Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5) (11 page)

Like a
regular tank’s sabot, it used kinetic energy, the same kind of energy that sent a bullet smashing through a man’s body. An M16 rifle fired a bullet at the muzzle velocity of 930 meters per second. The Behemoth’s cannon fired its round at 3,500 meters per second, over three times as fast. That was approximately Mach 10 at sea level.

The rail
gun had much greater range than a gunpowder shell, less bullet drop, faster time on target and less wind drift. In other words, it bypassed the physical limitations of conventional firearms. In fact, the rounds flew so fast they ionized the air around them. The Behemoth rail gun theoretically fired farther, faster and with greater penetrating power than any comparable conventional weapon. Its range was also much greater than the tank’s targeting precision, meaning it was easily possible to fire a Behemoth round over one hundred miles. At half that range—fifty miles—most rail gun rounds missed. At twenty-five miles, the cannons achieved great accuracy. The Chinese were over thirty miles away: near enough to hit
some
of the time, but not every time.

“Looks like we’re about to have a quick-draw contest,” Jake said, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

“They’re sitting still and have likely already sighted in,” Chet said. “They have the advantage.”

Jake kept himself from glancing at
Chet. Having been in combat many times in the last few years, he was the veteran here. Thus, it galled Jake that Chet sounded more relaxed than he did. Jake had a few years on the others. Yet the truth was that they were
all
young enough that games of cool took on monumental importance.

“Higgins!”
a man said on the screen.

Jake twitched
at the voice. Some might even have said he jumped or started in his seat. He didn’t dare look to see if the others frowned at each other as if to say, “Look how jumpy Jake is. The corporal’s gotta settle down.”

“Yes, sir,” Jake said, as he clicked a button on his chair
, having to press harder than normal. The thing was sticky because he’d set too many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the arm. On the screen, the drone’s data imaging disappeared and the captain’s face took its place.

The captain had a thick mustache curving down to his chin. He wore his tanker’s cap at an angle as if he w
ere some Confederate cavalry commander from the War Between the States. The captain was from Alabama and had a twang that wouldn’t quit.

“
You see laser tank number five?” the captain asked in his slow drawl.

“
Starting from the right, sir?” Jake asked.

“Of course from the right, son,” the captain said. “We’ve been over that.”

“Yes, sir,” Jake said, as his neck prickled with embarrassment.

“I know you’re the colonel’s son
…”

Jake swallowed. Colonel Higgins didn’t run this regiment. His dad attacked farther to the east. Colonel Nelson ran the show for the
Sixth Behemoth Regiment. But Jake knew the captain meant his dad.

Through the screen, the captain’s eyes bored into Jake. “You done fine
so far, son. You keep paying attention, hear?”

“Yes, sir,” Jake said.

“Number five laser tank,” the captain said. “That one’s yours. I want it dead before it damages anyone else.”

“Yes, sir,” Jake said. He wanted to assure the captain that everything would be all right. But he knew the captain hated boasting. Doing counted with this man, not saying.

“This is where we earn our money,” the captain said. “If we smash them, Oklahoma City is going burn with enemy dead.” The captain squinted. “If we burn Oklahoma City, we might end up smashing the entire front. It’s time to fry us some laser tanks. Good hunting, Higgins.”

“Yes, sir,” Jake said. “Good hunting to you, too.”

TEN MILES NORTHWEST OF OKLAHOMA CITY

First Rank Lon Lu of MC ABM #5 sat at his controls. He was the engine tech in charge of the magnetic-propulsion turbine. Without the great generating plant, the laser cannon would be useless.

Lon Lu was small, dark-haired and studiously serious. He had arrived from China, from a suburb of Beijing, a little over
two months ago. He should have gone to Wei Mining in northern Manchuria, but the Army had drafted him for service in this land of savage barbarians. The stories coming from America had frightened many of the men his age in China. A few better-connected or richer souls had already escaped possible conscription by finding office jobs in Korea or Indonesia. Lon Lu hadn’t been so lucky.

Still, this was exciting technology, and the commander of the MC ABM #5 implicitly trusted him and his judgment—Lon received honor and accompanying letters to his mother and father
because of it.

First Rank Lon Lu took pride in his work. Their MPT
— magnetic propulsion turbine—was the quietest in the brigade, and their cannon continually fired the hottest beam. The only troubling thing so far about the assignment was American women.

Lon was fiercely Han centric, proud of Greater China and xenophobic of foreigners to a high although rather ordinary degree for someone from Beijing. He planned to marry a Chinese woman when he
received a marriage permit from the Ministry of Matrimony. His honors and letters here would greatly aid in that regard.

The trouble with American women was their ready availability in Oklahoma City. China had a gross
gender imbalance with too few women. It came from the one-child-per-family policy. Many more girls than boys were aborted because a high percentage of parents desired the family name to continue and wanted a son.

“Warm the turbine,” the commander said from his chair.

This was the main compartment to the three-trailer vehicle—that number didn’t include the giant tractor to move them. Driving the vehicle took careful preparation and route coordination. Mobility was a relative term. They
could
move, but weren’t mobile like a Behemoth tank.

Lon sat at the engine section, and he reached up and began to tap controls. He watched gauges and heat levels, and like a master pianist, he made his instrument purr with excellence.

Others worked the laser coils, the bin-washers and coolant radiator, while officers matched UAV-gathered intelligence with the cannon’s precise elevation.

Lon Lu sat alertly even though his crotch itched and stung.
Han were superior to North American barbarians. The obviousness of the statement made it a truism. Lon Lu meant to marry a proper Han woman and produce a superior child. He did not have a preference and would accept fate’s call, boy or girl.

The problem was the availability of hungry American women. Naturally, East Lightning and Occupation Authority police rigorously applied Chinese law
here. Much of Texas and Oklahoma’s agricultural produce went to China. That meant Americans went hungry for a change. That brought consequences. Too many American women bartered sex for food. Before the oceanic voyage, Lon had planned to remain chaste throughout his term of North American service. He would save himself for Han sexual encounters with his future wife.

The problem was that some American women were incredibly alluring
, with their long luxurious hair, skimpy clothing and provocative ways of strutting and pouting when they looked at him. After three weeks of abstaining, Lon Lu bought extra loaves of bread at the commissary and went to the brothel he passed every day during his duties.

He wanted a particular American woman, a small thing with dark hair like a Han and thrusting breasts of intoxicating stiffness.

In the main compartment, Lon glanced both ways to make sure no one watched him. Then he reached down and rubbed his itching groin. The writhing on the silk sheets had been divine. Why had he waited so long to do it? Unfortunately, the dark-haired beauty had given him a venereal disease. He had used her many times these past weeks, discovering that his appetite grew with exposure. His shame at contracting VD meant he’d remained silent about it for some time. He did not want a reprimand on his record. He wanted a Han wife—he had to have a woman more than ever now. He had become accustomed to sexual intimacy. He was, in fact, unsure he could live without it.

“First Rank,” the commander said from his chair. “Give me energizing power.”

Lon Lu thrust his arms upward as his fingers played upon the controls. He might have VD, but he would bring honor to his family name and victory to Chinese arms. High Command counted on their MC ABM brigade to halt the American drive toward First Front HQ in Oklahoma City.

“Now we shall show these Americans the deadliness of Chinese technology,” the commander said. “We will destroy these Behemoths and bring serenity to our broken line.”

Lon Lu reached down to his neck, grasping the padded headphones there. He secured the protective covering over his ears, switching on his link to the commander. His gaze flickered to a screen showing the enemy Behemoths from a high-flying UAV.

The
giant US tanks clanked toward the last blocking ridge. Each one had a flag waving on the highest antenna. Once the monsters crested the ridge…

The commander’s voice crackled over the headphones. In obedience to the words, Lon Lu tapped the final sequence.

The MPT whined with power, its song climbing higher and higher with dreadful noise. The command compartment shook and Lon’s groin flared with pain.

Lon
winced at the MPT’s howl, but he spoke into his microphone. “Energy levels rising, Commander. In fifteen seconds we will be at maximum.”

The commander stood, and he held his right hand high. The main gunner nodded in understanding. The seconds ticked by as the MPT roared.

Lon Lu heard over his headphones, “Fire!” And the commander’s hand came down sharply.

The MPT pumped massive power into the laser coils. The energy
rerouted into the chambers and drove the laser. The incredibly heavy beam struck the first focusing mirror, and then shot out of the cannon in a tight ray, traveling at the speed of light and crossing the many kilometers.

“Hit!” the gunner shouted.

Lon Lu exposed his teeth in a smile. He hated this land with its diseased whores, with its bloody-minded barbarians. But now the world would see once again that Han expertise trumped everything. Civilization would beat back the screaming hordes and bring order to a dark world.

On
the screen, he could see the beam strike its targeted Behemoth. The giant tank kept moving as the laser began to boil through the incredible armor. Some heat dissipated and the enemy glacis began to glow. Liquid metal dripped as the beam chewed deeper.

Lon rubbed his groin again.
Once he returned to base, he needed to see a doctor.

THIRTY-FIVE MILES NORTHWEST OF OKLAHOMA CITY

“Fire!” Jake shouted
from the commander’s seat.

For the
second time, the mighty engine revved and supplied power to the rail gun. A surge shook the tank. The penetrator roared from the cannon and sped at Mach 10 for the targeted laser vehicle.

Seconds later, with his forehead pressed against the padded gunner’s sight, Chet said, “It’s a
nother miss.” His right hand knuckles tightened around the pistol-grip firing mechanism.

“We’re heating up
outside!” the driver shouted.

Jake
heard the ominous, bubbling sound of a heavy laser chewing through the frontal armor.

“
Go left!” Jake shouted. “Chet! Get ready for another shot.”

The air
conditioners hummed as sweat beaded down Jake’s face. It was worse than driving a motorcycle through Death Valley in midsummer. Jake had done that once. He never would again.

The driver worked the controls. One tread spun forward and the other went backward. The great beast
of a tank swung to the left. Then both treads churned the spring soil, ripping away flowers and spewing them behind. The laser beam flashed past the tank, no longer eating into the armor.

Almost immediately, t
he terrible heat lessened as the air conditioners did their work.

Without waiting for Jake
’s command, Chet pulled the trigger.

The engine revved
to give the power plant enough juice. The surge came and yet another penetrator roared across the distance at Mach 10.

While holding his breath, Jake watched on his screen. The UAV still fed him data.

This round hammered into the MPT trailer of MC ABM number five. With pathetic ease, the penetrator blasted through the hull armor. A microsecond later, a fantastic explosion turned the compartment into a trailer-sized bomb, shedding metal in every direction. That flipped the rest of the linked vehicles.

Unknown to Jake, i
nside the MC ABM command compartment, a chunk of bulkhead the size of a chair seat decapitated First Rank Lon Lu. Blood gushed before more pieces crushed the body into a smear.

Not all the Behemoths escaped death or killed their targeted laser tank. Two vehicles
to the left of Jake’s, a giant tank had a glowing red glacis with two fist-sized burn holes. Clumps of melted drops like lava had already cooled and frozen in place. That Behemoth halted suddenly. A side hatch blew, shooting the metal like a bullet to bounce off the ground a quarter mile away. Flames roared from the compartment—the entire crew had roasted to death.