“Of course from the right, son,” the captain said. “We’ve been over that.”
“Yes, sir,” Jake said, as his neck prickled with embarrassment.
“I know you’re the colonel’s son…”
Jake swallowed. Colonel Higgins didn’t run this regiment. His dad attacked farther to the east. Colonel Nelson ran the show for the Sixth Behemoth Regiment. But Jake knew the captain meant his dad.
Through the screen, the captain’s eyes bored into Jake. “You done fine so far, son. You keep paying attention, hear?”
“Yes, sir,” Jake said.
“Number five laser tank,” the captain said. “That one’s yours. I want it dead before it damages anyone else.”
“Yes, sir,” Jake said. He wanted to assure the captain that everything would be all right. But he knew the captain hated boasting. Doing counted with this man, not saying.
“This is where we earn our money,” the captain said. “If we smash them, Oklahoma City is going burn with enemy dead.” The captain squinted. “If we burn Oklahoma City, we might end up smashing the entire front. It’s time to fry us some laser tanks. Good hunting, Higgins.”
“Yes, sir,” Jake said. “Good hunting to you, too.”
First Rank Lon Lu of MC ABM #5 sat at his controls. He was the engine tech in charge of the magnetic-propulsion turbine. Without the great generating plant, the laser cannon would be useless.
Lon Lu was small, dark-haired and studiously serious. He had arrived from China, from a suburb of Beijing, a little over two months ago. He should have gone to Wei Mining in northern Manchuria, but the Army had drafted him for service in this land of savage barbarians. The stories coming from America had frightened many of the men his age in China. A few better-connected or richer souls had already escaped possible conscription by finding office jobs in Korea or Indonesia. Lon Lu hadn’t been so lucky.
Still, this was exciting technology, and the commander of the MC ABM #5 implicitly trusted him and his judgment—Lon received honor and accompanying letters to his mother and father because of it.
First Rank Lon Lu took pride in his work. Their MPT—magnetic propulsion turbine—was the quietest in the brigade, and their cannon continually fired the hottest beam. The only troubling thing so far about the assignment was American women.
Lon was fiercely Han centric, proud of Greater China and xenophobic of foreigners to a high although rather ordinary degree for someone from Beijing. He planned to marry a Chinese woman when he received a marriage permit from the Ministry of Matrimony. His honors and letters here would greatly aid in that regard.
The trouble with American women was their ready availability in Oklahoma City. China had a gross gender imbalance with too few women. It came from the one-child-per-family policy. Many more girls than boys were aborted because a high percentage of parents desired the family name to continue and wanted a son.
“Warm the turbine,” the commander said from his chair.
This was the main compartment to the three-trailer vehicle—that number didn’t include the giant tractor to move them. Driving the vehicle took careful preparation and route coordination. Mobility was a relative term. They could move, but weren’t mobile like a Behemoth tank.
Lon sat at the engine section, and he reached up and began to tap controls. He watched gauges and heat levels, and like a master pianist, he made his instrument purr with excellence.
Others worked the laser coils, the bin-washers and coolant radiator, while officers matched UAV-gathered intelligence with the cannon’s precise elevation.
Lon Lu sat alertly even though his crotch itched and stung. Han were superior to North American barbarians. The obviousness of the statement made it a truism. Lon Lu meant to marry a proper Han woman and produce a superior child. He did not have a preference and would accept fate’s call, boy or girl.
The problem was the availability of hungry American women. Naturally, East Lightning and Occupation Authority police rigorously applied Chinese law here. Much of Texas and Oklahoma’s agricultural produce went to China. That meant Americans went hungry for a change. That brought consequences. Too many American women bartered sex for food. Before the oceanic voyage, Lon had planned to remain chaste throughout his term of North American service. He would save himself for Han sexual encounters with his future wife.
The problem was that some American women were incredibly alluring, with their long luxurious hair, skimpy clothing and provocative ways of strutting and pouting when they looked at him. After three weeks of abstaining, Lon Lu bought extra loaves of bread at the commissary and went to the brothel he passed every day during his duties.
He wanted a particular American woman, a small thing with dark hair like a Han and thrusting breasts of intoxicating stiffness.
In the main compartment, Lon glanced both ways to make sure no one watched him. Then he reached down and rubbed his itching groin. The writhing on the silk sheets had been divine. Why had he waited so long to do it? Unfortunately, the dark-haired beauty had given him a venereal disease. He had used her many times these past weeks, discovering that his appetite grew with exposure. His shame at contracting VD meant he’d remained silent about it for some time. He did not want a reprimand on his record. He wanted a Han wife—he had to have a woman more than ever now. He had become accustomed to sexual intimacy. He was, in fact, unsure he could live without it.
“First Rank,” the commander said from his chair. “Give me energizing power.”
Lon Lu thrust his arms upward as his fingers played upon the controls. He might have VD, but he would bring honor to his family name and victory to Chinese arms. High Command counted on their MC ABM brigade to halt the American drive toward First Front HQ in Oklahoma City.
“Now we shall show these Americans the deadliness of Chinese technology,” the commander said. “We will destroy these Behemoths and bring serenity to our broken line.”
Lon Lu reached down to his neck, grasping the padded headphones there. He secured the protective covering over his ears, switching on his link to the commander. His gaze flickered to a screen showing the enemy Behemoths from a high-flying UAV.
The giant US tanks clanked toward the last blocking ridge. Each one had a flag waving on the highest antenna. Once the monsters crested the ridge…
The commander’s voice crackled over the headphones. In obedience to the words, Lon Lu tapped the final sequence.
The MPT whined with power, its song climbing higher and higher with dreadful noise. The command compartment shook and Lon’s groin flared with pain.
Lon winced at the MPT’s howl, but he spoke into his microphone. “Energy levels rising, Commander. In fifteen seconds we will be at maximum.”
The commander stood, and he held his right hand high. The main gunner nodded in understanding. The seconds ticked by as the MPT roared.
Lon Lu heard over his headphones, “Fire!” And the commander’s hand came down sharply.
The MPT pumped massive power into the laser coils. The energy rerouted into the chambers and drove the laser. The incredibly heavy beam struck the first focusing mirror, and then shot out of the cannon in a tight ray, traveling at the speed of light and crossing the many kilometers.
“Hit!” the gunner shouted.
Lon Lu exposed his teeth in a smile. He hated this land with its diseased whores, with its bloody-minded barbarians. But now the world would see once again that Han expertise trumped everything. Civilization would beat back the screaming hordes and bring order to a dark world.
On the screen, he could see the beam strike its targeted Behemoth. The giant tank kept moving as the laser began to boil through the incredible armor. Some heat dissipated and the enemy glacis began to glow. Liquid metal dripped as the beam chewed deeper.