“Yes, Leader,” Liang whispered. This was bad. He needed the replacement levies in the north. This entire operation against Denver was a waste of time and soldiers.
“I realize you cannot see the situation as clearly as I do,” Hong said. “Did I not light a fire under Marshal Nung many years ago?”
“Yes, Leader,” Liang said. He had read the reports of that Alaskan attack. It still amazed him the Chairman had shown such ability. What had happened to him in the interim?
“I say capture the city now,” Hong said, “but I am willing to give you a small amount of leeway. You are said to be among my most brilliant Field Marshals. Tell me truthfully, Liang. Can you guarantee me the city’s capture within the next two weeks?”
Liang saw the look in Hong’s eyes. His exalted rank as marshal and perhaps his very life rested on his answer. There was only one thing to say.
“Chairman Hong, I guarantee the city’s capture and I will hand you the manufacturing plant within the next fourteen days.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” Hong said, sitting back. “Since time is pressing, I will leave you to your task. Let me give you one last parting word of advice. Do not fail me, Marshal Liang. No, do not fail.”
“No, Leader, I will not fail.”
Hong nodded, and a second later, the screen went blank.
It left a bitterly reflective Liang. And he finally noticed that the bowl of water had cooled. He removed his feet so water dripped, and he put them on a towel.
He must storm all of Denver in the next fourteen days. It would be a difficult task. Still, he had a secret weapon. He’d hoped to save the system for a different emergency. Now, it appeared as if he would have to unveil the secret to the Americans early. It would help knock out stubborn points of resistance in the city, of that he had no doubt. But to let the Americans know about the secret this soon, that might be a mistake.
Liang picked up a phone, and it troubled him to see that his hand shook. He sighed. The sooner he put this into operation, the quicker the city would fall to him and the sooner he could concentrate on the northern advance.
Commander Bao of MC ABM #3 had finished his inspection around the triple trailers. In the chill morning air, he climbed the rungs of the main compartment, watching his breath puff.
They had moved the vehicle last night and positioned it on this hill in Centennial. The vehicle was exposed up here, precisely against regulations. The normal SAM launchers weren’t even in position yet. It was unnerving, and it made Bao’s ulcer bite. Since he was alone outside, he winced, and he pressed his left cheek against the cold metal. The ulcer had been getting worse lately. The American Air Force kept attacking the Chinese ring around Denver, and his kill ratio was down. MC ABM #6 had almost overtaken him in efficiency.
He could never allow that to occur. Yesterday, Bao had raised his voice against the crew. In the past, he’d prided himself on always remaining calm. Several operators had glanced at him sharply. He regretted the raised voice, and the glances had angered him, which had worsened the ulcer.
I am the best MC ABM Commander. At the end of the campaign, my vehicle will achieve the highest award. I will show everyone that I outperform all who challenge me.
Bao glanced around at the devastated city. Everywhere stood ruins and rubble. Smoke drifted from places and the city stank of oil, dirt and death. In the distance stood tall buildings. The Americans held those. The Americans still clung to too much of Denver.
Marshal Liang had given a new order last night. It was rumored he did it at the command of Chairman Hong. Not only did Bao’s MC ABM sit up on a hill, but six others did also. Their primary mission was anti-air and anti-missile defense. That was always in heavily defended positions, as these machines were the greatest and most prized military vehicles in the entire invasion Army. In a pinch, though, the MC ABM could operate in a different and still very lethal way.
Bao reached the hatch, opening it and climbing into the warm command compartment. A soft blue light lit the cramped chamber. Everyone sat at his station, checking systems.
He’d been outside because there were many things that could have gone wrong due to the movement. Together, the triple-trailered vehicle weighed over six hundred tons. It took time and effort to move the tiered system into place. In some ways, they were like towed pillboxes of fantastic ability.
Taking off his coat, Bao settled into his chair.
The Army’s tac-lasers were pygmies compared to the MC ABMs. Bao’s monster together with the others had been providing an effective defense against American air attacks and enemy cruise missiles. Today, they would be used for something completely different.
Bao checked his watch. It was 7:32 A.M.
Marshal Liang planned the heaviest assault on Denver to date, heavier even than the beginning attack. The MC ABMs would help directly today.
7:33 A.M. now, it meant the assault battalions were poised to go. The drones surely gathered in the air, ready to enter the fray, and the standoff bombers likely awaited the word.
The Chinese and Americans had already waged grim weeks of city warfare. Bao knew that each side had taken bitter losses and would likely take many more.
Despite the twinge in his gut, Bao allowed himself a small smile. This morning, the toughest U.S. defensive positions would wake up to a science fiction surprise. He rubbed his hands in anticipation. Then he went to work, checking his crew’s performance.
Good, the laser-aiming mirrors were pointed toward the city. They would soon direct the beam on a parallel course with the ground.
Bao flipped a switch, bringing up the main targeting screen. He tapped it and found that Tenth Army HQ had already linked with them. A red dot appeared. Bao ran a check on his coordinate map. Ah, this was interesting. Did the Army HQ think it would be a test for them? Bao had no doubt at what his vehicle could achieve.
Quietly, Commander Bao spoke the required words.
Everyone put on their huge headphones/mufflers. A few of the personnel shifted in their seats as if uncomfortable. Bao wished there was some way to dampen the terrible noise that was about to occur. The continuous exposure to the sound was affecting his crew’s performance.
Checking his watch, Bao saw it was 7:46 A.M. The crew had finished the prep work and targeting had selected the object of assault.
“Give me power,” Bao said in his calm voice.
Chemical rocket fuel pumped the magnetic-propulsion turbine. The whine climbed the octaves to a nearly unbearable level. Crewmembers hunched their shoulders. Like Bao, they endured the hateful noise.
“Fire,” Bao said.
Relays clicked. A second later, a heavy laser beam poured out of the focusing system. The beam flashed across the city and struck its first objective with annihilating energy.
The other MC ABMs came online and they too poured their beams at carefully chosen targets.
Inside MC ABM #3, Bao studied his split screen. A White Tiger recon team provided real-time data. His beam burned into an enemy bunker. It melted the outer surface and punched through.
“Move the turret point three degrees,” Bao ordered.
Slowly, the turret shifted. That moved the focusing mirrors. That in turn moved the constant beam. At the end of the ray, it sliced the bunker, melting and burning through. The hellish beam must have fried the Americans inside, causing them to turn into vapor.
Bao didn’t realize it, but his hands balled into fists as he watched. This felt different from missile destruction. Now he was killing people.
“Raise the projector a half degree,” Bao said, with a twinge in his voice. Because of the horrendous noise inside the MC ABM, probably none of the crew noticed the difference.