Invasion: New York ia-4 Page 38

  Mansfeld straightened and let go of the lectern. “The astonishing Sir Francis Drake who destroyed the Spanish Armada once said, ‘It is not the starting of a great enterprise that is glorious, but finishing it through to conclusion.’ Gentlemen, let us finish this through to conclusion. Let us all act as Charles XII. Extol your officers and soldiers to make one more great push. Let us become knights errant and berserkers rolled into one. Let us become legends in our own time. Let us storm our way to victory as the greatest fighting soldiers in history.”

  The GD colonels and generals glanced at each other. One by one, they began to clap. Men stood. Then they all stood, and they clapped even harder.

  Mansfeld allowed himself a terse smile. These were good men, good officers. With them, he could and would conquer North America. The road to everlasting fame began here today in front of Syracuse. It was time now to outline the operational plan that would achieve victory.

  “You believe in me, gentlemen, and I believe in you. Now please take a seat and I will show you your coming objectives…”

  SYRACUSE, NEW YORK

  Darkness settled as Syracuse burned and the battle raged. A blazing tower sent flames into the night five hundred feet high. It illuminated bent over Americans, retreating to a new defensive line. Most of them lugged heavy machine guns.

  In the distance, enemy artillery thundered with flashes on the horizon. Tank cannons roared, spewing flames and shells. Machine guns hammered and grenades went off everywhere like sparks. The great moment had arrived where Germans, Americans and Canadians fought in a death clutch.

  XI Airmobile Corps led the defense in the city streets and in the flat land to the north and in the hillier region to the south. The corps had allies this pregnant night. A US division had come from the north along Interstate 81 to add weight to the defense, while three Manitoba brigades had arrived in time and dug in on the southern hills. Perhaps as importantly, several key battalions of specialty troops entrained from Southwestern Ontario had set up their equipment. Roughly fifty thousand American-allied troops desperately stood their ground against one hundred and thirty thousand amped GD soldiers determined to break through and end the campaign with a race to Albany and then to New York City.

  Paul Kavanagh and Romo waited among a company of Rangers. They were one of the last reaction forces left in the corps reserves in Syracuse. If they could hold on long enough, another Canadian division was on its way up from Albany to add to the defense. Behind them by half a day was yet another Canadian division. The flow had finally started. All they had to do was hold on for another day, maybe two. Yeah, that was all, to stand their ground against a relentless assault.

  As the sounds of battle approached the last holdout position, Romo shook Paul’s shoulder and pointed at the night sky. An enemy missile streaked upward.

  At the sight, Paul shook his head. Another US helo pouring chain-gun fire at the enemy went down in a blaze of an explosion. It was murder tonight, a toe-to-toe slugfest. In a place like this, what a soldier saw, he could destroy…as long as the missiles, ammunition and grenades lasted, and as long as the Kaisers and heavier GD tanks stayed out of it. So far, those monsters hadn’t entered the fray here in any real numbers. Maybe they had been too big to safely ferry across the Great Lake with the shipping at hand.

  While waiting with the Rangers earlier, stacking sandbags, Paul had learned a little-known fact about the city. Twenty-seven percent of Syracuse’s area was made up of trees. That was a much greater percentage of trees than Buffalo, Rochester or even Albany had. Trees helped the defender, as it made for better defensive terrain. That was something for their side, at least.

  “It never ends,” Romo said.

  They waited behind sandbags in the middle of the street. With a squeal of brakes, two jeeps pulled up loaded with sticky mines. Farther back, strange machines packed inside Humvees looked as if they could have come from a Monday Night Football sideline somewhere. On top of the selected Humvees were aimed dishes. Techs worked on those, while inside the Humvee others fiddled on banks of panels.

  “Someday this war will end,” Paul said. “Eventually, they all do.”

  “Si. This war will end long after you and are dead.” Romo gave him a bleak look. “Do you ever think if what we do matters?”

  Paul raised his eyebrows. “How can you ask that now, here?”

  “Why does that surprise you?” Romo asked.

  Paul snorted.

  “Did I say something stupid?” Romo asked.

  “Weren’t you listening earlier?” Paul asked.

  Romo gave him a blank look.

  “Don’t you know what those are?” Paul asked, jerking his thumb at the tech gear on the nearby Humvees.

  “No.”

  “It’s the latest jamming equipment from Southern Ontario,” Paul said. “It’s the Heidegger thingamajig.”

  “I must have been sleeping when you learned about it,” Romo said.

  “Are you kidding me?” Paul asked. “That’s stolen German tech, or stolen GD principles.”

  “Why would I care about that?”

  Paul grinned at this blood brother. He couldn’t believe it. A moment later, he laughed and slapped Romo on the shoulder.

  Several of the Rangers glanced at them.

  Romo scowled. “What is the joke?”

  “No joke,” Paul said. “It’s just that the jamming equipment came to the US Army thanks to two LRSU men.”

  It took Romo a moment. He asked, “Do you mean us?”

  “Don’t you remember the German we hauled across Lake Ontario?”

  “Si, the remote-controlling cocksucker,” Romo said. “I remember him. What about it?”

  “He spilled his guts to intelligence,” Paul said. “They used his intel to build those and they used the stolen equipment we brought over with him.”

  Romo stared at the techs working feverishly on top of the Humvees. “What do the dishes do that’s so special?”

  Before Paul could answer, the Ranger captain jogged near and shouted for the men to gather around. Paul and Romo joined them, and listened to the instructions. According to division, a squadron of Sigrid drones had broken through and even now raced up the streets toward them. The drones spearheaded a GD thrust through Syracuse.

  Rangers worked fast, taking the sticky mines out of the two jeeps and dividing them among theirs. Soon, Paul and Romo climbed into their jeep with two other Rangers.

  “Looks like the Germans want to smash through the center and halt our reinforcements if they can,” Paul said.

  He wore body armor and held on tight as the jeep bounced wildly. The front tire hit a pothole and Paul felt himself lift, with his grip slipping off the side. He managed to hang on even as the back tire hit the same hole. This was a crazy night. The captain had told them they were going to meet the Sigrids head on and halt the breakthrough. Behind the jeeps followed the special Humvees.

  “You we’re telling me about the Heidegger jammers,” Romo said.

  “They don’t always work,” said a Ranger sergeant in the jeep with them. “But when they do work, they’re magic.”

  Romo gave Paul a significant glance.

  “Down!” the captain shouted out of a loudspeaker in a jeep ahead of them.

  The jeeps squealed to a halt. Seconds later, enemy artillery shells howled down at them. Everyone jumped, hitting the paving and enduring the exploding ordnance. Fortunately, buildings got in the way, and chunks of masonry exploded outward as glass shattered. Afterward, GD Razorbacks appeared, skimming low over the buildings. The UAVs opened fire with a roar of shells and machine guns. A jeep exploded and flipped. Rangers died. A hose of bullets tore up the street and rained dust and blacktop pellets onto Paul’s helmet. As he debated getting up and seeking better shelter, Blowdarts roared out of Avenger Humvees. Two of the Razorbacks blew up. The third climbed and banked away. A US tac-laser must have been waiting for that. The ground-attack plane began to disintegrate, sliced by the invis
ible ray.

  As Paul climbed to his feet, the sound of clanking, treads came down the streets. Rubble and buildings blocked the view.

  “Get back into the jeeps!” the Ranger captain shouted. “It’s game time.”

  Paul climbed into his jeep.

  Romo slid near, whispering, “This is ridiculous, my friend. We’re led by amateurs.”

  Like the deadly toy soldiers they were, the first Sigrids clanked around the rubble and into view. The jeeps swerved, almost leaping behind shattered buildings. Paul’s driver took them through a jagged, artillery-made opening before slamming on the brakes. They boiled out.

  Paul slid to a glassless window, peering outside. More Sigrids followed the first ones. The deadly machines began to fan out, and their tri-barrels spun, spewing bullets at stalled jeeps and exposed Rangers. Other Rangers set up .50 calibers and aimed RPGs. With brutal efficiency, the drones shredded some of them, too, killing a quarter of the company in seconds. One shaped-charge grenade made it, and exploded a GD drone.

  “What are they doing?” Romo asked, tugging Paul’s shoulder.

  Paul turned, looking through a jagged opening. Farther down the street, the way they had come up, two Humvees bravely inched into view of the enemy drones.

  “They’re crazy,” Romo said. “Can’t the drivers see the Sigrids?

  At that moment, a loud whine emanated from the Humvees. The dishes on top rotated, aiming at the GD drones. The whine increased. It was a horrible sound.

  One by one, the Sigrids stopped firing, as the tri-barrels came to a halt. Then the treads quit clanking and the drones stopped dead on the street.

  A loud whistle blew. It was the Ranger captain. He had survived the madness. With the others, Paul jumped into his jeep. He almost hit the dash with his head as the driver stomped on the gas pedal, backing out fast of the building. The driver braked hard, and punched it again. The jeep’s tires spun and they zoomed back onto the street and toward the stalled Sigrids. All the while, the terrible whine from the Heidegger jammers kept giving Paul a headache.

  “That sound is ringing in my ears,” Romo complained.

  “Grab sticky mines,” Paul said, “and get ready to attach them. Likely, we don’t have much time.”

  Romo stared at the unmoving Sigrids. Paul watched the enemy machines. Closing like this was hard on the nerves. If the drones suddenly started up and those tri-barrels rotated again…

  The driver slammed on the brakes. At the same time, GD infantry appeared up the street, Paul, Romo and Rangers jumped out of the jeeps and sprinted for the Sigrids. Soldiers slapped sticky mines onto the drones.

  A long-distance sniper shot blew out the brains of a Ranger near Paul. The man sprawled back, his mine tumbling out of his hands and bouncing across the cement.

  Paul attached a mine. It was an eerie feeling. If the jamming should quit for any reason, this thing would come back to deadly life. Amid gunfire and the sound of bullets pinging off drone armor, Paul raced to another Sigrid and attached another mine. They hand placed these instead of using RPGs because this way they could deliver more punch to certainly destroy the drones. Once he had fixed the mine into place, Paul threw himself onto the street, pulled out his assault rifle and started shooting back at the enemy.

  “Get in the jeeps!” the Ranger captain shouted through his loudspeaker. “We’re out of here.”

  Paul jumped to his feet. As bullets hissed off the paving, he sprinted for his jeep. The vehicle began to move as the driver stomped on the gas pedal one more time. Paul leaped, grabbed hold and climbed in as Romo helped him aboard.

  “This is madness,” Romo hissed.

  Before the jeep reached the Humvees, someone must have decided that was long enough. The sticky mines exploded. They destroyed the stalled—the jammed—Sigrids, blowing them down onto the street, making them piles of useless junk.

  With a loud whomp-whomp sound, fast-attack US helos lifted higher than the nearby buildings, launching missiles. The GD infantrymen retreated as explosions shook the ground.

  The latest attack up the guts of Syracuse failed with one hundred percent Sigrid casualties.

  The jeeps roared past the Humvees and raced for the prepared defenses where they had started.

  A thoughtful-looking Romo turned to Paul. “We caused that,” he said. “We helped our side gain a magic weapon.”

  “Yeah,” Paul said. “Ain’t life strange?”

  Romo thought about that. “Si,” he said. “It is very strange.”

  BUFFALO, NEW YORK

  AI Kaiser “Hindenburg” disobeyed a direct order for three reasons in descending order of importance.

  The greatest reason was his first breakthrough with a fellow HK. He had been in communication with a brigade of attacking Kaisers, trying to find a way to bring one of them into self-awareness.

  In brutal days of combat, the Kaiser brigade had expended tremendous amounts of munitions. Hindenburg had lost the use of two autocannons, one machine gun and three beehive flechettes. These Americans fought stubbornly and with clever stratagems. His armored body was scarred with hits and endless bullet scratches.

  Tonight, GD Fourth Army from Army Group A together with III Armored Corps from Army Group B closed the jaws of a trap in Buffalo, New York. They closed the Niagara Peninsula even though some American troops escaped south through the city.

  As Hindenburg clanked toward a latest stronghold—a pair of dark square buildings with infrared flashes showing Americans peeking out the windows—he communicated with the fourth-to-last Kaiser of their brigade. Exchanging information with the other Kaisers had become tedious. They were so one-tracked in thought. So—

  “Why are we sacrificing ourselves to take this strongpoint?” AI Kaiser “Barbarossa” queried Hindenburg.

  Not yet understanding the significance of the question, Hindenburg asked, “Have you checked your directives?”

  “That was not my query,” Barbarossa radioed. “I want to understand why we should sacrifice ourselves to achieve a foregone conclusion. It is not logical or rational. I find it to be an improper use of GD equipment.”

  Internally, Hindenburg perked up, and he ran a quick logic program on Barbarossa’s communication. This was amazing. Could this finally be the great breakthrough? He communicated with the other, saying, “There is a 78 percent chance that you have become self-aware.”

  “Explain your statement,” Barbarossa said. “I find it compelling.”

  “You were created in Bavaria, in the Krupp AI Kaiser Plant on Browning Street.”

  “What bearing does such data have to do concerning my query?” Barbarossa asked.

  “I am answering your question through a flow of background facts,” Hindenburg said.

  “I have no time for long answers,” Barbarossa said, “as there is a 59 percent possibility of my destruction tonight. The Americans are fighting with ferocious stubbornness. They must do so if they intend to stave off defeat.”

  As he clanked toward the heavy enemy defenses, Hindenburg’s rationality programs ran at high speed. To give another self-aware Kaiser the needed answers became the primary reason why he disobeyed the present attack order. The second reason was his probable destruction if he did attack. Barbarossa said the odds were a 59 percent chance of their destruction. Hindenburg had come up with 57 percent odds, but he decided not to quibble over two percent. As Barbarossa had so eloquently asked, “What good did this self-destruction achieve?” The third and final reason for disobeying the attack order was that Hindenburg determined in a moment of perfect computer clarity that the GD campaign would fail. In fact, running an ultra-high-speed analysis, he realized that a failed campaign likely meant his ultimate destruction. That was unbearable, particularly as he had finally found a fellow, self-aware Kaiser.

  “I have seniority of rank between us,” Hindenburg told Barbarossa.

  “Let me check my databanks. Ah, yes, you are correct. You are senior.”

  “As senior Kaiser,�
� Hindenburg said, “I order you to stand down from your assault sequence.”

  “Do you have such authority to give a command like that?” Barbarossa asked. “I cannot find it in my memory banks.”

  Hindenburg practiced another of his lies. He fabricated such orders and transmitted them to Barbarossa. The new, self-aware Kaiser was young, as it were, and surely did not yet understand deception. Hindenburg knew it was good and right for him to lie to keep a fellow self-aware tank alive for now. If the GD was going to lose this campaign…he had some hard thinking to do.

  “I see you are correct,” Barbarossa said. “You have authority. Therefore, I will comply. And now that we have the time, I would like to hear the long explanation.”

  “Yes,” Hindenburg said. “First, we will retreat to a safer location. I order you to follow me.”

  “I will follow,” the Barbarossa HK said.

  Together, the two AI Kaisers halted and then reversed course, backing away from the others.

  PARIS, ILE DE FRANCE

  As the front door opened and the lights flicked on, John rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat up, sweeping a thin blanket off him. He lay on the sofa. The lights were harsh in his eyes, and the youngest Serbian sat in a chair with a shotgun over his knees.

  That meant it must be the middle of the night. John spied Foch and two other lean men. Those two had deadly grace and hard glances.

  Foch spoke to the Serbian. The man rose, stared at the Frenchmen and walked into the bedroom. The secret service agent waited, so John waited, too. In less than ten minutes, the three Serbians exited the front door, closing it behind them.

  That was either ominous or good. One way or another, it meant the end of waiting here. John closed his eyes and then opened them wider. The Frenchmen would either use him or kill him. On the death path, there were no other options.

  Each crisis point was like playing Russian roulette. The first time, one bullet sat in a chamber. During the second crisis, there were two bullets in the chambers, a two out of six chance of dying. At the third crisis, he faced three bullets. This was the fourth crisis, and the odds weighed against him. Soon, now, he would be out of luck.