“I see,” she said. “How long will it be until you can find the new man in charge?”
“In less than three minutes.”
“See to it,” she said.
It took Tao less time than that. He crunched through the snow to the nearest Army man. “Where is the second in command?” he asked.
The man stammered; his eyes were still on his former commander.
Tao shot him, too. The next Army man pointed at a slack-faced captain. With a shout, Tao forced the man to sprint to him. The First Rank pointed at the screen, following as the man ran to it.
He arrived in time to hear the captain say, “Yes, Police Minister. At once, Police Minister. Yes, we have the coordinates.”
The only piece of self-awareness that Tao possessed was the realization that once he started killing, he found it difficult to stop. If it were up to him, he would shoot every Army soldier in the unit. He could not do that, however. Well, he could, but he wouldn’t continue in his East Lightning post then.
Therefore, he had to look down. If he saw their frightened faces, the urge to kill would overpower his resolve.
First Rank Tao understood that few people could kill in cold blood as quickly as he could. It’s why he’d become a First Rank—a sergeant in American terms—at twenty-three years of age. Sometimes, Tao wondered if the sexual abuse in his youth had aged him before his time.
Maybe, but he didn’t like to think about that. Instead, he shook another cigarette from his pack. He lit it and inhaled. The smoke felt good in his lungs.
At the Army captain’s orders, the missile personal ran to their platforms. They worked in haste, and most of them had stiff, unbelieving faces.
Five minutes later, they were ready to launch the missiles. Fu Tao knew that nuclear missiles made bigger bangs than other types. He didn’t care otherwise or really understand the significance of what he witnessed here today.
The Army captain shouted at him. That made Tao angry. With startling swiftness, he drew his gun and marched at the man. How dare the captain take that tone with him?
“You whore!” Tao yelled. “I will show—”
“No, no,” the captain pleaded, pressing the palms of his hands together in front of his chest. “You misunderstand me, sir.”
“I’m a First Rank, not an officer,” Tao said angrily.
“Of course, of course,” the captain said. “The missiles will launch in seconds.”
“They’re supposed to.”
“I shouted at you to move because the exhaust flames might harm you.”
Tao squinted at the Army captain. Finally, he motioned to the other East Lightning operatives. Then he followed the captain to a safer location.
Thirty seconds later, the missiles ignited. One after another, the rockets roared with power. Flames melted snow and created great billowing clouds of smoke.
Impressed and frightened, Tao watched them climb into the sky. The higher they flew, the faster they went. In seconds, each missile sped out of sight, heading for America.
“We did it,” the captain whispered. “We’ve launched nuclear warheads at the terrible Americans.”
Tao wondered why the man sweated as he did. Tao noticed the gun in his hand then. With a grin, he thought about putting the barrel against the man’s forehead and pulling the trigger. Sighing, Tao holstered the weapon. Not today. No, it was time to report to the Police Minister that the Army personnel had done exactly as instructed.
Turbofans roared as the Red Dragon cruise missiles reached maximum velocity at a little over eight hundred kilometers per hour. Each missile was seven meters long, weighing 1600 kilograms at liftoff and carrying a Z13 nuclear device.
Countless cruise missile brigades launched from the mountains of northern Mexico. At first, five, then ten, fifteen, twenty Red Dragons crossed the Rio Grande River, entering Texas airspace. More kept coming, masses like a bee swarm, flying low to the ground, at treetop level.
Their internal navigation systems unerringly sped them for Oklahoma, for their specific destinations. Within the span of fifteen minutes, nearly five hundred cruise missiles fanned out, carrying destiny in their nosecones.
Captain Penner of the Canadian Air Force was on loan to the Americans in the Southern Front. He’d survived the Germans last year in New York, and now faced the Chinese and their allies on the Great Plains.
Penner flew an F-35A2, with advanced air-to-air missiles attached. He and Lieutenant Aachen, his wingman, provided air cover for the exploitation tanks down below. Far to the rear flew American AWACS, giving them tactical instructions.
The captain looked down out of the cockpit and saw giant Behemoth tanks. They were dots on the landscape heading for Oklahoma City.
His radio crackled, and the air controller told him, “Twenty enemy fighters approaching, bearing one eight zero at three hundred knots, fifty-three miles out.” Then the air controller swore.
“What’s wrong?” Penner asked. There were several moments of static, as he strained to listen.
I don’t think the Chinese are jamming our communications.
Then the air controller said, “Don’t know what this means, but it looks like the Chinese are throwing every air asset they have left against us. It’s a blizzard. Drones, fighters, bombers—maybe everything the Chinese have been saving—are coming out to play. This must be an all-out air offensive.” He swore again. “They’re attacking all down the line, everywhere. Okay, okay. We’re sending twelve, no, eight V-10s your way, Captain; not as many as first planned, but let’s hope it’s enough.”
“Roger that,” Penner said.
“You’re on your own for several minutes.”
“We can handle it.”
“Whatever else happens, Captain…”
“I know,” Penner said. “Don’t let them touch the Behemoths.” He knew the mantra. The super tanks were supposed to be the war-winning weapon. He received more data on the approaching enemy and began to arm his missiles.
This was going to get hairy real soon.
Anna Chen watched the President as he fixated on the giant screen. It showed thousands of Chinese fighters and drones heading for the front lines.
They were in Underground Bunker #5, several hundred feet below and to the side of the White House. A huge circular conference table dominated the chamber, with two armed Marine guards standing at the only exit.
President Sims had aged this past year. He had thinning hair and sad eyes, and let his shoulders hunch far too much. He wasn’t eating or sleeping well these days. The toll of responsibility told on him physically. She’d thought defeating the German Dominion would have cheered him. Instead, the President fretted about the coming casualties of the summer battles in Texas and New Mexico. China, Brazil and their allies would wrestle with US and Canadian forces for control of southern America. So far, Operation Reclamation had succeeded far better than anyone could have foreseen. Even that hadn’t made David Sims smile. She knew he felt a disaster building.
Anna knew these things because she was the President’s lover, as well as one of his chief aides. In her mid-forties, Anna remained beautiful and sharp-eyed. She had a mixed heritage, half white and half Chinese in a country that loathed China.
Max Harold of Homeland Security stood as he watched the big screen. Harold was like an encyclopedia, able to spout facts at will. He displayed little emotion but ironclad logic. Physically unremarkable, Max was balding with liver spots on his head. He wore a rumpled suit and had a distracted air like a preoccupied professor.