In the past few years, Homeland Security’s director had amassed great power. His genius and ability to outwork any three people had been instrumental in creating the vast Militia organization. They had gone a long way toward ensuring that America had enough soldiers to fight the invaders.
“I’m not sure I understand this,” the President was saying. “We drove Chinese aircraft from the battlefield over a week ago. Why are they attempting an air offensive now?”
“Is that a precise statement, sir?” Harold asked. “We gained local air superiority over the breakthrough nodes. But if our drones attempted deep penetration raids, the Chinese always rose up to meet them. Their rarity over the front has been artificial, solely due to Chinese decisions.”
“I remember the initial battles,” the President said testily. “We drove them away.”
Anna remembered them too. American fighters and drones hadn’t proven extraordinarily deadly this time. New mobile particle beam platforms and other battlefield systems like tactical lasers had devastated Chinese air assets. Mainly, though, despite their paltry numbers, the new particle beams did most of the damage. There was a reason for that. Tac-lasers needed to be on target several seconds longer than the particle beams did to destroy an enemy vehicle.
“Why are the Chinese attacking like this now?” President Sims asked.
Harold crossed his arms, studying the big screen, pursing his lips thoughtfully.
“This looks like a wave assault,” Sims said.
“I imagine our Behemoths are the issue,” Harold said. “Marshal Meng must have decided to trade his air force for our super tanks, hoping to destroy as many of them as possible. We’ve been waiting for something like that. General McGraw told us two weeks ago his tankers have been preparing for mass missile or air assaults. He plans to turn such an attack into a trap. The rail guns make excellent antiair weapons.”
“Sir,” the communications captain said in a shaky voice. “I believe I should switch data. I think you’re going to want to see this.”
Without waiting for the President’s confirmation, the captain tapped her screen, changing the view. Now instead of just Oklahoma, the big screen showed northern Mexico, Texas and Oklahoma. The air symbols disappeared. In their place were bright red dots. They moved fast, fanning out across Texas, heading toward the Oklahoma Front.
“What are those supposed to be?” the President asked.
“Missiles,” the captain said.
“Blue Swan EMP missiles?” the President asked.
Director Harold shook his head. “That won’t help the Chinese this time. Ever since California, we’ve hardened most of our electronics against electromagnetic pulses.”
A portion of the red dots disappeared from the big screen.
“What just happened?” the President asked.
The communications captain checked her equipment, looking up several seconds later. “They knocked out one of our SR drones, sir, eliminated out one of our high-flying eyes.”
“What kind of missiles are those?” the President asked.
“What?” the captain asked, as if talking to herself. Stricken, she looked up. “Mr. President, I don’t think this can be right.”
“What is it?” Sims asked. “What’s wrong?”
“The missiles—cruise missiles—appear to be Red Dragons.”
“And?” the President asked. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Harold turned from the big screen. “Sir,” he said, with an edge to his voice. “Red Dragons are nuclear-tipped cruise missiles.”
“Are you sure?” Sims asked.
Anna was sure. Harold had a mind like an encyclopedia. He was seldom wrong when he rattled off facts.
“Where are the Red Dragons headed?” the President asked.
Harold pointed at the big screen. “It looks as if those cruise missiles are headed for the Oklahoma Front.”
“Nukes?” Sims asked. “That’s crazy. That’s… alert the defenses!” he shouted. “Scramble every Reflex interceptor we have.”
“Everyone is already on high alert, sir,” the captain said. “SAC just informed me they’re scrambling more interceptors now. Several are already on station.”
“Will the rest of them get into position in time?” Sims asked.
“A few will, sir,” the captain said.
Anna watched the President. He grew pale, and then short of breath. “What’s their plan?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Nuclear weapons in that number will kill tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of ground pounders.”
Maybe millions, Anna told herself. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“Now we know why the Chinese planes are attacking,” Harold said. “They’re running interference for the cruise missiles.”
“But…” Sims said. “Won’t that mean the deaths of their pilots?”
“I don’t think the Chinese leadership cares about them at this point,” Harold said. “They mean to win here whatever way they can.”
“But…” the President said, seeming to grope for words.
Max Harold balled one of his hands into a fist and smacked his other palm.
The angry gesture surprised Anna. Normally, Harold kept himself under perfect control. She watched him, wondering if she was getting a glimpse into his soul.
Rage blazed in his eyes as the Director of Homeland Security grounded his teeth together. “They’re going to pay for this,” he said.
“Lord help us,” whispered Sims, slumping back in his chair. “It’s really happening. I can’t believe this is really happening.”
“Yes!” Harold shouted. “We must retaliate now.”
The President stared at him.
“I demand an immediate retaliation!” Harold said.
“No,” Sims said.
As many watched the big screen in horror, the leaders began to argue about how to save the situation.
Captain Penner banked sharply as his anti-G suit inflated, helping to keep the blood in his head so he wouldn’t black out. A Chinese antiair missile flashed past his F35A2. He concentrated as the edges of his vision began to go dark.
“Retreat,” the air controller officer told him. “You’re fighting too far forward.”
A fiery explosion a quarter mile away from the canopy showed him that Lieutenant Aachen had just bought it.
Chinese combat UAVs filled the sky, black forms like evil bats, with glowing “eyes” showing where the video cameras had been installed. They were fast and maneuverable suckers, with deadly missiles leaving rocket trails.
As his F35A2 completed the banking turn, straightening, Penner kicked in the afterburners. A roar of sound filled his ears and his fighter seemed to leap forward. G forces pressed him against his seat. Pushing the controls, he dove to build velocity. His destination was the particle beam platforms toiling to catch up to the forward Behemoths, hoping for their covering fire.
A growing noise in the cockpit told him the Chinese jammed hard.
“Captain,” the air controller said.
Penner didn’t like the tone of the man’s voice.
“I have bad news for you,” the controller said. “Cruise missiles are heading your way.”
“They’re not my worry,” Penner said.
“I’m afraid they are. They’re Red Dragon cruise missiles. They carry nuclear warheads.”
“What?” Penner asked, with a sinking feeling in his gut.
“You have to engage the UAVs now. Command doesn’t want those craft near the PBT-2 systems so they can have a clear field of fire against the Red Dragons.”
In that second, Penner realized he wasn’t going to survive the battle. This wasn’t like facing the GD naval air last year. The Chinese were going nuclear—the bastards. That meant— Forget what it means. Let’s just do this.