Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5) Page 3

  Big Tom grinned down at him, and he extracted a slim metal container from his pocket. Unscrewing the cap, he took a slug of whiskey. He sighed, smacked his lips and took another long swallow.

  “I’d offer you some, old son, but I think you’d turn me down.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I don’t like being turned down these days. It hurts my feelings. So I’m not going to ask, you understand?”

  Stan blinked several times, and he realized that McGraw was already drunk. The knowledge tightened his chest. The general hadn’t been drunk a half hour ago. That meant he must have been drinking heavily since the theater briefing. Why would McGraw drink so much before meeting here with him?

  “I can see the wheels turning inside your head,” McGraw said. He pointed the flask at Stan. It had a dent in the side. The general scowled at the small container, glanced toward the back where the priest stood and stuffed the flask into his jacket pocket.

  “Sit down,” the general muttered. “I’m tired of pacing.” Before Stan could decide where to sit, McGraw lumbered to a front pew, dropping his butt onto it so the wood creaked.

  Stan moved onto the same one, with plenty of space between them.

  McGraw took a deep breath, opening his mouth as he turned to Stan. The general’s gaze darted away.

  It was then Stan knew things were bad. Normally, McGraw shied away from nothing. Is this why the man had gotten drunk?

  “I’m speaking in confidence, old son. You do understand that, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That means if you breathe a word about this to anyone I’ll nail your hide to a wall, and I’ll deny everything. I’ll break you, Higgins, or circumstances will. I won’t have to do anything other than to deny I said any of this.”

  “Okay.”

  “I like you, Higgins. I have from the start.”

  The general meant their days together in Officer Candidate School as young men a long time ago.

  “Even better, I’ve learned to trust you and trust your judgment.” McGraw paused.

  Stan had the feeling the general wanted to take out his flask again and sip some more whiskey.

  “The war’s been hard,” McGraw said. “You’d agree to that.”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s hard on soldiers and even more on generals.”

  “Seems like it’s hardest on the dead,” Stan said.

  “Yes,” McGraw said, as he nodded. “But most of all, it’s hard on the President. To make all those decisions and know that men and women die because of it…”

  Stan waited, and he didn’t like the direction this was headed. If it was so bad King Sims should step down and let the people vote for a replacement—a real election, not the rigged events they had these days. He didn’t want to hear anything that might make him sympathetic to the tyrant. Ever since Jake had told him what had really happened last year in the penal battalion, he’d become more critical of America’s highest leadership.

  “The war has taken a psychological toll on Sims,” McGraw said. “He isn’t anything like the man we knew in Alaska.”

  The Alaskan War in 2032 seemed like a lifetime ago. Sims had been the Joint Forces Commander back then. He’d driven the Chinese out of the frozen state. It had turned him into a national hero and won him the presidency later. The Chinese had regrouped for seven years before trying again out of Mexico, leading to their present predicament.

  “We have to win the next battle,” McGraw said. “I don’t know if the President can withstand another disaster.”

  “He can step down any time he wants,” Stan said.

  McGraw scowled. “That’s a foolish statement. The country needs Sims. The people trust him. They’ve developed a national faith in him.

  The Caesars eventually claimed to be gods. Roman policy demanded people make sacrifices to them. It’s why they burned the earliest Christians, who refused to worship anyone but God Almighty. Is that where this is headed?

  The general continued to scowl, and his manner became colder.

  Despite his feelings, Stan decided on restraint. What could he do about any of this anyway? “Okay, we need Sims,” he said.

  “I don’t think you understand the seriousness of the situation.”

  “The President is getting tired. I believe that’s what you’re saying.”

  McGraw rubbed a big hand across his chin, and he seemed to measure Stan with his eyes. “There’s talk about helping him,” the general said quietly. “The President might need a rest, a vacation.”

  Stan became alert, and something must have given it away.

  “I’m finally getting through to you,” McGraw said. “Good. Homeland Security and the military are engaged in…talks concerning this.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

  “I think you do. If the President lacks the will to do what needs doing…then we’re duty bound to help him.”

  “By staging a coup?” Stan asked, blurting the words before he could monitor himself.

  McGraw’s face hardened, and the man’s gaze bored into Stan, becoming ugly, maybe even dangerous. A moment later, a grin broke out. “You’re missing my meaning, Higgins. FDR had a stroke at the end of World War II. No one said anything as those around him coped with the situation.”

  “Sims is going to have a stroke?”

  “Damnit, Higgins, can’t you be delicate for once? We’re talking about saving the country.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. McGraw is one of them, hungry for power. At least they’re getting their lingo right. No. I can’t believe McGraw is suggesting a coup, not Tom.

  “Sir, if the President is unfit for duty, we should elect a new man. That’s what the Constitution says.”

  “What century are you living in, son? We haven’t been following the Constitution for seventy years already. The politicians do whatever they want, making things up as they go along. When the people try to limit them in some way, that’s the only time the President or the others talk about the sacred Constitution.”

  Stan sat back, stunned. “Are you talking about a triumvirate?” he asked.

  “Speak English. What are you talking about?”

  “Pompey, Julius Caesar and—”

  “What? Caesar? Why are you talking about Roman history now? I don’t get you.”

  “Back then, Caesar and the others formed a triumvirate that bypassed Roman laws. It sounds like that’s what you’re suggesting here.”

  McGraw stared at him, finally shrugging. “Old son, you’re far too bold with your words. But yes, I’m talking about a triumvirate: Max Harold, me and Chairman Alan.”

  “Homeland Security and the military will run the country?”

  “Just until we kick the Chinese out,” McGraw said.

  “And if the President fails to have a breakdown?”

  McGraw gave him a hearty smile. “So much the better. We’re just talking about contingency plans.”

  Sure you are.

  “Well?” McGraw asked. “What do you think?”

  “I’m not sure I follow you, sir.”

  McGraw looked up at the ceiling as he shook his head. “You’re not stupid, Higgins. But very well, let’s make this crystal clear. Are you with me?”

  “I’m not against you, sir.”

  “That isn’t want I’m asking. Will you support me?”

  Stan blinked several times as he ingested the general’s words. It began to dawn on him that McGraw wanted to make sure of his legions before he proceeded. If the army backed McGraw, the general could transform that into political power. Yes, if the three of them formed a triumvirate, things could become very sticky between Harold and McGraw. Homeland Security ran the police in all their variations. That was power, but nothing compared to the American military of millions.

  McGraw played a dangerous game, and now the general tried to pull him into it.

  No. I’m already in it. It doesn’t matter what I say. Frankly, joini
ng him is probably the safer choice.

  Stan rested his chin on his chest, feeling the stubble because he hadn’t shaved thoroughly enough this morning. He thought about Jake, how his boy had stood up for his beliefs. It had cost Jake, but he’d been a real man, an adult. The heroes of Stan’s life had stood up for their beliefs: Jesus, Martin Luther of Germany and George Washington.

  This must be my hour to make a stand.

  Stan expelled his breath and faced McGraw. “I believe in the Republic, sir.”

  “What kind of answer is that?”

  “An honest one, I suppose.”

  “You’re going to buck me?”

  Stan found himself in a staring contest with a three hundred and fifty pound drunkard. Tom McGraw could probably pound the crap out of him. Stan shifted in his seat. Well, okay, maybe so. But the general would know he’d been in a fight.

  “Let me paint you a picture,” McGraw said. “It might help focus your thinking.”

  Stan nodded as he held the general’s gaze.

  “Your boy—Jake’s his name, I believe.”

  Stan felt his temper slipping. Is he going to threaten me through my son? “Jake is his name,” he managed to say.

  “Last year, a Militia tribunal sent him to a penal battalion.”

  “That’s right,” Stan said. “Jake’s sin was that he pissed on a photograph of Max Harold while in a strip club.”

  “Your boy has a morality issue, does he? Likes to watch women take off their clothes?”

  “The Militia officer who pressed charges happened to be there, too. The man was quite taken with one of the strippers, I’m told.”

  “That’s all dirt under the rug, Higgins. My point is that Jake went to a penal battalion. He survived the Germans, but murdered his sergeant.”

  “The sergeant killed one of his men in cold blood,” Stan said. “Jake shot him in self-defense.”

  “Let me finish,” McGraw said. “It’s my picture I’m painting. Your son fled into the army. Quite a feat, that. I’m wondering if you had a hand in it. I believe he’s presently in a Behemoth regiment.”

  “What of it?” Stan heard himself say.

  “Homeland Security wants him back to face a new tribunal for murder.”

  “You mean they want to murder my son.”

  “That’s an awfully unpatriotic statement, Colonel.”

  How can this be happening? I have to keep calm. I have to think. I might lose my son otherwise.

  “If they try to murder him, I’ll—” Stan clamped his lips together and looked away. Finally, he stood, and he faced the general. Slowly, Stan unbuttoned the rest of his coat, exposing his Medal of Honor.

  “Do you see this, sir?”

  “I do.”

  “The medal is supposed to honor courage. There are different kinds, I know. The two most known are physical and moral. Between the two, moral courage is much rarer. My son has both. I strive for that. This is the real world. I understand. There are emergencies in every area of life. I’m not sure what I’m saying…except this. I’ll fight for my son.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  Suddenly Stan felt lightheaded, and he said, “Sure, why not? It’s a threat against you, sir, and against Homeland Security. If you use my boy against me so he dies, send some of your killers to my regiment and gun me down, because I’ll try to kill you and Max Harold both.”

  McGraw stared at him, and Stan could see his death in the general’s eyes. He’d said too much. Jake liked to spout off. The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. Stan thought about taking his words back. Before he could, McGraw suddenly laughed heartily. The switch shocked Stan.

  “Higgins, Higgins, Higgins, I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Look at us, old son, two old war dogs having a battle of words. I’m drunk. You know that, right?”

  Stan recalled McGraw pretending to be drunk over a year ago. The general had fooled him then—not today.

  “I’ve been keeping the Militia people at bay,” McGraw said. “It isn’t easy. They want your boy pretty badly. Harold even mentioned it the other day. I told him not to upset my Behemoth regiments, as they’re the answer to defeating the Chinese.”

  “I just want to fight for my country, sir,” Stan said. “Not play politics.”

  “Yes, I can see that. I don’t mean to drag you into political struggles. It’s a dirty business and takes a certain kind of mindset. You’re the keenest mind we have, Higgins. I thought—” The general shook his head. “Never mind, old son, I’ll let you remain as pure as the driven snow. Some of us have to take on ugly burdens so the rest of you can—”

  The general’s red nostril’s flared. “You wear the Medal of Honor well. It suits you, old son. I want to ask you some questions about the coming offensive. We’ll keep this strictly military, okay?”

  “Thank you, sir,” Stan said.

  “Don’t think your threat frightens me, though.”

  It frightens me, Stan thought. I can’t believe I said that. Aloud, he said, “I understand, sir. I get too hot under the collar sometimes when it comes to my family.”

  McGraw reached into his coat and pulled out a plastic-coated map. He unrolled it and set the thing on the floor, going down onto his hands and knees.

  “Come on. Look at this with me. I want your opinion on a few of my latest ideas.”

  Stan Higgins soon found himself on the church floor, listening and giving his opinions. He kept wondering if this was just a cover, and he speculated what this year of fighting, political and military, was going to bring to America, the former land of the free.

  -1-

  Strategic Interlude I

  From Tank Wars, by B.K. Laumer III:

  The 2041 Oklahoma-Texas Offensives:

  The greatest tank and tank destroyer on both sides fought in the coming battles, the American Behemoth and the Chinese Mobile Canopy AntiBallistic Missile system, which soldiers dubbed the laser tank. Yet these giants were always in short supply and often failed to materialize in the location needed. The far more numerous American Jefferson and Chinese T-66 multi-turreted tank provided the mainstay for the many armor brigades and divisions.

  The newer American main battle tank, the MBT-8 Jefferson, 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 smallest MBT on the battlefield. It had better high-tech materials than the M1, making it many times more deadly. Like the Behemoth, it had magnetically balanced hydraulic suspension and armored tracks. Unlike the Behemoth, it had inner wheels for highway movement, giving the Jefferson greater mobility. Along with its heavy armor, it had a huge 175mm main gun, which fired rocket-assisted shells: antipersonnel, antiarmor or antiair. The fire control computer could lock onto targets and direct a six-salvo round in two minutes. The tank had six beehive flechette launchers and 25mm autocannons to blast down most incoming enemy missiles or shells. It was a vast improvement over the former mainstay, the M1A3.

  The Chinese T-66 was an older model by many years. It also happened to be a World War I dream: a land battleship. It had three turrets, each with a 175mm smoothbore gun. It fired hypervelocity, rocket-assisted shells. It was over one hundred tons, making it nearly twice as heavy as an Abrams. Six 30mm autocannons and twenty beehive flechette defenders made it sudden death for any infantryman out in the open and helped to knock down or deflect most enemy shells. The main gun tubes could fire Red Arrow antiair rounds, making it a deadly proposition for attack-craft trying to take it out. It had a magnetically balanced hydraulic suspension, meaning the gunners could fire with astounding accuracy while moving at top speed.

  The opening battles proved the effectiveness of each tank, although the greater number of Behemoths this year became a nightmare for the Chinese and the tri-turreted crews.

  From Military History: Past to Present, by Vance Holbrook:

  WORLD WAR III

  OPERATIONS IN 2041

  Global State
of Affairs

  The situation regarding Sino dominance vis-à-vis the rest of the world had changed considerably since 2039. At that time the Pan-Asian Alliance stood as the world colossus, with the South American Federation and the German Dominion as its staunch partners. Nothing seemed beyond their grasp, including a continental invasion of North America.

  Two years of war brought bitter changes. Chinese arms received serious shocks in southern California and mid-America numbering in millions of casualties. Unusual for China considering its history, the losses shook the nation. Many attributed this to the one child per family policy, as every casualty now might wipe out a family line. The ensuing rebuilding of the invasion army disrupted national life and caused more than one outbreak of domestic rebellion. The Pacific War—fought on the US side with submarines, missiles and long-range drones—took a critical toll of the PAA merchant marine and surface vessels, straining the Chinese economic infrastructure.

  Yet those changes failed to compare to the weakening and, in some cases, the desertion of allies. The North American War revealed the severe limitations of SAF military formations. The best Brazilian units had taken irreplaceable losses, while the remaining South American divisions began to show a decided reluctance to engage vengeful American forces. The greatest damage came with the exit of the German Dominion.

  Several factors shook the GD to its foundations, bringing about a drastic realignment: 1) the annihilation of the North American Expeditionary Force in 2040 and its Atlantic Fleet; 2) the assassination of Chancellor Kleist; and 3) the discovery of Chinese backing of the “Shia” nuclear attack against the North African Desalinating Plant. A fundamental political shift took place in London, Paris, Berlin and Rome. The new European Union repudiated its Chinese alliance and signed an accord with the Russian-dominated Slavic Coalition. The EU rehabilitated General Mansfeld and sent him east with the remainder of the AI Kaisers and other robotic brigades. They would aid the Russians in the defense of the Far East.

  Even China’s Pan-Asian Alliance began to creak with fatigue. In Japan particularly and throughout the Philippines, the populace had grown war-weary and sick of the casualty lists. More ominously, rumbling stomachs due to poor crop yields encouraged mass food riots and acts of sabotage. Chairman Hong’s favored status rating—where he gave some nations better food supplies than others—poisoned Sino-Japanese relations even as it solidified Korean and Vietnamese harmony.