Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5) Page 12

  This was going to get hairy real soon.

  WASHINGTON, DC

  Anna Chen watched the President as he fixated on the giant screen. It showed thousands of Chinese fighters and drones heading for the front lines.

  They were in Underground Bunker #5, several hundred feet below and to the side of the White House. A huge circular conference table dominated the chamber, with two armed Marine guards standing at the only exit.

  President Sims had aged this past year. He had thinning hair and sad eyes, and let his shoulders hunch far too much. He wasn’t eating or sleeping well these days. The toll of responsibility told on him physically. She’d thought defeating the German Dominion would have cheered him. Instead, the President fretted about the coming casualties of the summer battles in Texas and New Mexico. China, Brazil and their allies would wrestle with US and Canadian forces for control of southern America. So far, Operation Reclamation had succeeded far better than anyone could have foreseen. Even that hadn’t made David Sims smile. She knew he felt a disaster building.

  Anna knew these things because she was the President’s lover, as well as one of his chief aides. In her mid-forties, Anna remained beautiful and sharp-eyed. She had a mixed heritage, half white and half Chinese in a country that loathed China.

  Max Harold of Homeland Security stood as he watched the big screen. Harold was like an encyclopedia, able to spout facts at will. He displayed little emotion but ironclad logic. Physically unremarkable, Max was balding with liver spots on his head. He wore a rumpled suit and had a distracted air like a preoccupied professor.

  In the past few years, Homeland Security’s director had amassed great power. His genius and ability to outwork any three people had been instrumental in creating the vast Militia organization. They had gone a long way toward ensuring that America had enough soldiers to fight the invaders.

  “I’m not sure I understand this,” the President was saying. “We drove Chinese aircraft from the battlefield over a week ago. Why are they attempting an air offensive now?”

  “Is that a precise statement, sir?” Harold asked. “We gained local air superiority over the breakthrough nodes. But if our drones attempted deep penetration raids, the Chinese always rose up to meet them. Their rarity over the front has been artificial, solely due to Chinese decisions.”

  “I remember the initial battles,” the President said testily. “We drove them away.”

  Anna remembered them too. American fighters and drones hadn’t proven extraordinarily deadly this time. New mobile particle beam platforms and other battlefield systems like tactical lasers had devastated Chinese air assets. Mainly, though, despite their paltry numbers, the new particle beams did most of the damage. There was a reason for that. Tac-lasers needed to be on target several seconds longer than the particle beams did to destroy an enemy vehicle.

  “Why are the Chinese attacking like this now?” President Sims asked.

  Harold crossed his arms, studying the big screen, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

  “This looks like a wave assault,” Sims said.

  “I imagine our Behemoths are the issue,” Harold said. “Marshal Meng must have decided to trade his air force for our super tanks, hoping to destroy as many of them as possible. We’ve been waiting for something like that. General McGraw told us two weeks ago his tankers have been preparing for mass missile or air assaults. He plans to turn such an attack into a trap. The rail guns make excellent antiair weapons.”

  “Sir,” the communications captain said in a shaky voice. “I believe I should switch data. I think you’re going to want to see this.”

  Without waiting for the President’s confirmation, the captain tapped her screen, changing the view. Now instead of just Oklahoma, the big screen showed northern Mexico, Texas and Oklahoma. The air symbols disappeared. In their place were bright red dots. They moved fast, fanning out across Texas, heading toward the Oklahoma Front.

  “What are those supposed to be?” the President asked.

  “Missiles,” the captain said.

  “Blue Swan EMP missiles?” the President asked.

  Director Harold shook his head. “That won’t help the Chinese this time. Ever since California, we’ve hardened most of our electronics against electromagnetic pulses.”

  A portion of the red dots disappeared from the big screen.

  “What just happened?” the President asked.

  The communications captain checked her equipment, looking up several seconds later. “They knocked out one of our SR drones, sir, eliminated out one of our high-flying eyes.”

  “What kind of missiles are those?” the President asked.

  “What?” the captain asked, as if talking to herself. Stricken, she looked up. “Mr. President, I don’t think this can be right.”

  “What is it?” Sims asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “The missiles—cruise missiles—appear to be Red Dragons.”

  “And?” the President asked. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Harold turned from the big screen. “Sir,” he said, with an edge to his voice. “Red Dragons are nuclear-tipped cruise missiles.”

  “Are you sure?” Sims asked.

  Anna was sure. Harold had a mind like an encyclopedia. He was seldom wrong when he rattled off facts.

  “Where are the Red Dragons headed?” the President asked.

  Harold pointed at the big screen. “It looks as if those cruise missiles are headed for the Oklahoma Front.”

  “Nukes?” Sims asked. “That’s crazy. That’s…alert the defenses!” he shouted. “Scramble every Reflex interceptor we have.”

  “Everyone is already on high alert, sir,” the captain said. “SAC just informed me they’re scrambling more interceptors now. Several are already on station.”

  “Will the rest of them get into position in time?” Sims asked.

  “A few will, sir,” the captain said.

  Anna watched the President. He grew pale, and then short of breath. “What’s their plan?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Nuclear weapons in that number will kill tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of ground pounders.”

  Maybe millions, Anna told herself. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

  “Now we know why the Chinese planes are attacking,” Harold said. “They’re running interference for the cruise missiles.”

  “But…” Sims said. “Won’t that mean the deaths of their pilots?”

  “I don’t think the Chinese leadership cares about them at this point,” Harold said. “They mean to win here whatever way they can.”

  “But…” the President said, seeming to grope for words.

  Max Harold balled one of his hands into a fist and smacked his other palm.

  The angry gesture surprised Anna. Normally, Harold kept himself under perfect control. She watched him, wondering if she was getting a glimpse into his soul.

  Rage blazed in his eyes as the Director of Homeland Security grounded his teeth together. “They’re going to pay for this,” he said.

  “Lord help us,” whispered Sims, slumping back in his chair. “It’s really happening. I can’t believe this is really happening.”

  “Yes!” Harold shouted. “We must retaliate now.”

  The President stared at him.

  “I demand an immediate retaliation!” Harold said.

  “No,” Sims said.

  As many watched the big screen in horror, the leaders began to argue about how to save the situation.

  FORWARD EDGE OF THE BATTLEFIELD, OKLAHOMA

  Captain Penner banked sharply as his anti-G suit inflated, helping to keep the blood in his head so he wouldn’t black out. A Chinese antiair missile flashed past his F35A2. He concentrated as the edges of his vision began to go dark.

  “Retreat,” the air controller officer told him. “You’re fighting too far forward.”

  A fiery explosion a quarter mile away from the canopy showed him that Lieutenant Aachen had just bought i
t.

  Chinese combat UAVs filled the sky, black forms like evil bats, with glowing “eyes” showing where the video cameras had been installed. They were fast and maneuverable suckers, with deadly missiles leaving rocket trails.

  As his F35A2 completed the banking turn, straightening, Penner kicked in the afterburners. A roar of sound filled his ears and his fighter seemed to leap forward. G forces pressed him against his seat. Pushing the controls, he dove to build velocity. His destination was the particle beam platforms toiling to catch up to the forward Behemoths, hoping for their covering fire.

  A growing noise in the cockpit told him the Chinese jammed hard.

  “Captain,” the air controller said.

  Penner didn’t like the tone of the man’s voice.

  “I have bad news for you,” the controller said. “Cruise missiles are heading your way.”

  “They’re not my worry,” Penner said.

  “I’m afraid they are. They’re Red Dragon cruise missiles. They carry nuclear warheads.”

  “What?” Penner asked, with a sinking feeling in his gut.

  “You have to engage the UAVs now. Command doesn’t want those craft near the PBT-2 systems so they can have a clear field of fire against the Red Dragons.”

  In that second, Penner realized he wasn’t going to survive the battle. This wasn’t like facing the GD naval air last year. The Chinese were going nuclear—the bastards. That meant— Forget what it means. Let’s just do this.

  He’d joined the Canadian Air Force to stop foreign aggressors. He could do that just as well down here as up north. The world ganged up on Canada and America. Okay. It was his turn to pay the piper. He’d made it through the Germans. The Chinese played a different game, more rugged. No. That wasn’t right, more brutal.

  With a knot in his gut, Penner cut speed and banked hard. His anti-G suit barely kept him from blacking out. The growling in his headphones was louder than ever.

  He saw an enemy drone. He hated their very shape, looking like little flying saucers with weird alien wings. With a flick of his thumb, he activated his cannon. He kicked in the afterburners once more, roaring at the enemy, centering the drone on his targeting grid. He felt his fighter shake as several shells exited the cannon.

  An explosion in the air made him snarl. “Got you, you little prick.”

  More drones appeared. They just kept on coming. They were maneuverable little devils, able to turn tighter and faster because AI systems didn’t have to worry about blacking out. He retargeted, and the cannon spewed shells.

  The growling quit for a moment, and he tracked on his radar. Something fast flew down low below him.

  He cursed. It was a cruise missile, a Red Dragon. It was happening. He hoped a particle beam could nail it. Then he didn’t have any more time to worry about that. He was too busy fighting for his life, hoping some American V-10s would arrive and give him a hand.

  TOPEKA, KANSAS

  As the Chinese cruise missiles sped toward destiny, Captain Bo Green’s Reflex interceptor settled into attack position miles above the ground.

  A couple of years ago, the North American Defense Net kept the interceptors in groups of three. Now the interceptors worked alone, since there was so much extra area to cover.

  Thirty such craft remained up at all times around the continental US and here in the gut in the Midwest. Each interceptor loomed larger than a C-5 Galaxy cargo plane. Each carried an ultra-hardened mirror on the bottom of the aircraft, the reflex of the strategic battle system.

  Giant antiballistic missile posts ringed the country and now dotted the center too. Their task was to stab the heavens with powerful lasers and burn down incoming warheads. The stations made an ICBM exchange between the North American Alliance and China nearly impossible.

  In 2038, President Sims had used the strategic ABMs to destroy every enemy satellite the lasers could reach. No one was going to monitor the US or use space mirrors to fire enemy lasers down into America if he could help it.

  Instead of ICBMs, the danger these days came from cruise missiles and low-level stealth bombers. The strategic ABMs could not hit those unless the enemies were in direct line of sight to the particular station. The Reflex interceptor changed the equation, as the ABM station could bounce the laser off the plane’s mirror and hit a low-flying target. The trick was making precise calculations and getting the Reflex high enough and in exactly the right position.

  “We have target acquisition,” Captain Green said.

  “You are weapons free, I say again, weapons free,” a NORAD major ordered.

  The strategic ABM station in Topeka aimed its giant laser at Green’s belly mirror and fired its pulse. The powerful beam flashed upward. Like a banking billiard ball, the ray struck the airborne mirror and sped toward Oklahoma. The first pulse stabbed the lead Red Dragon cruise missile, destroying it with intense heat.

  “Good work, Captain,” the NORAD major said. “Reposition now.”

  Thirty seconds later, another pulse-beam from the Topeka station struck his reflex mirror. The ray bounced and traveled at the speed of light, missing the next Chinese cruise missile.

  Before NORAD could comment, a warning light flashed on his control panel. Green studied the readings. The mirror had taken damage, too much according to instrument. With each extra pulse-strike, the odds would increase of a burn-through against the plane.

  “My mirror had degraded seven percent beyond the safety limit,” Green said.

  “There’s no one else to take your place, Captain,” the NORAD major said. “I don’t have to remind you that this is a nuclear attack.”

  Green nodded. He used to wonder if this day would ever come. Now the wondering was over. “Moving into position,” he said. After a full minute had passed, he said, “Ready.”

  For a third time, the Topeka ABM station fired at the Reflex mirror on the belly of the interceptor. The instrumentation proved faulty, or maybe Captain Green’s odds were just bad today. The ABM laser struck the belly mirror and reached out, destroying another Red Dragon. Then the laser burned through the degraded mirror and stabbed into the guts of the interceptor.

  Alarms rang in the cockpit. In Topeka, they shut down the laser, but it was too late. The giant interceptor split in half, sliced apart by the giant beam. Captain Green didn’t have the opportunity to eject, as the laser burned his body, killing him with intense heat.

  His sacrifice helped take down an extra nuclear-tipped missile, but the remaining Red Dragons continued their attack.

  FORWARD EDGE OF THE BATTLEFIELD, OKLAHOMA

  Captain Penner glanced at a gauge. He was running low on cannon shells.

  The rest of his teammates were gone, dead or drifting to the Earth as they dangled from their parachutes. The American V-10s were almost here, but that wasn’t going to matter to him.

  Even as Penner lined up another Chinese UAV, the rest raced for the Behemoths and particle beam platforms.

  An annoying beep told him the enemy had guidance radar lock-on. A Chinese antiair missile zoomed at his plane.

  Penner turned on afterburners, expelled chaff and tried to break the radar lock. None of it helped. He watched his HUD. The damn missile barreled for him. Nothing should fly so fast. Why couldn’t it all be cannons and gunnery like the aces of WWI? That would have been a war. The Canadians had been on the winning side that time.

  Will we win this one? Not if the other side is nuking us.

  Barely before the antiair missile stuck, Penner reached down and grasped the twin ejection handles, pulling hard. The canopy blew away so wind howled around his helmet, and his seat violently ejected from the aircraft. It felt as if a giant shoved him down into his chair. As he lofted, he witnessed the strike. The enemy missile took out the rear of his fighter as it exploded. Shrapnel billowed in a deadly cloud. Any of those pieces could kill him. He watched, watched— This time his anti-G suit couldn’t keep him from blacking out. He came to…maybe seconds later, drifting down on his seat,
with a gigantic parachute overhead. For him, the battle was over.

  Guess none of the shrapnel got me. That’s something, at least. I’m still alive and kicking.

  He began watching the ground. It was still far away. He hoped he could make a soft landing.

  PARTICLE BEAM BATTERY I-35, OKLAHOMA

  Far below the air battle of Captain Penner and many miles south, a PBT-2 battery on I-35 targeted the lead Red Dragon cruise missile.

  Data from a SR drone fed its Waylander tracking system. The Waylander AI reviewed the speed, altitude and behavior of the target.

  In seconds, in the Engagement Control Station, the TCO analyzed the speed, altitude and trajectory of the track. He authorized engagement and told his TCA to go from “standby” to “operate” mode.

  At that point, automated systems took over. The computer determined which battery’s beam cannon had the highest kill probability. Generators roared, pumping power to the plant.

  The nearest Red Dragon’s internal systems realized the enemy had radar lock-on. Its AI could learn, and it had from the Reflex lasers, radioing the data between missiles. The other Red Dragons deployed chaff and began to jink.

  The Waylander system quit relying on the SR pickup as the cruise missile flew into its line of sight. The radar gave ratios to the various imagines, highlighting the highest probabilities. Alarms sounded in the PBT-2 command center. A second and third Red Dragon now appeared.

  “Are they’re saturating us?” the TCO asked.

  As the latest cruise missile headed for Sixth Behemoth Regiment, a PBT-2 system accelerated particles. Then it fired a burst, which raced at nearly the speed of light. The particles struck, and then heated the targeted Red Dragon to an intolerable degree. The cruise missile exploded.

  At the same time, the second battery fired at the second cruise missile, taking it down.

  The third battery malfunctioned, whining out of control as it accelerated particles, unable to fire them.