It didn’t quite work that way, though, as the Taiwanese, most having spent their entire life under the specter of potential assault from the mainland, reacted with fortitude. Every male of age on the island had served his required time in the military and was then placed in the reserves for the rest of his life. They kept their weapons at home and when the sirens had gone off indicating the beginning of the conflict, they kissed their families good-bye, directed them toward their shelters, and went to their local call-up center. The men reported to their induction centers and the women and children to bomb shelters, all donning their gas masks and protective suits. As the Chinese fleet appeared offshore, the beach defenses were manned and ready.
One of those who waited for the invaders on the beaches was General Chang Tek-Chong. The general had planned and prepared for years for this awful possibility but he had never envisioned the current scenario in his darkest nightmares. Even though there was no formal treaty with the United States, it had been tacitly assumed that an aggressive move by the mainland would be countered by American forces. But there were no American forces in the western Pacific except for those stationed in South Korea. Taiwan was on its own.
The general was typical of many of those who were defending the island in that he was actually part of an army that traced its roots to the invading KMT army, which now faced another invading force from the mainland. Tek-Chong’s father, Tan, had been illegitimate, the result of a liaison between a Japanese police officer and a Taiwanese woman. Despite this poor beginning Tan had become a police officer, then a lawyer. When the KMT invaded, he’d been arrested and tried for treason. He’d been tortured, then dragged through the city streets.
When a soldier ordered him to kneel, Tan had refused and met his execution standing, with a smile on his face.
Tek-Chong kept a black-and-white photograph taken by a KMT officer of his father’s execution in his wallet. It showed him the moment before death, the muzzle of a pistol pressed against his right temple. The fortitude and proud stance of his father was something that Tek-Chong had always tried to emulate. Like that earlier conflict, the only difference between the two sides fighting now was an ideological decision made before the lifetimes of almost all those who died. It was a difference being exploited by Artad to expand his new empire.
Camp Page was less than ten minutes’ flight time from the DMZ. The camp consisted of a long runway and a cluster of hangars and barracks surrounded by a cinder-block wall topped by barbed wire. Parked along the runway were two American army units. One was an attack helicopter battalion of Cobras. The other was a lift company of Blackhawks. The mission for the Blackhawks was highly classified. They were the transportation for the tactical nuclear warheads the United States kept in South Korea. The warheads were housed eighteen minutes’ flying time away in an underground bunker that was the most secure place in South Korea. They included nuclear warheads for the eight-inch howitzer battalion of the Second Infantry Division, along with nuclear mines that would be emplaced in already prepared positions along major axes of advance.
With the heightened tensions in the area, the entire unit was kept on a three- minute alert, pilots and crew chiefs living in the hangars, next to their aircraft. When the Klaxon indicating a scramble sounded, it was almost a relief for the men and women who dashed to their helicopters and started the engines. One by one, the Blackhawks rolled out of the hangars and lined up on the airstrip until all eighteen were in line. Then, on the order of their commander, they all lifted into the air and turned to the southeast toward the bunker. As the choppers cleared the edge of the compound a flurry of SAM-7 antiaircraft missiles sliced into the air, striking home. All eighteen helicopters were destroyed in less than ten seconds.
The North Korean commandos who had crossed the border the previous night and crept down to their hide positions outside the airfield were hunted down and killed by the South Korean forces, but they had accomplished their mission. The tactical nuclear warheads remained secure inside the bunkers as North Korean and Chinese forces crossed into the DMZ.
Kelly Reynolds felt like a shadow trying to hide in the dark. While there was a good chance she wouldn’t be seen she also could do little other than observe.
She had no sense of her withered body, just a core of self, that existed next to and mostly in, the guardian computer. She had been watching the data flow for a long time, and she was getting better at discerning the component parts. It was as if she were standing next to a hundred-lane-wide superhighway with thousands of cars shooting by at very fast speeds. After a while, she was, in essence, able to start noting the colors and makes of various cars. There was much happening and she caught glimpses of a number of plans.
She knew of the nanovirus at Pearl Harbor and the failure to find the remainder of the American fleet. If she’d been able to control her body she would have smiled as she sensed Aspasia’s Shadow’s anger over the failure to complete the coup de grace of the American military in the Pacific. But she could also sense his overwhelming confidence that this was just a minor setback and that his ultimate victory was inevitable.
The guardian on Mars still maintained a communications link with this guardian. She was confused by this data stream, as it appeared that Aspasia’s Shadow was in essence ignoring the few surviving Airlia at the Cydonia Base on Mars despite a series of entreaties from them.
The Alien Fleet approached Pearl Harbor with more submarines being built in the hold of the Jahre Viking. Aspasia’s Shadow was issuing new orders, directing the fleet to adjust course and search for the surviving American ships and convert them.
Guides around the planet were attempting to rally people to Aspasia’s Shadow’s cause and subvert their own governments. Tapping into satellite communications and then into the Internet, the guardian, as directed by Aspasia’s Shadow, was issuing orders to those Guides, directing them to cause as much dissension as possible to keep the world from forming a united front and to spread propaganda regarding Artad.
The infected people on the surface of the island went about the tasks designated to them by the guardian.
The nanotechs widened the tunnel to the thermal power source underneath the island.
All were part of the information and communication flow. Kelly could also see the truncated avenues of communication that she knew had been to other guardians around the planet. And the major break, the line that had once been connected with the Master Guardian but had been severed so long ago. She also “saw” that the guardian was opening up its end of that communications link, as if preparing for the other end to open also.
And in the midst of all this she saw it. The name Johnny Simmons. Like a flashing light.
She homed in on the thin data flow with his name. It was piggybacked on a GPS signal to the Alien Fleet. Unnoticeable, unless someone was looking for that specific name. There was no reason for the guardian to notice, nor Aspasia’s Shadow, but for Kelly it was a bright shining light.
She accessed the data stream.
Turcotte wanted more information. About Excalibur. The Master Guardian. The request was like a jolt of energy as it gave her a purpose. She came farther out of the shadows into the guardian’s data field to search for the information.