Invasion: New York

“Up, up, get up!” the lieutenant shouted.

From on the floor, Charlie and Jake exchanged glances. Their looks said, Is he a madman?

The lieutenant was close by and he might have seen their questioning looks. He drew his sidearm and aimed the pistol at Jake. “Lift the machine gun, Private. We have to attack. We have to hurt the invader while we can.”

“Yes, sir,” Jake said. The pistol aimed at his head didn’t bother him. Such things had happened too many times in the penal battalion. “We’ll do that exactly as you say, sir, but wouldn’t it be a whole lot better if I climbed the stairs and shot an RPG down on the tank turret? That will do more damage than bullets against the tank’s front armor.”

The lieutenant stared at him, with his eyes shining strangely. “Go!” he said. “Do it, and then get back down here.”

First wiping blood out of his left eye, Jake scrambled away from the window. Another thunderous roar from the tank heralded another HE shell. One of the reasons they fought from basements was because a tank’s cannon couldn’t depress far enough to directly fire at them. This 175mm shell blasted the floor above them. The concussion of it hurled Jake down as if someone had used a mallet. He lay on the floor panting.

How much longer can I keep doing this? He didn’t know. Part of him just wanted to lie down and quit. Yet if he did that, he would be dead or captured by the Germans. He shook his head. He was a Higgins. A Higgins never quit; he kept on fighting. Why not fight until you’re dead? Which ought to be pretty soon now.

With a groan, Jake climbed to his feet. He helped Charlie up and staggered to several RPGs. He grabbed one. Charlie grabbed another and Lee a third. Then they started for the ruin of the stairs.

“They’re going to run away on us, sir,” Sergeant Franks said.

The lieutenant didn’t even glance their way. He peered out the window. He now spoke in a loud whisper. “Put the machine gun back up,” he said. “The tank crew is thinking about it now. Let’s nail any Germans slinking behind the monster.”

Jake didn’t hear any more. He climbed over debris and made it to the first floor. If the Leopard crew decided to fire yet again, he was dead. He coughed because some of the drifting dust found its way into his throat. Then he dashed through the rubble-strewn area, heading for stairs leading higher. As he did, he wondered about running away. What did he owe those bastards down in the basement anyway? Not a whole heck of a lot, that’s for sure. But he didn’t run away. He wasn’t sure where he could run to. St. Catharines swarmed with enemy soldiers. As far as he could see, this was the end of the line.

Jake climbed broken stairs, having to climb over debris and smashed wood. He smelled smoke. He listened to bombardments, chattering machine guns and the clack of tracked vehicles coming up. This war was never going to end. The world would fight it out in North America until they were all down to the level of savages. It was a new Ice Age. Maybe this would bring about the death of the Industrial World. Maybe this war was mass suicide of the human race.

The building shook. Bricks fell, striking the floor and bouncing crazily. The crackle of flames from somewhere near threatened to turn the place into an inferno. From below, heavy machine guns rattled endlessly, and the clang and clack of .50 caliber bullets bouncing off heavier armor told its own tale.

The three of them raced to a window. Enemy gunfire drove them back as the walls around the window sprayed cement and chalky dust.

“Now what are we going to do?” Charlie shouted.

Jake wondered about that. As he did, a salvo of HE shells hit the base of the building. Everything shook more than ever. Jake expected the floor to open up and swallow him.

“We’re going to die,” Lee said in a calm voice.

Jake looked at him. Corporal Lee gazed back.

“What the heck,” Jake said. He readied his RPG and raced back to a window. Lee took the other window. Jake aimed the RPG down, aimed at the top of the nearest Leopard turret. There were two tanks there now. He fired, and the shaped-charge grenade flew down. Jake stumbled back as a bullet slammed against his chest. That caused him to fall backward, hitting his helmet against furniture. An explosion came from below, bewildering him.

Jake might have passed out. The next thing he knew Charlie was dragging him. The potato-grower was weeping.

“Is there something wrong?” Jake asked.

“Lee’s dead,” Charlie said.

Jake wiped blood out of his eye. He climbed to his feet and his head throbbed. His chest hurt too. He felt the front of his body armor over his heart and the size of the depression there. He was lucky to be alive.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Amid the bombardments, amid the crash of shells and bullets and the sway of the rooms, they made it back into the smoky basement. The other tank had gone away, and so had the rest of the GD teams. Only one militiaman lived down here. He was propped in a corner as he bled to death.

Jake and Charlie hurried across the rubble to him to see if they can help the man.

It turned out to be one of the MDG Sergeants. The sergeant grabbed Jake’s arm and held on with a fierce grip. “You bastards killed one of the tanks, but Franks killed the lieutenant.”

“What?” Jake asked.

“The lieutenant wanted Franks to keep firing but Franks chickened out. So he drew his gun and blew out the lieutenant’s brains. He took off, Higgins. You listen to me. You kill that filthy traitor, Dan Franks. You punish him for running away in the face of the enemy. You…”

The sergeant’s grip failed. His hand dropped away and his head slumped to the side. The MDG was dead, his eyes glazed.

Charlie swept his hands over the eyelids. Jake got up and went to the lieutenant. The young man was very dead, with the front of his head blown away. Jake checked the back. He’d seen enough death to know now. Someone had put a pistol there and fired. He could see powder burns.

“What do we do?” Charlie asked. “Everyone is dead.”

Jake stood. He turned to Charlie. Then he picked up his M16 and headed for the way out. They had to escape this deathtrap and reach Buffalo before the GD closed the door on what was left of Fifth Army.

He knew what he was going to do. “Franks,” Jake whispered, and then he didn’t say anything more.

WASHINGTON, DC

When General Norton hurled his hat across the room and swore fierce profanities, Anna understood that the combined ICBM-ASBM attack had failed to stop the invasion.

Director Harold scowled, staring at Norton. Finally, the director lifted both of his fists and slammed them against the table.

The President slumped deeper into his chair. His eyes became staring and hollow. It was a ghastly transformation. Anna would have preferred him to swear like Norton and show anger like Max.

“We need to use more ICBMs,” Max said. “One thermonuclear warhead got through. If we saturate bomb them this time—”

“Look!” Norton said in a grim voice. “The enemy fleet is beginning to spread out. They’re preparing for us to strike again.”

“Then we must strike again now, immediately,” Max said. “We must hit them before they disperse.”

“With all due respect, Director, I don’t think so,” Norton said. “They have space mirrors in place, operational mirrors. ICBMs are much easier to destroy during boost phase when they are full of fuel. With the mirrors, they’ll be able to reach down into the central US to do that. No. I don’t think we can—”

“Destroy the mirrors!” Max shouted. “Let’s use our strategic lasers against them.”

“Have you studied the angle?” Norton asked. “The GD mirrors aren’t close enough.”

“Then how can lasers bounce off the mirrors and hit our ICBMs during boost phase?”

“It should be obvious,” Norton said. “As the ICBMs lift upward, they pass the angle of the Earth and come into the mirrors’ line-of-sight.”

Max shook his head. “That can’t be it. We can’t have failed in this.”