Paul didn’t flinch. He was too angry. He heard the bullet. It might even have grazed him. It was a great shot, but it wasn’t good enough. Paul’s shot was good enough, and the German commando didn’t learn why he should have stayed in his home country. The German didn’t learn because he would never learn anything ever again. He was dead, and he was missing a face because Paul’s bullet had blown it away.
Paul Kavanagh took out two more GD commandos. He gave Romo time to reach the hill. He gave Romo time to reach the dirt bikes on the hill. He even gave Romo time to start a bike.
“Good bye, friend,” Paul said to himself.
He shot the last GD commando in the neck. The Humvee enemy vehicles were halfway here, and one of the machine gunners had already started blazing with its 12.7mm.
I wonder if I can take out that bastard, too?
Paul was sick of running, and his back hurt throbbing bad. The shrapnel had done something. He might as well fight it out this last battle. Paul was in the process of sighting the lead Humvee gunner when the whine of Romo’s dirt bike penetrated his thinking.
“You’re a crazy-man, Kavanagh,” Romo shouted from the bike. “All you can think about is killing the enemy.”
If Paul were another man, he might have thought about things a few precious seconds longer. The moment he realized Romo was here on the bike, Paul jumped up in a smooth move and slammed down behind Romo. The assassin twisted the throttle. The rear tire spun, blowing out dirt and grass, and the motorcycle’s back end slewed around, aiming them back uphill. Then they shot forward, the engine revving, with bullets causing fountains of dirt to spew around them.
They beat the GD Humvee light vehicles. Romo didn’t bother stopping for Paul’s bike. They fled before enemy air came, or a missile, or whatever the invaders used to do the dirty to kill them. They knew the fight wasn’t over yet. They had survived another commando mission to fight again another time.
GDN
BISMARCK
Warrant Officer Gunther Weise smoked a cigarette outside the control tower of the greatest GD supercarrier of them all,
Otto von Bismarck
. It displaced one hundred and thirty thousand tons, and carried nearly two hundred of the latest UAVs. Even now, a steam catapult fired another drone into the brisk ocean air. The UAV moved like a wasp, climbing into the sky to fly CAP for the giant armada.
All around him in the hazy mist and low swells, Gunther spied war vessels. The GD had seven carrier groups out here, seven supercarriers, each with their accompanying escorts. They had ten battleships altogether with the latest strategic defensive systems. Those masses—the carrier groups and the battleships—were the heart of the armada. There were more cruisers and destroyers. There were helo-carriers, endless transports, dozens of big infantry and tank carriers and giant hover landers. Then there were hundreds of smaller vessels, fuel tankers, supply vessels…
The world had never seen a fleet like this, one able to disgorge two hundred thousand foot soldiers and vast numbers of fighting vehicles onto a beach. This was the war winner for the 2040 North American invasion, and he—Gunther Weise—was a part of history in the making.
Gunther was an intel analyst, and he worked in the central situation room. He was one of the operators keeping the big screen updated with the latest intelligence. General Kaltenbrunner of Army Group D and the armada’s admiral often debated within earshot of him. Sometimes he glanced over his shoulder and saw one of them scowl or shake his head in disagreement.
Wait until my father hears about this
.
His father worked in the aerospace industry in Bonn, building the latest satellites. After high school, the old man had immediately wanted Gunther to enter the industry. Gunther planned to follow his dad’s path, of course. There wasn’t a man alive he respected more. First, he wanted an experience of a lifetime. This was an exciting time to be alive. Father could see that. Yes… He supposed there
was
the specter of famine in the world.
Gunther shrugged, inhaling cigarette smoke. He’d been told that he was too young to understand things like famine and war. Probably his dad was right. They’d played countless board games together, and Gunther had usually lost. A man was only young once, however. This was Gunther’s time to risk and have a great and lasting experience.
The events he’d written about had impressed the older man. Gunther had heard the grudging acceptance of that in his father’s voice the last time they had talked.
Because of his technical expertise and placement, Gunther had the rare privilege of listening to high strategy in the making. He would sit at his spot near the big screen, drinking in the details as he monitored his equipment.
A door at the bottom of the control tower now opened. A bald-headed officer stepped out, with a purple birthmark shaped like a fist over his right eye. “Warrant Officer Weise!” the man shouted. “You’d better get in here. The screen is acting up, and the commander is back in the situation room.”
With his right-hand thumb and index finger, Gunther pinched the cigarette, taking a last inhalation. Then he removed the cigarette from his lips and flicked it toward the flight deck. The breeze would blow it overboard soon enough. The ashes and butt would tumble into the Atlantic Ocean. They were headed for America, toward New York City and the New Jersey shore. They were already one hundred kilometers beyond the Bahamas and moving fast.
The great event of his life was about to take place. Warrant Officer Gunther Weise strode for the control tower door. He was going to remember every detail today, so he could tell his son someday while the two of them played board games together.
WASHINGTON, DC
Anna Chen felt sick, as if she was going to vomit onto the great circular conference table down here in Underground Bunker Number Five.
The President sat slumped in his chair, staring at the main screen with wide eyes. He looked ashen, and he had not spoken for a time, almost as if he’d been struck dumb by the newest sight.
I think it’s happening. This is the thing too big for us to handle and it’s crushing him. It looks as if Alan was wrong. The Cuba-based troops did exist after all
.
The door to the chamber opened. Without the Marine guard announcing him, Director Max Harold strode in. Behind him followed three larger men in black suits.
Anna watched them, and she couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Then it struck her. The Marine guard hadn’t announced them and those three men had holstered weapons under their suits. They came to a meeting with the President while bearing arms. Only the Marines or Secret Service were supposed to be armed down here.
Then Anna noticed the guard closing the door. He almost seemed sheepish, quite unlike any Marine she’d ever seen before.
Those three are the director’s bodyguards. What are they doing with Max down here?
The director quietly took his place at the table. Behind him, where aides sat, the three bodyguards eased onto seats. They didn’t sit back and relax. No. They began to look around, and they eyed the people.
Am I being too paranoid?
Anna asked herself.
General Norton sat in the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff’s chair today. He had been doing that ever since General Alan went to Syracuse to take over command on the ground.
Norton was medium-sized, a handsome man in his late fifties, with wavy dark hair. He must dye it. He looked like a movie star general, like a military man who could make fast and hard decisions. The funny thing was that’s exactly how he was. He didn’t have the greatest strategic breadth, but he could say yes or no when the President asked him a question.
General Norton now glanced at Max. Anna wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but the director nodded fractionally.
What’s going on here?
She remembered now that it had been Max’s idea to send General Alan to Syracuse. Max had said the country needed a firm hand to guide them in this desperate hour. For once, Max hadn’t suggested they use nuclear weapons to stop the Germans from running wild along the interstate.
What did General Norton think about using nuclear weapons? Had Max been angling for the man’s appointment as the chief military advisor down here?
“Sir,” Norton told the President. “This is one hundred percent reliable information we’re viewing.”
On the big screen, they all watched an immense GD armada steaming toward the United States. They came from Cuba, past the Bahamas and toward the New Jersey shore. Finally, it seemed as if the last piece of the puzzle was coming into place.
A high-altitude surveillance drone far out in the Atlantic Ocean gave them the imagining. Likely, the plane wouldn’t last long. While it did, the drone showed them the unbelievable extent of the GD armada. Many in here had said the Cuba-based troops were clever fakes: decoys to cause the American military to put garrison divisions along the Eastern seaboard instead of deploying them on the battlefield where the decision raged. General Alan had been the strongest proponent concerning the belief. It had been Alan’s argument that had swayed the President into letting the general move the XI Airmobile Corps from the coast and to Syracuse. Now it looked as if Alan and those who thought like him had been wrong.
The briefing officer had been showing them the extent of the infantry transports, tank carriers and amphibious landing craft. This was the real deal, and it was devastating.
The President leaned forward, putting tired elbows on the table. “They waited,” he said in a slow voice. “The Germans waited. They baited us first. We thought they were going to break through at Detroit and run crazy in Michigan and Ohio. No. That was misdirection. Then their surprise attack across Lake Ontario almost caught us flat-footed. It’s obvious now that they were going to do that. It should have been obvious they planned a greater amphibious assault on the Atlantic coast. They’re springing a giant trap on us.”
“Their maneuvering was deceptive,” General Norton said in a crisp voice. “It’s easy to see something after the event, sir. We had no real idea they had gathered enough ships in Lake Ontario to make a huge amphibious assault like they did.”
The President stared at General Norton. David didn’t nod or change expression. He just stared.
He’s weary
, Anna realized.
He is deep down exhausted. He thinks he caused this by letting the Germans into Quebec. Maybe he did. But what else could he have done? We wouldn’t have stopped the Chinese otherwise. I wish someone else besides me would say that to him
.
“We’re using everything we have trying to stem the Lake Ontario amphibious invasion,” the President said in his listless way, with a noise whistling through his nostrils. “We pulled our troops from the coast—the few we had there. We pulled them in the hope of plugging the gap between the Allegheny Plateau and the Adirondack Mountains. Because the XI Corps is gone, the GD will land unopposed on the seaboard. With these last armies, they’ll swing the gate shut and trap our forces. It’s clear what they planned. They must have decided to do this from the beginning.”
Director Harold cleared his throat.
As if on cue, General Norton sat down.
Max rose to his feet. He touched the top of the table with his fingertips. Slowly, he surveyed the chamber.
Does he feel stronger with three bodyguards present? Has he been maneuvering for this moment?
Anna still couldn’t fathom the Marine’s behavior at the door. The Presidential Guard was incorruptible, right? So why had the Marine let the director’s men in while they were wearing guns?
“Mr. President,” Max said, “this is the crisis we’ve all been dreading. It has arrived at last.”
David looked up at the Homeland Security Director. Exhaustion made the President look weak.
“We faced a grave crisis this winter,” Max said. “We faced it and overcame the challenge. This is America. We have always overcome our challenges. I believe that today is going to be no different, sir.”
“I…” David sat a little straighter, but his shoulders were still slumped. “I know what you’re going to say, Max.”
Max waited, with his face impassive.
“You’re going to tell me to launch ASBMs,” the President said.
ASBM meant Anti-Ship Ballistic Missiles.
“We tried that once against the Chinese,” the President said. “We attempted to halt their Alaskan Invasion back in 2032 using ASBMs.”
David had been the Joint-Forces Commander in Alaska at the time.
“We failed to stop the Chinese eight years ago,” the President said. “Why do you think our ASBMs will do better against the more tech savvy Germans?”
Max stared David in the eyes. “Sir,” the director said in a strong, level voice. “Eight years ago, you used conventionally-armed ASBMs. I’m talking about using nuclear-armed ballistic missiles.”
“Nuclear?” the President asked in a soft voice.
“Yes, sir,” the director said. “The great crisis has arrived and we must rise to the challenge. It’s clear that we cannot move enough men into place to stop the GD forces from swarming onto New Jersey. If the Germans do that, they will have encircled a large portion of our military, cutting off—”
The director paused and glanced at the general.