Invasion: Colorado ia-3 Page 28

  -10-

  Operation Saturn

  SECRET BUNKER, NEBRASKA

  Colonel Higgins nodded to several Canadian generals as he scooted past them to his seat in the underground auditorium. He had to work to keep his feet from tangling with theirs.

  The place was filled with high brass from many different military branches. To get here, MPs had driven Stan over twenty miles from the new Behemoth Tank Park. The MPs had told him exactly nothing along the way, which was okay, as he already knew what was going on.

  Much had changed since the midnight drive along I-70 to Salt Lake City. That had been weeks ago. Now the snowstorms howling across the Great Plains reminded him of Alaska during the bitter retreat to Anchorage.

  He hadn’t heard from Jake since the phone call from Denver. It haunted him. Was his boy alive, dead or rotting in a Chinese POW camp? It ate at him not knowing.

  Footage out of Denver had shocked the nation. Scenes of the Chinese laser tanks had particularly inspired awe and despair. The beam—it was better surely than a Behemoth’s rail-gun. Stan dreaded facing the Chinese laser tank in battle. How many of those did the Chinese have? How had the Chinese managed to generate enough energy for such a powerful beam? In America, only the strategic ABM sites had the means.

  From Salt Lake City, tank haulers had brought the Behemoths north. They always traveled by night, with integral MPs going to great lengths with security procedures against enemy surveillance. Here was the middle of nowhere, Nebraska, a flat land of endless snow and wind. The Platte River Defense Line was thirty miles south from the tank park. South beyond the river was the SAF First Front, which stretched across the entire state of Nebraska and even a little into Iowa.

  Stan glanced around the vast chamber. Generals and colonels abounded. From what he’d been seeing the past few weeks, America had finally gathered a force to hit back at the Aggressors.

  The lights flicked in front, probably to get their attention. Sure, Stan recognized General Tom McGraw. McGraw strode up a short set of stairs onto the stage and moved to the podium.

  The murmuring in the great chamber lessened.

  McGraw cleared his throat into the microphone. That brought silence to the auditorium.

  Stan felt a surge of expectancy.

  “Welcome,” McGraw said. “I’ll get right to the point, as we still have much to do and very little time to get it done in. First, I want each of you to know that this location is secret to everyone but a handful of people. That is why each of you came in an unmarked car chauffeured by very special MPs. In fact, each of these MPs was actually a Secret Service agent.”

  Stan’s eyebrows lifted. If the Secret Service was involved, that meant so was the President.

  “That brings me to point two,” McGraw said. “This meeting has one purpose. To win this war, the United States must go on the offensive. To date, we haven’t had the mass or the resources to attempt a major offensive. We’ve been too busy trying to stave off defeat. Well, that has finally changed due to several critical circumstances. I would explain that to you, but the President of the United States has insisted on telling you personally. Therefore, it is now my honor and privilege to introduce President Sims.”

  From speakers around the auditorium, a recording started playing “Hail to the Chief.” Stan felt it. Everyone else must have felt it too. As one, the massed generals and colonels in the auditorium rose to their feet. To the side onstage, a curtain fluttered. President Sims appeared. He marched toward General McGraw. The President held a sheaf of papers at his side, and against tradition, he wore an Army uniform.

  Sims was considerably shorter than McGraw, but the President didn’t act like it. He grabbed McGraw’s outstretched hand and pumped it heartily. Stan could see Sims whisper to McGraw. Tom released his grip and saluted. Turning smartly, McGraw strode down the steps and took a vacant seat in the front row.

  Sims faced the assembled officers. He put his papers on the podium and cleared his throat. Pulling the microphone closer to his mouth, he glanced behind him.

  A screen appeared. On it were the American and Canadian flags.

  “This is a rare privilege,” President Sims said. His voice reverberated through the loudspeakers. It told of his confidence and restrained excitement.

  That excited Stan as well. He sat straighter. So did many others around him.

  “I’ve been waiting for this meeting for some time,” the President told them. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here tonight to implement Operation Saturn. If anyone has heard about that, please raise your hand.”

  No one did.

  “General,” the President said, looking at McGraw and smiling indulgently.

  McGraw raised a meaty paw. So did several officers sitting beside him.

  The President nodded. “Except for these few officers, Operation Saturn has remained secret for a simple reason. We mean to surprise the Aggressors. To that end, we have clandestinely transported masses of supplies at night. This has been done under the strictest procedures and with a constant watch on spy satellites, enemy AWACS and recon drones. We have also moved powerful formations into position. This, too, has proceeded under the strictest protocols. Many of you have complained about that, which is good. In fact, your complaints have heartened me, because it means the security people have been following my orders to the letter.”

  The President paused, and he smiled. There was a polite ripple of laughter and nods from the audience. The President gripped the podium with both hand and leaned toward them. His eyes burned now with earnestness.

  The laughter evaporated. Stan felt a sensation along his spine. This was serious business tonight. It gave him hope, and his expectations rose.

  “I have personally selected each of you,” the President said. “I have personally selected your divisions or regiments for the coming task. Together, you are Army Group Washington. The name means something to me and I have no doubt it means something to you. George Washington was the father of our great country. He fought the Redcoats and defeated them after many grueling years of warfare. In the Revolutionary War, it often looked as if General Washington was finished, his soldiers beaten on the field of battle. Yes, many times, he faced battlefield losses, but he fought back from defeat. In the end, General Washington vanquished the enemy and he helped give this new nation the breath of life.

  “In the past few months, we have faced many defeats,” Sims said. “In fact, we have faced years of Chinese aggression. First, they attacked us in Alaska where I had the great privilege of defeating their forces. Later, they successfully invaded Hawaii and obliquely attacked our interests with the clandestine invasion of Mexico. If that wasn’t enough provocation, they helped detonate a terrorist bomb at Livermore, a nuclear weapon. We haven’t forgotten that, their perfidy or the lack of courage to admit it was their doing.

  “This year, they invaded California. We stopped them in Los Angeles. So they switched fronts. Starting this summer, they smashed their way into Texas and New Mexico. They’ve driven deeply into the Midwest. To do it, they needed help. The Chinese bully convinced the South American Federation that America lay supine, ripe for the taking. There is no doubt these two power blocs have caused havoc and immense destruction to our beloved land, but the fight is far from over.

  “Due to our diplomacy, we convinced the German Dominion of the danger of remaining an aggressor against us. With the removal of their troops from Cuba, we have been able to shift many formations from the East Coast to here. I know that many of you gentlemen have spent the summer and autumn waiting for those Germans to land. But they’re gone.”

  There was some pointed coughing from the audience. Stan saw it came from the Canadian officers, who sat as a bloc. One tall officer had a tattoo on his cheek.

  The President noticed the coughing, too. He shifted his stance and regarded the Canadians. “As the price of their withdrawal, the Germans demanded Quebec Province from our staunch ally, Canada. Believe me when I say that s
uch a land grab won’t stand for long. America knows how to help its allies. The Canadian officers among us are a welcome addition to our great objective this winter. In the year to come, we will help you regain Quebec. First, however, we have another task to perform, a task of national honor demanding justice and fierce retribution.”

  The President paused and dramatically scanned the audience.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the Canadian and U.S. Armed Forces, Operation Saturn represents our turn to twist the screws on the Aggressors. We have gathered the elite formations of both militaries and pressed them into one awesome force of destruction. Army Group Washington will be composed of three Armies: the U.S. Second Tank Army, the U.S. Ninth Army and the Canadian First Army.”

  The President shuffled papers on the podium, glancing at them. When he looked up, he said, “Before I go into detail on your objective, I want you to understand the nature of your task. Operation Saturn will be a two-pronged assault. The first part of the operation is a mass assault against the South American First Front. You will have no part in this. You are the exploitation thrust that will only come after a general offensive meant to shatter a critical section of the SAF forces. Once this has been achieved, I will unleash you upon the Chinese.

  “Second Tank Army will lead the attack. In it are the bulk of our cutting-edge armored divisions. This includes the Behemoth tanks that proved so decisive in California. It also includes the new American main battle tank, the MBT-8 Jefferson.”

  As the President spoke, various slides appeared on the screen behind him.

  Stan saw a Behemoth tank shown from various angles. He now saw the new U.S. Jefferson. It was radically different in appearance from the Behemoth or even the old M1A3 Abrams. The Jefferson was five meters long and 2.4 meters tall, making it the puniest of the MBTs on the battlefield. It had much better high-tech materials than an M1. Like the Behemoth, it had magnetically balanced hydraulic suspension and armored tracks. Unlike the Behemoth, it had inner wheels for highway movement, giving it greater mobility. With its heavy armor, it also had a huge 175mm cannon. It fired rocket-assisted shells: anti-personnel, anti-armor or anti-air. The fire control computer could lock onto targets and direct a six-salvo round in two minutes. It had six Beehive flechette launchers and 25mm autocannons to blast down most incoming enemy missiles or shells. It was a vast improvement to the mainstay but old M1A3.

  The President glanced back at the screen before regarding the crowd again.

  “It is true we do not yet have the Jefferson MBTs in great number. But there are two divisions of them in Second Tank Army. We have carefully tested and saved them for this moment. Instead of feeding the new MBTs piecemeal into the summer and autumn battles, we wanted a significant number of them to use as a hammer at the right time and place. That time is now and that place is here in Nebraska and Colorado.

  “Instead of spreading the Jeffersons around, we’ve gathered the best armor into a mailed fist. That’s the secret to this venture. We have combed our forces for the latest and best formations. You are the cutting edge, gentlemen. It will be up to you to drive to …”

  The President peered at them, scanning the crowd as if searching for something special.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the purpose of Operation Saturn is to bring a swift end to the enemy invasion. The Germans thought to bargain with us while we were down so they could drive a hard deal. Very well, I accepted their offer. This was to give us a single objective: hurt the Aggressors in the Midwest hard enough to drive them back into Mexico and end their venture.

  “My advisors tell me that the SAF formations have lost their fighting spirit,” Sims said. “For the last several weeks, the SAF troops have fired artillery at our soldiers, but not dared to attack across the Platte River. They’ve become scared. They are the weak sister in the coalition presently directed at us. Therefore, we will overwhelm a portion of their line with a giant offensive, smashing their confidence and sending them reeling back in disarray. Once we achieve that, you will go onto the offensive.

  “You will be the spear that tears out the enemy heart. Army Group Washington must sprint to Colorado Springs, reaching the Rockies. By doing this at speed—by making the greatest tank drive in history—you will trap the PAA Third Front in a gigantic cauldron. In order to destroy Third Front, we will have to keep them inside the bag and any enemy breakout attempts from outside.”

  The President grinned a predatory smile.

  Stan found himself grinning in return.

  “That means a twofold operation for you,” Sims said. “The first part, as I’ve said, is to drive to Colorado Springs at great speed, letting nothing slow you down. I’ve already hinted at the second objective. It will be to build two fortified defenses along your deep penetration route. The western defense line—stretching from the Platte River to Colorado Springs—will keep the PAA Third Front captive. The eastern defense stretching the same distance will stop any SAF forces from breaking through and letting the enemy escape the trap.

  “If we can do this,” Sims said, “—and I most certainly believe we can—if we can do this, we will have destroyed or captured one-half of the Chinese invasion force. That will cripple the enemy and swiftly bring about his total destruction. As a matter of fact, it will do so before the devious Germans can change their minds and decide to invade our respective countries from Quebec.”

  The President reached inside the podium, picking up a glass of water. He drank and set the glass down. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have assembled Army Group Washington with great secrecy and care. As Marshal Liang concentrates on completing the subjection of Greater Denver and attempts to batter into Cheyenne, you will be the tornado that howls down on his head. We’ve waited a long time for this: I mean the turning of the tide of war.”

  President Sims paused, studying the audience. “Let me speak very frankly for a moment. Everything depends on your success. If you fail, you might be the last U.S. Army to attack anywhere. We have to knock out the Chinese now, in a blitz of several weeks. You have the means. Hopefully, we have given you enough numbers. My question, gentlemen, is do you have the will and the drive to kick the Chinese in the teeth and boot him out of our country?”

  President Sims waited then, watching expectantly.

  General Tom McGraw was the first man onto his feet. “We have the will, Mr. President! We have the drive!” McGraw’s words boomed throughout the auditorium.

  Stan found himself on his feet as everyone else stood up.

  “Yes, Mr. President,” the chamber full of officers said. “We have the will! We have the drive!”

  “Good,” Sims said. “It’s good to hear your heart. We have much to do before we unleash Operation Saturn. Therefore, I will give the microphone to General McGraw as he explains the coming attack in greater detail.”

  Stan grinned. They were going to attack. They’d saved the Behemoths for the most important battle yet. He was going to get a chance to reach his son.

  Is Jake still alive in Denver? Boy, you’d better have stayed alive. You—

  Colonel Higgins pushed the thought aside. He had to concentrate. He had to listen to McGraw. If his boy still lived, this drive was going to save him.

  Nothing is going to stand in my way—nothing!

  REAR EDGE OF THE BATTLE AREA, NEBRASKA

  It was the second day of the offensive against the SAF formations across the Platte River Line. The particular South American Federation soldiers around here were Venezuelans, junior partners with the dominant Brazilians.

  Master Sergeant Paul Kavanagh, Romo and Sergeant Kline lay on a low, icy hilltop well behind the main enemy defense.

  Paul wore cold-weather gear, as did his two companions. The gear was camouflaged white, and included a helmet with a special HUD visor allowing night vision and binocular sight. The rest was composed of body armor and an internal heater. It allowed him to lay on snow or ice for hours without freezing.

  It was nearly dawn in this winter nether
world. Temperatures fell far below freezing and it was only supposed to get worse. It reminded Paul of Alaska and his trek across the Arctic ice. He wondered what had ever happened to John Red Cloud.

  Paul shook his head. He needed to focus on the present. With this visor, he didn’t need binoculars, because with the proper move of his chin, he switched the HUD’s range-sight.

  To the north, giant U.S. artillery tubes thundered. They created mighty flashes of light that reflected off the low clouds. Paul heard the accompanying booms much later. Those guns were miles away. The barrage was unending, and the artillery rained many varieties of munitions on the shocked Venezuelans.

  “They don’t have these kinds of fireworks in Caracas,” Romo said.

  “I guess not,” Paul said.

  They were back to their old game of LRS—Long Range Surveillance. Instead of cross-country motorcycles, now they had snowmobiles. That reminded Paul of Alaska, too. He remembered the Green Berets on their snowmobiles, the ones from the submarine that had popped up out of the ice. What had ever happened to them? It was strange he’d never run across them in SOCOM. He’d have to ask General Ochoa about that. Not that Ochoa spoke to him much anymore, not since the little run-in with Colonel Valdez.

  “Look,” Romo said. “I see movement.”

  “Where?” asked Kline. He was the new guy.

  “Six-three-six,” Romo said.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Paul noticed Kline shift his helmet.

  “What is that?” Kline asked.

  Paul moved his jaw. This suit had taken getting used to, that’s for sure. He had to shift his jaw slightly to the left. Ah, there it was.

  The visor zoomed the night-vision picture. Paul squinted. He couldn’t believe it.

  “Looks like soldiers,” Romo said.

  Paul grunted. That’s what he thought, too. He saw South American soldiers running across the snow, hundreds of them, many thousands of poor slobs. They weren’t running north at the American lines, but south, fleeing from the defenders.