Invasion: Colorado (31 page)

“Ballistic missiles?” asked Ping. “The Americans might believe we’re launching nuclear weapons and retaliate before they realize ours carry conventional warheads.”

“Nevertheless, I will use the DP-15s.”

“Their CEP might not be tight enough,” Ping said.

CEP meant
circular error probable
. It was a matter of accuracy, how many meters the warhead was likely to miss by.

“The DP-15 has a one hundred meter CEP,” Liang said. “If we fire enough at each target, it should suffice to shatter the route.”

“How many missiles do you plan to use?” Ping asked.

“Fifty should insure I-70’s destruction along critical key junctions.”

General Ping was silent.

Liang picked up his cup and sipped tea. Finally, it was the perfect temperature. He regarded his Chief of Staff.

“Fifty missiles should demolish I-70,” Ping said.

“You think I’m using overkill?” Liang asked.

Ping moved his shoulders in a deferential shrug. “You want Denver captured with speed. This might do it.”

“Go on,” Liang said. “But…”

“Even if the city is cut off from direct supplies, the Americans will use air transports to ferry more.”

“True,” Liang said. “That is the battle where we will employ our Air Force. We must starve these stubborn defenders of food and ammunition. We must show them that their cause is hopeless. I need Army Group A in the north. If we don’t capture the city soon enough, I’m afraid the Chairman might divert supplies there. He has an obsession with the Behemoths.”

“As do I, Marshal.”

Liang grunted once more. He used his middle finger and traced I-70 in the Rockies behind Denver. “This time we will achieve success.”

“With fifty ballistic missiles, yes, I would think so,” Ping said.

Liang set down his teacup and picked up a phone. He stared at the map showing I-70. Then he glanced at Ping. “It is time to initiate the attack.”

PUEBLO, COLORADO

Ten big eight-wheeled Chinese transporter erector launchers (TELs) pulled out of Pueblo along I-25. The first two drove off the side at a rest stop. First Rank Wei slowed down three miles later. He took the turn-off and came to a halt in a pasture. Five hundred meters away, a herd of Holstein cows grazed. Several looked up at the three TELs.

The captain pulled up in his command vehicle and climbed out. His comm-team hurried to complete their tasks.

First Rank Wei made sure his TEL was level. Then he began pre-launch procedures.

The hydraulic system whined. Slowly, the Dong-Fong 15, or East Wind 15, began to stand upright. It always reminded Wei of an erection.

He grinned to himself. Some of the American women were most accommodating. They liked to eat well, and few in Chinese Occupation Territory had enough to eat. Already East Lightning sent captured American food supplies back to China. That made it much easier for Wei finding good lays.

With a critical eye, First Rank Wei watched the DP-15. This SRBM—Short Range Ballistic Missile—was nine point one meters long. It weighed six thousand two hundred kilograms and had a one-meter diameter. The engine was a single-stage, solid propellant rocket. Its operational range was 600 kilometers, or about 370 miles.

Finally, the DP-15 stopped, ready for launching.

Now First Rank Wei went to work. He typed in the coordinates and checked the systems. The missile unit’s captain came by, inspected his work and told him he’d done well.

First Rank Wei waited. A half hour later, the order came down. Wei stood at the launch controls. This was going to be a coordinated attack with fifty other missiles.

The captain gave the word.
Three…two…one…zero
—First Rank Wei pressed the red launch button.

A billowing cloud grew and the roar of the missile brought a smile to Wei’s face. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the cattle stampeded away. He knew that was going to happen. He laughed with amusement.

Three Dong-Fong 15 missiles slowly lifted from the transporter erector launchers. One of the launchers rocked badly, going up and down, causing dirt to fly from the sides. Each missile increased speed and in seconds, they became streaks.

The ballistic missiles roared away into the sky out of view of First Rank Wei and his captain. Each missile climbed at an astonishing rate and quickly reached its parabolic apogee. First Rank Wei’s DP-15 performed as built. The warhead separated from the rocket and began its preplanned descent.

The warhead was one-tenth the rocket’s size. It possessed a maneuverable reentry vehicle. That would allow it to jink, to offset any anti-ballistic missiles or lasers the enemy used to try to shoot them down. Wei’s DP-15 was moving fast now as it dropped toward target in a ballistic arc. Its terminal velocity would reach Mach 6. Maybe as important, the rocket body trailed the warhead. It was there as camouflage, to give American radar and missiles too many targets to properly engage.

PATRIOT MISSILE BATTERY I-70, SITE 6, COLORADO

A PAC-5 firing battery at Site 6 on I-70 first picked up the DP-15 attack.

The AN/MPQ-65 radar detected ballistic missiles. The radar’s AI reviewed the speed, altitude and behavior of the target. The discrimination parameters were met and it was therefore passed on. The data appeared on Corporal Vincent Jimenez’s screen as a ballistic missile target.

In seconds, in the AN/MSQ-104 Engagement Control Station, the TCO reviewed the speed, altitude and trajectory of the track. He authorized engagement and told his TCA to go from “standby” mode to “operate” mode.

At that point, automated systems took over. The computer determined which battery’s launchers had the highest kill probability. Pairs of Patriot missiles ripple-fired 4.2 seconds apart, two Patriots per DP-15.

The AN/MPQ-65 radar continued to track the incoming missiles. Detection of greater numbers of incoming enemy missiles caused more alarms to sound.

“They’re saturating us,” the TCO said. “They’re making another try for I-70. I hope the tac-lasers are ready.”

As First Rank Wei’s Dong-Fong 15 missile headed for the western opening of the Eisenhower Tunnel, the first PAC-5 missile reached its terminal homing phase. The Ka band active radar seeker in the nose of the PAC-5 acquired the DP-15. Now the altitude control motors fired, precisely aligning the missile on its interception trajectory.

The two missiles closed, and the interceptor flew straight through the DP-15, detonating it and destroying the warhead. The second Patriot attacked the DP-15’s empty rocket body and likewise scored a hit.

The other ballistic missiles kept coming. There were forty-seven of them, for one Dong-Fong 15 had failed to launch. A second ballistic missile blew up during its boost phase due to a malfunction.

American radio chatter increased, helping coordinate the data-linked battery as the PAC-5s launched more interceptors. Tac-lasers at sister sites along I-70 incinerated incoming warheads and empty rocket tubes, creating a Fourth of July spectacle.

“Fifteen enemy missiles still incoming,” a radar operator said tersely.

Tac-lasers swiveled on their mounts. Once more, the generators hummed.

“Eleven missiles incoming,” the radar operator reported.

Behind him, the TCO grit his teeth and put a hand on the operator’s shoulder.

“Nine missiles, sir.”

“Come on,” the TCO said.

The last interceptors stuck. The final beams slashed at the speed of light.

“Hit, sir,” the radar operator said. “One bogey struck us.”

“Just the one hit?”

In the end, five Dong-Fong 15 ballistic warheads struck their targets. Their CEP averaged fifty meters. Three struck nearly perfectly, one at the western end of the Eisenhower Tunnel.

The Eisenhower Tunnel was the longest mountain tunnel in the world. The explosion caused a cave-in and did massive damage.

The second missile struck a bridge in Glenwood Canyon, destroying it. The third destroyed a viaduct in the same canyon. The fourth missile hit outside the normal DP-15 CEP. It did greater damage, though, not less, causing a landslide onto the I-70 and its nearby rail-line.

The attack cut I-70 for the moment. Repairs would take precious time and no more supplies would come through by land until these places were repaired or rebuilt.

ENGLEWOOD, COLORADO

Jake and Goose agreed, the Lieutenant of the Eleventh CDM Battalion was insane. They were down to one hundred and fifty-three effectives and one lieutenant, and half of the men were shell-shocked, with the thousand-yard stare. They badly needed rest.

It didn’t matter to the Lieutenant or to High Command. They needed everyone on the line in order to stem the enemy attack, while the Lieutenant wanted to show President Sims the loyalty of a true American. He meant to stop the Chinese, by himself if he had too.

A few times the past few days, Militiamen had gone crazy, screaming or crying, just wanting the terrible, grinding battle to end. The Lieutenant’s answer had been the same every time: beat them. Fists, rifle-butts, the steel toe of a boot, beat the craziness out of each man and bring him back to normality. The Lieutenant said the men needed the shock to wake them up: that the beating was mercy, not cruelty. The worst part to Jake about the treatment was that it worked. It left the former screamer or crier with black eyes and bruises, but he often became sane again, with the madness exorcised from his heart.

The Lieutenant and his last NCOs—former guards of the Detention Center—were all muscle-bound steroid-users. They were strong to a man and the steroids must have warped their judgment toward hyper-aggression.

Yesterday, the Lieutenant had a flash of inspiration. The Battle of Greater Denver had turned really evil, almost two weeks of constant city fighting. The Chinese used artillery. They used bombers, heavy drones, anything that could bring destruction from above onto the men on the ground. Two Chinese Armies battled their way in with continuing and frightening success.

Flame-throwing light-tanks, armored bulldozers, IFVs, heavy machine gun-pouring Gunhawks, armored infantry and the Eagle commandos seized more of the city every day. The enemy brought tremendous firepower, horrendous bombs, shells, bullets and liquid fire to the fray. It was murderous war, and like rats, the Americans in the rubble and in the ferroconcrete buildings that simply refused to collapse fired their assault rifles and heavy machine guns back. Jake and his fellow Militiamen blasted back with Javelin missiles and used mortar rounds to rain shrapnel on every Chinese advance.

The Lieutenant’s inspiration was to make a blockhouse the enemy couldn’t pass and couldn’t storm. It had to be out of the direct line of fire of heavy vehicles and hard to reach by drone or artillery. The Lieutenant said it would be a death zone and used to slaughter the F-ing Chinese.

The Tenth and Fifteenth PAA Armies fought their way into Greater Denver with meat-grinder tactics, and it was working. But—

“Here,” the Lieutenant said. “Here we stop their advance cold.”

One hundred and fifty-two Militiamen stared at him with incomprehension. Clearly, the Lieutenant was crazy and needed a beating to drive him back to sanity. The trouble was none of them—including Jake—was tough enough to do it.

The chosen blockhouse was of ferroconcrete construction, of course. It was three stories tall and had old ornate merlons on top like an ancient castle. It stood on the corner of two cross-streets. Larger, taller buildings to the east blocked Chinese line of sight. Earlier bomb raids had filled most of the streets with rubble. Even better, inside the building was a big opening into the sewage system underground.

The U.S. Army 17th Infantry Division held their right flank. The 22nd Infantry Division was to the left. Like everyone else here, both divisions had taken heavy losses, but the surviving soldiers still had some fight left.

“We’re going to anchor the entire line right here,” the Lieutenant said. “This blockhouse is going to be the grave marker for ten thousand Chinese. This I swear.”

It meant backbreaking work for Jake, for everybody of the Eleventh CDMB. They circled the ferroconcrete blockhouse with razor wire. They used picks and power drills, planting hundreds of mines farther out. They would make it a deathtrap for the enemy. Afterward, they went to work inside. Jake swung a pick until his back muscles quivered. They made holes in every floor and on the sides as firing loops.

“If the Chinese break through onto one floor,” the Lieutenant told them, “we’ll drive them back out from the others. We’re not leaving this place until we kill ten thousand Chinese.”

Days of endless fighting before this, dying and retreating, had done something to the men. They were sick of losing, of going backward. They didn’t want to die, but they didn’t want to lose either. The Chinese had sealed the back door with ballistic missiles. I-70 was effectively gone for them. Air transports brought ammo and food, but never enough. Greater Denver was a freaking grave—theirs. Now the Lieutenant with his fevered eyes gave them hope to do it to the Chinese, to fight back, augmented with bitter hatred.

Jake grumbled that night to Goose. “I don’t get it.”

Goose sat against a wall, staring off into space.

“Do you hear me?” Jake asked.

“You don’t get it,” Goose mumbled. “Yeah. I heard.”

“Has the Lieutenant ever treated me fairly?” Jake asked.

Goose slowly shook his head.

“So how come the man’s insanity has me fired up?”

Goose turned and looked at him. The man’s face had gotten thinner, and there were black marks under his eyes.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “The Lieutenant’s right. It’s time to make a stand and stop the Chinese.”

“We’re going to die tomorrow,” Goose whispered. “This isn’t smart. Shooting and scooting is the way to do it. We’re alive because we pulled out at the right moment every time before this.”

“It’s also giving the enemy our city,” Jake said.

“They’re going to get it anyway.”

Jake stood up. There were others whispering in the gloom. Jake wondered if he was going to have to beat Goose back into awareness. He’d seen the Lieutenant do it. It worked. That was the important thing to remember.