Invasion: California Read online

  The air-controller acknowledged.

  Standing, ripping off the leads attached to him, Harris brought up the assault rifle and moved toward the sound of gunfire. The Chinese were in the bunker. What did that mean?

  Blinking, Harris realized what it meant. I’m going to end up in a Chinese POW camp. They’re going to starve me to death and practice horrible experiments on me like the Japanese did to some of our soldiers in World War II.

  A well of fear constricted his chest. His eyes bulged, and Flight Lieutenant Harris began to shake. This wasn’t anything like flying drones. This wasn’t like a first-person shooter computer game, either. This was for real.

  You can’t become a prisoner.

  Another MP ahead of him turned the corner and fired his weapon behind him. Armor-piercing bullets ripped through the corner and blew the MP backward.

  With a howl of anguish, Harris ran to the same corner, stepping over the MP. He saw two armored Chinese soldiers. He lifted the assault rifle and emptied the magazine at them. He shot the floor first, then one of the enemy and finally the ceiling. It was crazy, the assault rifle shook like mad as he fired, causing the barrel to rise. He must have gotten lucky, because one of the Chinese lay on the floor with a gaping wound in his face. The other one aimed his assault weapon.

  Grinding his teeth together, Harris yanked out the magazine and started to put in another one. But he was not ground-combat trained and he had forgotten to duck back out of sight. As he slapped the magazine into the slot, the Chinese soldier fired a three-round burst, two of them catching Harris in the chest. He staggered backward and crashed to the floor. He found it hard to breathe, hard to see.

  What’s happening?

  Boots appeared before his eyes. A soldier spoke Chinese. Then a barrel appeared before Harris’s face. He heard a click, and then Flight Lieutenant Harris didn’t hear anything at all, ever.

  SAN YSIDRO, CALIFORNIA

  “Those are the giant tanks,” Nung said. He stared at the computer table, at images recorded from the air-battle over I-15. Beside a giant tank, a passing Humvee looked like a child’s toy.

  “If the giant tanks are here,” Pi said, “it means they are no longer guarding Palm Springs.”

  Nung looked up. This was an excellent point. “Alert the general of the Tank Army outside Palm Springs. I want his advance units to make an immediate assault upon the city.”

  “Palm Springs is surely heavily guarded by others,” Pi said.

  “Yes, surely,” Nung agreed.

  Marshal Gang muttered under his breath as he strode to the computer table. “I would make an observation.”

  “You are free to do so,” Nung said.

  “The Americans have entrenched themselves in Palm Springs,” Gang said. “A frontal attack now would mean heavy losses to our T-66s. A methodical assault with intense artillery preparation is the correct procedure.”

  “For assaulting an entrenched enemy, you are correct,” Nung said.

  Gang raised his eyebrows, likely in surprise. “Is this not what they are?”

  “I see the broader picture,” Nung said, “because I have a grand strategical goal. Everything I do is based upon that goal. The Americans have one technologically advanced weapons system over us: the giant tanks with their electromagnetic cannons. They stopped us at Palm Springs. Now they are gone, fighting down here near Escondido. We must immediately launch an attack at Palm Springs, because that will shake the morale of the enemy commander more than anything else we can do.”

  “I do not follow your logic,” Gang said.

  It was so obvious that Nung was surprised at Gang. “The enemy has taken a risk. The giant tanks blocked us at Palm Springs because their extreme range and powerful gun trumped our superior numbers. Now the enemy tanks no longer have the better range because the terrain they are in blocks such long-distance firing. Instead, for close tank combat, we have the advantage with our triple-turreted armor. While I do agree that our Tank Army will take heavy losses as it assaults Palm Springs, it will also put tremendous pressure on the American commander. Even if he can break through down here near Escondido, it won’t matter if I can succeed in Palm Springs. The Tank Army will race through the pass and assault San Bernardino. We will cut off Temecula—cut off this entire region down here—from Los Angeles. That means Army Group SoCal remains trapped and these new formations sent to rescue them will be caught in the giant net with them.”

  “This will only come at a heavy cost in men and materiel,” Gang said. “Why not win Palm Springs through a properly planned and executed assault?”

  “I just explained that to you,” Nung said in exasperation. “Don’t you understand anything? Have you learned nothing while in my presence? You have watched and reported on my health; why not report to Kao on the excellence of my operational grasp? Speed is the essence as we outmaneuver the Americans. Now is the time to rush Los Angeles as the enemy commander expends his best formations driving into our net. By the time he turns around and rushes those formations back to Los Angeles, it will be too late.”

  Gang was stony-faced, with his shoulders hunched. “How do we defeat the giant tanks? What is your excellent plan for them?”

  “They are in rough terrain, as you can see. The terrain negates their range advantage because their line of sight is blocked, not allowing them their six to seven-mile shots. Even better, they have given me the perfect target.”

  “I do not understand.”

  Nung smiled craftily. “I saved a Blue Swan missile for a critical moment such as this. The missile will EMP the giant tanks, rendering them useless. Then we will rush helicopter-borne infantry around them and delay the Americans from retreating or turning around and racing for Palm Springs. Gentlemen, I predict that the Battle for California will be won right here.”

  AVOCADO HIGHWAY, CALIFORNIA

  Stan sat in his Behemoth as they rumbled to the attack. He watched his screens, with intelligence provided by UAVs, his tank-cameras and scouting infantry.

  The Chinese waited up on the rocky hills surrounding the highway. Burning and destroyed Abrams littered the concrete road. With the squeal of metal, Stan’s Behemoth shoved the hulk of an M1A3 to the side and continued its advance.

  The three-hundred-ton monsters were a sight, majestic creations, clanking and squealing south. There were twelve of them. Three had stalled due to engine failure. Three Behemoth-haulers had rushed forward to retrieve them, but that meant nothing here on the battlefield.

  Chinese Main Battle Tanks were at the top of the rocky hills. The MBTs had been in hull-down positions earlier. Now they waited out of sight, hidden from the Behemoths. Unfortunately for them, they were visible to the recon drones buzzing overhead.

  “Get ready,” Stan said. “Three MBTs are moving up to make their attack.”

  On the screen and seen from the UAV’s angle, Stan watched the Chinese tanks clank the short distance to the mountaintop. Soon, their cannons poked over the hill, targeting them. Each cannon belched fire and shot a sabot round.

  The tactic had worked against the M1A3s, as the evidence on the road proved. The Chinese shells screamed down. Stan’s Behemoth—like all the others—had an advanced Artificial Intelligence. It tracked the shells and automatically targeted them with the 30mm cannons. To insure the enemy shells never hit, beehive flechette launchers blasted. This time it worked, as none of the enemy shells reached the Behemoth’s incredibly thick armor.

  “Have you computed their position?” Stan shouted.

  “Roger,” Jose said, with his forehead pressed against the targeting scope.

  Stan glanced at the intel-screen. The Chinese had played it smart. Their crews were apparently highly-trained professionals. As soon as they’d fired, the three MBTs had ducked back down behind the rocky hill. Against normal munitions, the rock and earth would have protected them. The force cannons were anything but normal.

  “Fire!” Stan shouted, unable to give the command it in a quiet voice.
<
br />   Jose pressed the switch. Power flowed through the force cannon. The Behemoth shook as the penetrator round ejected at a terrific velocity.

  The depleted uranium rod zoomed with unerring accuracy. It smashed through rock and dirt and scored a direct hit against the Chinese MBT on the other side. The round burned through the armor and BB-sized molten pellets ignited everything inside the tank. The MBT exploded.

  The other Behemoths did likewise, and the enemy tanks up on the hills burned or exploded. The sheer power of the force cannons was too much to resist.

  “We’ve broken through,” Colonel Wilson shouted over the radio.

  The twelve Behemoths led the assault down I-15. They were nearing the trapped Americans. As of right now, it looked as if the gamble was going to pay off.

  VISTA, CALIFORNIA

  Forty-seven minutes after Stan’s Behemoth destroyed a Chinese MBT, a Blue Swan carrier pulled off the road. It pulled into the Vista Mall parking area and came to a stop. Technicians jumped out of the cab as the launcher bed began to rise.

  “Do you have to coordinates?” the major in charge of the missile asked his chief technician.

  “Yes, sir,” the tech said, lifting his Graceful Swan netbook.

  “How long until you’re ready to fire?” the major asked.

  “Twelve minutes at the most, sir.”

  “Make sure you avoid all errors. This missile must fly directly to target and in as little time as possible.”

  “It will fly, sir. I stake my reputation on it.”

  “No,” the major said, a hard-faced man. “You are staking your life on its success.”

  The technician blanched as he backed away and hurried to his team.

  SAN YSIDRO, CALIFORNIA

  Nung paced in the command center as he carefully set his soft-soled shoes on the floor, listening to their nearly inconspicuous squelch. He could not help himself as nervousness seethed through his body. Information about the giant tanks was beginning to concern him. The Americans had truly developed a marvel with the tank. They were slow as armor vehicles went, but nothing appeared to be able to stop them.

  I was wise to save a Blue Swan missile. Yes, the Americans have a marvel, but we Chinese have the greater technological tool.

  “Sir,” General Pi said. “The Blue Swan missile is ready to launch.”

  Nung turned and marched to the computer table. “In case the Americans have a trick left, we will precede the Blue Swan attack with a mass of cruise missiles swarming the enemy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are the helicopter-carriers ready?” Nung asked.

  “They are filled with White Tiger Commandos. The cargo helicopters are lifting Marauder tank and several mortar-jeeps. At your word, they will swing behind the Americans and seal them in the trap.”

  “Good.” Nung waited a moment, savoring this. He glanced at Gang in his corner. How the marshal must hate this. Nung turned to General Pi, and he let a fierce grin stretch his lips. “Let the attack begin now, and give me those giant tanks.”

  VISTA, CALIFORNIA

  The Blue Swan missile stood ready. Cables snaked from it to the control panel. The technicians in their white coats spoke among themselves while the major watched.

  The major stiffened as he stood at the comm-table, hearing General Pi personally give the order. The major took three steps toward the technicians, shouting, “Is the missile ready?”

  “It is ready,” the chief tech said.

  “Put in these coordinates,” the major said, pressing a button on his console.

  The techs made adjustments and then signaled that they were set.

  “Fire!” the major shouted.

  The chief tech tapped a screen.

  The Blue Swan ignited on its launch pad as smoke billowed densely. The EMP missile lofted slowly at first and then quickly gained speed. It roared as flames flickered from its exhaust port. Then it shot toward the highway where the Behemoths smashed everything in their path.

  AVOCADO HIGHWAY, CALIFORNIA

  “How much farther until we reach Escondido?” Jose asked from his gunner’s seat.

  “A little less than a mile,” Stan said.

  There were nine Behemoths left. None had dropped out due to battle damage. For each, it was equipment failure, usually in the treads or the engine. The stalled Behemoths were already on their carriers and headed back toward Temecula.

  Behind the advancing Behemoths and Abrams, Bradleys and Strykers followed the heavy trucks and haulers. From a recon UAV, the mass looked like a giant mechanical snake slithering toward the trapped pocket.

  “Captain,” Colonel Wilson radioed. The man sounded worried.

  “What is it, sir?” Stan asked.

  “Get ready! The Chinese are sending cruise missiles!”

  “Are they nukes, sir?” asked Stan.

  “That is unknown, but they’re coming fast. You have a minute or two left.”

  “Are the tac-lasers ready, sir?”

  “Captain, they’re going to swamp us!”

  “No,” Stan said, knowing Wilson knew better. “We’ve been waiting for this, remember? It’s time to employ our special tactic and teach the Chinese another reason why they shouldn’t mess with the Behemoths.”

  “But if they’re using nuclear weapons—”

  “Let’s fight, sir, and worry about the results later.”

  “I hope this works, Higgins. Colonel Wilson, out.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Stan whispered. “Jose!”

  “Right here, Professor.”

  “Raise the cannon. It’s time to see just how good these Behemoths really are.”

  On I-15, a little less than half a mile from the forward line of the trapped Americans, the nine Behemoth tanks raised their force cannons. The ejected shells flew many times faster than a rifle bullet, and the shells could fly in a relatively flat trajectory.

  The Behemoth AIs linked with the tac-laser defensive net, and several extra UAVs were already sending data. All the while, the Chinese cruise missiles bored in on the Behemoths.

  Ninety-eight seconds later the mayhem began. Cruise missiles approached and laser beams flashed. Flak fired and chain-guns chugged. Even more impressively, the force cannons shot cruise missiles out of the sky from long range, well before the missiles detonated their warheads.

  One enemy missile acted much differently than the others, and it came last in the attack. This missile did not try to hug the ground as it approached the Behemoths. Instead, it flew upward to increase the range of its EMP strike.

  Inside Stan’s Behemoth, he said, “Look at that, Jose. It’s going for an airburst. The missile must be a nuke. Take it out.”

  The giant cannon swiveled. The AI fired a targeting laser and computed the missile’s height, speed and future position several seconds from now. Automatically, the AI fired the force cannon and the Behemoth shuddered as the round sped skyward.

  Meanwhile, the Blue Swan reached its desired position. Within it, the computer triggered the firing mechanism. The first explosion occurred which would initiate the EMP burst.

  At that moment, the Behemoth’s round smashed the Blue Swan missile. Instead of creating an EMP blast, the missile disintegrated in the air, the pieces raining down as useless junk.

  As quickly as the missile attack had begun it was over. Several cruise missiles had reached their targets, but the rest were destroyed. The cost was several burning tac-lasers and chain-gun platforms with their accompanying crews, but not one Behemoth was lost.

  In their slow and relentless rumble, the nine giant tanks continued toward Escondido.

  SAN YSIDRO, CALIFORNIA

  Marshal Nung stared at the computer table, blinking in astonishment. “Did you witness that?” he whispered. “The tank destroyed our missile.”

  “What now?” Gang asked.

  Nung looked up. It felt as if his eyes were on fire. He struck the computer table. “Nothing changes.”

  “Everything changes,”
Gang said. “You have failed to halt their breakthrough.”

  “Ah, I see. One failure shatters your resolve—how truly pitiful.”

  Marshal Gang stiffened, while those in the command chamber at their various stations showed shock and surprise at the insult.

  Nung looked away. He must control his temper and tongue no matter what the provocation. He could not speak this way to a fellow marshal. Word of it would filter back to the Ruling Committee and they might see it as him cracking under the strain of command. Even so, it was impossible that he apologize to Gang, to this tool of his enemies.

  Nung shook his head and he faced the others. “In war, many attacks fail. The one that succeeds is the critical assault. This setback has done nothing to alter my will or change the ultimate fate of the Americans.”

  “Have I heard you correctly?” Gang asked. “Formerly, you said that trapping the Americans was the linchpin to your plan as you starved the enemy of needed troops. Now, with the failure of the Blue Swan missile, the enemy has broken through to Army Group SoCal. He will be able to reinforce his defenses with these badly needed soldiers.”

  Nung massaged his forehead, struggling to maintain his decorum. “In an instance like this, precision is vital in deed and word. The Americans have only broken through to this northernmost pocket; they have not broken through to the entire Army Group SoCal.”

  “Perhaps that is so,” Gang said, “but this is the largest of the trapped pockets.”

  Nung studied the computer table, the operational map. The lights on the side were all blue, indicting everything worked properly. In his thoughts, he put aside Gang and his words and concentrated on the military and strategic situation. After a time, he began to speak. “With these giant tanks, the Americans have broken through. That is true. But it will be another matter entirely to escape with these soldiers into Los Angeles.”

  “You are the eternal optimist,” Gang said. “It is one of your military gifts. Yet I would suggest that you are underestimating the importance of this attack. I fear it might begin a chain-reaction of assaults against the other beleaguered forces, the other pockets, as you call them?”