What’s the effective range of their rail-guns?
Nervousness only made the ulcer worse. The MC ABMs were leaving Denver to go to their ambush points. The Americans drove for the city, smashing everything before them. Soon now, the enemy tanks would face a tech marvel greater and stronger than their rail-guns.
Stan dreamed and he didn’t like it. He began to shake. It seemed as if his whole world was under assault. Maybe it was an earthquake.
He opened his eyes, waking up to reality. He realized that someone touched him. No, they had been shaking him. He looked up. Jose stood over him, with a hand on his shoulder.
“You sleep like the dead,” Jose told him.
Groggily, Stan sat up. He was in a tent beside his Behemoth. They’d stopped near I-70. This part of the freeway system was much different from the system in the Rockies. Here, the land was Great Plains flat. Stan had called a halt because everyone had been exhausted. It was vital to keep rolling, moving toward the enemy, but sometimes, a commander had to give himself and his men a badly needed rest.
“Is it morning already?” Stan muttered.
“I woke you because General McGraw wants to speak to you.”
“He’s here?”
“He’s on a tight-linked screen,” Jose said.
Stan struggled to his feet and put on his clothes. He accepted a thermos of hot coffee. He wanted to crawl back into the sleeping bag, but that was impossible now. He checked his watch. It was almost six A.M. He wanted to be moving again by six forty-five.
Eating a bagel and washing it down with scalding coffee, Stan climbed into the Behemoth and took his place in the commander’s chair. He was getting sick of the compartment, as if he’d lived here weeks. It smelled like a mixture of a gym locker room and a mechanic’s shop: sweat and grease.
He tapped the screen and General Tom McGraw appeared. The big man was bent over his desk, hard at work.
Stan sipped coffee.
The general must have noticed the movement on his own screen. He put down his pen, straightened and nodded a greeting.
“Hello, Colonel,” McGraw said.
“Sorry, I was asleep just now and—”
“No, don’t apologize,” McGraw said. “You’re in the middle of the most important offensive in American history. In thirty minutes, you’re off again. I want to speak to you a moment before that. Are you alone?”
“Yes sir.”
“None of that now, old son,” McGraw said. “This is you and me talking. We’re older than we used to be, but we were friends once.”
“True enough,” Stan said.
“I think we’ve surprised the enemy, Stan. We’ve surprised them good. You’ve gotten farther faster than I would have thought. But the game enters the hard part now. The Chinese have regrouped. It looks like Zhen’s Tank Army is going to hit us in the flank today. By the looks of it, the Chinese are trying to cut you off by driving through to the Brazilians. The Brazilians are going to try the same thing on their side. We figured they would do something like that. Since our Militia formations have been tardy taking up their assigned defensive positions, I’ve ordered the Canadian First Army to turn back. They’ll have to deal with General Zhen, buying the struggling Militia divisions time to get their trenches built and defended.”
“What about the Brazilians on the other side of our penetration?” Stan asked. This sounded bad.
“I’m hoping the Brazilians are tardy and will give us time. Marshal Sanchez is still reorganizing from the collapse of his Venezuelan corps. In any case, I have some scout units and Bradleys who are supposed to buy the First Army time against the Brazilians. The Canadians are going to have to face two attacks. If the enemy can coordinate the assaults…it will get a lot harder for the First Army to keep the corridor open. If the Chinese and Brazilians strike separately, we might keep this offensive alive. If we can close the trap, Stan, I think it will bring an end to the war.”
“That sounds good to me,” Stan said.
McGraw grinned, showing off his big horse-sized teeth. “You’re wondering why I woke you up to tell you that—the Canadian information isn’t pertinent for what you’re going to attempt today. Well, old son, I wanted to tell you because you have a bigger job than the Canadian First Army.”
Stan raised his eyebrows.
“Listen, Higgins, you’ve seen the Chinese laser tank before on video out of Denver, haven’t you?”
“I have.”
“We have intelligence data that shows they’re going to try to bar your path with those laser vehicles.”
Stan nodded. It’s what he would do in their place. He’d been expecting to hear something like this for some time now.
“Can you beat those MC ABMs, Stan?”
“I’m going to try, sir.”
McGraw scowled. “That isn’t good enough. I don’t give a damn if you try. You’d better beat them. You’d better kill all those laser tanks without losing any Behemoths.”
“You don’t really think that is going to happen,” Stan said.
“That’s what I want to have happen.”
“So how am I supposed to do that?” Stan asked.
“As a matter of fact, I’ll tell you. I’ve studied photos of those vehicles. Old son, they’re huge, much bigger than your Behemoths are. I don’t think they’re tank-armored, though. They’re meant to shoot down missiles, ballistic missiles in particular. This use of them—”
“It’s like Rommel’s 88s,” Stan said.
“I’m sure you’re right.” McGraw checked his watch. “We don’t have time for more history lessons. So listen, Higgins. The laser will surely have reach on you.”
“I’d think the longer their reach the weaker the beam.”
“How do you figure that?” asked McGraw.
“A flashlight’s beam spreads out over distance. It dissipates. It becomes weaker. The same must be true of a laser tank.”
“There’s no way to know if that’s enough,” McGraw said.
“Still, it has to be able to shoot pretty far to knock down missiles in the stratosphere,” Stan said. “Twenty or thirty miles to hit our tanks…”
“They are precision weapons,” McGraw said. “Probably they can shoot and hit targets at a much greater range than you. I’m hoping it takes that laser too long to burn through your armor.”
“How much time it takes is the key,” Stan said.
“That and your mobility,” McGraw said.
“We’re not exactly nimble, General.”
“No. But by moving around it should throw off the beam just enough. In fact, the farther you’re from them, the less you’ll have to move to throw them off. It’s your thick armor and zigzagging that will get you in close to hit one of the MC ABMs.”
“We’re going to take damage today,” Stan said. Maybe we’re all going to die. Stan grew thoughtful. “If I were them, I’d give our Behemoths more to think about than just the lasers.”
“We plan to do the same thing to them,” McGraw said.
The implication of the words sank in. Stan straightened in his seat. “You’re taking over the tactical coordination of the attack?”
“Stan old son, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Now listen up, here’s what I’m thinking.”
Captain Tzu in his Heron bomber bored in toward the most forward American penetration toward Denver.
The pilot glanced outside. It was bright and sunny today. Far below, the sun shined off the vast expanse of snow. How could men fight in that amazingly white brightness?