“Are you suggesting we drop our pants for the Chinese?” Sims asked. “That we let them nuke us at will?”
“No, sir,” Anna said, her voice hardening. “I’m suggesting we beat the Chinese in Los Angeles and slow the speed of the enemy assault.”
Sims sat blinking at her. “That’s a swift change of topic.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Very well,” the President said, indicating a chair. “Make your case.”
Anna sat down and proceeded to tell the President and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs about Operation Flipper and Operation Vengeance in World War II. Each time, the raid had targeted an enemy commander.
“Are you suggesting we attempt to assassinate Chairman Jian Hong?” Sims asked. “I’m not sure I like the idea of starting an assassin’s war between heads of state.”
“Mr. President,” Anna said, “I have evidence that shows the critical nature of Marshal Shin Nung’s presence in the current conflict.”
“Let’s hear it,” Sims said.
Anna told him what she had learned about Nung and his previous exploits in Alaska and Siberia.
“Let me see if I get this straight,” Sims said. “You believe the speed and ferocity of the present attack is due to Marshal Nung?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, yes sir,” Anna said.
The President turned to General Alan. “What are your thoughts on this?”
Alan stared at Anna. Slowly, he began to nod. “It’s an interesting concept, certainly. How do you suggest we exploit this information?”
“In a similar manner as we solved the Blue Swan missile crises,” Anna said. “Maybe we should contact General Ochoa of SOCOM.”
“Send our commandos in one more time?” Alan asked. “It would be their death sentence. Frankly, I doubt they would get anywhere near Marshal Nung.”
“I’m not saying it’s a good chance,” Anna said. “I’m just giving you another option, a way to help our beleaguered troops in Los Angeles. If you took away the guiding hand, it might slow down the pace of the enemy assault. That could possibly be the margin—”
“Yes!” the President said, slapping his hand hard against the desk. “I like it. It’s bold, and it’s something other than just waiting to lose. In the end, in some fashion, we have to go over to the assault to win. I know it will risk the lives of these brave men, but that’s better, I think every one of them would agree, than waiting to die in their foxholes.”
“Should I look into this?” General Alan asked.
“No,” Sims said, picking up his phone. “I’m going to talk to General Ochoa and get the ball rolling right now.”
-13-
The Raid
As the battles raged on the front lines in Costa Mesa, Huntington Beach, Fullerton, Anaheim and Pomona, Paul Kavanagh soaked in a hot bath. He was in the northern edge of Los Angeles, in a Best Western Hotel.
Romo and he had arrived last night, and slept like the dead. In the middle of the morning, Paul soaked in the steaming water. His body ached and his soul was numb. After a time, he let some water out and turned on the faucet, adding more hot liquid. This felt good.
With the back of his head resting on the bathtub’s porcelain, he began to think about Sheri and Mike. There were close now, a short drive north to Newhall. Was it time to go AWOL and see them?
I’ve done my part. The military can’t reasonably expect any more from me.
It was time to take his family to Colorado. From what he’d seen, China was going to capture Los Angeles. There just didn’t seem to be any way of stopping the enemy. For sure, he didn’t want his family to end their days in a PAA labor camp.
“Amigo!” Romo shouted through the door as he banged on it. “Are you about done in there?”
“Are you waiting to get in?” Paul asked.
“Me? No. There are some men out here who wish to speak with you.”
Paul blinked lazily and slid down, letting the hot water soak his face. Several seconds later, he surfaced, and he was frowning.
They’d made it, Romo and him. Had the assassin contacted Colonel Valdez? They were blood brothers, right? But did that hold now that they were safely behind American lines?
With a groan, Paul emerged from the bath, with water dripping from him. He was sore everywhere, and there were a dozen black bruises on his skin. The worst was a fist-sized mark in the middle of his left thigh. He stepped out of the tub, wrapped a towel around his waist and lifted a thicker towel. He had a pistol hidden on a stand, with a bullet already chambered.
Taking the gun, Paul put his ear against the door. He couldn’t tell who was out there, if anyone. Quickly, he opened the door, with his gun aimed—
Sergeant Donovan of the SOF sat in a chair. The man raised his eyebrows. “Expecting trouble?” the Green Beret asked.
Paul lowered the gun. “I’ve been in combat mode for a while.”
“Sure,” Donovan said. “Hey, Romo, you can listen to this, too. General Ochoa would like to speak with both of you.”
Romo looked up from where he dealt cards onto a table. He turned toward them, and his dark eyes flickered as he took in Paul’s gun.
“What’s this concerning?” Paul asked.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Donovan said.
“And if we don’t feel like going with you?”
Donovan grinned. “Orders, Sergeant. Why make life tough for any of us?”
“Yeah,” Paul said. “I see what you’re saying. General Ochoa is already going to do that for us, isn’t he?”
“Maybe,” Donovan said. “Maybe he wants to talk to you about some medals.”
“Yeah, sure. Give me a minute. Let me get dressed.”
Donovan grunted as he stood and stepped outside onto the balcony.
“I keep my word,” Romo said, as Paul headed for the bathroom.
Paul glanced at his blood brother, Colonel Valdez’s best assassin. Romo didn’t miss much. Since there was nothing he could say, Paul nodded, entered the bathroom and shut the door behind him.
Twenty-three minutes later, Paul, Romo and Donovan strode down an underground corridor. MPs stood outside a door. The smaller one opened the door, keeping hold of the knob as the three men filed inside.
There was a table with a computer screen on it, a bar with bottled drinks and four empty chairs.
“Are you staying?” Paul asked Donovan.
For an answer, the Green Beret sat down and opened a Gatorade.
Paul rubbed his eyes. This felt like déjà vu. Man, he was old, too old for any more of this. Let the young have their shot at being a hero. He was sick and tired of desperate action. Had he ever craved this sort of thing? Yeah, he’d been young and full of piss and vinegar once. He had fallen for the catchy slogans and loved being in prime condition. Now…now he just wanted to go home. He wanted to sit on his sofa and watch TV, maybe go outside sometimes and weed his vegetable garden. Everyone kept one these days.
The screen came to life. It showed a haggard-looking General Ochoa, with a large American flag behind him. His dark eyes seemed to bore into each of them.
“I’m going to be brief,” General Ochoa said. “The President has spoken with me, and he believes we can slow down the relentless Chinese advance.”
“Does it involve us doing something harebrained?” Paul asked.
Ochoa gaze slid away from Paul’s for a moment. “You’re the three best commandos I have in the theater of operations. You know my beliefs about using the best and this is going to be the most important commando raid so far.”
“More important than the Blue Swan fiasco?” asked Paul.
“Son,” Ochoa said, staring him in the eye. “I’ve had just about enough of your quips. You’re in SOCOM and you’re under my orders. The President believes and I concur with him that this next mission is vital to the integrity of our country.”