Jeffersons—the 10th and 21st Armored Divisions—are spread out in a wide arc before the Behemoths. They’re the screen, sir. If the enemy uses T-66s or other armor, the Jeffersons are to engage and destroy them. If it’s Chinese missiles or air attacks, the Jeffersons will link their targeting computers and provide a wall of counter-missile or anti-air fire.”
“And if the enemy laser tanks take out the Jeffersons?” Sims asked.
“It’s what I hope they try to do, sir,” McGraw said. “That will give me time to study their capabilities.”
“All while they’re destroying our newest main battle tanks,” Sims said, angrily.
“Yes sir, that’s exactly right.”
“You’re a hard-hearted man, General.”
McGraw’s face tightened. “No more than you are, Mr. President.”
Anna glanced sharply at David Sims. Something dark passed before the President’s face. He didn’t like the comment, but he let it pass.
“When do you fire the ballistic missiles?” the President asked.
“Right after the laser tanks open fire. I want to know exactly where those Chinese MC ABMs are before we launch the missiles. Sir, those heavy stations are slow or practically immobile in a tactical sense. As important, through radar and thermal imaging our AIs will be able to track the beams directly to their sources. I consider that a flaw in the Chinese weapon system.”
“I hope you’re right, General.”
“So do I, Mr. President. I know you know the old saying. No plan of battle survives contact with the enemy. Today we’re going to—”
McGraw turned away as someone spoke to him urgently. A moment later, he faced the screen. “I’m sorry, Mr. President, but if you’ll excuse me.”
“Get to work, General. Kick the Chinese in the teeth.”
“Roger that, Mr. President.”
AURORA, COLORADO
Commander Bao of MC ABM #3 nervously sat in his command chair. The three sections of the laser vehicle sat on a hill in the outskirts of shattered Aurora. The city belonged to Greater Denver and was the closest to I-70 heading out onto the Great Plains.
From here, the laser vehicle had an excellent line of sight. The other MC ABMs were also in position. Already, Bao watched inflowing data from high-flying UAVs.
Smaller American tanks were between him and the approaching Behemoths. Marshal Liang had a surprise for those tanks, but that would take time to make it happen.
Bao swallowed and desperately tried not to think about his stomach. He had a carton of milk in his chair compartment, but he hadn’t opened it yet. He was so hungry. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday. He couldn’t afford to eat now. The combination made his mind a little fuzzy, but he would force such fuzziness away through willpower.
His mother had often told him he had a strong intellect, a strong will. Now was the time to use it. China watched him today. Marshal Liang had let the Mobile Canopy commanders know that Chairman Hong personally monitored the situation.
For such a time as this I was born, Bao told himself. Today, the giants fight for world supremacy.
The crew awaited his word. Each man sat at his station. Techs had replaced the worn lasers coils. New coolant gurgled in the bin-washers. Bao had carefully inspected the vehicle last night, all the interchanges and the hookups. The six hundred ton tier-system rested in a level position. If needed, the tractor would pull them behind the hill. Such an action would take time, and once they moved, it would take hours to recalibrate. The key was to save the MC ABM if the American Behemoths could do the impossible and outrange the lasers.
“The enemy tanks, Commander—”
“I see it,” Bao said, with an edge to his voice. His ulcer hurt. He was hungry and feeling woozy, but he was still in charge of the MC ABM #3.
Sitting in his chair, surrounded by his screens, Bao watched data from high-flying UAVs. The great lumbering Behemoths rolled over the last blocking ridge. Bao tapped a console. The first Behemoth was a little over forty-one kilometers away.
“Prepare for firing,” Bao said, as he put his headphones/mufflers over his ears. The left one was sore and he winced from the hard contact.
Everyone else put on headphones, too.
“Engage the turbine,” Bao said.
The MPT whined into life, and the command compartment shook. Bao, along with the entire crew, winced at the howl. HQ had ordered the MC ABM #3 into action too many times these past weeks. It had fired far too often. Bao had replaced many worn components, but not all of them. Liang would have been wiser to save the laser vehicles for this