faster than they could turn around to swarm him with materiel.
It was the test of a lifetime.
“Are you ready, Professor?” Jose called up.
Stan scanned the snow. One hump showed a branch poking out: a small bush of some sort. He glanced around at the ten tanks. Then he darted down into the Behemoth, with a bang, closing the hatch behind him.
PUEBLO, COLORADO
The inside of a former Wells Fargo bank bustled with activity. Headquarters staff hurried back and forth, while others watched on screens. In the center of all the hushed speech and clicking shoes was the main situational map. Marshal Liang with his Chief of Staff studied the computer images.
“The Americans are putting up much stiffer resistance than expected,” Ping said.
Liang couldn’t believe this. Army Group C seemed to have hit the Great Wall of Second Tank Army. The Jefferson tanks darted forward against the T-66s as if the American commander didn’t care about losses. For the first time in battle, the Americans were living up to their legendary image of vast expenditures of firepower. Missiles in abundance, artillery shells like a downpour and massed tank cannons roaring as if they were ancient dragons roused from sleep hit his force.
In stunned silence, Liang watched the computer map. The Second Tank Army chewed through his hastily formed Army Group C. It was like throwing wood into a blazing furnace.
“I’m beginning to believe the Americans have put everything they have against Army Group C,” Ping said.
Liang’s eyes blurred red from having studied hundreds of different Intelligence reports. He recalled one strange paper that spoke about vast dummy emplacements to the north of Colorado Springs. Other reports had impressed Liang with the American ability to erect a defensive line in days. Had the Americans been so bold as to use everything against one side of his assault?
The enemy had the interior position. He could shift from side to side. Was the strange report correct whose writer had insisted little stood against the Tenth and Fifteenth Armies?
“We must light a fire under Army Group A,” Liang said, speaking as if coming out of a deep sleep.
A man ran to Chief of Staff Ping and handed him a note. Ping read it and looked up.
“What is it?” Liang asked with a sick feeling in his stomach.
“The Behemoths, sir,” Ping said. “We’ve finally found out where they’re hidden.”
“Where?” asked Liang. “Put it on the map.”
Ping adjusted a set of controls. Red images appeared to the east of 5th Division, the easternmost formation of Tenth Army.
“The Behemoths are flanking us,” Liang said. “They’ve put themselves badly out of position.”
“Uh, sir,” Ping said. “The Behemoths aren’t just flanking. They’re attacking.”
Liang scowled. “We need better reconnaissance. I don’t care what it costs in our drone reserve. Get me better images of the Tank Army’s northern edge.” He picked up a phone. With a deeper scowl, Liang turned to one of the communications people. “Put me through to General Xi.”
General Xi commanded Tenth Army of Army Group A.
“It’s time to light a fire under him,” Liang muttered. “They’re moving much too slowly against the Americans.”
FORWARD EDGE OF THE BATTLE AREA, COLORADO
Like a thunderclap from Heaven, Stan Higgins and his ten Behemoths poured penetrators into 5th Division of the PAA Tenth Army.
Stan rocked forward in his commander’s seat. The engine revved with power and yet another surge sent a penetrator screaming at the helpless enemy.
The ten super-tanks charged across the snowscape at speed. It put the magnetic suspension to the test. Behind the ten Behemoths followed specially-built battlewagons.
Stan had already called one halt to resupply. Each Behemoth had its own battlewagon and team of experts. They moved with the speed of NASCAR specialists, rushing fuel hoses to the Behemoths and carting extra penetrators and buffers through the large back ports.
So long as each cannon worked, Stan planned to use them against the enemy and maintain the assault.
“Enemy incoming!” the tech sergeant shouted.
“I see them,” Stan said, turning to his number three screen. “Artillery shells,” he added.
The tracking AI had already spotted the shells. The ten Behemoths were linked with the Phalanx Defense System. Automated .50 calibers, 30mm auto-cannons and the beehive flechettes spewed counter-fire at the shells, knocking ninety-nine percent of them.
Some always made it through. Probability dictated it. The three hundred ton Behemoth shook as shells slammed into them.
With worried eyes, Stan studied his screens. His tank was okay. …So were the other nine. Damn! One of his battlewagon’s treads had been knocked off. He’d have to leave the supply