Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5) (17 page)

Jake couldn’t believe this was
the end of his life. How in the world were they going to stop every cruise missile? Ha! They wouldn’t stop anything if he played Hamlet in his commander’s chair.

“Let’s do this,” Jake said.
“Simons, stop the tank. It’s time to shoot.”

“Are you crazy?” Simon shouted.
“We’ve got to get out of here.”

Jake stood, moved to Simon
s and grabbed the back of the man’s jacket. “Stop now, damnit. I’m giving you an order.”

Simon
s scowled at him.

Jake shifted
his stance, ready to cock a fist and smash Simons in the face.
I need to buy some heavy metal rings, leave an impression in the man’s face
. When he gave an order, he meant it.

“
You’re crazy,” Simons muttered. But he slowed the tank. “We’re supposed to have a lieutenant or at least a sergeant in charge. Whoever heard of a corporal running a tank?

“Yeah, that’s the breaks,” Jake said.

Soon, the monster tank squealed to a halt. Chet raised the cannon. Jake listened as Grant talked to the battle-net operator. Thirty seconds later, it was their turn. They were a mile and a half from the PBT-2. In rail gun range, that made no difference.

On his screen, Jake watched the
targeted cruise missile flash toward the center of the formation. Man, the thing moved fast.

“Fire!”
he shouted.

Chet pulled the trigger
, although he didn’t actually fire. With the way it was set up, the trigger-pull gave the internal AI tracking system the green light to do its thing.

Five seconds later, t
he engine revved with power. A red firing light blinked on Jake’s screen. “Here it goes,” he said.

A
surge went through the super tank, making the entire three hundred tons shake. The rail gun sent a penetrator screaming through the cannon.

They weren’t the only ones relying on computer AI technology
, though. A Chinese UAV dropped at precisely the wrong moment. The saucer-shaped craft with its alien wings took the penetrator meant for the Red Dragon.

“Son of a bitch!” Jake shouted.

“Corporal Higgins,” the PBT-2 captain said over the data-net.

“I can’t believe it either,” Jake said. “We’re getting ready to fire again.”

“Negative,” the captain said. “I have it.”

He was wrong. The
selected particle beam weapon system took that moment to overheat. Automatic safety programs began a shutdown procedure.

Jake watched his screen. Others watched on theirs. Chinese UAVs dove at them,
jamming and expelling chaff.

A Red Dragon cruise missile
sped low over the Earth. Its internal systems categorized the giant tanks for what they were. Did it recognize the increased distance between machines? Whatever the case, the cruise missile headed up for the maximum blast value.

Corporal Jake Higgins leaned forward in his commander’s chair. Sweat pooled on his face, with his eyes glued to the screen. His mouth turned dry.
“Take it down, Chet.”

Chet pulled the trigger. As the AI made its calculations,
Simons shouted in terror. The engine revved, building power for a launch. He engaged the gears. With a lurch, the mighty machine shot forward.

It caught Jake by surprise. He hadn’t buckled in. As he yelled, he launched headfirst at the screen, smacking his forehead against i
t.

A penetrator roared out of the cannon, but it lacked
accuracy.

“Simons!”
Jake shouted.

Onscreen, another
enemy UAV disintegrated. They were thick around this Red Dragon.

Blood dripped across Jake’s face. At the same time,
the Chinese Z13 thermonuclear warhead detonated with 300 kilotons of power. It was located at the forward edge of the spread-out Behemoths, making ground zero over two miles away.

The blast, heat and radiation struck
the nearest tanks. Incredibly, a Behemoth flipped. As if a giant smashed its fist, dents and then torn rents appeared on the hardened armor of others. Farther away, the PBT-2 platforms disappeared in a flash of heat.

Simons wept bitterly
as he put the pedal to the metal. Their tank squealed and swayed as it fled the mushroom cloud billowing into existence.

“Are we buttoned up?” Jake shouted. They couldn’t survive from this close. That was common sense. Yet the desire to live was too powerful for mere logic. “Button up!” Jake roared. He lu
rched to a panel and began flipping buttons. Locks snapped shut on the hatches. They were going NBC, seeing if they truly could survive a nuclear strike.

Then gale force winds shrieked over the tank. Jake froze. Once, he’d had to box a
sick cat to take to the vet. It had howled like a demon inside the enclosed box. The radioactive wind outside the Behemoth sounded worse, a thousand demons demanding entrance.

Tears streamed down Simons’ face, but he kept driving
the tank.

The three hundred ton
Behemoth rose like a speeding car lifting as it hit a large bump in the road. Jake couldn’t believe this. They were father away from the blast than that, right? No. The machine rose, and heat washed over them. The conditioners began to hum.

From his gunner’s location,
Chet stared at Jake.

“We’ve got
two hundred and sixty centimeters of armor!” Jake shouted. “It will stop some of the radiation. Maybe that will give us time to get out of here.”

Outside,
over two miles away, the mushroom cloud grew as Oklahoman grass, flowers and dirt blew over the fleeing Behemoth.

The winds lessened, and the tank sank onto its hydraulics, making them rock. The giant tre
ads kept ripping up soil, propelling them away from ground zero.

Jake laughed. It appeared they had
survived the initial blast and now the heat. If this had been a different tank…

Are
we taking a killing dose of radiation?

Jake swallowed in a parched throat. This was insane. The Chinese were lighting off nuclear warheads, and he had survived
one because this was the heaviest armored vehicle in the world.

Maybe they were going to
stay alive after all.

FORWARD EDGE OF THE BATTLEFIELD, OKLAHOMA

Captain Penner
’s parachute had almost reached the ground when he spied the mushroom cloud. Terror coursed through him.

I can’t believe it. This is happening.

His helmet’s visor saved his eyesight from the flash. As his pilot’s seat struck the ground, the blast reached him. It hurled his chair like a toy and vaporized the parachute like onion paper in a roaring furnace. His seat slammed against the Earth so he tumbled end over end. During the second roll, Penner’s neck snapped, killing him, making the Canadian Air Force captain simply another casualty of the war.

STILLWATER, OKLAHOMA

Although Kavanagh’s Cherokee was still t
hree miles out of Stillwater, it began descending fast. The helos had picked up the survivors after the mission’s success. Paul, Romo and others returned to base after the raid against the 34th Mechanized Headquarters Battalion.

The Master Sergeant
sat slumped in his seat. Like a Viking berserker of old, Paul felt drained after combat. His mind drifted now as he stared off into space.

“
How many more of those do we fight before the war is over?” Romo shouted.

Paul stirred, and he noticed the city in the distance.
They had survived yet another battle against the Chinese. Given enough of these, none of them would live to see the end of the war. There had to be a better way to do this.

“I’m surprised we survive
d this one,” Romo said. “Actually, I’m more surprised you live. You’re too aggressive, my friend.”

Paul wasn’t sure that was true. The aggressive
person didn’t hang back. He gave it one hundred percent. Paul grinned to himself. He’d never liked it when someone said he gave it one hundred and ten percent. That was impossible. A person could only give one hundred percent. If you were going to go over that, why stop at one hundred and ten? Why not say, “One hundred and twelve, or one hundred and fifty-six?” Heck. Why not say, “I’m going to give it three thousand percent.”

His headphones crackled.
Although his eyes remained vacant, he listened.

“
You’d better hang on,” the pilot told them. “We’re landing now and we’re going to do it hard.”

Something about that—
Paul sat up, glancing at Romo. “Did the kid sound shaky to you?”

Romo raised his eyebrows. “Now that you mention it, yes, he did.”

“What’s the problem?” Paul radioed. “Are enemy aircraft heading for us?”

“Look outside to the
south,” the pilot radioed. “But be sure you have your visors down first or you risk blinding yourself.”

Chinning a helmet lever, Paul caused his visor to close
with a whirr of noise. Then he peered south.

“What am I supposed to see?” Romo asked
over the link.

Paul
saw it then. He couldn’t miss it. He doubted anyone could. As he watched, his gut curdled. A distant mushroom cloud billowed into existence, climbing higher and higher. Intense orange light bloomed everywhere under the cloud.

Romo swore in Spanish
, while other men began to shout.

“Nuclear war,” Paul
whispered.

“Hang on,” the pilot shouted
over the link. “I want to get down before the atmospheric shockwave reaches us.”

Paul hung on
as tightly as he could. So did the other commandos. He kept watching the horizon, and he saw another mushroom cloud climb into existence…maybe twenty miles to the east of the first one. How many had the Chinese launched?

Before anyone could answer, he saw a third mushroom cloud. He knew nothing would be the same after this. Was there even another “after” for him?

Have I just broken my promise to Cheri? Should I have gone AWOL?

The ground rushed up. The Cherokee struck the earth, bounced up, hit again, skidded and lofted a few feet. The third bounce threw Paul against the restraints. He heard metallic groaning and hard thuds.

Then men shouted around him. Mechanically, Paul unbuckled, jumped out of the Cherokee and hit the dirt. His knees gave out and he fell down face first. Paul crawled. Romo crawled beside him. One man ran.

Wind
struck then, a gale force. It knocked down the running man.

“Button up,” Paul radioed. “Go NBC with your suits. We can survive this.”

Most of the commandos listened to him. The wind began to shriek as dust whipped up. It howled over them. Paul hugged the ground and closed his eyes.

Don’t let me die. I have a promise to my wife. I’m supposed to get home.

An eternity later, the wind’s howl died down. Paul waited. Beside him, a man pushed up to his hands and knees.

The radio crackled, but nothing made sense.

Time passed. Finally, Paul rose to his hands and knees. The helo lay on its side. Some men in uniforms stood up nearby. They looked dazed.

He went near Romo and tried the radio. There was nothing but static. He was afraid that Romo might risk opening
his visor to talk. That would ruin the reason for using the NBC filters.

Paul raised his right hand. Romo nodded. Then Paul clunked his helmet against Romo’s and kept it there. “Can you hear me?” he shouted.

“Yes,” a small voice said through the helmets.

“We’re going to walk back to Stillwater,” Paul said. “Start telling the others.”

Romo nodded and clumped to the nearest commando.

Paul turned
north. How many nukes had the Chinese lit? A grim feeling worked its way through him. Yeah. This was going to change everything.

WASHINGTON, DC

Anna Chen sat beside the President
and gripped his right arm. He sat stricken, staring at the big screen. SR drones recorded the growing number of Chinese nuclear strikes. The number kept climbing, having reached three hundred and twelve so far.

“We must launch a
massive retaliatory strike,” Harold said softly.

Anna focused on the Director of Homeland Security. He faced the President, his features tight and controlled. Harold spoke in a
soft, even voice, but there was fury there, and his eyes were wet with rage.

“The
bastards are murdering us,” Harold said. “We must pay them back, Mr. President. We must give them compound interest to what they’ve done today.”

The President seemed incapable of speech. He kept staring at the big screen.