Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5) (8 page)

McGraw
now sat back in his swivel chair, eyeing Stan.

Higgins had driven from his assembly area twenty-three miles away. The winter snow had almost
finished melting, but the land was soggy, poor terrain for the three hundred ton monster known as the Behemoth tank. The mass Chinese withdrawal had caught just about everyone by surprise, although Stan recalled reading several Army intelligence reports warning about such a move. No one had taken them seriously, least of all McGraw.

Moving the troops, tanks, artillery and supply depots
closer to the new enemy line had taken several weeks of hard work. Laying out new roads, tracks—it hadn’t been a nightmare, but it had meant grueling days of drudgery.

Stan sat in a chair with armrests. He hadn’t
spoken with the general since the day in Wichita almost a month ago. That was unusual for the two of them. In the past, he had worked closely with McGraw. Clearly, the church conversation had poisoned the general against him.

He shouldn’t have threatened my boy
.

“Been a while, old son,” McGraw said, using a hearty tone.

“Yes, sir,” Stan said.

McGraw lurched forward and slammed both meaty fists onto the desk, making the computer screen
jump. “Damnit, Higgins, are we going to let a little misunderstanding come between us?”

“I hope not, sir.”

“Good. I feel the same way.”

Stan nodded
but was far from convinced. Words without actions meant little. For one thing, he noticed the general hadn’t stood as he entered. The man had not come around the desk and extended a hand so they could shake. Had that been an oversight on the general’s part? He doubted it.

“I drank too much that day,” McGraw
was saying. “Can’t even remember what we were talking about.”

Stan wanted to say, “Me neither,” but he’d be lying
through his teeth. Many a night he’d lain awake, going over the meeting in his mind. Therefore, he said nothing, waiting.

McGraw regarded him, and a smile might have played along the corners of his lips.
Then the possibility vanished as the general’s mouth firmed. The corners of his eyes tightened.

“Colonel, I have some bad news, I’m afraid.”

Stan continued waiting.

First clearing his throat, McGraw opened a drawer and took out
a tablet, setting it on the desk. “It says here that three of your Behemoths are having engine trouble. I’m sure you realize that’s over the acceptable limit.”

Stan couldn’t believe McGraw would personally worry or act upon something like this. Had the general been searching for dirt
on him?
Is that the best you can do?

Instead of vocalizing his thoughts, Stan said, “The Chinese
caught us all by surprise, sir. We had to move the regiment before the three received their scheduled overhauls. I don’t know if the report shows it, but those are my three oldest Behemoths. They fought in California. Tenth HQ told us they were going to farm out two of them to the newer regiments and replace those with the latest model.”

“Let me interrupt you, Colonel. I’m not interested in excuses. I’m concerned that my best Behemoth regiment will be understrength before we’ve even fired
the first shot.”

Stan wasn’t sure how to take that.

The thing with the super tanks was that everyone wanted more of them. That meant constructing more assembly plants. The first Behemoth manufacturing plant had been in Denver, but the Chinese siege had ruined it. The government had built a new one in Detroit.

The secret to making
hordes
of tanks was a gargantuan plant, maybe two or three of them. It’s what the Soviets had done during WWII. A vast plant allowed the easiest concentration of effort and the best way to mass-produce something, at least from an economic standpoint. With three shifts working morning, noon and night, tanks poured off the assembly lines.

Although it made the best economic sense to have one or two
huge
plants versus many smaller ones, there was a drawback. The enemy only had to destroy a few places to halt production. Detroit had seemed like a safe place until the German Dominion launched its surprise attack out of Quebec. In the end, the military stopped the German advance and saved the plant as it continued to churn out tanks.

That meant more Behemoths, enough to fill six entire regiments
of them. Most of the regiments fielded thirty super tanks. The United States Army therefore had one hundred and ninety of them, with ten held in reserve. Until this year, America had only fielded one regiment and performed miracles with them. With six regiments concentrated in one area, hopes ran high for the coming offensive. Yet with only one hundred and eighty super tanks in all, concentrated in six formations, three tanks out of thirty represented a ten percent loss to his regiment before hostilities began. That might reasonably trouble the Southern Front Joint Forces Commander enough to call him in. Okay. Stan could see that.

“I’m not making excuses, sir,”
he said.

McGraw snorted. “Son, I know an excuse when I
hear one. You just made it, and I already told you I’m not interested in any. I want to know how soon those three tanks can be ready.”

“I’m short on engine parts, sir. These aren’t ordinary tanks.”

“I’m quite aware of that.”

“Yes, sir,” Stan said.

“You’ve done well in the past, Colonel. I’m very aware of that. The President is aware and so is Director Harold. Yet as I’m sure you know: a man only has a short time when he’s fit for battle.”

So that
’s how they’re going to play it—old Stan Higgins is washed up.

“Do you feel you’re still capable to command a Behemoth regiment, Colonel?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“You’ve seen my operational plan. Hell, you’ve even added a few flourishes. The Behemoths will have to drive deep and smash Chinese formations attempting to counterattack. That means the tanks have to
move
. The super tanks have a fantastic arsenal of weaponry. But that means jack squat if the Behemoth can’t be in the right place at the right time.”

“
I totally agree with you on their importance. What I need then is priority supply status.”

McGraw stared at him as if measuring his worth. “I can give you that. Everything must work like clockwork in the coming offensive. America has
gathered its strength for this one. It’s taken a year of effort to collect the tanks, the artillery, the jamming gear and soldiers. We have to start taking back territory before the Mexican government begins to believe their overlords about claiming California, Arizona and Texas as their birthright.”

“Yes sir,” Stan said, wondering why McGraw was saying any of this.

“What I’m driving at is that I’m limited in what I can do for you as a personal favor. America is counting on me to win, and win spectacularly. That means I have to play this one straight up.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Why should I give your regiment priority over others?” McGraw asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I suppose because the Behemoths are the arm of the decision.”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m going to say if anyone asks.”

“Why would they ask, sir?”

McGraw looked away. “I’m limited in my sphere of actions, Stan. What I told you a month ago in Wichita…I was drunker than you can believe. I serve the government. I took an oath on the Constitution, and I’m a man of my word.”

“I’ve never doubted your word, General.”

“Good. Then believe me when I say that I’m going to do everything I can to protect Jake.”

Stan felt the heat rise in him.
We’re back to that, are we?
He’d been following the general’s comings and goings since Wichita. McGraw had been to the White House twice in the past few weeks. What had the general talked about back there?

Stan had few illusions about his importance in the larger scheme of things. He was a
mere colonel. But he also happened to be the colonel who had fought in three decisive engagements, beginning in Alaska back in 2032. He wasn’t a military superstar like McGraw, but more than a few people had read about him, and he had won the Medal of Honor.

Do they think I’m dangerous politically?

A knock at the door startled Stan. It opened, and the pretty major poked in her head. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir. But Militia General Williamson is here to see you.”

“Tell him I’m talking with Colonel Higgins.”

“I will, sir,” and she hesitated.

“Is there something else?” McGraw asked.

“Well, sir, the general wishes to speak to you about Corporal Jake Higgins of the Sixth Behemoth Regiment.”

“Ah,” McGraw said. “Maybe this is providential. I’m speaking with Jake’s father. Send the general in, please.”

The major retreated and spoke quietly with someone in the outer office.

McGraw leaned forward, whispering to Stan. “They’re pushing me about your boy. I remember what you told me
in Wichita, and I believe you. More than that, I think you’re important to the war effort. Let’s—”

McGraw stopped short
as he looked up.

Stan turned in time to witness the major ushering in a tall Militia general. This Williamson wore an odd pair of glasses, two small circles before his eyes. They enlarged his pupils. He had a thin neck and narrow arms.
Stan recognized him. Yes, a reputation for ruthless efficiency preceded the man. Rumors suggested he had shot several cowardly Militia generals and colonels in the Great Lakes region last year. In fact, Williamson reminded Stan of Russian Marshal Georgi Zhukov under Stalin. Zhukov had been stout instead of tall but equally ruthless.

“General Williamson,” McGraw said, standing, coming around
the desk. He thrust out a big hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The two
men shook hands, and Stan noticed that McGraw shook civilly for once.

“This is Colonel Higgins,” McGraw said.

“Indeed,” Williamson said, “how fortuitous.”

Stan stood and shook hands
with the Militia general. The skin was cold, the grip firm. He could feel the man’s intelligence, although the glasses made it difficult to assess the general’s gaze. There did seem to be something reptilian about Williamson.

“Would you like some coffee, refreshments?” McGraw asked.

“No thank you,” Williamson said.

McGraw nodded to the major, and she retreated, closing the door behind her.

The three men sat, Stan stiffly. Because of his words last month, he was aware of the gun in his holster. If it came down to it, could he draw the weapon and kill two high-ranking officers? That wouldn’t save Jake. It would be an act of premeditated revenge.

You’d better start thinking. Otherwise, your boy is dead
.

“This is a surprise,” McGraw told Williamson
.

A precise smile stretched across
the Militia general’s face, and he twitched his head. “No. I don’t think so. I notice Colonel Higgins sitting beside me. That is quite deliberate on your part, and I understand. You Army people hang together. You’ve known about my request for several weeks now, and I’m sure you’ve been notified of my coming.”

“I have a war to run,” McGraw said. “These petty problems—”

“Allow me to cut to the chase,” Williamson said. “You are the Southern Front Joint Forces Commander. I’m quite aware of that. You should be aware of this, however.”
The Militia general took a wallet out of his jacket and flipped it open, setting it on the desk and sliding it across.

McGraw peered down at it as if the thing was poisonous.

“My commission comes directly from the President,” Williamson said. “I work under his authority.”

“But still under Homeland Security auspices,” McGraw said.

“For matters of form, yes, Director Harold is my superior. But my authority to act derives from the President.” Williamson paused as if for effect, and he turned to Stan. “Your son has committed an act of treason.”

“Defending
his life was treason?” Stan asked.

“Murdering
his superior sergeant was treason, yes.”

“He shot
the sergeant in self-defense.”

“If you are correct, you should be willing for him to face a tribunal
in order to clear his record.”

“Should I?” Stan asked.

“Colonel Higgins,” McGraw said. “I suggest you speak in a softer tone with—”

“No, no,” Williamson said. “Let the father speak his mind. I’m interested in what he has to say against the lawful organization defending our country.”

Stan recognized the threat but refused to let it intimidate him. “You sent my son to a penal battalion because he pissed on a portrait of your boss. The Militia response shows a gross misuse of power. Before that, Jake was a hero in the siege of Denver. Let him die for his country but don’t allow him any opinion but for the ones you give him? Is that it?”