“Yes, Zelazny is a hard-charging Marine general,” Max said. “I appreciate that and I feel secure he’s using my—the Militia battalions there to good effect.”
“Zelazny is a gifted general and a cunning battlefield tactician,” Alan said. “He has a plan, a scheme. I can assure you of that.”
“Whatever it is,” Max said, pointing at the big screen. “It isn’t working.”
General Alan glanced at the images up on the screen. He must have seen what Anna did: an American Bradley blowing up, taking a dozen soldiers with it.
“In fact,” Max said. “It’s looking more and more like a bloodbath. What was Zelazny thinking by launching an attack? Do you have any idea as to his objective?”
“Yes,” Alan said quietly. “I don’t think you’re going to like it, but it is clever. Mr. President, with your permission…”
David nodded.
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs gave them a brief rundown of Zelazny’s plan as heard by Paul Kavanagh. The Chairman added the wrinkle that could possibly make the assault worth it later.
“I can see what you’re hoping for,” Max said. “But in truth this is worse than I thought. Zelazny is spending lives like ammunition, all with the off chance of getting a few elite soldiers into the GD rear lines. Mr. President, I can’t help but thinking that after hearing this—”
“We can’t go nuclear,” the President said. “We have an obligation to the world. I know that’s what you’re going to suggest—nukes—but it cannot be done in this place and not at this time.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” Max said. “What about the world’s obligation to America? Three huge power blocs have invaded our soil. I say that it’s time to take off the gloves and hit them as hard as we can in the face. Let’s drop these bastards in their tracks.”
The President massaged his forehead. He picked up a water glass, and Anna could see the slightest tremor in his hand. First sipping water, the President pushed his lips against each other, and he faced Max Harold.
“Punching our enemies in the face is one thing,” the President said. “That would be a nuclear strike against their homelands. That’s beyond our delivery capabilities, at present. You’re talking about using a hammer to smash a fly on our nose.”
A few grim chuckles arose from several of those present.
“Sir,” Max said. “This is no laughing matter.”
David scowled.
“I know you realize that, sir,” Max said. “We have some key GD units fixed in place and far enough away from our main troop concentrations. I suggest that if General Zelazny plans to sacrifice his troops, why not use them as bait. Saturate bomb the GD formations around Toronto. Pulverize them, Mr. President. Annihilate these GD invaders and then unleash the main force in New England against Montreal and cut their supply base.”
The President stared across the large circular table at Max. “Is this a serious suggestion?” he finally asked.
“I am not in the habit of giving frivolous suggestions, sir,” Max said.
Anna stared at David, willing him to look at her. Max had gone too far. The President should sack him on the spot. No one should speak to David that way in front of others.
The President broke the eye contact first, and he rubbed his forehead. “I will not be party to using nuclear weapons against American troops, certainly not using the troops as a goat in a tiger hunt. Nor do I plan to win this war with nuclear weapons on land. I will not do it, Director.”
“I’m sorry to hear you say that, sir.”
“I’m open to other suggestions. Chairman,” David asked Alan. “What about the THOR missiles? Could we use those here?”
“Uh, sir…I’m afraid not, Mr. President,” Alan said.
“THOR missiles,” Max asked. “What are those? I don’t believe I’ve heard of them.”
“Do we have any missiles of any type that we can use to aid General Zelazny?” the President asked Alan.
“There are a carefully built up number—”
“How many,” the President asked, “and of what type?”
“Twenty conventionally-armed medium-range ballistic missiles, sir,” Alan said. “But given what we’ve seen of the GD antiair cover, I think at best only half would break through to land and explode.”
“You’re serious?” Max asked. “At best only half will touch down?”
“That’s right,” Alan said. “Touch down. I’m not even talking about hitting their targets.”
Max faced the President, “Sir, a nuclear airburst might render the GD antiair equipment useless. Then all our missiles would hit.”
The large room fell silent. One by one, every member present looked at Max and then at the President.
“I don’t want to hear any more about nuclear strikes,” the President said. “And I do not want to repeat myself, Director. Have I made myself clear?”
Max glanced at several faces. Finally, he nodded, saying, “Yes, Mr. President. I understand.”
“I hope you do,” the President said. “Continue with the briefing,” he told the major. “Don’t leave anything out, no matter how depressing or grim.”
The major glanced at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs—Alan tugged his left earlobe like a baseball manager giving a signal—before she continued speaking.
This is awful, Anna thought. The GD is slaughtering our soldiers, and for what? The Marine general is throwing his men away on a crazy notion. How is any of this going to help David?
Paul Kavanagh crawled through city rubble, with Romo behind him. It was a nightmare, and nothing was going to get better anytime soon. Artillery thundered in the darkness, creating vast explosions on the horizon. Then flashes came from all around. Shells of all shapes and sizes landed around them. The ordnance crashed into buildings, against the ground and reworked the already pulverized rubble, throwing up tall geysers. The bigger ones shook the ground like quakes and they rained shrapnel everywhere like a November blizzard.
The worst—
From behind Paul, Romo whistled between his teeth. Paul barely heard the sound, but he heeded the warning, attempting to press his body into the concrete. Closing his eyes, Paul remembered to open his mouth. It was to keep his ears pressurized from the nearest blasts. Seconds ticked by before it happened. Somebody—the Germans likely—had dropped a fuel-air bomb. It went off, and it felt as if a sun had gone nova, lighting existence and sucking air like a mythological titan. It caused a rising shriek.
Titanic sound waves from the blast came on like giant hammers. They washed over Paul, shaking him so it felt as if the bones vibrated in his body.
He would have liked to use the high-tech equipment of last winter. They still had the equipment in the arsenals, and he could have donned it for this battle, but not against the tricky Krauts. That meant his side didn’t launch any tiny recon drones to go and find out what the enemy were doing. It also meant Paul didn’t have a HUD visor, computer battle processors and any targeting aids for his weapons. He and Romo had gone primitive because the Germans were masters at triangulating enemy electronic gear and killing the recipients.
He and Romo had body armor, of course, wore regular helmets and carried assault rifles, grenades and had knives, a one-time cypher pad just in case and medical kits. Fighting this way was like closing your eyes compared to how they’d been doing it against the Chinese. No doubt the enemy had infrared scanners and night vision. Yeah, he had night vision, too, but he hadn’t turned it on yet.
Soon he would.
Thinking of that, Paul opened his eyes. The distant flashes continued, as did the pounding, the ground shaking and the wrecks of buildings crumbling some more. Somewhere out there a soldier screamed in agony.