Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5)

  Books by Vaughn Heppner:

  INVASION AMERICA SERIES

  Invasion: Alaska

  Invasion: California

  Invasion: Colorado

  Invasion: New York

  Invasion: China

  DOOM STAR SERIES

  Star Soldier

  Bio Weapon

  Battle Pod

  Cyborg Assault

  Planet Wrecker

  Star Fortress

  Cyborgs! (Novella published in Planetary Assault)

  EXTINCTION WARS SERIES

  Assault Troopers

  Planet Strike

  OTHER NOVELS

  Alien Honor

  Accelerated

  Strotium-90

  I, Weapon

  Visit www.Vaughnheppner.com for more information.

  Invasion: China

  (Invasion America Series)

  by Vaughn Heppner

  “If you kill enough of them, they stop fighting.”

  -- Curtis LeMay

  Copyright © 2014 by the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

  Timeline to War

  1997: The British return Hong Kong to China.

  2016: Amid a global monetary crisis, China unloads its US Bonds. The American banking system and stock market crashes. The ripple effect creates the Sovereign Debt Depression.

  2020: The beginning of a new glacial age causes worldwide crop failures. Europe, Russia and China are particularly hard hit.

  2022: The continuing Sovereign Debt Depression and intense civil war in Mexico creates political and social turmoil in America. All US military forces return home.

  2023: The Mukden Incident sparks the Sino-Siberian War. Chinese armies invade north and defeat the Russians. China annexes the Great Northeastern Area, and eastern Siberia becomes a client state.

  2024: China invades Taiwan. Its expanding navy now rivals the shrunken USN.

  2027: R&D breakthroughs lead to continental ABM systems. Tests show laser effectiveness, able to knock out ninety-eight percent of incoming ICBMs.

  2031: Harsher weather patterns cause greater food rationing in more countries. Canada, America, Argentina and Australia form a Grain Union. In retaliation, Greater China places economic sanctions on the US. The German Dominion, the South American Federation and the Iranian Hegemony follow suit. China begins sending military advisors to Mexico, aiding its side in the civil war.

  2034: The South American Federation forces Argentina to leave the Grain Union.

  2036: In a packed UN amidst wild applause, China lists its 13 Demands. The first is that America must distribute its abundance equally throughout a starving world. China sends an Asian “brotherhood” fleet to aid Hawaiian separatists. America sends its ageing carriers. The Chinese launch a surprise attack on American satellites, combining it with a massive cyber-assault. With their datalinks crippled, the US fleet is destroyed at the Battle of Oahu. The President declares a state of emergency, beginning construction of the Rio Grande Defensive Line due to 700,000 Chinese “advisors” in Mexico.

  2038: Claiming American provocations, China accelerates its troop buildup. Over four million Pan-Asian Alliance soldiers occupy Mexico. The first South American Federation troops arrive. In a preemptive attack, the US destroys as many enemy satellites as its ABM lasers can reach.

  2039: In a hungry world, US farmland is the most precious on Earth. From northern Mexico, nine million PAA and SAF soldiers invade America. The German Dominion breaks ranks—its forces are massed in Cuba. For its neutrality, the GD demands and receives Quebec.

  2039-2040: The invasion “up the gut” between the Rockies on the west and the Mississippi River on the east falters during bitter winter fighting at the siege of Denver. American and Canadian forces drive the enemy back to Oklahoma. Spring 2040, the German Dominion launches a surprise assault from Quebec, hoping to gain the Great Lakes-Northeastern region. After initial bloody defeats, the defenders rally. Combined with new space weapons—THOR missiles—America inflicts a strategic defeat on GD forces.

  2041: American submarines and THOR missiles devastate the PAA navy and merchant marine, disrupting enemy supplies.

  Part I: 2041

  Infamy

  Prologue

  USS SHERMAN

  In the submarine’s humid control center, Captain John Winthrop studied a blue-glowing screen. It made his eyes glow with color.

  He didn’t want to die. None of them did.

  Condensation took that moment to drip onto the monitor. With a rag, Winthrop wiped away the moisture. The vessel’s main engine coughed, the sound loud enough to travel to the control center.

  Winthrop grimaced at the noise. The Chinese must have instrumentation able to pick that up. The submarine was doomed for sure.

  Why doesn’t someone tell me this is a crazy idea?

  Several seconds after the engine cough, an oily taint drifted in the air. Should he order the recycling vents closed?

  No. That would foul the air. Just live with what you have. It was an ironic thought and he knew it. Instead of smiling, he concentrated, focusing on the only problem that mattered for the rest of his short life.

  The monitor was linked to the submarine’s periscope. It showed a Chinese fighter landing on an aircraft carrier approximately one and a half miles away. The targeting computer also pinpointed escorting cruisers and destroyers, an entire enemy task force. That meant Chinese submarines lurked nearby. They were a danger to USS Sherman, an Avenger VII-class submarine, but not nearly as bad as the combat air patrols crisscrossing the sky, hunting for subs just like his.

  Winthrop raised a steady hand. Thank God for good nerves. With the rag, he wiped perspiration from his forehead. Aren’t we always talking about doing something to turn the tide of the war? Here it is. The question becomes, do I have the balls to go for it?

  How many lives did a man have anyway? Reincarnation would be nice if it was true, but he didn’t believe in it.

  This isn’t suicide. This is war and here’s my chance to make a difference, to take down one of their aircraft carriers, maybe an entire task force.

  Through an unusual set of circumstances—stupid luck, really—and an extremely cold layer of water, the submarine had maneuvered close to the carrier. Chinese anti-torpedo systems had become fantastically difficult to penetrate. A torpedo launched from thirty miles away had become an outdated tactic. But to attack from this close…

  Instead of wrestling with his thoughts about this, he should be—

  One of the men cleared his throat.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Winthrop saw that the Chief of the Boat, the COB, had made the noise. That surprised him. Does he have more balls than I do?

  “What are your orders, sir?” the chief whispered.

  It was hard, but Winthrop looked up at the man’s narrow features. Black circles and haunted eyes showed the chief’s strain.

  What did the chief really think about this? With the submarine’s desperate need of repairs, did the man just want to limp home? They had done their duty this voyage. Why risk more, right? After their ordeal two days ago, who wanted to rise up to the role of sacrificial hero?

  As Winthrop thought about that, another drip fell onto the screen, and the damaged engine rattled loudly. The Chinese had to hear that. Why couldn’t th
e enemy react and take the awful decision away from him?

  Two days ago, they had crawled away while escaping from an angry convoy, having sunk several transports. Then Chinese drones had dropped atomic depth charges on them. Every American submariner hated the drones. Nothing else had sounded quite like that charge going off. Winthrop recalled the terror of watching the bulkheads as everything shook and groaned with metallic complaint. Several of the crew had thrown Petty Officer Harris to the deck plates, because the man had lost it, screaming and running amok. The crew had pummeled Harris with their fists, making meaty smacks. It had been the only remedy then. They had beaten Harris back to sanity and strapped him down afterward in the tiny infirmary.

  The humidity in here, the faulty engine and the questionable pressure hull meant they could no longer dive as deeply as they used to. Maybe as bad, the submarine had become as sluggish as a tugboat.

  It’s a miracle we reached this location without the Chinese spotting us. It was either dumb luck or divine providence, or maybe the Devil’s humor.

  “Sir—” the chief said.

  “Shhh,” Winthrop whispered. “Let me think.”

  The chief blinked at him, and the man began to tremble. That had never happened before. The chief’s arms shook so his hands twitched against his legs. The sight twisted Winthrop’s gut. Panic could be infectious, he knew. For that reason, a submarine captain had to maintain a calm demeanor at all times.

  Winthrop understood he should order the chief out of the control center, or say something, at least. But he couldn’t form the words, so he averted his gaze. In any event, he could not let the chief’s actions persuade him to turn away.

  Don’t fool yourself. The painkillers are keeping you calm, nothing else.

  Only heavy dosages of painkillers kept the continuous agony of his lower back from making him groan and twist. Was he even rational anymore? The drugs stole emotions, right? No. He didn’t want to think about that. He had a duty to his country. More than that, he had to protect his loved ones. If America could destroy the Chinese navy and merchant marine, the enemy’s North American invasion would wither on the vine.

  Submarines and orbital THOR missiles were the answers to defeating the enemy. The USN lacked a surface fleet, but America churned out underwater vessels as fast as it could. The Avenger VII-class submarines were a new model specially constructed for the war. Mass-produced by sections inland, Port Seattle welders fitted the parts and launched the completed machine in days. A year ago, small American submersibles had used underwater drones that fired missiles far from the mother-sub. New Chinese countermeasures meant going back to the old, old way of slinking near the enemy with a crewed vessel to launch torpedoes while risking destruction.

  The Chinese fought back every way they could. One of the enemy answers to US submarines was drone-dropped nuclear depth charges. The Chinese had to keep those weapons far from their own ships.

  “We’re too close, sir,” the chief whispered.

  “The last depth charge hurt us pretty bad,” Winthrop said, meaning the one two days ago.

  The chief licked dry lips. Winthrop heard the rasping sound.

  If you’re going to do this, now’s the moment. Don’t torture everyone with the waiting. Winthrop opened his mouth, but no words came. He closed his lips, and he almost panted. Instead, he envisioned a Chinese victory, with Chinese soldiers in his hometown raping American women and killing children. The enemy already stole enough food so people died of starvation in Texas, Arkansas and the rest of the occupied territories.

  Can you let that happen to the entire country, to your friends at home?

  Once again, Winthrop tried to speak. In a hoarse voice, he said, “Load the torpedo.”

  No one asked him which torpedo he meant. They all knew. In honor of a different war, a different Asian foe, they called the torpedo Fat Man. That had been the name of the nuclear bomb dropped on Hiroshima at the end of WWII. The special torpedo was huge, twenty-one inches in diameter and twenty-seven feet long. It carried America’s answer to the Chinese nuclear depth charges: a ten-kiloton nuclear warhead.

  The problem with firing it this close to the carrier was obvious. It was unlikely Sherman would survive the blast. By launching the torpedo, they signed their own death warrant. Surely that was better than trying to slip away and dying anyway.

  “We’re going to win this war,” Winthrop told the others.

  “Pardon me,” the chief said, without add “sir.” He paused, twisting the gold wedding ring on his finger, before plunging ahead, saying, “I-I don’t want to die.”

  At the words, Winthrop felt cold inside. He didn’t want to die either. A lump rose in his throat. Could he even give the order? Maybe they could escape. A fluke had brought them here. Maybe it was time to use a fluke to slip back the way they had come.

  “Captain,” Sonarman Stevens said. “The enemy has made contact. They know we’re here.”

  The cold in Winthrop’s heart became heat. Finally, the Chinese had found them. There was no going back now. The heat squeezed in him, and in a quiet voice, he said, “Fire the torpedo.”

  No one moved, including the launch officer. Winthrop glanced at the heavyset man with his skewed collar and undone buttons. Large sweat stains had spread outward from the launch officer’s underarms. The man stood frozen in place, staring at his panel.

  With his jaws clenched, Winthrop strode to the launch officer’s panel. He didn’t look around at the others watching him. Panic can be infectious.

  “Please,” the launch officer whispered. “Don’t do it, sir.”

  Winthrop wanted to say a hundred things to them. They were good men, his brothers in arms. Each had endured terrible pressures that no one should ever have to face. Instead of making a speech, Winthrop reached out with his right hand, and he almost wished the launch officer would grab his sleeve to stop him. The man moaned instead. In silent horror, Winthrop watched the index finger of his right hand tap the red circle on the screen.

  Sherman was a small submarine, especially when compared to a boomer. Although they stood in the control center, each of them heard the burst of compressed air that expelled the torpedo from its tube. The launch officer staggered backward as his legs became like jelly. The man crashed onto a chair.

  “Damn them,” the chief whispered. “Damn the Chinese. Why did they have to invade us in the first place?”

  With a leaden step, Captain Winthrop returned to his position by the screen. He felt his heartbeats thud with anticipation. He should give the order for them to flee, to dive, to do something. It all seemed so futile, though.

  The brutal seconds ticked away as silence reigned aboard Sherman. Then a blinding flash appeared on the screen where the enemy aircraft carrier floated.

  “Yes!” Winthrop said, and he found himself shaking a fist at the screen. “Helm, right fifteen degrees rudder, steady on course one seven six.”

  No one moved, nor did helm respond. In that second, it felt as if the crew had become zombies and he the last man on Earth. In moments, a terrible shock wave struck the submarine. As Winthrop staggered across the chamber, he felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Was this the end?

  Metal groaned all around him. Alarms rang. Then the sounds of gushing water announced their doom. Before he could speak, a bulkhead burst and a wall of water roared across Captain Winthrop.

  Will our sacrifice help America beat the Chinese? It was his last thought as the water picked him up and hurled his body against a bulkhead, killing him instantly.

  Soon, the submarine pieces and corpses of USS Sherman sank toward the bottom of the ocean, and the war between China and America continued with its brutal ugliness and destruction.

  RENO, NEVADA

  US Marine Master Sergeant Paul Kavanagh felt helpless as his wife clung to him in bed, weeping softly.

  A scarred warrior in his early forties with broad shoulders and narrow hips, in his younger years in college, he’d been a terror on t
he football field, slamming running backs onto the sod with bone-jarring hits.

  Cheri and he had just made love…again. He hadn’t touched his wife or been in her presence for over a year. On leave, he had another three days to go.

  Paul sat up against several pillows. In his absence, Cheri had filled the bed with more and more pillows. She wrapped her thin arms around his torso, her face concealed against his chest, her long dark hair in disarray, hiding her features. His left arm lay on her skin, with his fingers rubbing the small of her back.

  She snuffled and began shaking her head.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Paul…I-I can’t take it anymore. I’m so lonely all the time. Every time I turn on the TV or go on the computer I’m sure I’m going to see footage of you dead on a battlefield.”

  “Hey, they can’t kill me.”

  “No. Don’t say that. You’ll jinx it.”

  “Cheri,” he said, and he rubbed her skin.

  She raised her head, brushing aside strands of hair.

  Paul gazed down into her eyes. She was beautiful, and his hunger for her grew. It was as if he was seventeen again.

  “You’ve changed,” she said. Her pupils darted back and forth as she studied him.

  He grinned, and he rolled her onto her back. He loved the soft feel of her skin. Bending down, he kissed her, letting his lips press and linger against hers.

  “You’re the best kisser ever,” she murmured.

  “No, you are,” he said. “Now what’s wrong? Tell me.”

  She turned away and stared at a wall, at a photograph of them in their twenties on jet skis. He had bigger muscles then and her white bikini against her tanned skin showed—wow!