Vaughn Heppner: Invasion: China

“She has a point,” the admiral at the end of the table said.

The old marshal studied the admiral. So did Shun Li. The admiral appeared to have a false left eye.

Finally, the marshal told her, “Let the five of us here talk together. If you could go and wait in your car…”

Without another word, Shun Li walked back to the car. Tang strode ahead, opening the door for her. She slid in, and then she watched the officers at the table debate.

It took a half hour. Finally, they summoned her back. She returned, but with just Fu Tao this time.

The old marshal regarded her. “We accept your premise. We will join your Ruling Committee. I will be the Army Minister and Admiral Ling will be the Navy Minister.”

“Good,” she said. “Will you order the soldiers to surrender to the Americans?”

“I won’t,” the marshal said. “You will. That order will stain your name with infamy, not ours. But… we will enforce the order and make sure it is done. We are taking the long view.”

The breath went out of Shun Li. Her knees almost buckled, which would have pitched her onto her face. Locking her knees into place, she said, “We don’t have much time.”

“I know. So let us begin planning right here.”

“Bring me a chair,” she said.

The marshal snapped his fingers. A soldier went running.

Soon, Shun Li sat down across from the officers, and they worked out the surrender schedule to offer the Americans.

Chairman Shun Li of China gave the orders and the Pan-Asian Alliance military implemented them. Five days after the Marines destroyed the PBW stations in China, the mass Sino surrender in Mexico began on 18 August 2042.

Director Harold and Militia General Williamson walked alone in the White House Rose Garden.

“I hope I’m not out of line, sir,” Williamson said. “I’ve taken an informal poll among the others. They’re worried about your decision to visit Manchuria.”

Harold grunted. He’d been waiting for something like this.

He’d moved swiftly to consolidate his position of authority. Dr. Levin, Tom McGraw and Anna Chen all waited in cells in the Colorado Detention Center. The President slumbered peacefully in his drugged coma. Soon, now, he would liquidate them quietly. Well, he could rid himself of Levin and Chen easily enough. McGraw was another matter. He’d have to drum up a charge against the general, or so he had thought at first. McGraw was a military hero… That had been the genius of the Manchurian Plan.

Harold saw it clearly. To cement his power, he must assume the mantle of military hero. Naturally, he couldn’t accept battlefield laurels. What he could do was build the image of military architect, the genius who had given America this stupendous victory. In order to do that, he needed some event to stick in the average person’s mind. The raising of the flag at Iwo Jima was such an image. The word, “Nuts!” spoken at Bastogne during the Battle of the Bulge was another wonderful myth. So was the image of General MacArthur accepting the surrender of the top-hat Japanese delegates on the battleship Missouri in Tokyo Harbor at the end of WWII.

This time, Harold would accept the surrender of China’s Chairman, the Butcher herself, Shun Li. He would make it a huge affair, and he would stage the perfect photo op that would go down in history. Through that image, he would build the legend that his wisdom and decisions gave America the tough defense against the world that eventually led to the defeat of China.

It isn’t a surprise that a lesser man like Williamson can’t see what must be done. He is an accountant that counts pennies. I see the big picture .

“Sir,” General Williamson said. “Manchuria will be swarming with enemy commandos.”

“I doubt that,” Harold said. “The Chinese know what will happen to their country if they murder me.”

“I don’t know if they all know, sir.”

“While I realize they do,” Harold said.

Williamson bobbed his head. “What about the Expeditionary Force, sir? It’s composed of malcontents. They might try to harm you. Remember what happened to President Lincoln at the end of the Civil War.”

“Lincoln didn’t have you, General,” Harold said, as he rubbed his nose. He smelled the man’s faint body odor and didn’t appreciate that. “I’m putting you in charge of my security. You will take as many Militia personnel as you need. Of course, we’ll have to have a few Army people in the photo ops. But I will only do this to your security specifications.”

“Sir, this is a great honor and responsibility.”

“Do you believe you’re up to it?”

Williamson straightened his long torso. “As a matter of fact, sir, I do.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. I despise false modesty. If a man can do a thing, and do it well, he shouldn’t be shy saying so.”

“When will the event take place, sir?”

“In seven days,” Harold said.

“That’s soon, sir.”

“Yes,” Harold said. “It’s by design. I’m not giving anyone time to plan. In and out, and then we can begin rebuilding this country along rational lines.”

“Yes, sir, Director,” Williamson said. “It will be as you say.”

General Stan “Professor” Higgins stood with other high-ranking officers outside the Mao Museum. The place was a five-story building of perfect, old-style Communist architecture. In other worlds, it was a dull block of heavy building.

The museum stood on the outskirts of Harbin. Low hills to the north protected the place from Siberian winds in winter. Militia armored cars sat on those hills today, with prowling teams of security men. In fact, Militia security details mingled among them, lined the roads everywhere and had checked and rechecked each Army officers on at least five different occasions.

Stan believed he understood Director Harold’s game. The man tried to act like a Caesar, the savior on a white horse. Stan had read the book of Revelation before. In it, the Savior rode a white horse called Faithful and True. Harold wasn’t being truthful nor did the Professor believe the director had been faithful. McGraw had been imprisoned, along with Levin of the CIA.

Stan didn’t know how truthful the assassination attempt against Director Harold had been. Had the CIA actually tried to kill the man? Possibly, but now that the war was over, winding down, more like, now the purges in America would begin.

Harold wants to consolidate power. He wants to rule America as a dictator, as a conquering Caesar. You should have been on the battlefield with us then .

Stan exhaled and his heart beat rapidly. He waited behind the Militia guards. This was a Hollywood red carpet job. When Harold showed up, the Army officers along the sides were supposed to cheer and wave as the director marched into the building to accept the Chairman’s official surrender.

Which is exactly what we’ll do , Stan thought. We’ll cheer, but we’ll do it more than you expected, at least I hope you’re not ready for this .

He’d told himself twenty times already to relax, but Stan couldn’t help the jitters that worked through him. He shuffled his feet. No doubt, Militia profilers watched him and the others ready to act. The hidden profilers must surely understand how nervous he was.

I’ve never been part of a conspiracy before .

Stan exhaled once more, and he forced himself to stand still, to quit fidgeting.

Finally, maybe ten minutes later, a heavy black car rolled to a stop at the curb sixty feet away.

Stan pushed up to his tiptoes to look over a big Militiaman’s shoulders. He recognized Director Harold getting out of the car. The man stood beside Militia General Williamson. With Williamson and two other security men in the lead, the group headed for the museum entrance.