Invasion: Colorado ia-3 Read online

  Stan recalled reading about Frederick the Great explaining the oblique order of attack: “You refuse one wing to the enemy and strengthen the one which is to attack. With the latter you do your utmost against one wing of the enemy which you take in flank. An army of 100,000 men taken in flank may be beaten by 30,000 in a very short time…The advantages of this arrangement are (1) a small force can engage one much stronger than itself; (2) it attacks an enemy at a decisive point; (3) if you are beaten, it is only part of your army, and you have the other three-fourths which are still fresh to cover your retreat.”

  Stan had a small force all right: ten Behemoths with artillery well to the rear. He would not so much withhold part of his force, as let depth of space hold the enemy. He was counting on sluggishness and suspicion to keep the Chinese from pouring into that empty space. He was also counting on dummies and some U.S. deception troops traveling back and forth behind trenches, giving radio signals as if there were whole divisions waiting for the Chinese. Hopefully, the Chinese would take time to deploy for a combined-arms attack instead of just rushing forward into the otherwise empty space.

  The key to the plan was to attack from a flank. With the ten Behemoths, he could concentrate an unbelievable amount of firepower in once place. His plan was to concentrate that firepower one spot at a time against the enemy.

  The other key to his plan was the Southern Rocky Mountains. The Chinese could not escape into them. Instead, those mountains would act as a wall. If this worked, he would drive the Chinese into them, demolishing the enemy as he drove into the flank of Army Group A.

  It was a bold plan. It was a preposterous plan. It also adhered to the idea of “Audacity, audacity, always audacity.”

  Lastly, he hoped to prove to the full the great superiority of these monstrous tanks. Kept together under tight control, he believed he could overwhelm the Chinese in detail faster than they could turn around to swarm him with materiel.

  It was the test of a lifetime.

  “Are you ready, Professor?” Jose called up.

  Stan scanned the snow. One hump showed a branch poking out: a small bush of some sort. He glanced around at the ten tanks. Then he darted down into the Behemoth, with a bang, closing the hatch behind him.

  PUEBLO, COLORADO

  The inside of a former Wells Fargo bank bustled with activity. Headquarters staff hurried back and forth, while others watched on screens. In the center of all the hushed speech and clicking shoes was the main situational map. Marshal Liang with his Chief of Staff studied the computer images.

  “The Americans are putting up much stiffer resistance than expected,” Ping said.

  Liang couldn’t believe this. Army Group C seemed to have hit the Great Wall of Second Tank Army. The Jefferson tanks darted forward against the T-66s as if the American commander didn’t care about losses. For the first time in battle, the Americans were living up to their legendary image of vast expenditures of firepower. Missiles in abundance, artillery shells like a downpour and massed tank cannons roaring as if they were ancient dragons roused from sleep hit his force.

  In stunned silence, Liang watched the computer map. The Second Tank Army chewed through his hastily formed Army Group C. It was like throwing wood into a blazing furnace.

  “I’m beginning to believe the Americans have put everything they have against Army Group C,” Ping said.

  Liang’s eyes blurred red from having studied hundreds of different Intelligence reports. He recalled one strange paper that spoke about vast dummy emplacements to the north of Colorado Springs. Other reports had impressed Liang with the American ability to erect a defensive line in days. Had the Americans been so bold as to use everything against one side of his assault?

  The enemy had the interior position. He could shift from side to side. Was the strange report correct whose writer had insisted little stood against the Tenth and Fifteenth Armies?

  “We must light a fire under Army Group A,” Liang said, speaking as if coming out of a deep sleep.

  A man ran to Chief of Staff Ping and handed him a note. Ping read it and looked up.

  “What is it?” Liang asked with a sick feeling in his stomach.

  “The Behemoths, sir,” Ping said. “We’ve finally found out where they’re hidden.”

  “Where?” asked Liang. “Put it on the map.”

  Ping adjusted a set of controls. Red images appeared to the east of 5th Division, the easternmost formation of Tenth Army.

  “The Behemoths are flanking us,” Liang said. “They’ve put themselves badly out of position.”

  “Uh, sir,” Ping said. “The Behemoths aren’t just flanking. They’re attacking.”

  Liang scowled. “We need better reconnaissance. I don’t care what it costs in our drone reserve. Get me better images of the Tank Army’s northern edge.” He picked up a phone. With a deeper scowl, Liang turned to one of the communications people. “Put me through to General Xi.”

  General Xi commanded Tenth Army of Army Group A.

  “It’s time to light a fire under him,” Liang muttered. “They’re moving much too slowly against the Americans.”

  FORWARD EDGE OF THE BATTLE AREA, COLORADO

  Like a thunderclap from Heaven, Stan Higgins and his ten Behemoths poured penetrators into 5th Division of the PAA Tenth Army.

  Stan rocked forward in his commander’s seat. The engine revved with power and yet another surge sent a penetrator screaming at the helpless enemy.

  The ten super-tanks charged across the snowscape at speed. It put the magnetic suspension to the test. Behind the ten Behemoths followed specially-built battlewagons.

  Stan had already called one halt to resupply. Each Behemoth had its own battlewagon and team of experts. They moved with the speed of NASCAR specialists, rushing fuel hoses to the Behemoths and carting extra penetrators and buffers through the large back ports.

  So long as each cannon worked, Stan planned to use them against the enemy and maintain the assault.

  “Enemy incoming!” the tech sergeant shouted.

  “I see them,” Stan said, turning to his number three screen. “Artillery shells,” he added.

  The tracking AI had already spotted the shells. The ten Behemoths were linked with the Phalanx Defense System. Automated .50 calibers, 30mm auto-cannons and the beehive flechettes spewed counter-fire at the shells, knocking ninety-nine percent of them.

  Some always made it through. Probability dictated it. The three hundred ton Behemoth shook as shells slammed into them.

  With worried eyes, Stan studied his screens. His tank was okay. …So were the other nine. Damn! One of his battlewagon’s treads had been knocked off. He’d have to leave the supply vehicle behind. To lose it this early in the battle…

  “Who are you kidding?” he muttered to himself. This was the death ride of the Behemoths. Ten tanks no matter how super could not defeat two entire Chinese Armies, not even these burnt-out shells of armies that had whittled away their strength in Denver.

  But…the death ride might give Second Tank Army time to defeat the southern rush so they could turn around and take on the others later.

  There was one other component to Stan’s plan. He hadn’t told anyone else about it. His son was in Denver—at least, he hoped Jake still lived. The thing Stan wanted more than anything was to free his son from the trap. To do that, they had to keep these Chinese sealed up in the encirclement.

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Stan said.

  “What’s that, Colonel?” Jose asked.

  “I said: I’m wondering when they’re going to throw their remaining air at us. They can’t afford to let us keep chewing into the Tenth.”

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Jose said. “The enemy air will be along soon.”

  Stan kept an eye on the AI meter. This new Phalanx link was amazing. Ten Behemoths threw up a massive amount of counter-fire. He wondered now if he’d brought along enough extra munitions.

  Too bad the Chinese had already
knocked out a battlewagon. Stan had a feeling he’d be wanting those supplies before this fight was over.

  PUEBLO, COLORADO

  Marshal Liang’s tic grew worse as the information poured in.

  “Ten tanks can’t do this!” he shouted. It happened after the third division in a row of Tenth Army fell apart.

  The worst were the images of ten Behemoths destroying infantry too slow to flee from their line of advance. Beehive flechettes and 30mm shrapnel blew down soldiers like combines scything wheat. The worst was a Chinese soldier sprinting for safety among rubble. He blew apart into red mist, simply disappearing from history. The mist settled and sprinkled the snow red.

  During the slaughter, the first piece of good news flashed on a screen. It happened after Liang ordered a mass artillery bombardment on the Behemoths.

  “Such a bombardment will kill our soldiers, too,” the general of Tenth Army complained.

  “They’re already dead,” Liang said. “The least they can do is to take their tormenters to the grave with them.”

  Soon, the artillery barrage and cruise missile attack reached the hateful tanks. On a screen, Liang and the entire Headquarters staff watched a ground-hugging missile slam against a three hundred ton beast and blow a gaping hole in it.

  Officers and orderlies cheered. A few even slapped each other on the back.

  That alone brought home to Liang several key factors. The Behemoth tanks were amazing. Hong had been right to expend two armies to destroy the Behemoth Manufacturing Plant. It also meant the MC ABMs were equally fantastic. Before their destruction, they had killed eight of these super-tanks. China needed more MC ABMs. China should field hundreds of the great vehicles.

  Liang shook his head. That was the future. Today, the viability of the North American conquest might very well rest on destroying nine American super-tanks.

  The cruise missile barrage during the slaughter of Chinese infantry gave Liang the answer to his problem. Now he would have to coordinate the next strike and make sure it took out several of these grim monsters.

  FORWARD EDGE OF THE BATTLE AREA, COLORADO

  “Colonel Higgins, my force cannon has malfunctioned.”

  “Can you repair it?” Stan asked the commander. He sat in his Behemoth. He’d spent hours now, driving west as he destroyed one Chinese formation after another. The flank attack—hitting the Chinese piecemeal with the full force of the remaining Behemoths—had been more wildly successful that he would have thought possible.

  Frederick the Great knew more than he explained. When this trick works, it works.

  Stan accepted a stim pill from Jose, put it on his tongue and slugged it back with bottled water. The endless hours of surges, stopping to let the AI Phalanx-link do it task and watching the murderous efficiency of his tanks at close range against infantry had taken its toll on him.

  War was young man’s game, and he was in his fifties. All the working out over the years helped, but his body wasn’t what it used to be.

  “Well, Ted,” Stan told the Behemoth commander. “If your force cannon won’t work, you’re along now to provide protective cover with the rest of your armaments. Concentrate on searching for air assaults.”

  “Yes sir, Colonel.”

  The screen flickered, removing the commander and showing the operational situation. What remained of Tenth Army and the Fifteenth turned to face and swarm the Behemoths. American artillery kept pounding the enemy at the longest range possible, and drone strikes hammered in to keep the Chinese busy. Even with all that, the enemy was finally doing the right thing.

  It’s a matter of speed. Who can accomplish his task quicker: our Behemoths or the great, unwieldy armies?

  “With the loss of the force cannon and the destroyed Behemoth earlier, we’ve lost one-fifth of our offensive firepower,” Jose commented.

  “I know,” Stan said. He’d been thinking the same thing.

  “How many force cannons do you need to keep the attacking going?” Jose asked.

  “That’s a good question. I’ll tell you in a little bit.”

  Jose laughed nervously. “I never realized our Behemoths were this good, Colonel.”

  No, Stan thought, neither did I.

  I-25, COLORADO

  First Rank Zhu gripped the handlebars of his battle-taxi. To his right, First Rank Tian’s squad clung to their battle-taxi. The helos flew nap-of-the-earth, a bare twenty meters above the snow. This was trick flying and he was leading his squad into the fray for the first time.

  This felt different from any other time. Now, he was responsible for the others. It wasn’t just how well he fought; he had to make sure his men fought well, too.

  Zhu licked his lips. Today, they didn’t carry assault rifles or grenade launchers. Each Eagle flyer carried a big magnetic mine. Each Eagle flyer had a single task to perform: land on a giant American tank, attach the mine—that would automatically set the device—and fly away for safety.

  Zhu doubted they could escape again. This was a suicide mission.

  This is for the glory of China.

  It saddened Zhu that he would have to die today. But if he was going to die, he was going to take an American super-tank with him. He had become a First Rank. Who would have ever expected that from him? His mother, if she were still alive, would have been proud of him.

  Zhu glanced at his men. They watched the ground, each wrapped in his own thoughts. Zhu didn’t know them well. He had no doubt they were brave.

  He looked up. Missile streaks left trails in the sky. Beside them flashed long cruise missiles. They were almost to the great tanks. Yes, he saw the monsters blazing fire. They were beasts, and the firepower pouring from them was awe-inspiring.

  Against orders, Zhu chinned on his helmet radio. “First Rank Tian of Second Squad, this is First Rank Zhu of Fifth Squad.”

  “Hello, Zhu,” Tian said in a tired voice.

  “Are you well?” Zhu asked.

  “No I’m not well. I’m not supposed to die in America. The astrologer said so. But look at those tanks. How are we supposed to destroy them?”

  “We will die gloriously today,” Zhu said.

  “…Zhu, my friend, you are a good man.”

  The sadness in Tian’s voice was difficult to take.

  “Tian…everything I know…you taught me.”

  “Zhu, Zhu, Zhu, you are China’s best soldier. Do you know that?”

  “You mock me at a time like this?” Zhu asked. The tanks were getting bigger, and none of the missiles streaking at them or the cruise missiles hugging the ground could reach those tanks. This was incredible. The tanks shot the missiles out of the air.

  “You are like a brother to me,” Tian was saying. “I wish you well.”

  “I…I wish you well, First Rank.”

  “You are my best friend, Zhu.”

  “You are also my best friend.”

  “Ah, Zhu, what a strange thing life is. I did not realize how much I wanted to live until this moment. Don’t you want to live?”

  “Not at the price of dishonor,” Zhu said.

  “Is this honor?”

  “Yes!” Zhu said. “We are White Tigers. We are the greatest soldiers in the world. We have lived well, with honor and with pride. I am happy to perish well, fighting the enemy with every particle of my strength.”

  “They picked the right man to be a White Tiger. I will miss you.”

  Zhu blinked rapidly, finding that his eyes were wet. The moisture leaked out of the corners and streaked his temples. His chest felt so terribly hollow. He wished he could live. But this was the price of being the greatest soldier, a White Tiger. One had to be willing to lay down his life for his country. This was China’s hour of greatness. His country called upon him to destroy the dreaded tanks that annihilated his fellow warriors.

  They were more blooms in the nearing distance. Nine great vehicles in a line stopped everything sent at them. As the helo closed, more explosions occurred all around the Behemoths. It was
most incredible.

  “Launch!” their pilot shouted.

  Zhu shoved up for what would likely be the last time in his life. He engaged his jetpack and lifted at exactly the right angle. A moment later, an enemy shell obliterated the battle-taxi. It took half his squad with it. They had been too slow in exiting.

  From ten meters above the ground, First Rank Zhu flew at the great tanks. Concussions in the air shook him as he closed. More Eagle flyers tumbled from the air.

  “Tian?” Zhu radioed. He did not get an answer. Tian must be dead. The astrologer had been wrong. It didn’t matter. Zhu’s eyes shined and he flew at the tanks.

  He dropped another few meters. And then he gave his jetpack full thrust. Artillery rained on the tanks. Cruise missiles came down. How could nine tanks stop so much at one time?

  Then an explosion knocked a Behemoth tank onto its side.

  Zhu shouted wildly, the sound reverberating in his helmet. His heart beat with excitement. He was terrified. He was alive. He snarled and activated the mine strapped to his chest.

  “I am First Rank,” he said to himself.

  Zhu closed as shrapnel rattled against his armor. The last Eagle flyers with him went down, plowing into the snow. Only First Rank Zhu continued. He had practiced long hours to become the best. He flew, taking another hit that breached his armor so a hole appeared in his stomach and fluids leaked out. He felt his strength oozing from him. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now but the hulk of steel before him.

  Zhu Peng, White Tiger First Rank, struck the Behemoth tank. The impact ignited his mine, and it blew a hole into the main compartment, killing the entire crew and destroying the greatest battlefield weapon on either side.

  FORWARD EDGE OF THE BATTLE AREA, COLORADO

  Stan Higgins reluctantly ordered a retreat. The latest enemy attack had broken through the defensive fire, destroying three Behemoths and four battlewagons.

  He had five operational Behemoths left, and one more that could fire defensively. After the latest mass assault, he didn’t believe he had enough firepower to keep the Chinese off balance.