Invasion: California

-4- The Abyss

“What’s wrong, honey,” Cheri asked on the computer screen. “You look troubled. Are you in Texas, by any chance?”

Paul shook his sweaty head. He wore regular body armor, with a combat helmet and assault rifle on the table beside the screen. He was Colonel Norman’s “bodyguard,” but had done precious little of that this past week. Mainly, he drove the colonel’s truck everywhere. It was a gray Dodge with reinforced sides, ballistic glass windshields and bullet-resistant tires. The man said he liked the truck’s comfort and this colonel seemed to get what he liked.

Colonel Norman spent most of his time in conference with generals. Paul had never been in those meetings nor even stood near the door. He drove from one headquarter to another. A few times the colonel went on a sightseeing tour, with five Humvees of staff officers following behind the bouncing Dodge.

“You look upset,” Cheri said. “Is it about the news?”

Paul had heard about the Chinese artillery attack in Texas on the Fifth Corps there. The colonel had commented earlier that NNI’s writer had gotten it wrong. It hadn’t been a “barrage,” but a “fire assault.” Barrages assisted defensive or offensive troops by providing a wall of fire, or there was a standing barrage of smoke shells or poison gas to screen or prevent enemy movement or observation. Near Laredo, the Chinese shells had targeted strongholds, fortifications and American artillery parks. It had been concentrated on targets for the obvious purpose of destruction. It implied an impending attack on Kemp’s Fifth Corps, which guarded the route from Laredo to San Antonio deeper in Texas.

That had worried Colonel Norman. If the Chinese attacked in Texas, what were their plans along the SoCal border? It wasn’t adding up for the expert from Washington.

Paul had listened to talk before the artillery attack in Texas. Colonel Norman and the SoCal generals were worried about the Chinese in their sector. According to scuttlebutt, Paul had learned the Chinese had expended too many drones along the border for it to simply be routine reconnaissance. Night traffic near the border had increased, too.

Paul knew the veteran ground-pounders were telling each other it was another Chinese fake. The artillery fire-assault in Texas proved that, according to the vets. If anything big were going to happen, it would be in Texas. It made more strategic sense to happen there, anyway. If the Chinese broke through in Texas, they could possibly split the United States in two by driving deep into the flat American heartland. It was good attacking country because it was hard to defend, with no choke points. The vets here had agreed: the Chinese weren’t going to hit the strongest American defense: the SoCal Fortifications. No way, the Chinese were obviously probing for the soft spot in America’s underbelly.

“Paul?” his wife asked, via the computer screen.

While grinning at her, Paul noticed that Cheri had aged since the Alaskan War. They’d been separated during it, getting back together afterward. She had gained weight since that time, but Paul usually had trouble noticing. When he looked at her, he saw his wife as the small, beautiful woman with long dark hair and a gymnast’s grace he’d first married. She was still all that, but with more curves and sometimes with tired eyes. They looked puffy today, probably because of worry after reading about the Chinese provocation.

It had been too long since he’d seen or talked with his wife. He knew she would be worried sick about him, so he’d taken the risk of calling her. This was BS, his driving a colonel around all week. If they wanted to jail him for this call with Cheri…let them. He’d had enough of playing chauffeur to a closed-mouthed DC staff officer.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I haven’t heard from you for weeks. I was beginning to worry.”

Yeah, he’d guessed right. News of Chinese military action had terrified her. It hardly mattered what front it had taken place on, either. That it had happened is what mattered to his wife.

Of course, he wasn’t supposed to be talking to her now, but the comm-shack was empty. It was small, with three tables crowded together and piled with equipment, including a small refrigerator. He’d checked earlier and found rows of blue Pepsi cans and a single M&Ms package with a torn corner and half the candies missing. Paul had said he was coming here to get out of the heat. It was like the old days out there in the nineties. The colonel had ducked into a bunker to hold yet another conference, this time with the commanding general of the John J. Montgomery Freeway: Interstate 5. The freeway went all the way to the Mexican border three miles from here.

“I’ve been busy,” Paul told his wife.

“You’ve been reassigned then?”

“You could say that.”

“Are you in a safe place at least?” She frowned. “I’ve been watching the news about the Texas attack. The TV shows huge flashes on the horizon. It’s the Chinese guns booming. I don’t know why, but we’re all on high alert here. Maybe they think the entire border will erupt.”

Paul frowned.

“I know, I know,” Cheri said, “you’re going to tell me we’ve been through high alerts at least once a month for the last two years. But this one feels different. People are acting serious. I’m seeing that on TV. Oh. Maybe you haven’t heard, but the Germans have massed hovers off the Cuban coast in a war game.”

“You’re paying too much attention to the news, honey. It’s not like you.”

“We’re scared,” Cheri said. “The neighbors are talking, wondering what we should do if the Chinese really do attack. What do you think, honey, should we be worried, or is the attack going to happen in Texas?”

Paul rubbed his chin. For several years now, the Chinese had lined up on the border, but no guns had opened up like had happened outside Laredo. If the Chinese attacked in Texas, would they also attack in California?

Cheri and his thirteen-year-old son Mike lived in Greater LA, in Newhall near Magic Mountain. Newhall was at the northern tip of LA, almost to the Grapevine, the mountain pass to Bakersfield on the other side. If Texas showed this was the Big One—the beginning of a Chinese invasion—LA would eventually become a prime target.

“Maybe you should visit your mother,” Paul said.

Cheri’s eyes widened. “In Colorado?” she asked. “You know we can’t afford the gas. I checked, by the way. Since the news, it’s already two dollars more per gallon.”

“Well—”

“Tell me what’s wrong, honey. Is the alert accurate this time? Has the war finally started but none of us realize it yet?”

“Maybe.”

Her mouth firmed. “Paul, where are you?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“You’d better tell me this instant. If you’re near there, in Texas, I mean…”

His bitterness came bubbling up and he began to say more than he should. Besides, a few artillery shots in Texas wasn’t World War III. Playing chauffer down here, it sucked and he hated it.

“They’re screwing with me, Cheri. I don’t know what’s up, exactly. I’m near the border and—”

“In Texas?” she asked.

“No, I’m in California near Tijuana.”

“Oh, so you’re close. A couple hours driving and you could be home.”

“I suppose.”

“You don’t want to come home?” she asked.

“I’d love to, baby. But they’re not about to let me go sightseeing. They’re screwing with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s complicated. But I’m serious about you leaving. Cash out our savings and head to Colorado. I’ve been hearing strange things down here. This colonel, he’s a special ace from D.C.”

“The Chinese are attacking in SoCal?” Cheri whispered.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. Maybe it’s happening everywhere, in Texas, too. I don’t know. But High Command must be worried about the Chinese, enough anyway so this ace is here to make sure everything is ready for them.”

“Hey!” a tech corporal shouted. “Who are you talking to?”

Paul looked up. A scrawny kid of a soldier held the door open, letting out the shack’s cool air. This was one of the few air-conditioned places in Ninth Division’s Headquarters.

“Take a hike,” Paul told him. “This is a private conversation.”

The skinny corporal sputtered. “This is my shack. You can’t tell me what to do. And if you’re talking to civilians—that’s a court martial offense.”

Paul grinned at the corporal. It made the kid gulp nervously. Maybe the tech saw something in Paul he didn’t like.

“I’m getting my lieutenant,” the corporal said.

“Good,” Paul said. “Run along.”

The corporal glared at him, stepped back and slammed the door.

“What was that about?” Cheri asked.

“Can’t talk long, honey,” Paul said. He shouldn’t be talking to her, but he’d wanted to calm her and he’d had enough BS. He was sick of it and he was worried. “I want you to listen carefully. Is Mike home?”

“No. He’s at school.”

Paul scowled.

It made Cheri pale as her small hand flew to her mouth. “Is it really happening? Are the neighbors right?”

All the little things he’d heard, the colonel’s worry, the generals acting weird and now this softening up destruction in Texas—it jelled for Paul then. “I think it is,” he said.

“Why aren’t they telling us? All the talking heads are saying to remain calm. They’re saying that artillery fire like what’s going on in Texas without any Chinese saturation bombing means it must be a misunderstanding.”

“It’s about panic, I guess. They don’t want a mass exodus from SoCal clogging up the freeways.”

“Are the Chinese monitoring you?” Cheri asked.

President Sims had executive-ordered all kind of new laws on communications and dealings with the enemy. Sims had taken the growing chaos of these past twenty years and tried to instill greater discipline into the country. He’d raised militia armies to help beef the forces facing the more numerous enemy. The emergency powers he’d acquired—Cheri must realize he was taking a risk today by talking to her. But that couldn’t be helped now.

“Empty the account—”

“You listen to me, soldier,” Cheri said. “I want you to listen real good.”

Paul’s heart ached. He wanted to hug his wife. He wanted to kiss her, to feel her under him as they made love.

“I miss you,” he whispered.

She nodded, but her features had become businesslike. “I want your attention, mister.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Paul, please. You have to listen to me. You promised Mike and me that you would come home.”

“Don’t worry, sweets.”

“I am worried. You’re down there on the border. If this thing in Texas blows up, it might rage like an out-of-control forest fire. The entire border could erupt with war and you would be in the middle of it.”

“I know how to take care of myself.”

“This is different. The enemy has too many soldiers this time. This isn’t like Alaska. This is like another World War.”

“Honey—”

“Paul, you swore you’d come home to me. I want you to kiss me again. I want you to hold me. I want you to whisper in my ear that you love me.”

“I do love you.”

“Tell me in person. Do whatever you have to do to get to me.”

“It’s a long way to Colorado.”

“I’m not going there until you come home,” Cheri said. “Do you understand?”

“Don’t be stubborn, sweets. I can’t just get up and leave. I have to do my duty, my part to save our country.”

“I’m not moving until you get here. I swear that, Paul.”

He stared into her eyes, seeing her seriousness and tiny golden flecks in the irises. He’d told her before those flecks meant she was a love goddess. She’d always laughed with delight at that. But she wasn’t laughing now. Cheri could be stubborn, maybe not stubborn like him, but stubborn enough.

“I’ll come home to you, sweets. I promise you. First, I have earn my pay.”

“You’ll come home in one piece?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Through the window, Paul saw a lieutenant marching toward the shack. The tech corporal spoke animatedly, waving his arms as he hurried beside the man. “Honey, I have to go. I love you. Kiss Mike for me. Tell him to take care of you until I get there.”

“When is that going to be?”

“Maybe sooner than you think,” he said. If the Chinese were coming through Texas, where would it end? He still hadn’t told her about Colonel Valdez and possible hit men, but he didn’t want to worry her more than he needed. He wanted to laugh then. What did hit men matter when World War III was threatening?

“Love,” he said.

“Love,” she said. And the way she said it slammed his heart. He put his fingertips on the screen. She put up hers.

“I need you, baby,” he said.

“Ditto,” she said.

The door began to open. “Bye, sweets. See you soon.” Paul cut the connection.

“Who are you talking to?” a lanky lieutenant asked.

Paul stood up, grabbing his helmet and assault rifle off the table.

“I asked you a question, Gunnery Sergeant.”

“Yeah you did,” Paul said. “I was talking to my wife.”

The lieutenant and corporal exchanged startled glances. The lieutenant told Paul, “That’s a court martial offense.”

“Better hurry then,” Paul said. “Me and the colonel are taking off soon.”

“Do you think I’m joking?”

“No. I think—” Paul cut himself off. “Sorry, sir. I’m a bit bitter, that’s all. I haven’t seen my wife for over six months due to hard training for what turned out to be a little exercise in Mexico. I’m not sure I’m going to make it home now. So I took the opportunity to call her.”

“I’ll have to report it,” the lieutenant said.

“You do that.”

“You’ll have to wait here for the MPs.”

“Nope,” Paul said. “But you get them if you have to. I’m driving the colonel to his next stop-off.”

“Do you mean Colonel Norman?” the lieutenant asked in something approaching awe.

“That’s him,” Paul said.

“You’re his driver?”

“Bodyguard.”

“What does Norman need a bodyguard for?” the lieutenant asked.

“Mexican hit men,” Paul said.

The lieutenant and corporal traded another glance. The lieutenant lost more of his stiffness. “Are you pulling my chain?”

“That’s right,” Paul said.

The lieutenant nodded. “Okay. That makes more sense. Who were you really talking to?”

“Are we done here?” Paul asked.

“I saw a pretty woman on the screen,” the corporal told the officer.

“There aren’t any pretty women in the Army?” the lieutenant asked.

The corporal looked crestfallen.

Paul nodded to them as he squeezed past. He shoved the helmet onto his head and opened the door. As he stepped outside, the heat hit like a wall.

“Colonel Norman,” the lieutenant said to the corporal, before Paul shut the door.

He strode across pavement. There were acres of it with the occasional concrete building and pillbox. Here and there, a Humvee or Stryker waited between white parking lines. Paul spied Interstate 5. It was still usable here, but nearer the border, bulldozers and other earth-moving equipment had turned the freeway into overturned chunks of concrete. Paul couldn’t see that, however, as a big earthen berm blocked sight of the Mexican border three miles to the south. Beyond the berm were other trenches, fortifications and minefields. Miles to the rear were massed artillery tubes in hardened bunkers, together with laser emplacements, flak guns and giant reflectors.

Paul strode for the colonel’s pickup. Were the Chinese really thinking about attacking? What did it mean the enemy had started something in Texas? Maybe it was just another game of chicken. He hoped so.

Texas—and they send a DC hotshot here. What’s really going on?

“You’re to come with me,” Johnson said.

Anna Chen looked up in surprise at her boss. She sat hunched over her e-reader, studying data in her CIA cubicle. Ever since the Laredo Incident, everyone had been working overtime.

“Sir?” she asked.

“Take your e-reader and come with me,” Johnson said.

She grabbed the reader, stood and winced because her back was so stiff. “Just a minute,” she whispered.

Johnson turned, frowning at her as she stretched and popped her back. “Are you through?” he asked.

She nodded, secretly pleased at annoying him. For the past two and a half weeks, he had avoided her, only greeting her once with a monosyllabic grunt. She took it to mean that her report on Blue Swan had achieved something. Realizing that had emboldened her while writing up other reports. She’d become fascinated with the spy in Mexico City. He was a veritable fund of knowledge concerning Chinese usage of Mexican roads and routes. According to him, the Chinese had practically stopped all civilian traffic in the Baja-Californian north during night. That implied mass movement of either supplies or troops, which in turn implied what…an imminent attack in SoCal timed with the Texas Situation? She had written her reports that way; she was more certain than ever that she was right.

Johnson led her past other cubicles to his office door. He opened it and said, “Go.”

“Sir?” she asked.

“Go inside.”

“After you, sir,” she said.

He scowled and pointed within.

Confused, Anna stepped into his office without him. A man sat in her boss’s chair. It took a second before Anna realized the Director of the CIA sat there.

Dr. Samuel Levin was a wizened figure of legend, with uncombed, thick white hair jutting in disorder. The hair with its many points was like an anarchist’s crown or some strange wizard’s hat. It made Levin seem as if he was an ancient in his second childhood, peering at people with quizzical eyes. His neck looked too skinny to hold up his large head and crown.

“Director?” Anna asked.

“Shut the door and sit down,” Levin said.

“Should I call in Mr. Johnson?”

“You’re a smart woman, Anna.”

She hesitated and finally nodded, shutting the door with Johnson still outside and sitting down in a chair before the desk.

Levin scratched an ear as he peered at her. The quizzical eyes seemed to ask a hundred questions. He seemed like one of those youths with an insatiable number of queries, wanting to know everything. He didn’t disappoint, either.

“Anna, how do you know the Chinese are going to attack in Southern California?”

His lack of small talk startled her. If that’s how he wanted to proceed…it was fine with her. “I don’t know,” she said. “But it is my strong assessment.”

He smiled like a fox from Aesop’s Fables, one of those sly creatures able to talk crows into dropping their grapes.

“Your reports are like a blizzard of warnings,” he said. “You’re a veritable prophetess of doom concerning California when everyone else knows it’s one of the few quiet fronts we have. The situation grows increasingly worse in Texas and drone reports show a massing of GD hovers off the Florida Keys. When he should be concentrating on Texas and possibly Florida, the President keeps asking about California.”

“Because of my reports?” asked Anna.

“I believe that’s what I just implied.”

“Why hasn’t anyone told me?”

Director Levin used his pinky finger to scratch the inside of his ear. “You’re on a short list of undesirables. It isn’t my list, but your ethnicity has more than a few people worried. Fortunately for you, the President recalls that you were on Clark’s staff during the war.”

“The Alaskan War?” Anna asked.

“It’s the only war that counts with the President.”

“Yes, sir, I think I understand.”

“I believe you do. Not that it matters. The point of our little meeting tonight is for you to tell me why you think the Chinese are about to invade California. Why not invade Texas—where the sheer volume of shells used has shattered large sections of the Laredo Fortifications? The Pan Asian Alliance and the South American Federation have openly moved large forces into position to exploit any breakthroughs there.”

“I realize that, sir. Still, it’s unlike Chinese generals to advertise their moves so openly. They like to use surprises, to use decoys.”

Levin shrugged. “Perhaps they know we know that. Therefore, acting like a decoy, pretending to be a decoy, these troops in Texas are actually the real thing: an invasion force meant to drive a wedge into our underbelly.”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Anna said.

“But you deem it unlikely?”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“And this is because…?”

“Marshal Kao helps formulate much of China’s strategy.”

“Tell me about him,” Levin said.

“He’s the Minister of Defense on the Ruling Committee,” Anna said. “He works closely with Chairman Hong. Frankly, what you’re seeing in Texas, it isn’t like Marshal Kao.”

“Maybe it’s someone else’s plan.”

“Maybe,” she said.

Levin pursed his lips. “Give me another reason.”

“I’m troubled by the amount of dedicated road usage in the Baja-California region of Mexico. The usage implies massive shipments of troops, supplies, or most likely both. I’m not talking about corps-level movements as appears to be happening in Texas, but something much larger.”

“You’ve been following the situation in Texas?” Levin asked.

“A little,” Anna said.

“You like to keep your finger on the pulse?”

“If you want to put it like that,” she said.

“Hmm,” he said, scratching his ear again. “If this is all so simple to see, why doesn’t anyone else see it?”

“The data is always there, sir.”

“Meaning what?” Levin asked.

Anna took a deep breath. “That most intelligence agencies have the facts of this or that on the enemy but simply don’t trust the data. It’s only clear to everyone once a thing happens. They say hindsight is twenty-twenty. Then people say, ‘Look. The evidence was right there in front of them all along. It must have been a conspiracy that kept it hidden.’ But there usually isn’t a conspiracy. It’s just that no one believed the reports or the obvious was so obvious that it had everyone’s attention. In this instance I mean Texas.”

“I believe I’d already figured out what you meant,” Levin said.

Anna nodded. “In this instance, I happen to trust our spy in Mexico City, the one in traffic control. He has shown a continuous and massive shutdown of northern roads in the Baja-California area. That implies a mass—”

“I know what it implies,” Levin said. “The trouble is that no one else agrees with him.”

“Exactly,” Anna said. “The massing GD hovers, the artillery attacks near Laredo and the movement toward the Texas Front of SAF armor—some of the same units that so brilliantly conquered Argentina—have diverted everyone’s attention on everywhere but California. And that is why I think an attack is imminent against the SoCal Fortifications.”

“You’re not telling me everything,” Levin said.

Anna looked away. “No, sir, I’m not.”

“Well… tell me the rest.”

Licking her lips, Anna said, “I’m not a military historian, sir.”

“No?”

“But the Battle of the Bulge is a good example of my final reason. There, the Germans practiced strict communication discipline. The critical factor was the movement of troops and supplies into attack positions. The Germans did that secretly, too, usually only moving at night.”

“I’m with you so far.”

“The Chinese are practicing strict communication control. I also believe they’re aware of every satellite shot into space and drone flight sent into their territory. That means to me they’re trying to be very secret about what they’re doing near the SoCal border. The artillery in Texas and the GD hovers, that’s to throw us off.”

“I see. And you’re the only one in America smart enough to see through these Chinese and German deceptions?”

“No, sir,” Anna said. “You see it and I expect that so does the President. That’s why he’s sent you to talk to me.”

“Ah. You’re a smart girl, Anna.”

“And you’re a smart man, sir.”

Levin grinned. “You’re coming with me.”

“Okay. Can I ask where I’m going?”

“To every meeting I have with the War Council. You’re going to be my aide. You’re also going to help me understand what the Chinese are thinking, just like you helped President Clark seven years ago.”

“Then you do believe the Chinese are going to attack in SoCal?”

“I pray I’m wrong. The President hopes I’m wrong, but probably not for the reasons why you would think. If Blue Swan does what we expect…”

Anna perked up. “You sent someone to look at the Blue Swan convoy then?”

“As a matter of fact—yes, we did. It’s why I’m talking to you.”

“The military operation happened because of my report?”

The CIA Director nodded.

Anna grinned, feeling appreciated and as if she had done something useful. “So what does Blue Swan do?”

“Our technicians were fortunate, as our commando didn’t bring back much in way of evidence. Luckily, one of the techs—let’s just leave at this: we’re ninety percent certain the missiles melt electronics through EMP. And they do this without needing a nuclear explosion.”

Anna’s eyes became large. Oh, that was clever.

“It means a national disaster could be in the making,” Levin said. “We’re hoping the Chinese drag their heels using their advantage. They should have already moved. We keep expecting EMP missiles in Texas, but that hasn’t happened. The Chinese appear to be waiting for something. We’d like to figure out what and then see if we can thwart them.”

“I can tell you what they’re waiting for,” Anna said. “They want to line up all their ducks in a row.”

“Explain that, please.”

“In this, the Chinese are more like Russians than World War II Germans. The Germans liked to take bold gambles. The Russians bet on sure things. The Chinese will want to make sure they have enough to win big, instead of going too soon and ruining their chances of conquest.”

“This is your opinion why?”

“Years and years of study and research on the Chinese and their character,” she said.

Levin scratched his ear again, with the pinky fingertip disappearing from view and shaking vigorously so it reminded Anna of a dog. But this man was one smart dog.

“Let us suppose you’re right. The hovers and the Texas artillery attacks are decoys meant to fix our attention. What does that say about California, especially knowing that Marshal Nung is in charge of the First Front?”

“Nung means you’re likely not going to get as much time to get ready as if it were someone else,” Anna said.

Levin looked away as his grin vanished. He seemed old then. “Right,” he whispered. Looking up, he said, “Get your purse, Ms. Chen, and then let’s go.”

“Any place in particular?” Anna asked.

Levin nodded. “White House Bunker Number Five.”

“Sir?”

“The President wants you at the War Council meeting as they decide what to do about Texas and Florida.”

In the darkness of night, Zhu Peng lurched upward in flight. His Qui 1000 jets expelled air with tremendous force. The jetpack shook his frail body and lifted him with terrifying ease. He rested his right elbow on a flight pad, his right hand using the control-throttle. It was delicate work and needed extreme precision. This is why he had passed the White Tiger tests. Among his pod of recruits, he had proved the best in flight.

Zhu wore an Eagle helmet, top-of-the-line in quality and with the latest technology. It had a HUD display with night vision built into the visor. He had a shoulder-mount grenade launcher. He turned his head, with crosshairs in his helmet showing him where the grenade would go. By pressing a button in his left hand, the launcher electromagnetically propelled the grenade and reloaded his weapon. Assault rifles had their uses, but where harder to wield well during flight. The idea of the grenade launcher was to clear a landing zone for an Eagle soldier.

Eagle Team doctrine had changed since the Alaskan War, although Zhu knew little about that. The trainers had taught him present doctrine, not past. In the air, jetpack troops were vulnerable to enemy fire, just as paratroopers in the past had hung like ripe fruit floating down to earth. The jetpack was for maneuver while away from the enemy. While fighting, every Eagle soldier tried to land as quickly as possible and use cover like a regular combatant.

Pop up. Then get down fast.

“Fighter Rank.” The words crackled in Zhu’s headphones. It was Tian Jintao.

Using his chin, Zhu flicked on communications. “Here, First Rank.”

“‘Here,’ he says,” Tian told the others. “Give me your exact coordinates, recruit.”

Zhu did.

“Come down at mark 3, dash 42,” Tian said.

Zhu read the coordinates on the HUD. Ah, this was a tricky maneuver. He twisted his wrist and throttled down, dipping, his body spinning to the left. He thrust harder, lifting now, and twisted again so he plunged toward the given coordinates.

“Impressive,” he heard over the headphones.

“Anyone can fly,” Tian said. “It’s fighting that counts.”

“He’s supply and doesn’t have to fight,” someone else said.

“He’s one of ours,” Tian told the others. “So he must do everything right.”

The dark ground rushed up to greet Zhu. Landing was hardest. Landing while weighted down made it even more difficult. Zhu grinned as his boots touched down light as a feather. He was gifted at this, a—

Something hard smashed against his side, hurling him down so his visor hit a rock.

Zhu groaned.

“Up, up!” Tian shouted. “The enemy is upon us. We’re heading to mark 3, dash 41.”

Zhu crawled to his feet. On the ground lay a dud grenade. The Frist Rank must have fired it at him. Despite the dinylon armor, his side throbbed.

“You must be ready for anything, Fighter Rank,” Tian said over the headphones.

Zhu grunted a response. Just when—he twisted the throttle, rising above another projectile shot at him.

“He learns quickly, First Rank.”

“But can he fight?” Tian asked.

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

Zhu nodded. They were training hard. Word had filtered down to them that a combat assault was about to take place in several days. No one knew the hour, but everyone knew the Big One was almost here. Invasion: California, it was really going to happen and Zhu would be in the initial assault, killing American High Command personnel.

“Fighter Rank!” Tian shouted.

“Here, First Rank,” Zhu said.

“Quit dreaming. You’re off course by several meters. I expect perfection from my men.”

Zhu squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them wide. He was going to excel. He was a White Tiger, an elite jetpack killer. The trainers had taught him that he would live or die with his squad mates. He would show the others. He would, even if he was too skinny to fight as well as they did. He would train until he could fire his grenades as well as any of them, or he would die trying.

Anna sat down beside Director Levin at the circular conference table. She couldn’t believe it. Little had changed since the last time she had come down to White House Bunker Number Five. Oh, there were a few more fancy computers and a holoimage in the center of the table, but nothing fundamentally different.

She recognized General Alan: the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the highest-ranking military man in the chamber. He was thin and wore glasses, and frowned upon sight of her. General Alan had been here during Clark’s term as President. From a few tidbits that she’d heard before, Anna believed Alan was Sino-phobic.

There were others here: the Secretary of State, of Defense, the President’s advisors and the top general of the Air Force, the Army and Strategic Command.

President Sims was a plump man with wispy blond hair attempting to cover his balding spot in front. He had splotchy features, only looking a little like the man who appeared on the TV and billboards. The eyes told a different story. They were pale blue, alert like a hawk and spoke about a man willing to make tough decisions. He had done just that in Alaska seven years ago. The thin mouth was downturned, showing worry. Again, that was nothing like his TV appearances. On TV, on political ads and on the internet he always appeared confident. He spoke in a forthright manner then, looking like someone the American people could trust with their children’s lives.

He has good image-makers, Anna realized. I wonder what he’s like in person.

No one introduced her, although several members frowned in her direction. Levin glanced at her once, as if to say, “Don’t worry about a thing, smart girl. You’re here under the President’s wing.”

Anna wondered what would happen to her if she gave advice that proved disastrous. The President’s wing might not stretch so far then. She might be on her own among an increasingly xenophobic group. If the Japanese had actually landed on the U.S. mainland during World War II, what would have happened to all the interned Japanese-Americans?

Under the table, Anna rubbed her shoes together so they rustled. What an unpleasant prospect. Should she hedge her bets? Should she tell the others what they wanted to hear? It would be the safest course. She studied the computer scroll before looking up.

A major was speaking. The woman was one of General Alan’s aides. Using a holopad, the major changed the holoimage in the center of the table. She was running strength figures along the Mexican-American border, the entirety of it, not just in Texas. The enemy had a 1.75 to 1 advantage in numbers. That counted the U.S. Militia brigades. Some were better than others. According to the major, they expected some militia units to crumple upon contact with the enemy.

Can you count soldiers like you would cordwood? Anna didn’t think so.

One of the problems was tanks. The PAA and the SAF in Mexico had a three to one advantage in tanks, and the major said a substantial advantaged in quality, too. That could spell true calamity if the enemy armor broke free in Texas or New Mexico. They might drive for hundreds of miles, creating a gap America could never hope to close, forever dividing the country in two.

“A moment,” the President said. “What about our new Behemoth tanks?”

The major glanced at General Alan.

Alan cleared his throat. “Sir, the Behemoths are experimental, with too many teething problems. It will be six months, maybe nine months to a year before they’re ready for combat.”

“Seeing at what we’re dealing with in Texas, we’re probably not going to have that long.” Sims glanced around the chamber, appearing thoughtful. “I remember the tri-turreted tanks in Alaska, the T-66. They were pure murder. I hate the idea of superior Chinese technology chewing up our boys again. I want those Behemoths in combat.”

“I understand, sir,” Alan said. “I’ll set up a video conference so you can speak to the colonel of the experimental team.”

The President nodded. “Keep talking,” he told the major.

In artillery and mortar tubes, the enemy coalition had a four to one advantage. They were seeing what that meant in and around Laredo. The enemy had already destroyed too many American guns. Towed artillery was nearly useless in these duels, dying soon after firing. It was “shoot and scoot” on the Texas plains.

Once the Germans added their hovers and airmobile brigades, the numbers would skew even more sharply against America. GD aircraft were just as good as the Chinese, their pilots probably better.

We’re like one giant Alamo, Anna realized.

“We need time,” Sims said. “The Chairman didn’t bite on my Geneva offer. I thought for sure he would demand a reinstatement of the food tribute. I could have talked for weeks, gaining us time. I want other ideas from you people.”

Some spoke about a preemptive strike against Mexican railheads, stalling the Chinese buildup against Laredo. Others suggested taking artillery from quiet fronts and massing them and surprising the coming Chinese thrust with a wall of raining steel.

“You can’t take anything from Florida,” the Army Chief of Staff said, a big man with flushed features. He looked like a beer drinker. “For that matter, it would be a damn stupid idea to strip soldiers from Louisiana or Georgia. The Germans are coming. They want revenge for what we did to them in World Wars I and II.”

There came a pause in the conversation. CIA Director Levin cleared his throat. “We have some minority analysis that indicates a possibility that we should consider one disturbing possibility. The Laredo artillery attack and the GD demonstration may be meant as decoys to the real assault.”

General Alan shook his head. “I think you’re being too subtle. Remember, the World War II Germans thought the D-Day Invasion into Normandy was a feint. They held back their reserves, waiting for the real attack to occur. In the end, they waited too long to strike at the beachheads. It seems clear to me what happened in Texas. A Chinese general started shooting too soon. How do you keep control of six million soldiers? Believe me; it’s difficult. Since he started firing, the Chinese are massing sooner than they intended, deciding to push through with the assault.”

“I don’t know about ‘massing’,” the Air Force Chief of Staff said. He was a tall man with a nose like a hawk and a thin mustache, looking like the old French General Charles De Gaulle. “The Chinese are ‘moving’ troops into the sector. I don’t believe they’re moving as many bodies as we’re supposed to think they are.”

“Bah!” General Alan said. “And you believe your drones have spotted everything?”

“Enough to get a picture of what’s happening,” the Air Force General snapped. His name was O’Connor.

“Gentlemen,” the President said, “please. I don’t want pointless bickering. Instead, I would like to address the possibly of a Chinese offensive in California.”

“Sir?” General Alan asked. “The evidence is plain. An offensive has already begun in Texas.”

“I wouldn’t call it an offensive just yet,” the President said. “After years of waiting that’s the best the Chinese can do?”

“It’s very methodical,” Alan said. “It’s chewing up our fortifications and whittling down our artillery at little cost to them, other than a massive expenditure of shells.”

“It’s also giving us time to harden our defenses behind the attacked area,” Sims said. “No, as devastating as it is, the artillery bombardment isn’t a real attack. The Chinese have yet to send in their infantry to take ground. It feels far too much as if they’re orchestrating an attack to fix our attention in Texas.”

“I wonder if the German General Staff had similar arguments about the D-Day Invasion,” Alan said.

Sims scowled at his hands. He sat like that for a time. Finally, looking up, he said, “Ms. Chen, explain to us your reason for your continuously grim reports concerning California.”

Anna’s head snapped up. Everyone looked at her, some with hostility. Steeling herself, she began to speak, telling them what she’d told Director Levin. The spy in Mexico City reported a shutdown of civilian road usage at night in northern Baja to California. It occurred, the spy believed, so the Chinese could move troops and supplies to the border.

General Alan shrugged. “The biggest war in history has started and we’re worried because the Chinese military has closed the roads nearest our border? I expect attacks in California. Yes, we must prepare there. But I’m much more worried about Texas where men are dying. Our reports indicate the Chinese weren’t one hundred percent ready to attack there. Yet they have massed—”

“Moved, not massed,” Air Force General O’Connor said.

General Alan slapped a hand on the table.

“Gentlemen,” the President said. “I would like to point out that Ms. Chen was correct about Chinese actions seven years ago. Back then, she tried to warn Clark or one of his top people about the impending attack. None of them listened to her. I don’t plan making the same mistake. She is an expert on Chinese behavior. It is, I believe, her report that allowed us to find out about Blue Swan.”

“That is correct,” Director Levin said.

“Blue Swan,” Sims said. “I haven’t heard anything about evidence of Blue Swan missiles in Texas. Yet we know some are near the SoCal border. The EMP missiles seem to me like a potentially war-winning weapon. It would be logical to believe that wherever the Chinese put the Blue Swan missiles, that is where they plan to break through our defenses.”

No one said a word for a time after the President’s statement.

Finally, General Alan glanced at his aide—the major—before addressing the President. “Sir, suppose this is the truth. Suppose the growing Texas firestorm is a Chinese ploy to divert our attention. Suppose the German Dominion is helping them trick us by sending their hovers out to sea. What does that mean for Southern California?”

O’Connor spoke up. “It means the Chinese have improved EMP devices to throw against us.”

“Highly improved,” Levin added.

General Alan glanced from the Air Force General to the CIA Director. “Suppose Blue Swan knocks out much of our electronics on the SoCal front. What does that mean to us?”

“You’re supposed to tell us what it means,” Sims said.

General Alan glanced at the major.

“With your permission, sir,” she said.

The President nodded.

“Sir,” the major said, “We’re laying old-fashioned fiber optic lines between various headquarters and their artillery parks in the SoCal Fortifications.”

“That isn’t exactly correct,” Director Levin said.

The major blushed and she glanced at General Alan. Alan glanced at her with raised eyebrows. She leaned toward him, whispering in his ear so her red lips almost touched his skin. She did it as if she was his lover imparting precious secrets.

“Let me correct the statement,” General Alan said a moment later. “We’ve begun placing fiber optics. It is unfortunately taking us longer than we thought it would. We’ve also scoured warehouses for old land mines, simple pressure mines. Our stockpiles are low, I’m afraid. Usually, we send factory-made mines straight to the front, where the troops emplace them. My point, sir, is that up until now little has changed in the Southern California Fortifications. Because of the sheer size of the fortifications and the hundreds of thousands of troops there, these things take time.”

“We don’t have time,” Sims said. “Texas shows us that.”

“That’s the real problem, sir. We’re not ready to face the Blue Swan missiles—if the missiles do what our scientists believe they might. But what if this is all an elaborate bluff by Chinese Intelligence.”

“Speak plainly, General.”

General Alan glanced at Anna. “No offense intended, sir, but can we trust everyone in the chamber?”

Sims’s pale blue eyes focused sharply on the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “Do you believe Ms. Chen is a traitor? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I have no way of knowing that, sir,” General Alan said. “She has not gone through the military’s vetting program as most of us here have.”

“Other than her Chinese heritage,” Sims said, “what suggests to you that Ms. Chen might be a traitor?”

General Alan frowned and he drummed his fingers on the table. The frown vanished and his features tightened. He leaned his head forward in an aggressive manner.

“Blue Swan suggests it, sir. This entire scenario is too incredible to believe. It would seem, given this technological marvel, that we should pull back our troops from our carefully built defenses. That would be better than exposing an Army Group worth of soldiers to heightened EMP missiles. Yet if that’s true, then we know why Ms. Chen found out about the convoy when no one else could. The Chinese want us to leave our defenses without their having to fire a shot.”

“No,” Sims said. “I don’t see it that way.”

“If we stay,” Alan said, “and Blue Swan does indeed melt our electronics, it could be a military disaster.”

“Sir,” Director Levin asked, “If I may?”

Sims nodded to the wizened CIA Director.

Levin directed his words to General Alan, “Trying to withdraw our troops from the fortifications as the missiles hit would be an even greater disaster.”

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs pursed his thin lips, nodding a moment later. “I grant you that.”

“Therefore,” Levin said, “no matter what, we must hold the line.”

“Hold without communications?” General Alan asked. “Hold with many critical components burned out? Oh, I grant you we may be able to harden with field-expedients some electronics if they give us enough time. Depending on the strength of the EMP, many weapons systems would simply shut down. You don’t hold under those conditions. You die. But as I said, it strikes me as too incredible that China has such missiles. I think we are being bluffed by Chinese Intelligence.”

“What you’re suggesting is ridiculous,” Levin said. “Ms. Chen has often been proven right in her assessments. The Chinese have advanced technology. We know that. The Blue Swan missile exists. Your recon man Kavanagh discovered the one as the Chinese quietly brought it to the SoCal Front. These are all facts.”

Anna watched the debate, appalled at the exchange concerning her reliability. It was hard to accept that anyone could think of her as a traitor.

“I believe Blue Swan exists,” the President said. “I do not accept that it is a bluff. Therefore, what are your suggestions for defeating it?”

General Alan blinked at the President. Finally, he said, “If these missiles truly exist, sir, if the Chinese possess them in number, our entire front could melt away in a matter of days. We could lose California before the war is even a week old.”

“If we attempted to pull back to redeploy farther from the border and the Chinese attacked, the front would be just as damaged,” Sims said.

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs grew still. He showed surprise, shock and then wonderment. “Sir, you believe the missiles are real. Yet you seem to be suggesting we let our troops absorb the electronic attack. Are you saying then we let our troops die where they stand, given this thing works? That’s an entire Army Group you’re talking about. We can’t spare that many soldiers and hope to hold everywhere else.”

Anna watched in fascination. President Sims’s eyes hardened with determination. The splotchy features began to transform into an approximation of what she’d seen on TV before. With a little makeup, yes, he would look like the war-hero President the country had learned to trust.

“We don’t have any good choices,” the President said. “I didn’t have good choices in Alaska, either, but we beat the Chinese before Anchorage. We can beat them again if we all pull together. Yes, the world has gathered into growing packs of jackals and those packs are sniffing at our door.”

He’s making a speech. We need strategy now, not speeches, Anna thought.

“George Washington beat the British,” Sims declared. “Lincoln defeated the South. Wilson brought down the Kaiser’s Germany and Roosevelt defeated the Third Reich and the Japanese. Well, I didn’t become President to let the world dismember my country. I’m here to tell you that we’re going to outthink and outfight the Chinese. They have a jump on us. A possible jump,” he said, glancing first at the major, Anna and then the rest of the people in the chamber. “This jump is a technological missile of unusual proportions. We can’t afford to leave our border fortifications in SoCal and we can’t afford to let the enemy saturate us and roll over hundreds of thousands of our best soldiers. Therefore, this is what we’re going to do. As quietly and quickly as possible, we’re going to withdraw our mobile forces out of the missile’s radius of damage.”

“What is the radius?” General Alan asked.

No one answered.

President Sims licked his lips. “Right,” he said. “We begin pulling out our best mobile formations from their positions near the fortifications. We pull out those in the second and third line, too. I want them well out of the EMP radius. Those mobile formations will redeploy well behind the front, maybe even near southern LA. If the Chinese attack and shatter our defenses, we hope our soldiers there fight tenaciously to buy the rest of the county time. If we must, we plug the holes with the mobile forces.”

“If this all happens as we fear,” General Alan said, “we’ll need greater reserves in California than we presently have. But if we’re wrong, and the attack in Texas is the real thing, we’ll have outmaneuvered ourselves by thinning that front or by not placing our extra reserves there.”

The President stared at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Slowly, reluctantly it seemed like to Anna, Sims nodded. “We’re going to have to take a risk somewhere and speed up the hardening of our electronics among the troops on the border. Send a few reserve divisions to California; put the rest near the Texas Front.”

General Alan wrote on his computer pad.

President Sims glanced around the conference table. “We have to change the defenses on the Californian border. More pressure mines that are not vulnerable to EPM instead of our quake and sleeper variety. More fiber optics lines embedded in the ground so there are some backup communications if the EMP hits. Look into what they did in World War I. I seem to recall reading about dispatch runners.”

“It will take time to retrain our troops into using something so antiquated,” Alan said.

“We don’t have time,” Sims said. “We need to scrape up troops wherever we can.” He scowled. “I know, I know. We don’t dare take them from Texas or Florida. Yes,” he said, as if to himself. “I want the experimental Behemoth tanks in California.”

“Sir?” Alan asked.

“This could be what we’ve been dreading for several years now,” Sims said. “We have to pull out all the stops to face what I think is the coming storm. I don’t care if these Behemoths have teething problems. I want them in California with the reserve troops. That’s what I did in Alaska. I used everything I had to buy us time until reinforcements arrived. We’ll have to scrape together our own reinforcements. Mainly, we’re going to have to fight hard with what we have and exploit every Chinese mistake.”

“And if they don’t make mistakes?” General Alan asked.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Sims said. “We’re all human, and I’ve never met a perfect one of us yet. Nor do I think I’m going to any time soon.”

“Yes, sir,” General Alan said. “And if this Blue Swan situation is an entire bluff?”

“Then we’ll fall down on our knees and thank God,” Sims said. “Then we’ll concentrate against the Chinese in Texas and the Germans in Florida, if the Huns are arrogant enough to attack us. Are there any questions?”

“I have one,” Air Force General O’Connor said.

The President tapped a computer stylus twice on the table before pointing the tip at the general.

“We keep talking about absorbing the EMP missiles,” O’Connor said. “I think there’s another answer. We need to move or mass our anti-missile lasers and rockets there. The Blue Swan missiles can’t hurt us if we knock them down before they broadcast their electromagnetic pulses.”

“General Alan?” the President asked.

“In theory it’s the right move.”

“But in practice?” the President asked.

“Massing anti-missile units in SoCal means we open them to the same EMP that will melt all the other electronics. The same holds true for our air cover.”

“We can’t just let them hit us!” O’Connor shouted. “That means we’re abandoning our boys on the line. My planes and fighter drones can save the situation.”

“We’re not going to abandon anyone,” the President said.

“We’re saying that, sir, but—”

The President slammed a fist onto the table. The chamber became deathly silent.

“Are you accusing me of double-talk?” the President asked the Air Force General.

“No, sir,” O’Connor said crisply.

“Good, because I’m not going to abandon anyone,” Sims said. “We’ll bring more lasers and anti-missile systems to the SoCal Fortifications. We’ll bring more fighters, too. But we’re not going to denude ourselves of cover elsewhere.”

“How much extra cover are we talking about?” General Alan asked. “It isn’t as if we have enough tactical lasers or flak guns. Which front do we take them from?”

“I have an idea,” Anna heard herself saying.

Director Levin stared at her and he shook his head minutely.

“Concerning military strategy?” General Alan asked in a scornful manner.

“Mr. President?” Anna asked.

“Go ahead,” Sims said.

Anna’s stomach tightened. It was a risk to talk, as others could pin her idea’s failure on her. It was a chancy thing she was about to suggest.

“Well,” the President asked, “what’s your idea?”

“Sir, General O’Connor has spoken my thought: why wait for the Chinese to strike with Blue Swan? He advocates knocking down the missiles, and that’s better than letting them strike. But my question is why let them launch at all.”

General Alan laughed. “Are you advocating that we attack the Chinese?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Anna said.

“Ah,” General Alan said. “And just how will you conjure up this army? I’m very curious. If our analysis is correct, the Chinese have thirty-five thousand artillery and mortar tubes massed on the SoCal border, while we have a paltry eleven thousand. They have a clear three to one advantage over us in artillery, tanks and I imagine planes and probably a two to one advantage in numbers.”

“I’m not a military expert,” Anna said.

“No, no, tell us your plan,” General Alan said. “Anna Chen, the Chinese expert, can predict the future and instruct us in the military arts. By all means, enlighten us, please.”

President Sims frowned at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

Anna looked down and she could feel her face heating up. She should have kept her mouth shut. What had she been thinking?

“You have to tell us now,” Levin whispered. “You can’t let the general bully you.”

Anna swallowed, looking up. “Sir,” she told the President. “It seems to me that America cannot allow the launching of Blue Swan. We don’t have the numbers to launch a conventional attack—”

“Nuclear weapons?” the Army General asked. He scowled, but he nodded. “I concur, sir. We have to go nuclear.”

“No!” Anna said, horrified. “I’m not talking about nuclear weapons.”

“What then?” the President asked.

“Commando teams,” she said.

General Alan frowned severely, shaking his head. “How do we know where these missiles are? And how do you propose getting our special forces teams down on the ground with the missiles?”

“The spy in Mexico City might be able to help us pinpoint the missiles’ locations,” Anna said. “As for getting our commandos in, I don’t have the answer to that. I just know that we have to do whatever we can to stop the Blue Swan missiles from hitting the SoCal Fortifications.”

President Sims sat as if shocked. His nostrils widened and he began to nod. “I hate to order anyone so deep into the midst of the enemy. Those missiles are sure to be heavily guarded. Yet, I don’t see any other way.”

“It would be suicide to send commandos at those missiles now,” General Alan said.

“We can only ask for volunteers,” Sims said.

“Sir…” General Alan said.

Sims stared at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. His eyes had become red-rimmed. “I don’t know what else you would have me do. It’s a gamble, a terrible risk, but with several hundred men only, maybe two or three thousand commandos all together.”

“How do you sneak them in, sir?” Alan asked.

“A mass aerial assault,” O’Connor said grimly. “We saturate the Chinese with drones, all we have. Behind them, we use helos to insert the commandos. Once on the ground, they should know what to do.”

“It’s mass suicide,” Alan said.

“It’s better than letting an entire Army Group die on the fortifications,” Sims said.

“Our drone losses would be staggering,” Alan said. “That would likely give the Chinese control of the air for the duration. We’ve known the air situation will be critical. To then knowingly burn up our air assets on the first day of battle…it is madness, sir.”

“Our backs are to the wall,” Sims said. “Yes, it’s suicide to send those men, but if this works we’ll actually have a chance at holding California. Ms. Chen, it’s a brilliant plan.”

“Maybe,” General Alan said. He stared at Anna as if remembering her face for a future showdown.

“‘Maybe’ is better than certain defeat,” the President said. “How much time do we have until the Chinese launch?” he asked Levin.

“I don’t know,” the CIA Director said.

“Give me a ball park estimate.”

“A day,” Levin said, cautiously, “several days, less than a week, I’m certain.”

Sims ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “In two days we must strike. It’s madness, but so is Blue Swan.” He took a deep breath. “We have a plan now, a slim hope to save the situation. Let’s get to work.”

Early the next morning, Stan Higgins walked solemnly around his X1 Behemoth #5 for what would likely be for the last time. The monster tank was in the desert where Jose, the driver and he had left it yesterday. Las Vegas’s mountains rose in the distance as the sun worked to show itself, the first rays lighting the edges of the mountaintops.

Stan sipped coffee from a Styrofoam cup. It tasted good and was an antidote against the desert chill. He wore a coat and waited for Jose to gather his tools in the Humvee.

Yesterday, the Behemoth had engine trouble again. It had been having problems of this sort for several weeks. After hours of exhausting work, they had headed to base for the night. He hadn’t told the colonel about the trouble. He didn’t want to speak to the man again until he was a civilian, out from under Wilson’s control.

Stan took another sip of coffee. He’d told his wife what he’d told Wilson the other day about leaving for John Glen. She’d hardly heard him. All she could think about was Jake in the Detention Center, together with the other “non-patriots.”

Scowling at the tank’s extra-wide treads, Stan wondered if maybe it was good for Jake to strew in the Detention Center for a while. Maybe he’d been too easy on the boy. Let Jake know that there were consequences to his actions like protesting the President. He didn’t want to leave Jake there, but what harm would there be for a few months?

The loss of his education, for one thing.

Stan pried off the coffee’s plastic cover and enjoyed the aroma as it steamed into the cold desert air. He sipped more, as it had cooled just enough for him to enjoy.

If Jake didn’t care about his education, why should he fret so much about it? The boy was old enough to vote, to drink beer and go away to school. Maybe this was the best thing for him. People didn’t treasure what came too easily. Jake had worked a half-time summer job, but otherwise, Stan had paid for the tuition.

Stan drained the cup. Who was he trying to kid? Himself, it seemed like. The boy was in trouble. Jake might never get another shot at a college education. The laws were harsh regarding non-patriotic protesting. The longer he stayed in a Detention Center, the heavier the mark on his record. In the eyes of most, it meant that he lacked friends and family. That equated to a loner who likely didn’t love his country. The police watched such “miscreants” and bosses didn’t have to worry about discrimination suits if they failed to hire anyone with a three-stamp mark.

“I have to get him out of there,” Stan muttered. He went to drink more coffee and discovered the cup was empty. Stan crumbled the Styrofoam in irritation. He almost threw the pieces into the desert. But that would be littering. Instead, he put them in his jacket pocket. He would throw away the cup later on base.

Frowning, Stan eyed the beast, the Behemoth tank. It was a marvel all right, and this might be the last time he had to deal with it. His chest—

Stan rubbed his chest, feeling a sore spot. He didn’t want to leave. The entire operational idea behind the Behemoth—

Stan’s lips peeled back. He remembered Alaska and their M1A2 tanks. They had been good tanks, if too old. The Chinese tri-turreted tanks had played havoc with them. Better armor, better guns, better shells—the enemy had outclassed them in every category.

The Behemoth was supposed to be the great surprise. It was supposed to be the equalizer, the antidote to enemy numbers. China had far more and better quality tanks. What did that leave America? Not much chance of winning, had been Stan’s answer.

The tri-turreted tank—the T-66—weighed one hundred tons. The Behemoth was three hundred tons. Stan rubbed his hands. The specs on these things: they told their own story.

It was fifteen by six by four and mounted 260cm of armor. It had nine auto-cannons, seven auto-machine guns and an onboard radar and AI to track enemy missiles and shells. Given enough flight time, the Behemoth could knock down incoming missiles and most shells. Whatever came close had to survive the forty beehives launchers. Those fired tungsten flechettes, a spray of shotgun-like metal that often knocked down or deflected an enemy projectile enough to skew its impact against the heavy armor. It was the super-thick armor and the sheer mass of beehives that was supposed to make the Behemoth more than a big, expensive target.

The special power plant in the Behemoth was also huge. It had to be to move all that mass. The three-hundred ton machine had magnetically balanced hydraulic suspension and a weapon unlike anything else in the world. Instead of shells, the Behemoth fired a force cannon. Some people called it a rail gun. It was high-tech and it was amazing—if everything worked like it was supposed to. The force cannon needed the Behemoth’s mighty engine to juice it, and the new batteries that stored power for extended shooting.

The Chinese had many fancy weapons, but Stan bet the Chinese didn’t have anything like the Behemoth. Stan crunched over gravel and he slapped the treads. It would have been interesting fighting in the Behemoth.

Too bad you’ll never get to use it against them.

It would be good to get some real payback against the Chinese tankers. There were too many nightmares that included Stan’s friends murdered once again by the T-66 tri-turreted tank.

“You’re too old for this,” Stan muttered to himself. “Jake did you a favor getting you out of this before the Big One.”

Then why did he feel so terrible, as if he was running out on his friends and his country during everyone’s darkest hour?

“Professor!” Jose shouted from the Humvee.

“What’s wrong?” Stan shouted back.

Jose stuck his head out of a window. “The colonel just radioed. He wants you back at base and he wants you there now.”

“Do you know what it’s about?”

“Not a clue, Professor. What do you want to do?”

Stan rubbed the giant tread. What did Wilson want now? He sighed, wanting to make the stickler wait, but not wanting to cause problems for Jose and Ted, their young driver.

“Sure!” Stan shouted. “Radio Wilson that we’re on our way in.”

Forty-five minutes later, Stan sat in Colonel Wilson’s tidy office. From behind his desk, the colonel watched him, with his index fingers tapping his chin.

“We were fixing our tank,” Stan said. Wilson hadn’t asked where he’d been or why he had been late. The colonel had simply pointed at the chair as Stan entered.

Stan decided to wait it out. He was through with Wilson anyway. Not that he planned to tell him any more of his faults. Once was enough.

Wilson breathed deeply through his nostrils. As if annoyed, he turned his computer screen so it faced Stan.

Stan raised an eyebrow. Wilson breathed deeply again, saying nothing. Bending closer, Stan began to read the print on the screen. In a moment, it felt as if his blood froze. It was hard to focus on the words.

“Do you understand the message’s significance?” Wilson asked in a brittle tone.

“The Army can’t refuse my resignation,” Stan said.

Wilson snorted. “You’re with us for the duration, Captain. You will remain under my command until either you or I die.”

“But—”

“Dismissed,” Wilson said.

Stan stared at him.

“You are dismissed,” the colonel said. “You do remember military discipline, I hope.”

Nodding, Stan stood. He could fight this, he supposed. Yet how would that help Jake? The President had signed an order. The experimental unit had been activated and cancelled all leaves of absence, resignations—the unit was headed for California, for active duty.

Why would they send us there? The big tanks were hard to move. There were only a few railcars big enough to carry the Behemoths and almost no bridges. If the railroad over the mountains were destroyed, why, that would strand the Behemoths in California. They had snorkel gear so the giant tank could ford or cruise underwater through the largest rivers.

“John Glen will have to wait to enjoy the pleasure of your company,” Wilson said.

Stan swallowed a retort. It was like swallowing a big pill that refused to go down. He had to work at it, his throat muscles going up and down. The colonel sounded vindictive. He shook his head.

“You’re refusing orders?” Wilson asked.

“No, sir,” Stan said, giving an over-crisp, sarcastic salute. He was sure Wilson didn’t get it. He’d have to think this over. The unit had been activated. What did the President think was going to happen that he wanted these so-very-prone-to-breakdown-tanks in California?

“I’d better get back to my tank, sir. I need to get the engine running if they’re moving us.”

“Hmm,” Wilson said. “Yes, see to it, Captain.”

Stan spun on his heel and marched for the door. Did this mean he was going to war, that the country was? He couldn’t believe it.