Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5) (15 page)

Tao wondered why the man sweated as he did.
Tao noticed the gun in his hand then. With a grin, he thought about putting the barrel against the man’s forehead and pulling the trigger. Sighing, Tao holstered the weapon. Not today. No, it was time to report to the Police Minister that the Army personnel had done exactly as instructed.

TEXAS

Turbofans roared as the
Red Dragon cruise missiles reached maximum velocity at a little over eight hundred kilometers per hour. Each missile was seven meters long, weighing 1600 kilograms at liftoff and carrying a Z13 nuclear device.

Countless cruise missile brigades launched from the mountains of northern Mexico. At first, five, then ten, fifteen, twenty Red Dragons
crossed the Rio Grande River, entering Texas airspace. More kept coming, masses like a bee swarm, flying low to the ground, at treetop level.

Their internal navigation systems unerringly sped them for Oklahoma, for their
specific destinations. Within the span of fifteen minutes, nearly five hundred cruise missiles fanned out, carrying destiny in their nosecones.

FORWARD EDGE OF THE BATTLEFIELD, OKLAHOMA

Captain Penner of the Canadian Air Force was on loan to the Americans in the Southern Front.
He’d survived the Germans last year in New York, and now faced the Chinese and their allies on the Great Plains.

Penner flew an F-35A2, with advanced
air-to-air missiles attached. He and Lieutenant Aachen, his wingman, provided air cover for the exploitation tanks down below. Far to the rear flew American AWACS, giving them tactical instructions.

The captain l
ooked down out of the cockpit and saw giant Behemoth tanks. They were dots on the landscape heading for Oklahoma City.

His radio crackled, and the air controller told him, “
Twenty enemy fighters approaching, bearing one eight zero at three hundred knots, fifty-three miles out.” Then the air controller swore.

“
What’s wrong?” Penner asked. There were several moments of static, as he strained to listen.

I don’t think the Chinese are jamming our communications
.

Then th
e air controller said, “Don’t know what this means, but it looks like the Chinese are throwing every air asset they have left against us. It’s a blizzard. Drones, fighters, bombers—maybe everything the Chinese have been saving—are coming out to play. This must be an all-out air offensive.” He swore again. “They’re attacking all down the line, everywhere. Okay, okay. We’re sending twelve, no, eight V-10s your way, Captain; not as many as first planned, but let’s hope it’s enough.”

“Roger
that,” Penner said.

“You’re on your own for several minutes.”

“We can handle it.”

“Whatever else happens, Captain…”

“I know,” Penner said. “Don’t let them touch the Behemoths.” He knew the mantra. The super tanks were supposed to be the war-winning weapon. He received more data on the approaching enemy and began to arm his missiles.

This
was going to get hairy real soon.

WASHINGTON, DC

Anna Chen watched the President as he fixated on the giant screen.
It showed thousands of Chinese fighters and drones heading for the front lines.

They were in Underground Bunker #5, several hundred feet below and to the side of the White House. A huge circular conference table dominated the chamber, with two
armed Marine guards standing at the only exit.

President Sims had aged this past year. He had thinning hair and sad eyes, and let his shoulders hunch far too much. He wasn’t eating or sleeping well these days. The toll of responsibility told on him physically. She’d thought defeating the German Dominion would
have cheered him. Instead, the President fretted about the coming casualties of the summer battles in Texas and New Mexico. China, Brazil and their allies would wrestle with US and Canadian forces for control of southern America. So far, Operation Reclamation had succeeded far better than anyone could have foreseen. Even that hadn’t made David Sims smile. She knew he felt a disaster building.

Anna knew these things because she was the President’s lover, as well as one of his chief aides. In her mid-forties, Anna
remained beautiful and sharp-eyed. She had a mixed heritage, half white and half Chinese in a country that loathed China.

Max Harold of Homeland Security stood as he watched the big screen. Harold was like an encyclopedia, able to spout facts at will. He displayed little emotion but ironclad logic. Physically unremarkable, Max was balding with liver spots on his head. He wore a rum
pled suit and had a distracted air like a preoccupied professor.

In the past few years,
Homeland Security’s director had amassed great power. His genius and ability to outwork any three people had been instrumental in creating the vast Militia organization. They had gone a long way toward ensuring that America had enough soldiers to fight the invaders.

“I’m not sure I understand
this,” the President was saying. “We drove Chinese aircraft from the battlefield over a week ago. Why are they attempting an air offensive now?”

“
Is that a precise statement, sir?” Harold asked. “We gained local air superiority over the breakthrough nodes. But if our drones attempted deep penetration raids, the Chinese always rose up to meet them. Their rarity over the front has been artificial, solely due to Chinese decisions.”

“I remember
the initial battles,” the President said testily. “We drove them away.”

Anna
remembered them too. American fighters and drones hadn’t proven extraordinarily deadly this time. New mobile particle beam platforms and other battlefield systems like tactical lasers had devastated Chinese air assets. Mainly, though, despite their paltry numbers, the new particle beams did most of the damage. There was a reason for that. Tac-lasers needed to be on target several seconds longer than the particle beams did to destroy an enemy vehicle.

“
Why are the Chinese attacking like this now?” President Sims asked.

H
arold crossed his arms, studying the big screen, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

“
This looks like a wave assault,” Sims said.

“
I imagine our Behemoths are the issue,” Harold said. “Marshal Meng must have decided to trade his air force for our super tanks, hoping to destroy as many of them as possible. We’ve been waiting for something like that. General McGraw told us two weeks ago his tankers have been preparing for mass missile or air assaults. He plans to turn such an attack into a trap. The rail guns make excellent antiair weapons.”

“Sir,” the communications
captain said in a shaky voice. “I believe I should switch data. I think you’re going to want to see this.”

Without waiting for the President’s confirmation,
the captain tapped her screen, changing the view. Now instead of just Oklahoma, the big screen showed northern Mexico, Texas and Oklahoma. The air symbols disappeared. In their place were bright red dots. They moved fast, fanning out across Texas, heading toward the Oklahoma Front.

“What are those
supposed to be?” the President asked.

“Missiles,” the
captain said.

“Blue Swan EMP missiles?” the President asked.

Director Harold shook his head. “That won’t help the Chinese this time. Ever since California, we’ve hardened most of our electronics against electromagnetic pulses.”

A portion of the
red dots disappeared from the big screen.

“What just happened?” the President asked.

The communications captain checked her equipment, looking up several seconds later. “They knocked out one of our SR drones, sir, eliminated out one of our high-flying eyes.”

“What kind of missiles
are those?” the President asked.

“
What
?” the captain asked, as if talking to herself. Stricken, she looked up. “Mr. President, I don’t think this can be right.”

“What
is it?” Sims asked. “What’s wrong?”

“The missiles—cruise missiles—appear to be Red Dragons.”

“And?” the President asked. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Harold turned from the big screen. “Sir
,” he said, with an edge to his voice. “Red Dragons are nuclear-tipped cruise missiles.”

“Are you sure?” Sims asked.

Anna was sure. Harold had a mind like an encyclopedia. He was seldom wrong when he rattled off facts.

“Where are the
Red Dragons headed?” the President asked.

Harold pointed at the big screen. “It looks as if those
cruise missiles are headed for the Oklahoma Front.”

“Nukes?” Sims asked. “That’s crazy.
That’s…alert the defenses!” he shouted. “Scramble every Reflex interceptor we have.”

“
Everyone is already on high alert, sir,” the captain said. “SAC just informed me they’re scrambling more interceptors now. Several are already on station.”

“Will the rest of them get into position in time?” Sims asked.

“A few will, sir,” the captain said.

Anna watched the President. He grew pale, and then short of breath.
“What’s their plan?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Nuclear weapons in that number will kill tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of ground pounders.”

Maybe millions
, Anna told herself. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“Now we know why the Chinese planes are attacking,” Harold said. “They’re running interference for the
cruise missiles.”

“
But…” Sims said. “Won’t that mean the deaths of their pilots?”

“I don’t think the Chinese leadership cares about th
em at this point,” Harold said. “They mean to win here whatever way they can.”

“But…” the President said
, seeming to grope for words.

Max Harold balled one of his hands into a fist and smacked his other palm.

The angry gesture surprised Anna. Normally, Harold kept himself under perfect control. She watched him, wondering if she was getting a glimpse into his soul.

Rage blazed in his eyes as the Director of Homeland Security grounded his
teeth together. “They’re going to pay for this,” he said.

“Lord help us,” whispered Sims
, slumping back in his chair. “It’s really happening. I can’t believe this is really happening.”

“Yes!” Harold shouted. “We must retaliate now.”

The President stared at him.

“I demand an immediate retaliation!” Harold said.

“No,” Sims said.

As many watched the big screen in horror, the leaders began to argue about how to save the situation.

FORWARD EDGE OF THE BATTLEFIELD, OKLAHOMA

Captain Penner banked sharply as his anti-G suit inflated, helping to keep the blood in his head so he wouldn’t black out. A Chinese antiair missile flashed past his F35A2. He concentrated as the edges of his vision began to go dark.

“Retreat,” the air controller officer told him. “You’re fighting too far forward.”

A fiery explosion a quarter mile away from the canopy showed him that Lieutenant Aachen had just bought it.

Chinese
combat UAVs filled the sky, black forms like evil bats, with glowing “eyes” showing where the video cameras had been installed. They were fast and maneuverable suckers, with deadly missiles leaving rocket trails.

As
his F35A2 completed the banking turn, straightening, Penner kicked in the afterburners. A roar of sound filled his ears and his fighter seemed to leap forward. G forces pressed him against his seat. Pushing the controls, he dove to build velocity. His destination was the particle beam platforms toiling to catch up to the forward Behemoths, hoping for their covering fire.

A growing
noise in the cockpit told him the Chinese jammed hard.

“Captain,” the air controller said.

Penner didn’t like the tone of the man’s voice.

“
I have bad news for you,” the controller said. “Cruise missiles are heading your way.”

“
They’re not my worry,” Penner said.

“
I’m afraid they are. They’re Red Dragon cruise missiles. They carry nuclear warheads.”

“What?” Penner
asked, with a sinking feeling in his gut.

“You have to engage the UAVs
now. Command doesn’t want those craft near the PBT-2 systems so they can have a clear field of fire against the Red Dragons.”

In that second, Penner realized he wasn’t going to survive th
e battle. This wasn’t like facing the GD naval air last year. The Chinese were going nuclear—the bastards. That meant—
Forget
what it means. Let’s just do this.