them. The big cannons looked pitted around the mouths from too much firing. Now those cannons fired again, shaking the SUV-sized tanks. The shells made a dreadful noise, smashing into the concrete wall and into buildings, making everything shake.
On their bellies, Chinese soldiers crawled after the drones, working to get closer to the hidden Americans.
A sound crackled in Paul’s ear. It was their platoon leader. Actually, it was their company captain, but there wasn’t any company any more, just this skeleton of a platoon of sixteen sorry soldiers. The good thing was that these were the toughest, shrewdest and luckiest sixteen. It’s why they were still alive and why the rest of the company was dead meat. Still, the sixteen survivors were bone-weary and just wanted to go home.
The three tank-drones repeated their performance and the Chinese infantry crawled that much closer. Paul counted twenty of them and figured there was another forty soldiers hidden around here somewhere. It was a Chinese infestation.
“Bunch of cockroaches,” Paul muttered.
“That’s close enough,” the captain said into Paul’s ear via the implant. “Let her rip, gents.”
From his belly, Romo poked the RPG through a hole in the concrete. Enemy bullets flew at him. The Chinese soldiers must have been waiting for this. The slugs peppered the wall. Cool as you please Romo continued to sight.
Paul pressed the trigger of his .50 cal. His big bullets struck the nearest drone with hammering clangs. He tried to shoot out the camera ports. Blinding these tanks made everything easier.
Now Romo fired. There was a whoosh. The shaped-charge grenade flew and struck the Marauder drone, knocking off one of the treads.
“No kill on the cannon,” Paul said, as Romo pulled back beside him.
The drone fired, the shell screaming. It blew up more of the wall and this time it was uncomfortably near.
Paul pressed the butterfly triggers, and he began counting the number of Chinese he killed.
The implant crackled in his ear, “What are you doing? Pull back, soldier. We don’t want any more heroes. We can’t afford it.”
“Let’s go,” Paul said.
With robotic skill, he and Romo went to work taking down the machinegun. Seconds later, they ran, lugging the .50 caliber between them. The other Americans also retreated. That was the secret to the fight. You didn’t stay in one spot long. You traded space for time. You set up in a new ambush site and made the Chinese start the process all over again. It meant the pocket was always shrinking. Theirs wasn’t going to last long, but while it did last, Paul planned on taking down as many of the enemy as he could.
Early in the morning of the next day, all fifteen operational Behemoths were on the move, hauled on their massive carriers.
Stan sat in the cab of his carrier, staring at the mountains around them. He’d been working out ideas on his iPad. This was a gamble, and as far as he could see, it was time to use the Behemoths as a closed fist. They had to smash through the Chinese line hard and fast. It needed to be a stunning blow. Since it was a gamble, and since time would be at a premium, why not risk everything right away?
M1A3 tanks ranged ahead, together with anti-air tac-lasers and Humvee Avengers with Blowdart missiles. Behind the Behemoths and the rest of the attacking force were hundreds of heavy trucks and haulers. They brimmed with supplies, and if everything went right, they would haul out weary soldiers of Army Group SoCal on their return to Temecula.
The carriers traveled for a time at fifteen mph. At mid-morning, the radio crackled. The lead elements of the breakthrough assault had reached the enemy.
In the cab of the carrier, Stan and Jose traded glances. Several seconds later, the radio squawked. Stan answered.
“What do you think?” Colonel Wilson asked.
“We’re not close enough yet,” Stan said. “Let’s wait to unload.”
“And if the Chinese send jets at us?”
“I don’t think they’re going to do that just yet, sir. Give it another half hour and then we unload.”
“That’s cutting it awful close, Captain.”
“Sir, this is a gamble, and—”
“You explained it to me earlier. Place everything on the bet, holding nothing back. All right, I asked for your advice and you’re the hero of Alaska.”
“That doesn’t make me right,” Stan said.
“No, but it means you might actually know what you’re talking about. We’ll do this your way, Captain.”
The words should have made Stan feel good. Instead, they tightened his gut. Is this what it felt like being a commander? Then he wanted nothing to do with the job. It was one thing risking your life on the line of battle. It was quite another sending other men to die for your ideas.
“Are you a praying man, Colonel?” Stan asked.
“I’ve been to church.”
“Well, sir, if I were you, I’d start praying pretty heavily right about now. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”
Marshal Nung yawned as he entered the commander center. This was more like it. The technicians had been busy all last night. Now it looked like the regular command center back in Mexico. Everyone was here now, too. That included General Pi and Marshal Gang.
Moving to the computer table in the center of the chamber, Nung nodded to the larger Marshal Gang. The man looked at him stonily before grunting an acknowledgement. Nung acted better than he felt. He was sure Gang sent daily reports back to China to Marshal Kao. Well, everyone had his or her afflictions. Old-woman marshals were one of his.
“Put up situational map on the screen,” Nung said. The tac-officer obeyed and Nung surveyed the situation. Something caught his eye up there to the north.
“What’s this?” he asked, tapping the table along I-15 between Escondido and Temecula.
“I’ll find out, sir,” General Pi said. The officer spoke into his wrist microphone. Several minutes later, he said, “It appears the Americans are probing there, sir.”
“Probing?” Nung asked.
“There are reports of Abrams tanks, sir.”
Nung frowned. “Do we have a visual of what’s going on?”
“Negative,” the tac-officer said.
“I want a drone out there,” Nung said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Is something wrong, sir?” Pi asked.
“We’re eating the Americans,” Nung said, “devouring them as I had anticipated from the start. Finally, some of the trapped formations have begun to surrender. Yet I fear we might not have made the net strong enough in this area. We’ve taught them that driving down the coastal route simply makes them targets for our sea-borne hovers and missile cruisers. There’s something different about this attempt here.”
“Are you sure, sir?” Pi asked. “We’ve driven off every attempt they’ve made to break through to the trapped army. I think they no longer have enough soldiers to make any more attempts.”
“You are wrong,” Nung said. “The Americans don’t have enough soldiers
For this operation, Stan was privy to more information than usual. It came through Colonel Wilson. The Behemoth Regiment had become the most important formation in all of California. That meant General Larson often spoke to Wilson. Wilson in turn had made Stan his right-hand advisor.
Fifteen Behemoth monsters clanked south along I-15. They were like fifteen, slow-motion semis, but with long cannons and squealing treads. Each tank proudly flew the Stars and Stripes and each approached the
