Harold paused, and he knew why. It was a grim message. Some might even view it as dishonorable. He had become the commander-in-chief of America, both to the right thinkers and the seditious. When a person picked up a rifle in defense of his country, he ought to be given some due. Yet the future of the United States demanded he make hard choices. Those who came after him would likely lack his iron.
“General,” Harold said in a soft voice. “I want you to tell Premier Konev that America must defeat China now.”
“I can do that, sir.”
“Let me speak,” Harold said, as if out of breath.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Harold put his hands on his knees. This was harder than he thought it would be.
“Tell Premier Konev that I’m willing to pay in American blood for a quick victory. He can use the US 3rd Army Group for the hard tasks, the ones that will incur heavy losses.”
Williamson remained silent.
“Those are good soldiers,” Harold said, “hard fighters. Yet they are the malcontents. They will cause our future America problems as we repair our great country.”
“To die for our country is an honor, sir.”
“Tell Premier Konev that he has my permission to grind the US 3rd Army Group to the bone, as long as that brings China to her knees. But remember, General, no one else must ever know you said that, or that those words came from me. Some truths are too terrible for anyone to know.”
“Yes, sir,” Williamson said. “I will do my duty.”
“I knew I could count on you, General. You can be sure I will have important tasks of the highest value for you after the war.”
“Thank you, sir. As long as I can serve my country, I am content.”
“Those are noble sentiments.” Harold pushed up to his feet. Why did he feel so tired? He did what he had to do. The US soldiers headed to China were expendable, every single one of them. There was simply no other way to mold the future correctly.
Jake Higgins stared out of the railroad car’s window. Vast numbers of pine trees swept past. That’s all he’d seen for hundreds upon hundreds of miles. It was crazy.
I still can’t believe I’m out of the Detention Center. He’d figured for sure he was going to die there. With a frown, Jake turned his head.
Young American men filled the interior railcar. There were over one hundred cars in this particular train, and there were more on the way. An American army group headed for the Manchurian border, for big bad China. Three entire armies would march into Northeast China—the First, Ninth and Eighteenth—together with the Russians and Europeans.
Do our leaders really think we can conquer the entire country?
Jake shrugged. It hardly mattered to him anymore. He flexed the fingers of his right hand before making a fist. Watching the muscles and tendons of his wrist, he marveled how it had filled out from before—so had his biceps and triceps. His arms weren’t sticks anymore, but regular flesh and bone like normal people. Not so long ago, he’d been a radiation victim, and he’d lived in a cell, tormented by Detention Center goons.
He scowled, crossing his arms. He was back to being a private in an infantry platoon. How many times had he climbed the ranks, only to slide back down again?
What’s the point anyway? I’ll fight, do well, and then the Detention people will get me again. I don’t understand my existence.
“You know what I think?” Jake said.
“Huh?” Chet asked, looking up from a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue.
“We’re headed the wrong way,” Jake said.
Chet nodded absently as he turned the page.
“Are you listening to me?” Jake asked.
“Uh-huh,” Chet said.
Jake glanced at a blonde on the page arching her back. It reminded him of the strip club in Topeka, Kansas. That had been a crazy night—what, over two years ago now. He would have liked to make Sheila the Stripper his girl. With a sigh, he turned back to the window, watching endless pine trees whip past. Siberia. I’m actually in fabled Siberia.
Chet and Grant were in the same infantry squad as him. They’d been members of his old Behemoth crew. They’d been flushed out of the super-tanks for reasons neither understood. It was funny how all three of them had ended up here, huh?
Why do I fight for my country, if my country hates me? No, that was the wrong question. His country didn’t hate him, just the Militia screws who seemed to be in charge these days.
Was this his fate then? Would he fight while others back home misused power? What difference did it make to him if the Chinese ran the Detention Center or Americans? Well… the Chinese had killed many fellow soldiers, friends of his…
What had ever happened to Goose and the Lieutenant? The siege of Denver had been something. The war had felt righteous back then.
“Whoa, look at her,” Chet said, shoving the magazine and a brunette pictured there into his face. Jake could see her nipples thrusting against the bikini fabric.
“Nice tits,” Jake said.
“Nice everything,” Chet said.
“Do you ever wonder why we’re fighting?”
Chet gave him a quizzical glance. “For this,” he said, shaking the magazine. “If we let them, the Chinese will take every girl on the planet. All they have is men in China. They aborted all the chicks. Now they want ours. I say, screw ’em. No. Forget that. Kill them.”
“This is all ’cause of chicks?” Jake asked.
“Hell, yeah,” Chet said.
Jake thought about the dark-haired stripper, about Sheila. He wouldn’t want a Chinese bastard to get her. Chet was right about that. Maybe that’s why the Militia officer there had sent him to the tribunal. Sheila had smiled at him that night instead of to the Militiaman. Is war just about girls and money, about power?
“Do you think we’re going to survive this one?” Jake asked.
“Sure,” Chet said, as he turned the page. “We survived the nukes. We can survive anything.”
“Maybe we used up all our luck surviving the Red Dragons.”
“No,” Chet said. “Luck is like a muscle. The more you use it, the better it gets.”
“That’s why we’re on this train then, because we’re lucky?”
“I don’t know. Don’t sweat it so much. Relax.” Chet turned the page.
Jake scowled. He wished he could just sit back, looking at swimsuit issues, not worrying about anything. The nuke, getting sick, getting rail-thin, and surviving for months in a Detention Center cell—it had changed him. The Detention people had stolen something essential from him.
They took my heart. They made me see how everything is BS. It’s just one group of goons after another doing whatever they want because they can.
The Chinese had invaded America. Now US soldiers had to make sure the Chinese couldn’t come back. But what Jake really wanted…
I want to break the Detention Center system. I want to stop penal battalions. How do I do that in Manchuria? I’d rather be stalking through Colorado, shooting Militia guards and their officers.
As he watched pine trees flash past, Jake nodded. He was going to have to survive Manchuria. He didn’t see how he would. China was a huge land. But he was going to have to survive and get home. Then he was going to use what he’d learned these past few years…
From now on, I’ll tell the people in charge exactly what they want to hear from me. I have to survive this. Then, when I get my chance, I’m going to kill someone important.