“No. Do not object, because it simply tires me out. Instead, give me a mild stimulant so I can regain my energy.”
“I cannot do that, as I do not wish to kill you, sir.”
“Nor do I wish to die. Even so, you will obey me.”
“Sir, your body is much too weak for stimulants of any kind.”
“I have already deduced that and have decided to override your concerns. If I die in the line of duty, so be it. I accept that. Then let me die. Until such a time occurs, I command the First Front. I will do so in the command center, not here.”
“Sir—”
Nung looked up at the ceiling. Nausea threatened. That shook his resolve and he almost decided to rest. It seemed then in his mind’s eye that he saw hundreds of his past foes laughing at him. In the forefront, old Marshal Kao stood prominently. No. The others would not beat him. Nung willed down the nausea.
He whispered, “If you do not obey me, doctor, I will order my security officers to take you outside and shoot you.”
The doctor stiffened, in shock and dismay, no doubt. He asked, “A mild stimulant, sir?”
“We’re wasting time. Do as I have ordered.”
“At once, Marshal.”
It took fifteen minutes until Nung sat fully clothed in a mobile wheelchair. He decided it would take too much energy directing it with its confounded joystick control. Therefore, he drafted the beefiest orderly to push him.
“Take me to the Command Center,” he said.
The orderly pushed him outside. The stars twinkled as the orderly took him from the medical center to the First Front’s underground bunker. A long corridor led down, with harsh florescent tubes lighting the way. In the main chamber, the staff officers turned in shock at his entrance. Big Marshal Gang stared at him from the head of the computer table.
“Good to see you back, sir,” General Pi said.
Nung grunted, deciding to save his strength.
“You should be resting,” Gang said.
Nung ignored the man as he signaled the orderly. The beefy youth wheeled him to the green-glowing computer table. To Nung’s dismay, it was too high for him to see while he sat in the wheelchair. This would not do.
“I’ll order a ramp installed, sir,” Pi said.
“No,” Gang said. “You must return to the hospital and get better.”
The staff officers glanced from Gang to Nung in his wheelchair.
“I command the First Front,” Nung whispered.
“Maybe not after I make my report,” Gang said.
“Then go,” Nung said, “report. Until such time, you are merely to observe. Do not presume again.”
Gang’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at the staff officers. Slowly, he nodded. “I must make my report. If you will excuse me…?”
Nung managed the barest nod.
Gang left. So did officers to get the materials to make a ramp.
Ten minutes later, the orderly pushed the wheelchair up the installed ramp and locked clamps onto the wheels. Nung looked down from the same height as if he’d been standing. Seeing the screen at its strategic setting invigorated him.
Four armies waited for the great assault: sixty full divisions, with twenty thousand artillery tubes and ten thousand Marauder light tanks. The Fifth Army with the Pacific Ocean to its west would head for LA, masking San Diego and other coastal cities. The Eleventh Army lined up beside it and then the Nineteenth and Thirty-third Reserve Armies. Once the offensive began, the Seventh Army from the Third Front would become his operational reserve.
Ah, this was exhilarating indeed. The Twenty-third Tank Army waited to the east of the grand assault. The bulk of the T-66s were there, the famed Chinese tri-turreted tank. He had surprises for the Americans. He would give them a land-air-sea and human-robotic assault that would shatter their resolve and devour their soldiers. The 233rd Tank Corps would terrorize them when the time came. He could almost pity the Americans…until he recalled the bitter fighting on the Arctic ice seven years ago. That burned out any thoughts of mercy.
Time passed and Nung grew sleepy. After the fifth time his chin touched down against his chest, he sent the orderly to find the doctor. He couldn’t let Gang see him like this. Soon, outside in the hall, the doctor administered a heavier stimulant.
Finally, zero hour arrived, and Marshal Nung gave the most important order of his life, initiating Operation Yellow Dragon.
Early on the morning on 21 April 2039 and all across the Mexican-Californian border, the Chinese unleashed the assault with a five-hour hurricane artillery bombardment. They only employed gas for the first two hours, striking American headquarters units and enemy artillery sites.
In the darkness, the thousands of artillery pieces created giant flashes of brilliance as they sent their shells screaming across the border. The thunder was awesome, a testament to Chinese power. This was the greatest concentration of artillery since the Battle of Kursk in World War II.
Resolve stiffened Marshal Nung’s neck. He glanced around at his staff officers. He could only imagine what it must feel like for the shivering Americans in their fortifications. The bigger the enemy casement or bunker, the larger the shell or missile sent against it.
Once the artillery stopped, once the bombers unloaded their cargos, ah, then the special infantry divisions and the penal battalions would swamp the Americans who had dared believe they could halt Chinese excellence.
Paul woke up with an assault rifle pointed at his face. The open orifice showed the initial rifling, the grooves in the barrel that spun the bullets. His gaze climbed the barrel, stock and up to Romo’s emotionless features and obsidian-chip eyes.
Behind fluttering leaves, the last stars were still out in the western portion of the twilight sky, although dawn had broken in the east. Paul ached everywhere and his head felt stuffed with cotton, making thinking a chore. He couldn’t smell any oil or gasoline, gunpowder or the stink of cooked flesh. Oh yeah, he remembered stumbling away with the others, away from the wrecked Blue Swan launch-site. They’d headed for some trees and had found a stream. What had happened to Frank, the other Marine Recon sergeant? Why wasn’t he here?
“Colonel Valdez wants you to suffer,” Romo said in a low voice. “He wants you to pay for leaving his daughter behind.”
Paul didn’t see anything in those dark eyes other than a hungry wolf ready to kill. Romo must have learned to enjoy killing, and that would have been a long time ago. Paul had known a few Marines like that. They were the truly scary people. The enjoyment of killing had eaten away at their humanity. Shedding human blood, it changed you. There was no getting past that. It made you different. It was a beast, and if you failed to control the beast, it ate the good part of you while you were still alive. Yeah, that’s what he saw looking into Romo’s eyes: a stone cold killer about to do what he loved best.
Even so, Paul couldn’t help but trying. “I didn’t have any choice in leaving her. Before I knew it, my drone was taking off and Maria was still on the ground.”
Romo’s shoulders made the barest shift—his shrug of indifference.
“Doesn’t matter, huh?” Paul asked.
“You’re liked greased death in a fight,” Romo said. “Back there at the launch-site…you were a Tasmanian devil. The Chinese had us pinned and you turned it around. It was impressive. You even helped me personally. I would like to use your prowess to help me reach America. But after watching what you did, I realize it would be foolish of me to give you a chance. The Colonel, he will free Mexico from the invader. He needs to shed his remorse for Maria. Your death will return his focus where it belongs.”
“Sure it will. You bet. The Colonel, he’s going to boot six million Chinese out of Mexico. What were the rest of
