down. He didn’t need to frown, as his long face seemed to have frozen into a scowl.
“I’m afraid I cannot help you,” the man said.
“I think you can,” Stan said. “I’m in California.”
“Sir, the only reason I’m talking with you is so that you understand we back our people to the hilt. We stand as one. Your son has seen fit to protest the President’s actions. That is disloyalty to our country at a time of national emergency. Now he has struck a guard and he has found himself time for serious thinking in solitary confinement. We do not break the rules here in the Detention Center.”
“Don’t you have any heart?” Stan asked. “I might die in combat defending our beloved country and all I want to do is say a few words to my son. I fought in Alaska and won the Medal of Honor. Surely, that should count for something. If you’ve been following the news, you must realize the Chinese have turned this into a bloodbath. Let me tell him goodbye. As you have any mercy in your heart, I’m begging you to do this for a fellow American soldier.”
The man stared at Stan. Finally, he nodded. “My father is in the Militia. He’s a colonel. I would want him to say goodbye to me. Very well, Captain. I’ll give you two minutes.”
“Thank you,” Stan said, surprised at this turnaround.
“Give us a few minutes here to coordinate the call,” the man said. Then the screen went blank before Stan could say anything more.
For the next few minutes, time seemed to crawl along for Stan. Had they forgotten about him? Would they monitor the call? Yes, of course they would.
Two minutes later, the screen resumed and his son stared at him. Jake was a younger version of Stan, with a thinner face and now with hollowed-out eyes. There was a strange gleam in Jake’s eyes. It reminded Stan of his father.
“Dad?” Jake asked in a rough voice.
“Hello son. It’s good to see you.”
“Dad…I’m sorry about this.”
Stan nodded because his throat tightened and he was afraid to say anything just then.
“I guess I went and protested the illegal—”
“Jake! Listen to me. Will you listen a bit?”
“Sure. Is everything okay?”
“No,” Stan said, “I’ve been called up and chances are I’m going to face the Chinese soon.”
“You said that wouldn’t happen this time around.”
Stan smiled sadly. “I didn’t think it would. But they need our…they need us, I’m thinking. It must be pretty bad. Son…I love you. I want you to use your head from now on.”
“You think I was wrong protesting the emergency decrees?”
“This is probably the wrong place to talk about that,” Stan said.
“I know we’re being monitored, Dad. That’s why I’m protesting.”
Stan nodded. His boy looked terrible. He looked used up, but he was standing for his rights. That took moral courage, something usually much more lacking in people than physical courage. Thinking about that made Stan’s heart swell with pride.
“You’re an American, son. I’m proud of you. Real Americans stand up for freedom and fight for what they believe in. We may not have the perfect system, Jake, but it is worth fighting for because the other side is ten times worse.”
“I’m not arguing that.”
“I know you’re not. You watch yourself, son. Don’t attack guards unless it’s a matter of self-defense. I…I might not get to talk to you for a time.”
“Dad…I’m proud of what you’re doing, sir.”
Stan nodded, afraid to speak again lest his voice betray what he was feeling.
“When they let me out of here, I’m going to join up.”
Stan shook his head. “I’m not sure you can with a Detention mark on your record.”
“They’ll let me join a Militia. I’m going to fight then, and when I’m done, I’m going to study how to fix our system.”
“Ten seconds left,” a disembodied voice said.
“Good-bye, Jake. You take care of yourself.”
“You too, Dad. Kick their asses, huh?”
Stan forced a grin. “I plan to.”
“Show these invaders what it means to mess with real Americans.”
Stan nodded. As he did, the screen faded and the thin official reappeared.
“Thanks,” Stan told the man. “Watch over him for me—if you know what I mean?”
The man stared at him, and there was an odd look in his eyes. “Yes sir, Captain Higgins. Good luck to you.”
“Thanks. I’m going to need it,” Stan said, wondering if the tank carriers were ready yet.
In a vast armada of armored power, the one-hundred ton T-66 tri-turreted tanks clanked through the desert sands beside the Salton Sea. Many of the commanders were half out of the main hatches, using binoculars to scan forward.
Before them, light Marauder tanks raced ahead, scouting for a sign of the enemy. To the rear of the 83rd Brigade clanked several UAV-launching vehicles. When the time came, they would give them tactical eyes and provide the armored thrust with airborne Annihilator platforms.
First Lieutenant Sheng commanded A platoon of Seventh Company: three T-66s at the head of the battalion.
Sheng wore a black tanker’s uniform with a skull patch. He also wore black gloves and had a pair of powered goggles over his eyes. He’d waited a year for this chance to show the Americans what he could do to their paltry armor. They had nothing to compare to the T-66. He had studied the Alaskan Campaign of seven years ago. The frozen terrain up there had worked against the T-66. These desert sands would give Chinese armor its full scope.
First Lieutenant Sheng beamed with pride just thinking about it. His T-66 had two hundred centimeters of Tai composite armor in front. It also possessed three turrets. Each could traverse 180 degrees and each had a huge, 175mm smoothbore gun. They fired hypervelocity rocket-assisted shells against enemy tanks, and HEAT shells for lesser targets. Six 30mm auto-cannons and twenty beehive flechette defenders made the tank sudden death for any infantryman out in the open. Linked with the defense radar net, the massed T-66s could knock down or deflect most enemy shells. The main gun tubes could also fire Red Arrow anti-air rounds, making it a deadly proposition for attack-craft trying to take it on. The tank had a magnetically balanced hydraulic suspension, so Sheng’s gunners could fire with astounding accuracy while moving at top speed.
Sheng dearly hoped the Americans were foolish enough to engage his tanks. It would mean kills on the battlefield. That might win him a medal, and the medal would definitely help him gain a marriage permit before he reached thirty. Sheng had worked hard to gain this position of honor. The colonel considered him the best first lieutenant in the battalion, the reason why he led the assault.
Sheng lifted his goggles and glanced back. The brigade’s tanks churned a mighty cloud of dust. It rose and billowed, some of it drifting onto the sea to the brigade’s right. There, the falling, raining particles speckled the water, creating ripples.
Incredibly, the Salton Sea was a manmade lake. In his spare hours, Sheng had studied the databases on it. In 1900, the Americans had built irrigation canals, diverting water from the Colorado River and into the Salton Sink, an ancient dry lakebed. American farmers had benefited from this until 1902, when floodwaters from the Colorado River overran a set of headgates for the Alamo Canal. The flood breached the Imperial Valley dike, among other damage. In the course of two years, two newly created rivers carried the entire volume of the Colorado into the Salton Sink. Only the completion of the Hoover Dam in 1935 had ended the periodic flooding of this area.
The Salton Sea was 69 meters below sea level and averaged 24 km by 56 km. It was California’s largest lake
