The Chinese are using speed to throw us back to give them that time, and they have succeeded. If they’re using Santa Cruz as the funnel point to land the bulk of their force, that is a perfect opportunity for us to smash tens of thousands of enemy soldiers and ships at one blow and free ourselves from a front we cannot afford.”

Sims rubbed his face. “I don’t understand this. We’ve put hundreds of thousands—millions—of new people in uniform. How can the Chinese swamp us so easily in these opening moves of the war?”

“It’s plain to see how it happened, sir,” Alan said. “The Chinese—or the PAA to be more exact—have hit us in a single and rather small locale. At least, this is true in continental terms. California needed more troops to hold against what appears to be one third of the PAA’s power. We believed the extensive border fortifications would allow us to use fewer troops there than we otherwise would have deployed. Frankly sir, the reinforcements you wish to send to NorCal, we need them along the Texas, New Mexico and Arizona borders. Otherwise, we risk having more SoCal situations.”

“And we need those troops in Georgia, Florida and Louisiana,” the Army Chief added.

Sims sat up as he put his hands on the table. “We have to use the Behemoth tanks south of LA.”

General Alan and the Army Chief exchanged glances.

He’s diverting, Anna told herself. The President doesn’t want to make the great decision yet. Therefore, he’s turning to matters he can truly control. I wish there was some way I could help shoulder his burden.

“The, ah, Behemoths are a handful of tanks, sir,” Alan said.

“Yes,” Sims said, “they’re the handful that stopped the Chinese outside of Palm Springs. Now I need them to perform another miracle.”

“They achieved the miracle because of the range of their amazing cannons and the enemy was canalized,” Alan said. “In the desert, they could use that advantage to its full scope. South of LA and the other urban areas, I’m afraid, will nullify their extreme range. They’ll have to fight toe to toe, as it were. And we’ve already seen what that means. Once the T-66s got in range and were able to make side shots, they destroyed several Behemoths. The desert and prairies are the experimental tanks’ natural habitat. Anywhere else and we risk their destruction. We only have about fifteen of them left in working or operational capacity.”

“I understand your objections,” Sims said. “But we don’t have anything else that can smash through Chinese formations like they can. I need the Behemoths to spearhead our attack to free our trapped Army Group.”

General Alan was slow in answering.

“That is an order,” Sims said.

“Yes, sir,” Alan said.

“What about Santa Cruz?” Levin asked.

“No!” the President said, turning on the small CIA Director. “I’m not ready for your grand solution. This is a soldier’s war, not one for an atomic nightmare. Do you understand what nuclear war means? By the terms of the Non-Nuclear Use Treaty I signed in 2036, we scraped most of our remaining nuclear weapons. I also made a solemn vow never to use them first. We have far fewer now than our combined enemies. And we saw what happened in the Alaska War when we used them.”

“Most of the world turned against us then,” Levin said. “I understand that, sir. Maybe it was a mistake to use them then. Now, we don’t have any choice. The world is breaking in and we have to stop them.”

“Not the world, Director,” Sims said. “The PAA has attacked us. So far, the South American Federation and the Germen Dominion have refrained. I don’t want to use nuclear weapons and push them over the edge against us.”

“But that’s not the point here, sir,” Levin said.

“I understand the point very well,” Sims said. “If I unleash nuclear weapons, it may cause the Chinese to use nuclear weapons. They have many more of them than we do.”

“It’s a simple matter to make more,” Levin said.

“No!” Sims said. “I am not about to unleash nuclear warfare and possibly end the world as we know it.”

Levin frowned, and he glanced at General Alan. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs minutely shook his head.

Anna noticed and she wondered what the interplay meant. It surprised her so few troops were in the Bay Area. They had rushed too many of them south, clearly. Yet if they hadn’t…Southern California might already have fallen. On all accounts, they had to break out Army Group SoCal. Could the Behemoths achieve this miracle?

“Continue your brief,” the President told the major.

She nodded, glancing at her computer scroll and bringing up another holo-image.

Martha Rios’s arms ached and fear twisted her stomach. She trudged along Highway 17, part of a mass exodus of people from Santa Cruz and the surrounding towns toward the Bay Area. Her daughter and ten-year-old son walked beside her. Each of them carried blankets and bottled water.

They had been marching for two days already, having fled the advancing Chinese. As far as she could see up the nearest hill, people marched. Behind her it was the same thing, masses, throngs of Americans trudging on foot like any third world refugee. Nearby, a man pushed a wheelbarrow, with an old Airedale sitting in it, letting its tongue loll as it panted. In the past, this would have been a throng of cars. Today, it was a massive jam of bodies, of people.

From time to time, a jet or helicopter flew overhead. Some of the people around her had binoculars. They looked up each time and reported a red star on each craft. Those were Chinese jets and helicopters.

“What if they start strafing us?” a man asked her.

“What?” Martha said.

“Shooting at us,” the man said.

“They won’t do that.”

The man looked up as something loud, screaming and intensely brief passed over them. A vast groan lifted from the masses of people.

“What was that?” Martha’s son Saul shouted.

“Shells,” the man said.

“Are they firing at us?” Martha said.

The man craned his neck. The loud sound occurred again, and once more screaming shells made brief appearances overhead. “Look, those shells are headed west,” he said. “It’s American artillery.”

“Who are they shooting at?” Martha asked. She shifted the groceries in her arms, held by brown paper bags. She needed a backpack. Many people here had those. She should have bought one a long time ago.

“I don’t know where they’re shooting exactly,” the man said, “although logic would dictate it’s somewhere directly behind us. The ‘who they’re firing at’ is easy to answer: they’re shooting at the Chinese.”

Twenty minutes later appeared a more exact answer. Horrified screams occurred from the back of the horde. People there began to flee off-road and into the nearby woods.

“What’s going on, mom?” Saul asked.

Martha shook her head and looked back. Thus, she saw Chinese Main Battle Tanks clank up the last hill behind them. Machine guns opened up and American civilians fell by the hundreds. Then loud shells screamed overhead, and this time, Martha saw their target: the same Chinese MBTs. None of the artillery appeared to hurt the enemy, as the Chinese tanks shot the shells out of the air.

“Mom, I’m scared,” Saul said.

Martha blinked in horror, and she moaned along with thousands of other American refugees. The Chinese tanks roared down the hill, with their rattling, clanking treads. Some of the horde weren’t fast enough to escape, and the tanks rolled over them, squashing people in an orgy of bloodshed.

Martha began screaming and she dropped her groceries and picked up her son. He was heavy, but she didn’t care. She ran for the woods to escape the metal monsters that simply crushed people like so many ants. The Chinese were here and they were massacring everyone.

Admiral Ling allowed himself a congratulatory smile. He sat in the command center, watching as the naval infantry’s advanced armor crushed a mobile American artillery company along Highway 17.

Already, his carriers sped away from the American coast, no longer staying within forty kilometers of shore. It was time to get into the real ocean as naval doctrine directed. Many of Sung’s UCAVs flew out of the Santa Cruz and surrounding airports. The amphibious assault had been a startling success. Marshal Nung had been correct in his pre-battle assessment. The Americans had stripped this area and likely sent the soldiers as reinforcements to the raging southern battlefields. Now, the Chinese Navy was on the verge of capturing the Bay Area. Once they secured the vast urban region, they would begin the critical drive into Central California.

The remaining troopships waited off Santa Cruz to unload tanks, artillery, mountains of supplies and yet more naval infantry. Soon, one hundred and fifty thousand troops would be ashore, conquering faster and farther than he had accomplished in South Central Alaska seven years ago. This was a great and glorious day. He was glad that he had accepted the assignment.

It was thirteen days already since the beginning of the grand assault into California and two days since the first Chinese naval infantry officer had set foot on American soil.

Ling reached into his uniform and extracted a thin flask from an inner pocket. He deftly unscrewed the cap with his fingers as he held onto the container. Then he sipped the contents, a trickle of baijiu. The white liquor burned against his throat going down. Oh, but that felt good.

“To the Chinese Navy,” Admiral Ling declared.

Officers glanced at him, and for once, they grinned with delight in his presence.

“This has been a glorious day,” Ling said.

Officers nodded. A few even nudged each other.

The Admiral took another sip and offered the flask to Commodore Wu. The short man accepted and sipped lightly, vainly trying not to screw up his face in distaste.

“We sank two Virginia-class submarines trying to penetrate our defenses,” Ling said. “The Americans cannot spare many of those.”

“No, Admiral.”

“I, on the other hand, have not lost a troopship.”

Commodore Wu nodded.

“Guarding those troopships cost us four destroyers and a cruiser,” Ling said. “Our Blue Water Nay has taken a cut but it is more than ready for its next assignment.”

Once more, Wu nodded.

“Perhaps I have allowed the Navy to lose too many mine-sweepers, but that came at the order of the Leader himself.”

“Speed will neutralize the Americans,” the Commodore quoted.

“For a land-fighting man, Marshal Nung is perhaps the greatest Chinese commander we have,” Ling said.

Commodore Wu appeared surprised at this praise for a competing service.

“I salute him,” Ling said. “Marshal Nung predicted that what is occurring would happen. At first, upon hearing his bold plan, I had my doubts. Now, I do not doubt. Our carriers are safe, the troopships have already begun deploying their masses and the advance armor bores into the American positions, meaning that soon the entire delta region will belong to us. Then California falls and the glory will accrue to the Navy where it has always belonged.”

“Victory tastes sweet, sir.”

Admiral Ling nodded, turning his head, taking in the officers and the command center screens. He would keep today’s eye-recorded video for the rest of his life. The carriers were safe and the troopships were landing well ahead of schedule. The Americans had missed their chance of stopping the greatest Chinese amphibious assault in history. Now it was too late.

It was a grave meeting in Underground Bunker Number Five. Anna listened as the major explained the disaster in minute detail. The critical element had been speed, gained by the Chinese by accepting tremendous losses in minesweepers. Most of the best formations of the Northern California Command were already deployed in SoCal. That meant there had been little to stop the Chinese once they reached the Monterey Bay shore. Small U.S. formations still plugged the gap between Santa Cruz and the Bay Area, but they wouldn’t last long. Chinese reinforcements already poured in and they would reach the battlefield sooner than entrained forces from Texas would pass through the Rocky Mountains.

“Mr. President,” Director Levin said, interrupting the major. “I would like to speak, sir.”

Sims had been staring into space as the major spoke. He now blinked several times and swiveled his head. As he did, the President seemed to return to them instead of being lost in whatever haze he had escaped into these past few minutes.

“You said something?” Sims asked.

“Mr. President,” Levin said, “I believe we have reached a critical impasse. The Chinese have gained Santa Cruz port, an unforeseen windfall for them. They have exploited it brilliantly and now threaten the entire state.”

Levin turned to Anna.

She didn’t want to support him in this, but he wasn’t asking for her opinion, just what she had uncovered. “We believe Admiral Ling commands the invasion fleet,” she said.

“Admiral Ling fought against me in Alaska,” Sims said.

“Yes, sir,” Anna answered.

The President scowled, causing deep lines to appear in his forehead. “I beat him in the end. Does he think this is a rematch?”

“Likely,” Levin said. “It is my opinion that he begged for this chance to square off against you, sir.”

Anna glanced at the CIA Director. She’d never told Levin that or even hinted at such a thing. In fact, it was probably the opposite. In her opinion, the Admiral was a reluctant warrior. Dare she speak up and say so, undercutting her boss? It would likely lose her this cherished post. Yet if she remained quiet, an even greater disaster might loom over them.

“Admiral Ling wanted to face me, did he?” Sims said.

“He wished for a rematch,” Levin said. “He knows you’re the President and now he wishes to get revenge.”

Sims looked away. Soon he turned to Anna and asked, “Is that true: Ling wants a rematch?”

“I’m sure he knows who our Commander-in-Chief is,” Anna said.

Before she could say more, Levin slapped the table. “There you have it, Mr. President. If that wasn’t bad enough, old Admiral Ling has committed atrocities just as he did in Alaska. Victory at any costs has always been his motto. Can you imagine what will happen once he breaks into a major metropolitan area like San Francisco? Sir, we must use whatever means necessary to stop the Chinese.”

“We’re doing everything we can,” Sims said.

Director Levin turned to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

“Well, Mr. President,” General Alan said, “we haven’t done everything we can, not yet.”

The transformation to the President amazed Anna. His eyes hardened and his shoulders straightened. “What are you talking about?”

General Alan hesitated.

Levin spoke up. “Mr. President, we have a spy deep in the Chinese military. What we’re suggesting might well expose the spy. Yet for one operation, we can likely gain their IFF encryption key.”

Anna tapped her scroll and typed “IFF.” Ah, it meant, “Identify Friend or Foe.” She speed-read the text. It was a command and control feature—an interrogation system—to identify aircraft, vehicles, soldiers and sometimes missiles as friendly. The system could not identify someone as hostile, just friendly if the IFF transponder returned a coded reply correctly once a beam had interrogated it. The military used IFF systems so they knew which vehicles, planes and sometimes missiles belonged to them and which they needed verbal or visual recognition. Ah, sometimes, friendly aircraft failed to respond correctly because of battle damage, equipment failure, loss of the encryption keys or the wrong encryption keys. Terrain-hugging missiles and aircraft often had trouble responding to line-of-sight microwave IFF systems.

“What does any of that mean to us?” Sims asked.

“That if we’re clever, sir,” Levin said, “we can sneak several missiles among the Chinese.”

“Ballistic missiles?” Sims asked.

“No, sir,” Levin said, “cruise missiles.”

The President drummed his fingers on the conference table. “I take it these are nuclear-tipped cruise missiles.”

“Yes, sir.”

“By the terms of the Non-Nuclear Use Treaty, we no longer deploy battlefield nuclear weapons,” Sims said. “It would take time to ready nuclear-tipped cruise missiles and bring them near enough so they had a chance of landing among the enemy.”

“I realize that, Mr. President,” Levin said.

“Is this your plan?” Sims asked General Alan.

“Not altogether, sir,” Alan said, “although I have approved of what the Director is suggesting.”

“It sounds to me that there’s more to your plan,” Sims said, “something you haven’t told me yet.”

The CIA Director and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs traded glances.

“The spy is my doing,” Levin said. “There is also a specially constructed submersible belonging to the US Navy. The commander of the submersible is a deep-dweller and he has sat out the battle, inching closer to the Chinese these past two days. He possesses three cruise missiles, sir, each of them with a nuclear warhead. It is a suicide mission, of that there is no doubt. The submersible is fragile, constructed out of carbon fiber.”

“Meaning it’s practically invisible to enemy sonar,” General Alan said.

“The drug cartels used to use earlier models to smuggle their product into the U.S.,” Levin explained. “Ours is a far more advanced model.”

“Keep talking,” the President said.

“There’s little more to say, sir,” Levin said. “The captain brings his submersible near the surface as we launch a heavy, land-based missile assault against the Chinese position. As we’ve seen in Southern California, they will counter-fire. Some of their missiles will surely be launched from ships offshore dedicated to that task. We know that’s Chinese naval doctrine. As the Chinese counter-fire, our captain targets his cruise missiles. Because of the spy, those cruise missiles will carry the latest Chinese IFF encryption key. That means the Chinese will leave the missiles alone. If a few officers wonder about them, they’ll think of the missiles as more counter-fire. Once the cruise missiles strike—”

“What do you envision as their target?” Sims asked.

“Clearly, Mr. President,” Levin said, “the target should be Santa Cruz port and the waiting troopships. Almost the entire Chinese naval infantry allotment is out there for the taking, but it will need a nuclear attack to destroy them.”

“Target an American city?” the President asked coldly.

“This is war, sir. Sometimes, there are no good solutions but only those that will work.”

“No!” Sims said. “It is diabolical and I refuse to listen to any more of this.”

“Begging your pardon, Mr. President,” Alan said, “I don’t believe we have any other choice. Believe me, if we fail to halt the Chinese, they will continue advancing and will end up destroying far more American cities than we’re planning to now. We’re trading one city at this time to save hundreds of others later.”

“And what will the Chinese do in response to our nuclear attack?” Sims asked. “Ms. Chen, what do you think?”

Anna could feel the hostile gazes drilling her. What could she say? If she agreed, she might be helping to start nuclear annihilation. If she disagreed, they would say she didn’t want to see Chinese soldiers die.

“Maybe we could target the Chinese carriers,” she said, temporizing.

“We don’t know where those are,” General Alan said frostily. “And the Chinese are much more alert to any attacks committed against their precious carriers than against anything else.”

It was time to speak her mind. “Sir,” Anna said, “I loathe the idea of using nuclear weapons. I am utterly opposed to the idea. It might be the end of everything if we go nuclear in so blatant a fashion.”

“We will be striking one of our own cities,” Levin said. “How can the Chinese fault us for that? They have already helped terrorists use a nuclear weapon on us. They are in no position to act as our moral superiors.”

“We must hit the Chinese now, sir,” General Alan said. “If we pass this opportunity by, it could be the end of California. We might have to write off Army Group SoCal.”

Sims shook his head. “We cannot afford its loss.”

“Then we have no option in Santa Cruz,” Alan said.

“Our reinforcements—”

“Likely won’t make it fast enough, sir,” Alan said. “I’m sorry, but I truly believe this is the only option. We should be thankful we have it. Now we must exploit it while the opportunity exists.”

Sims turned away. Once more, he shook his head. “I… I don’t know what to do. I gave my solemn word on this.”

“Let us do it, sir,” Levin said.

Sims stared at the white-haired CIA Director.

Anna’s heart went out to the President. It was such a terrible burden. If they failed here, would it be the end of everything a few years down the line?

“Do it,” Sims whispered. “Launch your secret plan. We cannot let the Chinese pour troops through the delta region.”

Captain John Winthrop sat straight in his command chair. It hurt the small of his back to do it. Ever since receiving his orders, his back muscles had begun to cramp. But he’d be damned if he would slouch.

He had a crew of three, each of them a technician helping to keep the little carbon fiber sub intact. For the past three weeks, the small submarine had waited on the bottom of the ocean. For the past two days, it had crept toward Monterey Bay. Now it was in position and the latest buoy sent to the surface had relayed the message.

Captain Winthrop stared at the panels and screens without seeing them. He had volunteered for this assignment, so had each of his three crewmembers.

They had three cruise missiles, old Tomahawk cruise missiles ready in the launch tubes. The old United States Navy was gone, but not the old spirit of attack.

“Six minutes and counting, Captain.”

Winthrop acknowledged the words by a simple nod. Soon, now, Merrimac would surface and fire its cargo. If they were lucky, they would submerge again into a watery oblivion and crawl away on the ocean floor. He dearly hoped they could do that. He didn’t want to die.

I’m not going to die. We’re going to do this and slip away. You think you Chinese bastards can blow up Livermore and get away with it. Never!

Captain Winthrop’s father had died in the terrorist attack of 2037 on Silicon Valley in California. Ever since that day, Winthrop had burned for revenge against the Chinese. He wanted them to taste their own medicine. If he had to die to do his part, to stand on the ramparts as the Chinese tried to take down America—then let’s get started.

“Three minutes and counting, Captain.”

Is it three minutes until the end of my life? Would it be three minutes and a little extra until he saw his dad again? I hope you’re proud of me, Dad.

“Two minutes and counting, Captain.”

“Do you have to do that?” Warrant Officer Stevens asked.

Captain Winthrop stood up and took a step to Stevens, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder and patting it several times.

Stevens looked up at him. The warrant officer was nervous, with a sheen of perspiration on his face. “I’m okay, sir.”

“America rose up to greatness because enough people loved their country to die for her,” Winthrop said. “I love America and I’m going to fight to keep her ours.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Stevens whispered. If anything, he looked more scared, not less.

“We’re doing it, mister. We’re doing our duty.”

“Thirty seconds and counting, Captain.”

For a moment, Captain Winthrop’s eyes blurred. They cleared almost right away. He moved back to his chair and sat down.

“Ten seconds and counting, Captain.”

“You’re good sailors, gentlemen. It has been a thorough pleasure serving with you.”

“Three…two…one…”

“Bring us topside, Ensign,” Captain Winthrop said.

The USS Merrimac shuddered as it expelled water from the ballast tanks. Almost immediately, the carbon fiber submersible shot for the surface. Once they reached their destination, the old Tomahawks would fly.

It was dark, although lights shined in Santa Cruz. Big Chinese troopships unloaded day and night. Some naval infantry rested in vacated homes, others already marched for the front. A mountain of supplies had gathered on the port’s quays and docks. Trucks ground their gears as they started the journey for hungry soldiers at the front.

Many of the troopships still brimmed with personnel, awaiting their opportunity to dock.

In the midst of this activity, an alert finally reached the port commander. The Americans were attacking with missiles, long-range artillery, everything they could use.

Three minutes later, the lights began to go out in Santa Cruz. Even before that, counter-missiles sought out the American launch sites. Missiles also lofted from Chinese cruisers, while farther out at sea, the carriers’ UCAVs catapulted into the air.

Meanwhile, two Tomahawk cruise missiles closed in on Santa Cruz and the Chinese ships offshore.

The Tomahawk was an old-style cruise missile, first introduced in 1970. Since then it had undergone many modifications. It was a medium-to-long-range, low-altitude missile, subsonic and jet powered. With a booster, it weighed 3500 pounds and was twenty feet, six inches long. Instead of the conventional 1000-pound munitions, each of these carried a W80 nuclear device.

Only two Tomahawks roared over the water. The third cruise missile had gone off course and plunged into the water. So far, the third, off-course missile had not exploded.

The two Tomahawks automatically provided the Chinese IFF signals. The other American missiles had NOT used the code. The thought was it would make the nuclear weapons a greater surprise and possibility they could do this without the Chinese ever knowing they had used the IFF code. In that way, they might be able to do it again. This time, the encryption key worked. The Tomahawks roared over the water, using data from multiple sensors.

Ten seconds left, and the Tomahawks bored in toward the city. At five seconds, the cruise missiles changed the direction of their flight and began to gain altitude. For the full impact of their nuclear cargo, the missiles needed height. As the troopships waited, as the last city light winked out, the Tomahawks reached target destination for a perfect airburst.

The first one ignited its W80 warhead over the port. An immense flash occurred and blast winds. Intense thermal radiation followed. The other W80 warhead created a sun-like flare of brilliance farther back and at precisely the same instant.

The twin attacks vaporized the nearest troopships and killed the naval infantry in them. They were the lucky ones who died right away instead of lingering for days with radiation poisoning. Other troopships farther away began to sink from blast and atmospheric shock damage.

Closer to Santa Cruz, a nuclear warhead tore apart docks and created an instant firestorm, devouring mountains of supplies. Next, buildings were flattened as if a mountain-sized giant had stepped on them, and greater fires started.

Most of the Chinese naval infantry resting in the city died immediately. The few who survived would wish they hadn’t in the next few hours and days.

The attack reaped a dreadful harvest of Pan Asian Alliance soldiers and it changed the course of the Battle for California.

Martha woke up as her son Saul screamed in horror. “Mama, mama, I can’t see! I can’t see! I’m blind!”

He had been awake because he had been too hungry to sleep. He’d looked at the nuclear explosion that lit the night from Santa Cruz. The intense light had been too much for his young orbs and he was blinded for life.

Among the refugees, many screamed similar words. Others saw the fireball rising into the night sky. It created a stampede of refugees, bringing even more horror.

For the next several hours after the annihilation of Santa Cruz, Chinese helicopters from the supercarrier Sung dropped depth charges, beginning at the cruise missiles’ launch position.

Captain John Winthrop used the bottom of the sea to crawl away. The Merrimac shuddered, the lights flickered on and off and endless shocks made the men hunch and pray. Maybe it was a miracle. Maybe the Captain was lucky or maybe the carbon fiber boat was just too damn hard to spot. In the end, the fragile submersible escaped Chinese vengeance to fight another day.