Vaughn Heppner: Invasion: China

“We have destroyed your anti-ICBM defenses,” Harold said. “Your country is open to us.”

“Ha!” Hong said. “We have many more defenses that you know nothing about.”

“You, sir, are bluffing, but I don’t blame you. Let us make this simple, Chairman. You invaded the United States of America, and we kicked you out of our country. Now, we invaded you because of your arrogance. If you fail to meet our surrender demands, I personally will give the order that launches our ICBMs. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than annihilating your entire country, if that’s the only way we can get lasting peace.”

As the American spoke, the Leader’s eyes seemed to bug outward farther and farther. “This is an outrage!” Hong shouted.

Director Harold ignored that as he presented his list of demands.

“No!” Hong said, after the director stopped talking. “This is outrageous. If you use your ICBMs on my country, I will unleash a biological terror against your country. I will destroy the American people with flus and whooping coughs.”

The American sat forward. The skin seemed to stretch across his face, and his eyes burned with a fierce emotion.

“You have sealed your fate, Chairman Hong,” Harold said.

Shun Li stood. She shouted, “Leader, may I speak with you!”

Slowly, Chairman Hong turned around, facing her. With his gaze fixated on her, he said, “Tang, draw your gun.”

The Lion Guardsman hesitated. Then he drew his heavy gun, aiming it at Shun Li.

“No!” small Fu Tao said. He pointed his right index finger at Hong. “She has told me about you, the worst rapist of the planet.”

Hong scowled, and he opened his mouth, no doubt to issue another command.

A soft bang sounded, and Fu Tao’s pointing index finger, the tip, blew apart. It startled everyone.

As if the bones had disappeared from Chairman Hong’s body, he slid to the floor. There was a small smoking hole in his forehead.

Tang holstered his weapon and rushed to the Chairman. Kneeling, the Lion Guardsman cradled the Leader’s head. A second later, Tang looked up, “The Chairman is dead.”

Shun Li gulped for air. She struggled to remain in control of herself. Then she walked briskly toward Tang.

She knew what had happened. Months ago, she had convinced Fu Tao to undergo surgery. A doctor had removed the tip of his right index finger. In its place, he put an implant, a one-shot weapon of dubious worth. The idea had been to get Fu Tao beside the Chairman. The little killer had taken a chance and shot now.

Tang looked up at her.

“He would have killed you for what happened with Marshal Kiang,” she said. “Now, if you stand by me, I will give you power.”

“Should we kill her, Tang?” another Lion Guardsman asked.

“No!” Tang said. “She is the only member of the Ruling Committee here. She must act for China and save our country.”

“See that no one leaves,” Shun Li said. “And turn off the techs’ consoles.”

Letting the dead Chairman’s head strike the floor, Tang stood, barking orders. The other Lion Guardsmen obeyed him.

Shun Li stepped up to the wall image, facing the American director. “As you can see,” she said, “the Chairman is dead. I rule China, or I will once my police remove my rivals.”

“Who are you?” Harold asked.

“I am Shun Li.”

“Shun Li the Butcher,” he said with obvious distaste.

That was Hong’s legacy for her. She shrugged inwardly. “I will deal honestly with you,” she said. “I want an end to the war. Can we not come to a better understanding, though? Your conditions—”

“I am firm in my demands,” Harold said, “as I have the upper hand and plan to execute justice now .”

“Very well,” she said. “I can see no other alternative for us. It will take several days for the others to obey my orders, however.”

“You have three days,” Harold said. “If you cannot achieve control by then, our ICBMs will leave their silos and you won’t have anything left to talk about.”

The murder of Chairman Hong onscreen shocked Anna, but not nearly as much as what Director Harold did next.

After the connection with China ended, Max Harold stood up. He buttoned his suit, almost as if he hesitated. Then he raised his head, took a breath and said, “Arrest them for treason.”

Anna had no idea who the director meant. All around the room, Militia guards drew their sidearms. It seemed prearranged, as the guards charged people, lacking all hesitation or restraint.

A Militia guard grunted and folded as Hicks kneed him in the groin. The CIA wet works specialist twisted a different Militiaman’s wrist so a big pistol clunked onto the floor. Then Hicks reached under his coat and drew a small black weapon. He aimed it at Max Harold and fired with suppressed shots.

Harold had quick instincts and reflexes. The man dropped to the floor. The tiny projectiles hit an officer who stood behind the director.

Before Hicks could retarget, Militia pistols discharged. People screamed, many of them crouching and cowering. Anna saw Hicks go down, with several bullet-holes riddling his frame. The small weapon in his hand clattered across the floor.

“Bring it to me,” Harold said, who climbed back to his feet. He straightened his jacket and ran a hand through his hair.

As guards handcuffed Anna and McGraw, handcuffed the guardian majors and Levin, a Militia officer handed Director Harold the CIA weapon.

Harold turned the thing in his hands. “Plastic?” he asked Levin.

Doctor Levin looked on in silence.

Harold pointed the weapon at Levin. “I’ll test it on you then.”

It seemed to take Levin an effort of will. He focused on Harold. “It’s a spring-driven gun, firing biodegradable slivers.”

“Glass slivers?” Harold asked.

Levin shook his head.

Harold’s jaw line hardened, and it seemed he would pull the trigger after all.

“Poison slivers,” Levin whispered.

Director Harold lowered his arm and set the plastic gun on the table. “Quite ingenious,” he said. “It might have worked if you’d used it yourself. Bringing Hicks gave you away. But no matter, justice is served.” He made a shooing motion. “Take them away, but be sure to separate each of them. We’ll have to decide on their punishments on an individual basis of guilt.”

That was the last Anna saw of the director, as her pair of guards spun her toward the door and marched her out of Underground Bunker #5.

The painkiller wore off as Paul guided the lifter across a nighttime wasteland of sand and rocks.

After the firefight with the helicopters, they’d taken the lifter to a hidden area, landed and waited for dark. Once they achieved that, he flew the platoon across land, avoiding populated areas and detouring through Inner Mongolia.

“The pass is fifty miles to the east,” Romo shouted through his open faceplate.

Paul nodded. They saved power talking this way. Without the lifter, all of their suits would have long ago shut down. Each of them had plugged in, reenergizing themselves to thirty percent capacity. That should prove enough.

“Will we make it?” Chavez asked.

“Are you kidding?” Romo asked. “This is Paul Kavanagh you’re talking about. He always wins through.”

“I’ve heard that said about him,” Chavez replied. “But I have also heard that those with him are not so lucky.”

“Good point,” Romo said. “You’d better pray you make it.”

Paul dialed himself another painkiller. He’d taken too many, and he knew it, but he wanted to be lucid for the last leg of the mission. Shortly after swallowing the pill, he turned east, heading for the pass.