Invasion: California Read online

  Nung raised an eyebrow. The suggestion was preposterous. It was mere rhetoric, wind. He had no time for Ruling Committee gadflies, even if Gang was the second-most senior marshal in Greater China after Kao. He had a campaign to win. This was a setback, nothing more. With the giant tanks down here in Escondido, it meant they no longer helped guard Palm Springs. He would have to make the Americans pay for that. In fact, looking at the operational map…yes, he knew what to do. This reminded him of Siberia, of the drive to Yakutsk. Once more, he must outflank the enemy.

  “We must call Marshal Kao,” Gang said.

  Nung looked up in surprise. He was forming a plan and had already forgotten about Gang. “If you will excuse me, Marshal, I have no more time for handwringing. The Americans have handed us a rare opportunity. We must snatch it while there is still time. Yes, they have stolen a march on us. It was clever of them and it was bold. Now, I plan to use their boldness against them like a Shaolin priest practicing kung fu on a pirate.”

  Gang opened his mouth, and hesitated. He glanced around the room. Perhaps he saw the command personnel eagerly waiting for Nung to unfold his new insight.

  “As you wish, Marshal,” Gang said. He retired to his corner, sitting, watching and waiting.

  The man is a vulture, hungering for me to show weakness. Nung shook his head. I cannot falter now. I must outmaneuver the enemy and change this disaster into an even greater victory.

  “What are your orders, sir?” Pi asked.

  Nung continued to study the operational map. He must outmaneuver the Americans, but he must not make hasty decisions. This was a moment for careful reflection. He waved General Pi to silence. Then Nung put his fingertip on the computer table as he concentrated. The Americans had lunged into Escondido, using the giant tanks to bolster the assault. It indicated they used their best—their most offensive—formations to make the assault. That meant they had thinned out these formations from elsewhere. The problem was some of the other trapped American formations farther south of Escondido. According to reports, some of the pockets were on the verge of collapse. The others would last several more days, maybe even a week. Those pockets tied down Chinese formations needed for the assault on Los Angeles. Perhaps it was time to screen some of the pockets and gather greater hitting power to continue the lunge for the sprawling American city and the Grapevine Pass behind it. If he could trap all of Los Angeles in a gigantic pocket…

  Nung leaned over the table, tracing the coastal route along Highway 5 from Mexico to Los Angeles. He nodded and stepped around the table. He tapped Palm Springs, and he eyed Temecula and then followed the route to Corona. Yes, it was becoming clear what he needed to do. The trick would be to slow the escape of these soldiers from the Escondido Pocket in order to give him time for the Tank Army waiting south beyond Palm Springs.

  Nung straightened and regarded General Pi. “You must put me through to the Tank Army General. It is time to light a fire under him and reignite the original assault against Palm Springs.”

  “Yes, sir,” Pi said.

  Once more, Nung studied the computer table. He moved around it again and stabbed a finger along I-15. “Here,” he said. “This is where we are going to send the helicopter-borne troops.”

  “There, sir?” Pi asked, sounding surprised.

  “They will not survive their attack, I realize this. And we must work out a tactical plan to put them down there so they last as long as possible. They must buy us time while the Tank Army takes Palm Springs and then smashes through the pass to San Bernardino and beyond.”

  “Sir?” Pi asked.

  “It will become a race. If we win, once more we will cut off these freed soldiers and we will capture the attacking American forces and the giant tanks along with them. Yes, if we win this race, we will win the battle in Southern California and ready ourselves for capturing everything.”

  -11-

  Drive on Los Angeles

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  In an emergency session of the War Council, Anna sat down beside Dr. Levin. The CIA Director glanced at her and then ignored her presence.

  Since the nuclear attack in Santa Cruz, the atmosphere in Underground Bunker Number Five had turned more unrelentingly grim. The success of the assault should have lightened their hearts, but it hadn’t.

  We can feel the evil of what we’ve done. We have unleashed the terrible genie, and now we wait for him to turn on us. The Chinese will use nuclear weapons soon. They have refrained from it too long to resist the urge this time.

  The President entered the chamber looking more worn than ever. The past few days had aged him. The good news warred against the bad, and everything hung on a knife’s edge as the Chinese battled through the San Gorgonio Pass between the San Bernardino Mountains on the north and the San Jacinto Mountains on the south. If they broke through, they would be in Greater San Bernardino. Given their past actions, the Chinese might be tempted to race to Corona and block the soldiers escaping out of the Escondido Pocket through Temecula.

  That was the chief worry and the reason for the meeting. Yet in the northern half of California, the Chinese assault continued despite staggering losses to the nuclear-tipped cruise missiles. The enemy was on the verge of breaking through into the Bay Area.

  They had spoken about the Bay Area last meeting. The consensus in the White House bunker was that after the Tomahawk attack, the Chinese had too few naval infantry left to carry the day in San Francisco and San Jose. What the enemy did have was air superiority and the ability to shift his few troops like a chess master.

  On the American side, reinforcements kept trickling in, enough so a form of stalemate had occurred. The trouble was that those soldiers were a drain. SoCal Command desperately needed every grunt it could get to hold the coming battle for LA.

  “General Alan,” the President said. “It’s time for a new assessment of the situation in Greater Los Angeles.”

  The General of the Joint Chiefs stood up. The strain showed in his cheeks, how lean they had become. He looked as if he’d been fasting for a week, his motions now lethargic and his face lacking its natural animation.

  “Mr. President, the situation has become fluid and threatens to become even worse. The first soldiers from the Escondido Pocket have reached Temecula. According to estimates, there are nearly one hundred and eighty-four thousand Americans in or around Escondido and Poway.”

  “So few?” Sims asked. “I had hoped for more.”

  “Well, sir—”

  “Army Group SoCal originally contained six hundred thousand soldiers.”

  “Yes sir, but if you’ll consider—”

  “Are you telling me that we’re attempting to free one hundred and eighty thousand Americans out of an original six hundred thousand?”

  “The Chinese have sustained heavy losses as well, sir,” General Alan said. “We believe they may have nearly one million casualties. That’s dead and wounded, sir.”

  President Sims snorted. “Those estimates sound much too high to me. If you say one million, I doubt it’s even five hundred thousand.” He scowled. “It’s impossible we’ve lost so men in so short a time.”

  “I assure you our estimates on the enemy are accurate, sir.”

  “I’m not worried about the enemy, but about us! How can we have lost so many soldiers?”

  “Ah…there are several ways to look at this, sir. In World War I, in 1916, the British once took 60,000 casualties in one day of the Battle of Somme, 20,000 of whom were killed. I remember reading that sixty percent of the officers involved died on the first day. We haven’t lost that many soldiers in a single day’s fighting, Mr. President. But—”

  “I’m not interested in World War I,” Sims said, as he waved his hand as if to erase the words. “How is it possible we have so few troops left?”

  “They’re trapped, sir. As you know, the Chinese have surrounded masses of our troops all over southern California. And we have taken appalling losses. Modern war is brutal.”
r />   “Yes, but one hundred and eighty thousand soldiers out of the original six hundred thousand—I thought we were going to rescue more of our men.”

  “By my estimates, sir, there are another two hundred thousand Americans in five different pockets.”

  “Can we reach them from Escondido?” Sims asked.

  Anna blinked in surprise. What was she hearing from the President? He used to be a commanding general. He should know these things. He should be giving orders, not asking questions of General Alan. How much sleep had the President been getting? He looked exhausted. She wondered about his mental health.

  “Sir,” Alan said, “I’m afraid we might not get the one hundred and eighty thousand into LA. That’s why we’ve called the meeting.”

  “…Yes,” Sims said, rubbing his temples. “That’s right. Please, continue, General.”

  “Thank you, sir. Well, we’ve finally discovered one of the secrets to their continuous assaults. Before I tell you about that I want to reiterate that the Chinese switch formations constantly. They retire the fatigued formation and bring up another to continue the attack. It’s true that other armies have done this in the past. The Chinese appear to have made it an art. They are well trained in this particular maneuver.”

  From an aide, Sims accepted a pill and a glass of water. He popped the pill and drank. Then he returned his attention to the General of the Joint Chiefs.

  “The Chinese have been ruthless in their use of penal battalions,” Alan was saying, “accepting staggering casualties. I stand by the nearly one million enemy casualties, sir. Our soldiers have fought heroically. In any case, the Chinese also have these special infantry. That is the new thing we’ve learned, sir: the feature that makes the formations so special.” The General glanced at Anna. “Surprisingly, the CIA discovered their specialty, as it were.” Alan nodded to her.

  “With your permission,” Anna said to Levin.

  “You do not need his permission to speak here,” Sims said. “You already have mine.”

  “Yes, Mr. President,” Anna said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Levin scowl. But she couldn’t worry about that now. She cleared her throat and concentrated on Sims. “There were certain features about the special infantry that have troubled me for some time now. I checked the records and—”

  “Summarize the information please, Ms. Chen,” Sims said.

  “Yes sir. It appears the Chinese created the special infantry formations with the idea of accepting fifty to sixty percent casualty rates as a matter of course. Perhaps they studied General Alan’s Battle of the Somme.”

  No one smiled.

  “Ah…” Anna said, “I believe the Chinese have studied the problem of modern war in detail. I’m speaking about the lethality of it. They appear to have come to certain conclusions quite different to anything we would have decided. I mean, of course, the acceptance of mind-numbing losses.

  “Now, as few soldiers would care to join such an organization or perform with any zeal in it, the Chinese refined the needed motivations. Normally, to stir their soldiers, militaries make appeals to glory, to patriotism or to duty in order to energize regular fighters. On the other hand, we believe the special infantry respond to post-hypnotic suggestions and drugs. The process appears to have created a suitably compliant soldier—a zombie if you will—more than willing to expend his life in pursuit of the attack.”

  “What you’re saying—that’s evil,” Sims said.

  “And grossly wasteful of lives,” General Alan added.

  “Nevertheless,” Anna said, “the special infantry exists and we have the evidence of their actions. The Chinese have used them to break stubborn resistance and to do it fast. There seems to be an emphasis on speed in this campaign. I have complied data of special infantry use in other conflicts…” Anna saw the President scowl. “Umm…well sir, let me distill the reports to this: the special infantry has never exceeded two percent of any Chinese army in any situation until now.”

  “You’re saying there is a different percentage in Southern California?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. It appears to fluctuate between four to seven percent. We believe more special infantry lands from China every day. Naturally, such formations do not last long.”

  “And you’re telling me that this is what happened in Palm Springs?” Sims asked.

  Anna glanced at General Alan.

  The slim general motioned to his aide, the major. She switched on the holo-video in the center of the table and began to explain what they viewed.

  It began as a classic attack with heavy artillery fire and then T-66s on overwatch as they advanced in three-tank platoons toward the outskirts of Palm Springs. From above, Chinese UCAVs bored toward the city. American tac-lasers beamed, taking down a dreadful number, while SAMs rose to engage the aircraft. Then air-to-ground missiles fired from Chinese standoff bombers arrived. It was like many of the other battles, a furnace of destruction. Finally, the Chinese reached the urban areas.

  The major used zoom, showing them Chinese ground assaults. It showed wave after wave of special infantry doggedly charging the entrenched defenders who used heavy machine guns and mortars. Thousands of enemy soldiers died, yet still they advanced, still they attacked. Meanwhile, the T-66s crept into position.

  “This is horrifying,” Sims whispered. “It’s a butcher’s yard.”

  Now a new tank assault began, sometimes churning over the dead bodies of special infantrymen. The weight of the attack was too much for the outnumbered defenders. The Chinese entered Palm Springs and a savage street-by-street battle for the city began as other T-66s circled the city.

  “They just keep coming,” Sims said. “We’re destroying so many. How can the Chinese afford the losses?”

  “That is the question,” General Alan said. “We’re killing more of them than they kill of us, but they keep pushing us back. Now the Chinese are halfway through the I-10 corridor of San Gorgonio Pass. We’re fighting every inch of the way and it’s a deathtrap for their tanks. The width of the pass is one to two miles. The Chinese are using heavy air support, massive artillery bombardments and hordes of attacking special infantry. Even so, we’re killing them at five-to-one ratios, sometimes even ten to one, but they always have more hardware, more tanks, aircraft, artillery and bodies.”

  “We have to accelerate the retreat along I-15,” Sims said. “We need those soldiers.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “What do you need from me?” Sims asked.

  “Sir, I believe that all the California-bound reinforcements must head to Los Angeles. We have to let NorCal Command cope with the situation in the Bay Area as it is. The battle in the southlands is the critical conflict now.”

  “And if the Chinese capture the Bay Area?”

  “We’re raising new Militia units there even now, sir, just as we’re doing in Greater Los Angeles. In the south, the Chinese have three times, maybe more, the number of soldiers we do. In the Bay Area, I believe we have more men. The Chinese might win local victories there, but I do not believe they can capture the entire Bay Area fast enough to matter, not unless they receive reinforcements.”

  “Which the Chinese might very well receive if they capture the ports of San Francisco or Oakland,” Sims said.

  “True. We have to decide on priorities, sir, on which situation is more pressing.”

  “It will become very pressing if the Chinese land another one hundred thousand soldiers in San Francisco or two hundred thousand.”

  “Our submarines are lurking there, sir, in greater number than previously. If needed, we can sacrifice them in order to destroy enemy troopships.”

  The President drummed his fingers on the table as he scowled at the holo-vid. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Send all the reinforcements south to Los Angeles. The Chinese are making their play there, so that is where we have to stop them.”

  POWAY, CALIFORIA

  The extended battle in the Californian city had turned it
into a mass of rubble as far as the eye could see. Chinese artillery had pulverized Poway for days. Tanks moved like ancient dinosaurs, shoving aside concrete and twisted steel girders. Shaped-charge grenades, armor-piercing mortar rounds and heavy machine gun fire hammered at the armored creatures. Sometimes, pterodactyl-like UCAVs swooped over the grim terrain. Missiles launched from under their wings, burning red and striking with tremendous clouds of smoke. In the end, the dinosaurs always died to the small mammalian creatures that lived like rats in the rubble, popping up to shoot and scoot elsewhere.

  Grime and dust coated Paul Kavanagh. He lay on pulverized gravel and concrete. He wore heavy body armor and had several small computers attached to his suit. They had been flown in special delivery. The computers fed him a constant stream of data. He fed higher command with surveillance information. Romo was nearby, crawling ahead to take out a Chinese sentry.

  Paul stiffened as he heard a gurgle of sound. A moment later, one of his computers beeped quietly. Staying on his belly like a snake, Paul slithered forward, following a signal. Soon he reached Romo. The assassin lacked any body armor, but wore a camouflage suit. The corpse on the ground still grabbed at the piano-wire-like garrote that had constricted his throat and breathing. Blood trickled past the wire.

  Romo motioned south toward the next Chinese position. Paul nodded, and the two of them began to crawl.

  The Chinese had hit Poway with everything. Likely that would continue. The special infantry had been here. Those soldiers never stopped until they were dead. Now bloated corpses littered the battlefield so a foul-smelling miasma floated over the rubble.

  Paul used his elbows to pull himself forward. He and Romo were part of the rearguard in Poway. They had to keep the Chinese at bay, lest the enemy motor after the escaping soldiers. They kept hearing news of other places, but didn’t care anymore. This rubble moonscape was all that mattered to them.