Invasion: Colorado (17 page)

The door opened and three guards looked in.

The Director pointed a thick finger at Jake. “Take this piece of garbage to the isolation cell. Let him contemplate the coming lessons we’ll drum into his thick hide.”

Jake rose in a blaze of rage. He ripped off his shirt. “Look at this!” he shouted. There was a pucker scar, a bullet wound on the side of his ribs. “A Chinese assault rifle did this. What about here.” He pointed to a furrow along his side. “Shrapnel, plain and simple. And here,” he showed them his left biceps. “That’s from a bayonet. You know what a knife-scar looks like, don’t you? I’m sure you get them all the time sitting your fat butt here in safety. I was in Amarillo and it was hell!”

Jake glanced at the three guards frowning at him. They were beefy and each clutched a baton.

“Sure,” he said. “You’re brave against me, three to one.” He clapped his hands. “If you phone the cops in Gunnison they’ll tell you I asked them to take me here. I volunteered to fight, and that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve been shedding blood for my country and you want to torture me. Tell me you’re a patriot. Come and fight with me at the front. Let some Chinese artillery pound your position and let’s see if you cut or run or hold for the swarm attack you know that’s coming.”

Jake was panting, and there was fiery rage in his eyes. Three batons—maybe it was time to fight three to one and just go down swinging. This was complete crap.

“What do you say, Director?” the chief guard asked. “He sure doesn’t sound like a deserter.”

The Director stroked his chin, measuring Jake. “I’ll call the police in Gunnison. If they confirm your story…I’ll add you to the Eleventh CDMB.”

Jake was too angry to say anything more. He was too pumped up for action. Slowly, he backed down, forcing himself to sit. He stared at the floor, refusing to look at anyone.

He heard the Director talking into a phone. The man was gruff. The Director waited, and he then asked several questions. He grunted, likely receiving answers. Finally, the Director thanked the police officer and hung up.

Jake looked at him.

The Director stared back, finally nodding. “Your story holds. Maybe you did fight in Amarillo. We’re sending you out tonight. The Eleventh is headed for Denver. The Chinese have been inching there. If you want a fight, son, you’re going to get it.”

Jake nodded.

“Go on, take him away. I have work to do.”

“Yes, sir,” the chief guard said. The man motioned to Jake. “If you’ll follow me then...”

Jake waited a half-second, wondering if the Director would apologize for earlier. No, the man ignored him, writing something on paper. Jake said nothing more as he stood, deciding the sooner he left this place the better. Denver, it looked like he was going to fight again after all.

WASHINGTON, D.C.

“I’m still not sure why you think I should attend this meeting, Mr. President,” Anna said.

They were in the Oval Office, the President staring out the window at the snow-covered Rose Garden.

David Sims looked different in person than he did on TV. He was plump with wispy blond hair that barely covered his bald spot in front. His pale blue eyes were alert like a hawk, though, just as on the tube. He wore a black suit and his shoulders were back as they used to be before the war.

“You’re my second pair of ears,” he said.

“But sir—”

Sims turned to her, and there was concern in his eyes. “You’ve spoken with Chancellor Kleist. You can testify to his offer and the faith in which he gave it.”

“But the others won’t accept me as—”

Sims made a decisive gesture. “I’m the President. I decide whom I trust and whom I don’t. Your advice has always been good, and today, I’m going to need all the good advice I can get.”

They were about to speak with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, with General McGraw of Army Group West and the Director of Homeland Security, Max Harold.

I’m the wrong person to be in on this meeting
, Anna told herself.
There are many others more qualified than I am
. She also wondered about the wisdom of including General McGraw in the meeting. David had been secretive about him.
Is that why his shoulders are square today? He’s making crisp decisions just as they others said he did in his first year of office.
If true, then McGraw was good.

“Are you ready?” Sims asked.

Anna nodded, although she wasn’t ready. Today, they were going to discuss the Chancellor’s strange offer. It seemed like the wrong group to make political grand strategy with. McGraw and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs were military men through and through. Kleist’s offer was a political decision with hard political ramifications. And yet, in the end, President Sims was a soldier.

Seven years ago, it had been General Sims, the Joint Forces Commander in Alaska during the Chinese invasion. He’d won the Presidency because of his victory seven years ago. The people trusted the man on the white horse, the military savior. They expected miracles from the Joint Forces Commander, General David Sims. As the present war spiraled into even worse defeats, the President had come to view the news more and more often through a strictly martial lens.

Is that wise, or is it short sighted?
Anna didn’t know. If America lost militarily, the political wasn’t going to matter anyway. Maybe in the end David knew what he was doing. Maybe this needed to be a soldier’s decision.

“Sit over there,” Sims said. “I want you to take notes.”

Anna sat in a chair to the side, picking up a computer scroll and stylus.

The President straightened his suit jacket and marched to the door. He opened it, speaking softly to his secretary. Then he strode to his desk, sitting behind it.

Thirty seconds later, the door opened as the secretary ushered three men into the Oval Office. The Chairman of the Joints Chiefs of Staff entered first, General Alan. He was gaunt with sunken cheeks, no longer merely thin. He wore black-rimmed glasses and looked exhausted, as if he needed sleep, which he probably did. He was Sino-phobic and therefore disliked Anna.

Max Harold, the Director of Homeland Security, was a walking encyclopedia of knowledge, given to hard logic and little emotion. He was bald with liver spots, wore a rumbled suit and had a distracted air, as if trying to remember where he’d put his car keys. It was an illusion, Anna knew, as the man literally heard and remembered everything. He’d been instrumental in creating hordes of Militia battalions. The Militia came under the jurisdiction of Homeland Security. General Alan had never approved of that, believing the military should control the Militia. It had made the two into opponents.

Anna wondered sometimes if General Alan was right. Was it good to have two militaries in a country? In the field, the Militia took orders from Army commanders, but…

General Tom McGraw entered the Oval Office. Anna’s eyes widened. The man was a giant, and he radiated presence. She’d never seen him in person before this. He wore an immaculate uniform, but without any medals. That was in stark contrast to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Both sides of Alan’s uniform contained rows of medals and ribbons. For some reason, McGraw seemed more genuine because of the lack.

The President stood and came around the desk, shaking each man’s hand, greeting him by name. With the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Sims used his free hand to clasp Alan’s hand. Sims grasped Harold by the elbow as they shook hands, and with McGraw, the President seemed to hang on dearly as the giant bear of a general shook.

The President sat in a rocking chair just as President Kennedy used to do. Being in motion seemed to help Sims think. Alan and Harold sat on the couch, one man at each end, while McGraw eased into a large stuffed chair facing the President. Anna sat to the side of the President and away from the couch.

“You know my personal representative,” Sims said, gesturing to Anna. “She will take notes and add insights as needed.”

Anna felt their stares, and it made her uncomfortable. She particularly felt General Alan’s disapproval of her because of her half-Chinese ancestry.

The President cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, we know the situation with the Chinese and Brazilians. These Noah-like rains have given us breathing space, bogging down the enemy’s relentless advance. It’s made it harder for us to resupply our troops, certainly, but it’s wreaked havoc on the enemy supply lines. Unfortunately the rains won’t last forever, and soon winter will change the mud to a frozen surface. I’m thinking the Chinese mean to push a brutal winter campaign onto us. It also seems clear they mean to split our country in half, driving north to the Canadian border. Hell, maybe they mean to drive into Canada too.

“General,” Sims said, turning to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “We need more men and materiel on the front, isn’t that true?”

“If we plan to stop the enemy, yes, Mr. President,” General Alan said. “We need a lot more troops. We’ve lost too many men, either killed or captured in grueling cauldrons of battle, and need to reinforce our depleted ranks. The enemy keeps pouring in reinforcements to replace his losses. It seems like an endless supply for them. With the rainy, muddy breathing spell, as you’ve stated, we have a precarious situation. The front has stabilized at the moment, but that will change once winter comes.”

Anna watched the President rock a little faster. She could feel the tension in him, the excitement. Before her trip to Iceland, he’d been a beaten man, thrashing about without hope.

Yes, he has hope again. It must be more than Kleist’s offer. Does it have something to do with McGraw?

“Gentlemen,” Sims said, “I have a bombshell to give you. I don’t know if it’s a godsend or the slickest trick played on us yet. I need advice. I need it now and you three are the ones who are going to give it to me. General Alan, I trust your military judgment. We beat the Chinese in California this spring and we’ve managed to keep our armies afloat in the worst disaster to American arms in history this summer and fall. You’ve worked tirelessly in that effort. Director, you’ve done more than anyone else has to arm and train enough extra Militiamen to give us a fighting chance. Sometimes, the Militia battalions fold and the men run, but more often than not, they fight as stubbornly as the Regular Army. You’ve cut through miles of red tape in order to get it done, and that may be what we need today. Lastly, General McGraw, you’ve saved the situation twice on the battlefront by freeing otherwise lost troops. I need someone who has faced the worst the enemy can give us in order to tell me what can or cannot work against him. You’ve also become something of the media hero, and if we agree to my plan, I need your full, public and enthusiastic endorsement of it.”

“This is all rather mysterious, Mr. President,” General Alan said.

Sims nodded. “I’ve kept this one close to my chest. If it went the wrong way, news of it might have destroyed what morale our people and armies still possess.” He took a deep breath. “You may or may not know that Ms. Chen met with Chancellor Kleist in Reykjavik, Iceland several days ago.”

The three men gazed at Anna, and she had to work to keep from squirming.

“I learned through trustworthy channels that the Chancellor had an offer to make,” Sims told them. “I decided to gamble and find out what it was. It turns out the Chancellor is a clever negotiator, quite a sly fox. He offered us neutrality—”

“I would take it, Mr. President,” Director Harold said.

Sims nodded. “Of course. Unfortunately, it’s not that easy. The offer comes with an expensive price.”

“I’m thinking it must be a very stiff cost,” Alan said. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t need our opinions.”

The President scanned the three men. After a pregnant wait, he said, “Chancellor Kleist wants Quebec. He wants to add the French-speaking part of Canada to the German Dominion just as he’s added much of North Africa to it.”

General Alan frowned. “We don’t own Quebec. As you said, it is part of Canada. It’s not ours to give.”

“Yes, that makes the problem much worse,” Sims agreed.

“Suppose we thought the idea a good one,” Director Harold said. “How would you explain the situation to the Canadians so they would agree?”

“There are several problems with the offer,” Sims said, sidestepping the question. “It’s why I need expert advice. Explaining the situation to the Canadians would be hard, and they might not agree to it right away.”

“Are you suggesting we
make
the Canadians agree?” General Alan asked.

“I’m not sanguine concerning such a situation,” Sims said. “We’re talking about dismembering their country. Without Quebec, Canada would essentially lose its Eastern seaboard. The four small Maritime Provinces would be cut off from the rest of the country. Their only eastern port directly linked to the rest of Canada then would be Churchill in Hudson Bay, which is icebound during much of the year. No, even if they readily agreed, they wouldn’t be happy with the situation or pleased with us.

“One of the bitterest aspects of this war is that we lack allies,” Sims said. “The Canadians are it—well, and the Mexico Home Army. The Canadian military proved invaluable in Alaska and we’re looking forward to their entry again in the very near future. Forcing them to give the Germans Quebec is a lousy way to pay back our only friends in the world. One, I don’t want to lose our Canadian allies and two, I don’t want the world to see that we shaft our friends, which accepting this offer will make us do.”

“Maybe we’re looking at this from the wrong perspective,” Director Harold said. “Quebec wants to separate. We know the separatist movement ties down Canadian formations. If the Canadians gave up Quebec, it would free them from occupation duty and maybe free them from the headache of living together with the French-Canadians. It might be that the Canadian Government could use this as a way to escape a hopeless situation. Their countrymen wouldn’t look at them as traitors or weaklings, but as having no choice in the matter.”

“Possibly,” Alan said. “One problem automatically comes to mind. The Canadians would likely feel a need to militarize the border with Quebec.” With the loud crack of his neck stretching, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs turned to Sims. “Kleist wants to send GD troops into Quebec, right?”