Invasion: California Page 30

  “Mr. President,” Director Levin said, interrupting the major. “I would like to speak, sir.”

  Sims had been staring into space as the major spoke. He now blinked several times and swiveled his head. As he did, the President seemed to return to them instead of being lost in whatever haze he had escaped into these past few minutes.

  “You said something?” Sims asked.

  “Mr. President,” Levin said, “I believe we have reached a critical impasse. The Chinese have gained Santa Cruz port, an unforeseen windfall for them. They have exploited it brilliantly and now threaten the entire state.”

  Levin turned to Anna.

  She didn’t want to support him in this, but he wasn’t asking for her opinion, just what she had uncovered. “We believe Admiral Ling commands the invasion fleet,” she said.

  “Admiral Ling fought against me in Alaska,” Sims said.

  “Yes, sir,” Anna answered.

  The President scowled, causing deep lines to appear in his forehead. “I beat him in the end. Does he think this is a rematch?”

  “Likely,” Levin said. “It is my opinion that he begged for this chance to square off against you, sir.”

  Anna glanced at the CIA Director. She’d never told Levin that or even hinted at such a thing. In fact, it was probably the opposite. In her opinion, the Admiral was a reluctant warrior. Dare she speak up and say so, undercutting her boss? It would likely lose her this cherished post. Yet if she remained quiet, an even greater disaster might loom over them.

  “Admiral Ling wanted to face me, did he?” Sims said.

  “He wished for a rematch,” Levin said. “He knows you’re the President and now he wishes to get revenge.”

  Sims looked away. Soon he turned to Anna and asked, “Is that true: Ling wants a rematch?”

  “I’m sure he knows who our Commander-in-Chief is,” Anna said.

  Before she could say more, Levin slapped the table. “There you have it, Mr. President. If that wasn’t bad enough, old Admiral Ling has committed atrocities just as he did in Alaska. Victory at any costs has always been his motto. Can you imagine what will happen once he breaks into a major metropolitan area like San Francisco? Sir, we must use whatever means necessary to stop the Chinese.”

  “We’re doing everything we can,” Sims said.

  Director Levin turned to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

  “Well, Mr. President,” General Alan said, “we haven’t done everything we can, not yet.”

  The transformation to the President amazed Anna. His eyes hardened and his shoulders straightened. “What are you talking about?”

  General Alan hesitated.

  Levin spoke up. “Mr. President, we have a spy deep in the Chinese military. What we’re suggesting might well expose the spy. Yet for one operation, we can likely gain their IFF encryption key.”

  Anna tapped her scroll and typed “IFF.” Ah, it meant, “Identify Friend or Foe.” She speed-read the text. It was a command and control feature—an interrogation system—to identify aircraft, vehicles, soldiers and sometimes missiles as friendly. The system could not identify someone as hostile, just friendly if the IFF transponder returned a coded reply correctly once a beam had interrogated it. The military used IFF systems so they knew which vehicles, planes and sometimes missiles belonged to them and which they needed verbal or visual recognition. Ah, sometimes, friendly aircraft failed to respond correctly because of battle damage, equipment failure, loss of the encryption keys or the wrong encryption keys. Terrain-hugging missiles and aircraft often had trouble responding to line-of-sight microwave IFF systems.

  “What does any of that mean to us?” Sims asked.

  “That if we’re clever, sir,” Levin said, “we can sneak several missiles among the Chinese.”

  “Ballistic missiles?” Sims asked.

  “No, sir,” Levin said, “cruise missiles.”

  The President drummed his fingers on the conference table. “I take it these are nuclear-tipped cruise missiles.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “By the terms of the Non-Nuclear Use Treaty, we no longer deploy battlefield nuclear weapons,” Sims said. “It would take time to ready nuclear-tipped cruise missiles and bring them near enough so they had a chance of landing among the enemy.”

  “I realize that, Mr. President,” Levin said.

  “Is this your plan?” Sims asked General Alan.

  “Not altogether, sir,” Alan said, “although I have approved of what the Director is suggesting.”

  “It sounds to me that there’s more to your plan,” Sims said, “something you haven’t told me yet.”

  The CIA Director and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs traded glances.

  “The spy is my doing,” Levin said. “There is also a specially constructed submersible belonging to the US Navy. The commander of the submersible is a deep-dweller and he has sat out the battle, inching closer to the Chinese these past two days. He possesses three cruise missiles, sir, each of them with a nuclear warhead. It is a suicide mission, of that there is no doubt. The submersible is fragile, constructed out of carbon fiber.”

  “Meaning it’s practically invisible to enemy sonar,” General Alan said.

  “The drug cartels used to use earlier models to smuggle their product into the U.S.,” Levin explained. “Ours is a far more advanced model.”

  “Keep talking,” the President said.

  “There’s little more to say, sir,” Levin said. “The captain brings his submersible near the surface as we launch a heavy, land-based missile assault against the Chinese position. As we’ve seen in Southern California, they will counter-fire. Some of their missiles will surely be launched from ships offshore dedicated to that task. We know that’s Chinese naval doctrine. As the Chinese counter-fire, our captain targets his cruise missiles. Because of the spy, those cruise missiles will carry the latest Chinese IFF encryption key. That means the Chinese will leave the missiles alone. If a few officers wonder about them, they’ll think of the missiles as more counter-fire. Once the cruise missiles strike—”

  “What do you envision as their target?” Sims asked.

  “Clearly, Mr. President,” Levin said, “the target should be Santa Cruz port and the waiting troopships. Almost the entire Chinese naval infantry allotment is out there for the taking, but it will need a nuclear attack to destroy them.”

  “Target an American city?” the President asked coldly.

  “This is war, sir. Sometimes, there are no good solutions but only those that will work.”

  “No!” Sims said. “It is diabolical and I refuse to listen to any more of this.”

  “Begging your pardon, Mr. President,” Alan said, “I don’t believe we have any other choice. Believe me, if we fail to halt the Chinese, they will continue advancing and will end up destroying far more American cities than we’re planning to now. We’re trading one city at this time to save hundreds of others later.”

  “And what will the Chinese do in response to our nuclear attack?” Sims asked. “Ms. Chen, what do you think?”

  Anna could feel the hostile gazes drilling her. What could she say? If she agreed, she might be helping to start nuclear annihilation. If she disagreed, they would say she didn’t want to see Chinese soldiers die.

  “Maybe we could target the Chinese carriers,” she said, temporizing.

  “We don’t know where those are,” General Alan said frostily. “And the Chinese are much more alert to any attacks committed against their precious carriers than against anything else.”

  It was time to speak her mind. “Sir,” Anna said, “I loathe the idea of using nuclear weapons. I am utterly opposed to the idea. It might be the end of everything if we go nuclear in so blatant a fashion.”

  “We will be striking one of our own cities,” Levin said. “How can the Chinese fault us for that? They have already helped terrorists use a nuclear weapon on us. They are in no position to act as our moral superiors.”

 
“We must hit the Chinese now, sir,” General Alan said. “If we pass this opportunity by, it could be the end of California. We might have to write off Army Group SoCal.”

  Sims shook his head. “We cannot afford its loss.”

  “Then we have no option in Santa Cruz,” Alan said.

  “Our reinforcements—”

  “Likely won’t make it fast enough, sir,” Alan said. “I’m sorry, but I truly believe this is the only option. We should be thankful we have it. Now we must exploit it while the opportunity exists.”

  Sims turned away. Once more, he shook his head. “I… I don’t know what to do. I gave my solemn word on this.”

  “Let us do it, sir,” Levin said.

  Sims stared at the white-haired CIA Director.

  Anna’s heart went out to the President. It was such a terrible burden. If they failed here, would it be the end of everything a few years down the line?

  “Do it,” Sims whispered. “Launch your secret plan. We cannot let the Chinese pour troops through the delta region.”

  USS MERRIMAC

  Captain John Winthrop sat straight in his command chair. It hurt the small of his back to do it. Ever since receiving his orders, his back muscles had begun to cramp. But he’d be damned if he would slouch.

  He had a crew of three, each of them a technician helping to keep the little carbon fiber sub intact. For the past three weeks, the small submarine had waited on the bottom of the ocean. For the past two days, it had crept toward Monterey Bay. Now it was in position and the latest buoy sent to the surface had relayed the message.

  Captain Winthrop stared at the panels and screens without seeing them. He had volunteered for this assignment, so had each of his three crewmembers.

  They had three cruise missiles, old Tomahawk cruise missiles ready in the launch tubes. The old United States Navy was gone, but not the old spirit of attack.

  “Six minutes and counting, Captain.”

  Winthrop acknowledged the words by a simple nod. Soon, now, Merrimac would surface and fire its cargo. If they were lucky, they would submerge again into a watery oblivion and crawl away on the ocean floor. He dearly hoped they could do that. He didn’t want to die.

  I’m not going to die. We’re going to do this and slip away. You think you Chinese bastards can blow up Livermore and get away with it. Never!

  Captain Winthrop’s father had died in the terrorist attack of 2037 on Silicon Valley in California. Ever since that day, Winthrop had burned for revenge against the Chinese. He wanted them to taste their own medicine. If he had to die to do his part, to stand on the ramparts as the Chinese tried to take down America—then let’s get started.

  “Three minutes and counting, Captain.”

  Is it three minutes until the end of my life? Would it be three minutes and a little extra until he saw his dad again? I hope you’re proud of me, Dad.

  “Two minutes and counting, Captain.”

  “Do you have to do that?” Warrant Officer Stevens asked.

  Captain Winthrop stood up and took a step to Stevens, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder and patting it several times.

  Stevens looked up at him. The warrant officer was nervous, with a sheen of perspiration on his face. “I’m okay, sir.”

  “America rose up to greatness because enough people loved their country to die for her,” Winthrop said. “I love America and I’m going to fight to keep her ours.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Stevens whispered. If anything, he looked more scared, not less.

  “We’re doing it, mister. We’re doing our duty.”

  “Thirty seconds and counting, Captain.”

  For a moment, Captain Winthrop’s eyes blurred. They cleared almost right away. He moved back to his chair and sat down.

  “Ten seconds and counting, Captain.”

  “You’re good sailors, gentlemen. It has been a thorough pleasure serving with you.”

  “Three…two…one…”

  “Bring us topside, Ensign,” Captain Winthrop said.

  The USS Merrimac shuddered as it expelled water from the ballast tanks. Almost immediately, the carbon fiber submersible shot for the surface. Once they reached their destination, the old Tomahawks would fly.

  SANTA CRUZ, CALIFORNIA

  It was dark, although lights shined in Santa Cruz. Big Chinese troopships unloaded day and night. Some naval infantry rested in vacated homes, others already marched for the front. A mountain of supplies had gathered on the port’s quays and docks. Trucks ground their gears as they started the journey for hungry soldiers at the front.

  Many of the troopships still brimmed with personnel, awaiting their opportunity to dock.

  In the midst of this activity, an alert finally reached the port commander. The Americans were attacking with missiles, long-range artillery, everything they could use.

  Three minutes later, the lights began to go out in Santa Cruz. Even before that, counter-missiles sought out the American launch sites. Missiles also lofted from Chinese cruisers, while farther out at sea, the carriers’ UCAVs catapulted into the air.

  Meanwhile, two Tomahawk cruise missiles closed in on Santa Cruz and the Chinese ships offshore.

  The Tomahawk was an old-style cruise missile, first introduced in 1970. Since then it had undergone many modifications. It was a medium-to-long-range, low-altitude missile, subsonic and jet powered. With a booster, it weighed 3500 pounds and was twenty feet, six inches long. Instead of the conventional 1000-pound munitions, each of these carried a W80 nuclear device.

  Only two Tomahawks roared over the water. The third cruise missile had gone off course and plunged into the water. So far, the third, off-course missile had not exploded.

  The two Tomahawks automatically provided the Chinese IFF signals. The other American missiles had NOT used the code. The thought was it would make the nuclear weapons a greater surprise and possibility they could do this without the Chinese ever knowing they had used the IFF code. In that way, they might be able to do it again. This time, the encryption key worked. The Tomahawks roared over the water, using data from multiple sensors.

  Ten seconds left, and the Tomahawks bored in toward the city. At five seconds, the cruise missiles changed the direction of their flight and began to gain altitude. For the full impact of their nuclear cargo, the missiles needed height. As the troopships waited, as the last city light winked out, the Tomahawks reached target destination for a perfect airburst.

  The first one ignited its W80 warhead over the port. An immense flash occurred and blast winds. Intense thermal radiation followed. The other W80 warhead created a sun-like flare of brilliance farther back and at precisely the same instant.

  The twin attacks vaporized the nearest troopships and killed the naval infantry in them. They were the lucky ones who died right away instead of lingering for days with radiation poisoning. Other troopships farther away began to sink from blast and atmospheric shock damage.

  Closer to Santa Cruz, a nuclear warhead tore apart docks and created an instant firestorm, devouring mountains of supplies. Next, buildings were flattened as if a mountain-sized giant had stepped on them, and greater fires started.

  Most of the Chinese naval infantry resting in the city died immediately. The few who survived would wish they hadn’t in the next few hours and days.

  The attack reaped a dreadful harvest of Pan Asian Alliance soldiers and it changed the course of the Battle for California.

  HIGHWAY 17, CALIFORNIA

  Martha woke up as her son Saul screamed in horror. “Mama, mama, I can’t see! I can’t see! I’m blind!”

  He had been awake because he had been too hungry to sleep. He’d looked at the nuclear explosion that lit the night from Santa Cruz. The intense light had been too much for his young orbs and he was blinded for life.

  Among the refugees, many screamed similar words. Others saw the fireball rising into the night sky. It created a stampede of refugees, bringing even more horror.

  USS MERR
IMAC

  For the next several hours after the annihilation of Santa Cruz, Chinese helicopters from the supercarrier Sung dropped depth charges, beginning at the cruise missiles’ launch position.

  Captain John Winthrop used the bottom of the sea to crawl away. The Merrimac shuddered, the lights flickered on and off and endless shocks made the men hunch and pray. Maybe it was a miracle. Maybe the Captain was lucky or maybe the carbon fiber boat was just too damn hard to spot. In the end, the fragile submersible escaped Chinese vengeance to fight another day.

  -10-

  Breakout

  TEMECULA, CALIFORNIA

  Stan sat at a flimsy card table with his crew, beside their Behemoth tank. A huge anti-radar camouflage net flapped gently overhead to hide it from Chinese surveillance. Several sparrows rode out the motion as if they were swimmers at sea.

  Stan drank a Budweiser with Jose. Nearby, a small dog barked at them from behind a white-picket fence. An old lady stood on the porch of the house, staring at the three-hundred ton monster. MPs had vetted her earlier. Her husband had fought in Iraq decades ago. She was a loyal American and had brought the tankers milk, cookies and Budweisers.

  Jose was thinner now, with hollow-looking eyes. He guzzled his Budweiser with a loud sigh before wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

  Before this, the Behemoth Regiment had guarded Palm Springs for almost a week. When Jose wasn’t in the tank on patrol, he was working in it, helping to keep the Behemoth running. Then movement orders had come day two days ago, a day before the nuclear attack on Santa Cruz. It had been hectic after that, with the Behemoths loaded onto the massive carriers and brought to Temecula under the greatest secrecy. A regular tank division now held the pass at Palm Springs, with heavy Militia and artillery support.