The Chinese kept pushing them back, destroying everything and sending Eagle Teams commandos behind every defensive position. The enemy had gone berserk, pouring men and materiel at them.
The Chinese didn’t have a limit. It was crazy. It was mad. And it was all too true.
Stan slid into the tank, plopping himself into the commander’s seat. He flipped on a screen. General Larson glared at him in it. The man was tall, a real tactician, brilliant usually.
“Captain, you’re the only thing that’s stable in your part of Anaheim. The Chinese are pouring through our lines. You have to stop them.”
“Yes, sir,” Stan said. “You realize I only have one Behemoth running, right, sir?”
“Higgins!” the General shouted. “Stop the attack. I can’t afford to have your line crumble into nothing. We’re stretched everywhere right now and every line is shaky. You have to give me something solid. I need you to anchor your location down hard.”
“With one tank, sir?” Stan asked. He was too tired. Otherwise, he probably wouldn’t have talked this way.
“You have your orders, Captain. I expect you to do your duty.”
The screen went blank.
“Well,” Stan said into the quiet compartment. “You heard the General. We have the Behemoth and just about nothing else. Let’s see what we can do.”
“Better close the hatch, Professor,” Jose said from below. “I don’t want you to catch your death.”
Stan reached up and closed the hatch with a clang. A moment later, the driver started the mighty engine. The tank shook. It didn’t run as smoothly anymore. Too many things ran on a knife’s edge.
“Battery power is at eighty percent,” Jose said.
“It will have to do,” Stan said. He’d switched on every screen, and he now studied the situation with a critical eye. Seven Marauder tanks were roaming the streets, heading for the American teenagers. The teenagers had been formed into a Militia company three days ago. Stan didn’t blame the poor kids in the least. In fact, they reminded him of Jake. What had happened to the Bradleys that were supposed to help—
Oh, he saw the Bradleys on Screen 3. They were burning hulks or they were flipped upside down. Something had taken them out. Maybe the battleship shells had done it.
The Behemoth clanked toward the approaching Marauders two streets over. Stan used images from a video-cam from a soldier recording in the rubble. The tank’s AI computed distance and trajectory.
“The cannon’s ready, Professor,” Jose called up.
“Do you see the Marauders,” Stan asked.
“Roger.”
“Take out the back tank first.”
The Behemoth shuddered in a quick succession of shots. At least Jose and other mechanics had fixed the turret swivel. It moved like lightning, just as designed.
Stan watched on his screens. One after another, the Marauders exploded. Some of the Behemoth shells bored through rubble or buildings like a .44 Magnum through a cheap car. The last two Chinese light tanks reversed course and fled. It didn’t help, and soon they were also burning hulks.
“Good work, Jose,” Stan said. “Now let’s head to grid seven-nine-nine.”
Stan saw an Eagle Team in flight. They were swinging wide, but not widely enough. Using the 30mm guns, Stan took over control and sent several antipersonnel rounds screaming at them. The AI had set each shell’s proximity fuse. He watched on Screen 1. The Chinese jetpack commandos fell like wasps hit by bug spray.
The AI took over in emergency defensive mode then. The tank revved, backed up, and the 30mms and flechette launchers chugged. Seconds later, battleship shells landed uncomfortably near. The Behemoth shook from their impact on the ground. If one of those hit them directly—
The turret swiveled as T-66s appeared in the distance and across the rubble. The Behemoth shuddered again, this time from its own cannon. The mighty engine whined from the strain and Jose shouted that battery power was down to fifty-three percent.
Like prehistoric dinosaurs, the Chinese triple-turreted tanks fought the mighty Behemoth. It was mayhem, flying shells and defensive fire. Twice, a T-66 shell slammed against them, deflected by its immense thickness.
Stan’s ears rang from the noise and none of them could hear what the other man was saying. It didn’t matter at this point. They knew the routine. Seven enemy tanks burned, flipped or stood as useless scrap metal.
Stan slid from his seat and tapped the driver’s shoulder. He motioned, back her up fast.
The Behemoth retreated, and barely in time. A mass artillery hurricane fell where the tank had been. Seconds later, battleship shells crashed. They caused rubble and cement to geyser like titanic whale blowholes spewing water.
Stan took the Behemoth out of easy enemy view. Then, by hand signal, he motioned for the driver to head down a side street. The massive tank rumbled and crushed everything in its path.
“Can you hear me?” Stan shouted.
“A little, Captain,” the driver said.
Stan climbed back up to the commander’s seat. In a screen, he saw advancing Chinese infantry. Because of the hurricane artillery barrage, he didn’t think they heard the tank. That didn’t happen too often, but when it did—
“Now,” Stan said.
The driver drove the Behemoth into the back of a standing building. Moments later, the giant tank burst out of the front. Before them were over two hundred Chinese infantry. Some stood waiting, maybe for the artillery bombardment to end. A lot of them sat on packs as they snacked and drank bottled water. The soldiers scrambled to their feet and grabbed their weapons. It didn’t matter. In less than two seconds, thousands of flechettes made a gory ruin of the enemy. Body armor didn’t help them today.
“Keep going!” Stan shouted. “Let’s see if we can catch something behind the buildings of seven-nine-eight.”
The Behemoth raced to the buildings when five drones darted in from the sky like rocketing hawks. The enemy aircraft fired their main guns. The shells struck with resounding clangs, making a terrible din within the tank, but they did nothing permanent against the Behemoth’s heavy armor. In turn, the tank’s AI shot the drones out of the air.
The Behemoth turned the corner. At point blank range, enemy troops raced back into open IFVs. Some of the Chinese sprinted away. Others opened fire on the tank. Their puny guns—IFVs and soldiers alike—could do nothing against the American marvel. In return, Stan and his crew destroyed everything.
“It’s time to fall back,” Stan said. “Turn over air and missile defense to the AI.”
It was good thing he did that. Chinese artillery rained. Several times, shell fragments clanged against them. Then battlefield missiles targeted them. The AI shot them down, although several nearby blasts rocked the Behemoth.
“We’re low on ammo,” Jose said.
Stan checked battery power. Look at that. One of the main batteries had decided it could hold juice after all. They were back up to sixty-one percent.
“Well done, Captain Higgins,” General Larson said, appearing on screen 5. “It looks as if you’ve stemmed the local assault.”
“If I had all the Behemoths together—” Stan began.
Onscreen, General Larson held up a hand. “What do you think is going on, Captain? We’re holding on with nothing to spare. Your Behemoth and others in the line are doing miracles. It’s why we’re holding on in Anaheim. We aren’t attacking anymore. We’re simply buying our country time and hopefully bleeding the Chinese beyond anything they expected.”
“Yes, sir,” Stan said. He could have added that one of these times the Chinese were going to get lucky. Actually, the enemy didn’t even need to get lucky. The odds would finally catch up with each Behemoth.