“I thought you might be,” McGraw said, facing Stan again.
“During the last battle of the Viking gods—it’s called Ragnarok,” Stan said. “The Fenris wolf eats Odin All- father. If I remember correctly, the wolf swallows the Norse king of the gods whole.”
“It might be time to nuke the wolf,” McGraw said.
“Or use mass against him,” Stan said.
“And where do you expect the US to get this mass? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re stretched everywhere.”
“You can’t guard everywhere,” Stan said. “That’s a truism of battle and of war. Sometimes you have to gamble and weaken yourself at a spot so you can be strong at the critical sector. That’s what we did this winter. If it was me—and it isn’t, I know—I’d strip the southern East Coast for soldiers.”
Thoughtfully, McGraw pursed his lips. “The GD has some potent amphibious forces in Cuba waiting. We’ve learned about them. They’ve been quietly building up their numbers, ships and landing craft.”
“I’ve read those reports too,” Stan said. “I know about them.”
“Then you realize that by stripping the southern East Coast of soldiers we’d be leaving ourselves open. That’s just a short hop from Cuba to there.”
“We would be open there, yes sir. What do we have, something like seven hundred thousand soldiers from southern Mississippi to Florida and to North Carolina. I’m talking about winnowing out four hundred thousand from that. I would think the bulk of the remaining troops would particularly guard Mississippi to Florida.”
“That wouldn’t be enough,” McGraw said. “The coastline is long, especially the Florida coasts.”
“I understand, sir. Mississippi and Florida would have to keep the bulk of the staying three hundred thousand. The other areas— Sir, the way I see it, in a pinch or in a crisis we could ship troops back to the depleted areas fast enough to make the GD rue the day they landed in the wrong place. I mean, they could land in Georgia or South Carolina, but then where would they do?”
“Are you serious?” McGraw asked. “They would capture the state. They would create a third front against us. That would be a disaster.”
Stan shook his head. “The GD amphibious force wouldn’t be like D-Day in Normandy. It would be more like Dieppe in 1942. The Allies landed there in WWII and the Germans annihilated them. Yes, the Cuba-based GD forces could capture a few cities, possibly even more than a few. But that in itself isn’t going to win them much. We could pour troops around them and crush the amphibious force out of existence. They simply don’t have a large enough amphibious force to grab enough territory. It would create a temporary third front for us, but one heavily in our favor. We’re talking millions of troops to face them and they could put down what: two hundred thousand at the most?”
“Now you’re conjuring more millions of American troops out of thin air?” McGraw asked.
“That’s not what I mean,” Stan said. “If you’re playing a war game, such an invasion might make sense. But if they invade such a lonely spot—lonely in the sense that the invasion force would be far from other Aggressor forces and help—it would only be a matter of time before America encircled them with mass. That mass would be too much for such a tiny GD force, and they would end up dying to a man. I don’t think even Chancellor Kleist can throw away that many soldiers on a suicide mission. It would have the potential of shattering GD morale.”
“Hmm, I think I see what you’re driving at.”
“The GD has to be careful where they invade,” Stan said. “I suspect that if they do invade this summer, it would be in support of the present Expeditionary Force. At least, that’s how I would do it, a one-two punch.”
“Interesting…” McGraw said.
“Therefore,” Stan said. “I’d strip the present forces from Georgia, South and North Carolina and take some maybe from coastal Alabama and the strip of Florida south of Alabama. We’d leave token forces there and build fake troop emplacements to try to fool the GD as Patton did to the Germans across the English Channel. With the extra soldiers—four hundred thousand perhaps—and with more levies from the New England command—say another two hundred thousand—we could begin to really mass in Southern Ontario. I’d also be gathering as many artillery tubes as I could. No matter what the tech is, it’s hard to defend against tons of metal raining down on you. Maybe as good, the artillery will use up all those smart anti-munitions, leaving the Kaisers vulnerable to direct fire. Then you dig trenches, big, nasty systems better than WWI, more like the Iraqis built against the Iranians back in the 1980s. I’d make it impossible for the GD to race anywhere in Southern Ontario.”
“Nothing fancy,” McGraw said, as if to himself, “just mass. That would mean a lot of blood—of death—on our part, wouldn’t it?”
“Most likely,” Stan admitted. He brushed a fly away that had landed on his right cheek. “I wouldn’t suggest such a thing, but—”
“I understand, old son. We’re not talking niceties here, but national survival.”
“Despite the number of troops,” Stan said, “this is a stopgap measure until we figure something else out.” He stared at his boots for a moment, before meeting the general’s gaze. “In the long run, we can’t win a war of attrition against the world. We couldn’t even win one against the Pan-Asian Alliance, never mind adding in the South American Federation and the German Dominion. But this is a tight spot, both in the actual land mass—the peninsula of Southern Ontario—and that we find ourselves in. The key to our defense would be manpower and hordes of defending artillery tubes. The Germans will have to try for the tubes. That would be a given. When they try, that’s when we throw a surprise at them.”
“What kind of surprise?” McGraw asked.
“I don’t know at the moment, sir, but you’re likely going to need something. I’m guessing the GD still has some tech surprises for us.”
McGraw nodded, before shaking Stan’s hand. “You’ve given me food for thought, Colonel. I like it. It isn’t fancy this time like we did against the Chinese.”
“You’d better move fast on this one,” Stan said. “I mean emergency fast. From the reports I’ve read, the Toronto Pocket isn’t going to last much longer. If the GD reaches Detroit and breaks out… then it could get very ugly for us.”
McGraw checked his watch. When he looked up, he waved to the plant manager and began to button his coat.
The manager hurried near. “You aren’t staying, General?”
McGraw grabbed Stan by the shoulder. “This is the officer you need to impress. If he gives you advice, you listen to what he says.”
The plant manager studied Stan, soon nodding.
With that, Tom McGraw took his leave, and Stan started the plant inspection on his own.
First, the Chinese and Brazilians had attacked America, now the German Dominion did. America needed more allies than just the Canadians. Stan was grateful for their help, especially last winter, but America had to find heavier partners if they were going to throw these massed military coalitions out of the country.
US Marine General Len Zelazny looked up at the bunker ceiling. The entire edifice shook as debris rained down. On impulse, he grabbed his helmet and shoved it onto his head. It likely saved his life.
For the last several days the GD had pounded the shrinking pocket with artillery and sent in hunter-killer teams to dig them out. The Canadian and American soldiers would have surrendered or died at least two days ago, but Lady Luck had smiled on them. They had found a deep and forgotten warehouse full of weaponry and dried goods. Given their small numbers, it proved critical. Generously resupplied, they fought and died, but some of them still survived, although in ever-dwindling numbers.
Now a chunk of masonry fell from the ceiling and dashed itself against the general’s head. His eyes rolled up and he slammed against the floor. He might have died, but his aide, a corporal, grabbed him under the armpits and dragged Zelazny out of the bunker just in time. The place collapsed, killing some of the command team.
Zelazny woke up with a splitting headache several hours later. Men argued behind him and the sound of tanks grew louder. Rousing himself, Zelazny sat up. The headache worsened and he vomited onto his lap.
“General,” the corporal said, squatting before him. The boy had a grimy, dusty face, with his eyes peering out like a raccoon. “You should take it easy.”
With his forearm, Zelazny wiped vomit from his mouth, and he grunted as he struggled to his feet. Vertigo threatened and the half-sunken chamber seemed to spin around. He vomited again. He felt awful. He lost track of what the men said. With his hands against an old wooden table, he braced himself so he wouldn’t go crashing to
