their electromagnetic cannons. They stopped us at Palm Springs. Now they are gone, fighting down here near Escondido. We must immediately launch an attack at Palm Springs, because that will shake the morale of the enemy commander more than anything else we can do.”
“I do not follow your logic,” Gang said.
It was so obvious that Nung was surprised at Gang. “The enemy has taken a risk. The giant tanks blocked us at Palm Springs because their extreme range and powerful gun trumped our superior numbers. Now the enemy tanks no longer have the better range because the terrain they are in blocks such long-distance firing. Instead, for close tank combat, we have the advantage with our triple-turreted armor. While I do agree that our Tank Army will take heavy losses as it assaults Palm Springs, it will also put tremendous pressure on the American commander. Even if he can break through down here near Escondido, it won’t matter if I can succeed in Palm Springs. The Tank Army will race through the pass and assault San Bernardino. We will cut off Temecula—cut off this entire region down here—from Los Angeles. That means Army Group SoCal remains trapped and these new formations sent to rescue them will be caught in the giant net with them.”
“This will only come at a heavy cost in men and materiel,” Gang said. “Why not win Palm Springs through a properly planned and executed assault?”
“I just explained that to you,” Nung said in exasperation. “Don’t you understand anything? Have you learned nothing while in my presence? You have watched and reported on my health; why not report to Kao on the excellence of my operational grasp? Speed is the essence as we outmaneuver the Americans. Now is the time to rush Los Angeles as the enemy commander expends his best formations driving into our net. By the time he turns around and rushes those formations back to Los Angeles, it will be too late.”
Gang was stony-faced, with his shoulders hunched. “How do we defeat the giant tanks? What is your excellent plan for them?”
“They are in rough terrain, as you can see. The terrain negates their range advantage because their line of sight is blocked, not allowing them their six to seven-mile shots. Even better, they have given me the perfect target.”
“I do not understand.”
Nung smiled craftily. “I saved a Blue Swan missile for a critical moment such as this. The missile will EMP the giant tanks, rendering them useless. Then we will rush helicopter-borne infantry around them and delay the Americans from retreating or turning around and racing for Palm Springs. Gentlemen, I predict that the Battle for California will be won right here.”
Stan sat in his Behemoth as they rumbled to the attack. He watched his screens, with intelligence provided by UAVs, his tank-cameras and scouting infantry.
The Chinese waited up on the rocky hills surrounding the highway. Burning and destroyed Abrams littered the concrete road. With the squeal of metal, Stan’s Behemoth shoved the hulk of an M1A3 to the side and continued its advance.
The three-hundred-ton monsters were a sight, majestic creations, clanking and squealing south. There were twelve of them. Three had stalled due to engine failure. Three Behemoth-haulers had rushed forward to retrieve them, but that meant nothing here on the battlefield.
Chinese Main Battle Tanks were at the top of the rocky hills. The MBTs had been in hull-down positions earlier. Now they waited out of sight, hidden from the Behemoths. Unfortunately for them, they were visible to the recon drones buzzing overhead.
“Get ready,” Stan said. “Three MBTs are moving up to make their attack.”
On the screen and seen from the UAV’s angle, Stan watched the Chinese tanks clank the short distance to the mountaintop. Soon, their cannons poked over the hill, targeting them. Each cannon belched fire and shot a sabot round.
The tactic had worked against the M1A3s, as the evidence on the road proved. The Chinese shells screamed down. Stan’s Behemoth—like all the others—had an advanced Artificial Intelligence. It tracked the shells and automatically targeted them with the 30mm cannons. To insure the enemy shells never hit, beehive flechette launchers blasted. This time it worked, as none of the enemy shells reached the Behemoth’s incredibly thick armor.
“Have you computed their position?” Stan shouted.
“Roger,” Jose said, with his forehead pressed against the targeting scope.
Stan glanced at the intel-screen. The Chinese had played it smart. Their crews were apparently highly-trained professionals. As soon as they’d fired, the three MBTs had ducked back down behind the rocky hill. Against normal munitions, the rock and earth would have protected them. The force cannons were anything but normal.
“Fire!” Stan shouted, unable to give the command it in a quiet voice.
Jose pressed the switch. Power flowed through the force cannon. The Behemoth shook as the penetrator round ejected at a terrific velocity.
The depleted uranium rod zoomed with unerring accuracy. It smashed through rock and dirt and scored a direct hit against the Chinese MBT on the other side. The round burned through the armor and BB-sized molten pellets ignited everything inside the tank. The MBT exploded.
The other Behemoths did likewise, and the enemy tanks up on the hills burned or exploded. The sheer power of the force cannons was too much to resist.
“We’ve broken through,” Colonel Wilson shouted over the radio.
The twelve Behemoths led the assault down I-15. They were nearing the trapped Americans. As of right now, it looked as if the gamble was going to pay off.
Forty-seven minutes after Stan’s Behemoth destroyed a Chinese MBT, a Blue Swan carrier pulled off the road. It pulled into the Vista Mall parking area and came to a stop. Technicians jumped out of the cab as the launcher bed began to rise.
“Do you have to coordinates?” the major in charge of the missile asked his chief technician.
“Yes, sir,” the tech said, lifting his Graceful Swan netbook.
“How long until you’re ready to fire?” the major asked.
“Twelve minutes at the most, sir.”
“Make sure you avoid all errors. This missile must fly directly to target and in as little time as possible.”
“It will fly, sir. I stake my reputation on it.”
“No,” the major said, a hard-faced man. “You are staking your life on its success.”
The technician blanched as he backed away and hurried to his team.
Nung paced in the command center as he carefully set his soft-soled shoes on the floor, listening to their nearly inconspicuous squelch. He could not help himself as nervousness seethed through his body. Information about the giant tanks was beginning to concern him. The Americans had truly developed a marvel with the tank. They were slow as armor vehicles went, but nothing appeared to be able to stop them.
“Sir,” General Pi said. “The Blue Swan missile is ready to launch.”
Nung turned and marched to the computer table. “In case the Americans have a trick left, we will precede the Blue Swan attack with a mass of cruise missiles swarming the enemy.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are the helicopter-carriers ready?” Nung asked.
“They are filled with White Tiger Commandos. The cargo helicopters are lifting Marauder tank and several mortar-jeeps. At your word, they will swing behind the Americans and seal them in the trap.”
“Good.” Nung waited a moment, savoring this. He glanced at Gang in his corner. How the marshal must hate this. Nung turned to General Pi, and he let a fierce grin stretch his lips. “Let the attack begin now, and give me those giant tanks.”
The Blue Swan missile stood ready. Cables snaked from it to the control panel. The technicians in their white coats spoke among themselves while the major watched.
