“If we can do this,” Sims said, “—and I most certainly believe we can—if we can do this, we will have destroyed or captured one-half of the Chinese invasion force. That will cripple the enemy and swiftly bring about his total destruction. As a matter of fact, it will do so before the devious Germans can change their minds and decide to invade our respective countries from Quebec.”
The President reached inside the podium, picking up a glass of water. He drank and set the glass down. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have assembled Army Group Washington with great secrecy and care. As Marshal Liang concentrates on completing the subjection of Greater Denver and attempts to batter into Cheyenne, you will be the tornado that howls down on his head. We’ve waited a long time for this: I mean the turning of the tide of war.”
President Sims paused, studying the audience. “Let me speak very frankly for a moment. Everything depends on your success. If you fail, you might be the last U.S. Army to attack anywhere. We have to knock out the Chinese now, in a blitz of several weeks. You have the means. Hopefully, we have given you enough numbers. My question, gentlemen, is do you have the will and the drive to kick the Chinese in the teeth and boot him out of our country?”
President Sims waited then, watching expectantly.
General Tom McGraw was the first man onto his feet. “We have the will, Mr. President! We have the drive!” McGraw’s words boomed throughout the auditorium.
Stan found himself on his feet as everyone else stood up.
“Yes, Mr. President,” the chamber full of officers said. “We have the will! We have the drive!”
“Good,” Sims said. “It’s good to hear your heart. We have much to do before we unleash Operation Saturn. Therefore, I will give the microphone to General McGraw as he explains the coming attack in greater detail.”
Stan grinned. They were going to attack. They’d saved the Behemoths for the most important battle yet. He was going to get a chance to reach his son.
Is Jake still alive in Denver? Boy, you’d better have stayed alive. You—
Colonel Higgins pushed the thought aside. He had to concentrate. He had to listen to McGraw. If his boy still lived, this drive was going to save him.
Nothing is going to stand in my way—nothing!
REAR EDGE OF THE BATTLE AREA, NEBRASKA
It was the second day of the offensive against the SAF formations across the Platte River Line. The particular South American Federation soldiers around here were Venezuelans, junior partners with the dominant Brazilians.
Master Sergeant Paul Kavanagh, Romo and Sergeant Kline lay on a low, icy hilltop well behind the main enemy defense.
Paul wore cold-weather gear, as did his two companions. The gear was camouflaged white, and included a helmet with a special HUD visor allowing night vision and binocular sight. The rest was composed of body armor and an internal heater. It allowed him to lay on snow or ice for hours without freezing.
It was nearly dawn in this winter netherworld. Temperatures fell far below freezing and it was only supposed to get worse. It reminded Paul of Alaska and his trek across the Arctic ice. He wondered what had ever happened to John Red Cloud.
Paul shook his head. He needed to focus on the present. With this visor, he didn’t need binoculars, because with the proper move of his chin, he switched the HUD’s range-sight.
To the north, giant U.S. artillery tubes thundered. They created mighty flashes of light that reflected off the low clouds. Paul heard the accompanying booms much later. Those guns were miles away. The barrage was unending, and the artillery rained many varieties of munitions on the shocked Venezuelans.
“They don’t have these kinds of fireworks in Caracas,” Romo said.
“I guess not,” Paul said.
They were back to their old game of LRS—Long Range Surveillance. Instead of cross-country motorcycles, now they had snowmobiles. That reminded Paul of Alaska, too. He remembered the Green Berets on their snowmobiles, the ones from the submarine that had popped up out of the ice. What had ever happened to them? It was strange he’d never run across them in SOCOM. He’d have to ask General Ochoa about that. Not that Ochoa spoke to him much anymore, not since the little run-in with Colonel Valdez.
“Look,” Romo said. “I see movement.”
“Where?” asked Kline. He was the new guy.
“Six-three-six,” Romo said.
Out of the corner of his eye, Paul noticed Kline shift his helmet.