Zhu shoved up for what would likely be the last time in his life. He engaged his jetpack and lifted at exactly the right angle. A moment later, an enemy shell obliterated the battle-taxi. It took half his squad with it. They had been too slow in exiting.
From ten meters above the ground, First Rank Zhu flew at the great tanks. Concussions in the air shook him as he closed. More Eagle flyers tumbled from the air.
“Tian?” Zhu radioed. He did not get an answer. Tian must be dead. The astrologer had been wrong. It didn’t matter. Zhu’s eyes shined and he flew at the tanks.
He dropped another few meters. And then he gave his jetpack full thrust. Artillery rained on the tanks. Cruise missiles came down. How could nine tanks stop so much at one time?
Then an explosion knocked a Behemoth tank onto its side.
Zhu shouted wildly, the sound reverberating in his helmet. His heart beat with excitement. He was terrified. He was alive. He snarled and activated the mine strapped to his chest.
“I am First Rank,” he said to himself.
Zhu closed as shrapnel rattled against his armor. The last Eagle flyers with him went down, plowing into the snow. Only First Rank Zhu continued. He had practiced long hours to become the best. He flew, taking another hit that breached his armor so a hole appeared in his stomach and fluids leaked out. He felt his strength oozing from him. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now but the hulk of steel before him.
Zhu Peng, White Tiger First Rank, struck the Behemoth tank. The impact ignited his mine, and it blew a hole into the main compartment, killing the entire crew and destroying the greatest battlefield weapon on either side.
FORWARD EDGE OF THE BATTLE AREA, COLORADO
Stan Higgins reluctantly ordered a retreat. The latest enemy attack had broken through the defensive fire, destroying three Behemoths and four battlewagons.
He had five operational Behemoths left, and one more that could fire defensively. After the latest mass assault, he didn’t believe he had enough firepower to keep the Chinese off balance.
Of the five tanks left, three of the force cannons had lost their fine calibration. They could hit close objects, but not the miles-long distant enemy.
As the Behemoths backed up, retreating at speed as friendly artillery laid down thick, anti-thermal clouds, he judged the flank attack a success, at least while it had lasted.
The Pan-Asian Alliance Tenth Army had ceased to exist as a fighting formation. The Fifteenth had stalled. The new Sleeper mines had done some damage to it. Mainly, however, the Chinese were now out of position and would need time to redeploy.
Already, elements from American Second Tank Army raced for the empty trenches facing what was left of PAA Army Group A. Their encounter with the southern Chinese had been decisive.
Stan retreated, dragging two hulks of Behemoths with him. The others he left on the battlefield.
The remaining super-tanks would need a lot of repair to fix them back up to full efficiency. But it appeared right now that they had more than fulfilled their role as America’s saviors. They had blunted the Chinese breakthrough attempt.
The question remained, though. How was Jake doing? Was his boy still alive?
Stan sat in his commander’s chair, too tired for words.
-13-
Readjustments
GENESSE PARK, COLORADO
Corporal Jake Higgins trudged along I-70. In the distance behind were the ruins of Greater Denver.
The bulk of the Chinese Army had pulled out several days ago. The remnants in the ruins shot at Jake and the others, but it was desultory fire. The danger came from sporadic artillery barrages.
“Incoming!” the Lieutenant shouted.
Jake sprinted off the freeway and hit the snow, hugging the ground. Shells roared overhead and slammed against the Earth. Jake felt the tremors and relaxed. From endless weeks, he knew the shells hadn’t landed near enough to hurt him.
“They’re taking revenge against us,” the Lieutenant said.
Jake looked up. Everyone around them was flat. They waited for more salvos. More didn’t come this time. The Chinese fired here and there at random, seemingly trying to catch soldiers by surprise. It was a petty way to make war, going for more wounded to make life miserable for the Americans. Like the others around him, Jake dragged himself to his feet and continued walking.
After a little while, Jake trudged past freshly killed soldiers. Companions dug graves for them.
“That’s lousy luck,” Goose said.
Jake nodded. After the endless weeks in the city, surviving flame-throwers, grenades, sniper fire, artillery and bombs, and now to die as