Invasion: New York (Invasion America) (19 page)

“Our Javelins against GD hovers…?” Sulu asked. “Begging your pardon, Captain—”

“That’s it. I’ve already decided.”

The short first mate stared at his captain.

Green became thoughtful. His were not just any Javelin missiles, but highly modified ones. Darius knew how GD officers thought. They were arrogant. He’d especially heard about the hover pilots. They were even more arrogant than the usual run of GD personnel. He did not believe the Germans would expect a submersible out here in Lake Ontario. Even better, they would not expect one with teeth, not the kind of teeth he possessed. If they tried to interfere with him, he would pray to Allah, aim the Javelins and send the hovers to the Hell they so richly deserved. In truth, he was more than a little tired of simply sneaking soldiers onto the enemy-held shore. He wanted to hurt the enemy himself.

“We have work to do,” Captain Green said. “So let’s start doing it.”

Sulu Khan studied his captain. “Aye, aye, sir,” the short man finally said. “It will be as you say.”

OTTAWA, ONTARIO

General Mansfeld wanted to pace in front of the battle screen. He understood it now: the reason for the seemingly senseless American frontal assault. He’d trapped powerful American formations in Greater Toronto, digesting them piece by piece. The remainder should have hunkered down, trying to survive for as long as possible.

It had been that way at Stalingrad during WWII. Field Marshal Paulus had tied down large Soviet formations by keeping the German Sixth Army defending for as long as they had. During that time, the entire German Southern Front had desperately sought to plug the rupture caused by Soviet Operation Uranus. What few people realized was that Stalin had attempted to net the entire German Southern Front that winter. The sacrifice of Sixth Army at Stalingrad had helped save the others—at least for another year.

That’s what the Americans in Toronto should have logically attempted. At least, that had been his—Mansfeld’s—belief until a few minutes ago. The American commander in Toronto had been cleverer than he realized. Who would have thought such a thing? Of all Americans, US Marines had a reputation of thinking the most with their balls and the least with their brains, including their generals. It was the nature of the beast. Marines were assault troops. Such combatants needed courage and ferocity above all else.

Yet… Mansfeld tapped the computer console. The Americans had staved off last winter’s defeat through cunning as much as through their fighting abilities. He should have remembered that.

The Marine general had gambled. The man must have initiated the full assault in order to slip elite US soldiers behind GD lines. General Mansfeld shook his head. One could hardly even call that a gamble. Gambles had a greater chance of success. This had been more like the last gasp of a dying man. Yet as galling as it was to admit, the gamble had been the correct thing to do.

A captain marched up and saluted him. The man stank of stale sweat, having been up for twenty-four hours already.

Mansfeld stared at the officer, finally giving him the barest of nods.

“General,” the captain said, “I beg to report that there is no one left alive in the 10th PGB controlling station.”

“Continue,” Mansfeld said.

“It appears that a squad of American commandos surprised them, sir. The lieutenant in charge of the investigation reports missing equipment.”

Mansfeld pressed his lips together. What would he do if he were the American commandos? Hmm, of course: they would do the obvious. “Did the commandos head for the water?”

The captain appeared surprised. “Yes, sir, that is correct. How did you know, sir?”

“You have ordered jets and hovercraft to sweep the lake?”

The captain bobbed his head, coughing discreetly. “Begging your pardon, sir, but you have given strict orders about how our hovers are supposed to and not supposed to use the lake.”

Mansfeld had indeed given such instructions. He didn’t want to give away the second invasion route too soon. If the Americans realized the extent of the GD amphibious capabilities…they might harden the Lake Ontario New York shoreline defenses. Hmm… The captain had a point. This officer thought things through.

“Use five Galahads,” Mansfeld said, “and three UAVs. That should be sufficient.”

“How far into Lake Ontario do you want to them to search, sir?”

“Either they kill the commandos—all of them,” Mansfeld said. “Or I give the Americans leave to kill them.”

“Sir?” the captain asked.

“This is a priority mission, Captain. They are not to try, but to do. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the captain said.

“Make sure you put a good hovercraft team on this. I want to see the bodies, the commandos. And I want to see what sort of information they were able to find.”

“Yes, sir,” the captain said.

“You will keep me informed.”

The captain saluted and hurried away.

Mansfeld put his hands behind his back and peered at the battle screen. His forces pounded the shrinking Toronto Pocket. It should be a matter of days now. The trapped Americans had expended themselves last night. Once he dug them out of there, the drive to Detroit would commence in full fury.

LAKE ONTARIO

Paul paddled a small rubber dinghy over choppy water. Romo knelt beside him so their left and right thighs touched and his friend likewise paddled. The two LRSU men sweated in the brisk air. Behind them on the horizon, Toronto was a disappearing smudge.

Because of searching enemy helos earlier, they had gotten a late start. Finally, the helos had either touched down or swept along the shorelines in either direction. Paul and Romo had launched the dinghy then and paddled as swiftly as they could.

The captive lay on his belly, with his hands tied behind his back. He lay there wide-eyed, listening to everything that went on around him. They’d bagged the equipment in plastic, wrapping each piece and taping them tightly. Included among their booty were two GD one-man portable antiair missiles. Each launch tube and missile weighed fifty pounds, adding another hundred to the small craft.

Paul’s shoulders ached and the air burned down his throat. Every once in a while he flung his head to the side in order to toss sweat outward instead of letting it trickle into his eyes.

“Take five,” a winded Kavanagh said.

Both men set down their paddles, and the dinghy bobbed in the water.

The five Great Lakes combined to make the largest fresh body of water in the world. Together, they contained twenty-one percent of the world’s surface fresh water. The total surface area was 94,250 square miles, and it made up 10,500 miles of shoreline. That was roughly half of the Earth’s equator. Many Americans referred to the Great Lakes shoreline as the North Coast or as the Third Coast.

Although he just wanted to sit and recoup, Paul dug into his kit and chewed on another two aspirins. He needed these more often these days for too many aches and pains. He thought of aspirin as lubricants for his joints. They helped him keep going and they helped him push injured muscles. He grimaced to himself. He had two pieces of advice to anyone who wanted to be a LRSU man or who wanted to join Marine Recon. Those two pieces were 1) don’t ever get injured and 2) don’t get old. If a person followed just those two rules, he should do well in the service.

Romo glanced nervously over the side of the dinghy and into the green water. He shuddered and quickly looked away. “Drop me from the sky,” he muttered, “no problem. Send me through minefields or behind enemy lines, who cares? But ask me to float above miles of water… My friend, this is a terrible thing we’re doing.”

“It isn’t miles,” Paul said.

“It is enough to drown in.”

“Yeah,” Paul said. “I guess it is that.”

Romo let go of his paddle, put the palms of his hands on his thighs and looked up into the brightening sky. The sun had been climbing now for fifteen minutes. If felt as if the world woke up from yet another long night.

“We will die out here,” the Free Mexico assassin said.

“It’s possible,” Paul admitted.

Romo glanced at him. “It’s not comfort hearing that.”

“It’s possible
you
could die out here,” Paul said. “But me on the other hand, I have an oath to keep and therefore I’m off limits.”

“An oath to your wife?” Romo asked.

“Si,” Paul said, and he let a grin slide onto his face. He wished Romo would relax. The man’s nervousness was making him edgy. The slap of waves against the dinghy reminded him of better times. The sound of water dripping off his oars relaxed him.

The assassin went back to staring at the sky. He features became leaden, almost blank. Paul wondered what was wrong now. Then Romo began to speak in a low, flat voice:

“I had a woman once.”

Paul had been about ready to say that their rest time was over; time to paddle again. But there was something in his blood brother’s voice that stopped him.

“My woman was beautiful,” Romo said. Almost unconsciously, it seemed, the Mexican Apache lifted his hands and made wavy curves in the air to show a woman’s contours. “I loved her. I went to see her every weekend, at least. That was before I joined Colonel Valdez. We would go to the city and party, dancing, laughing and seeing the shows. There were casinos…” Romo turned to Paul. “She had luck in her breath. I know you’ll laugh at that, but it was true. Whenever she blew on the dice, I won. Later…” Romo stared out over the lake.

“What happened?” Paul asked.

“What always happens?”

“You marry the woman and live happily ever after.”

“I’m not Paul Kavanagh,” Romo said. “I was just a stupid Army soldier in love with the wrong kind of woman. She loved money, and although I took bribes and skimmed from my colonel, I did not have enough to satisfy her. No, my friend, she found a cartel gunman who gave her jewelry, furs and fancy meals. She cheated behind my back. I must have known, but I didn’t want to know. Do you know what I mean?”

“Sure,” Paul said.

Romo sighed. “I loved her like you couldn’t believe. I slipped away sometimes and risked going AWOL. But I had money like I said. I knew whom to bribe in order to sell armored cars, machine guns—you name it. One night, I was going to surprise her. I drove two hundred miles to the city and went to her favorite bar. There, as I waited in the shadows, I saw her on the arms of the cartel gunman. They laughed, and he would take her chin just so, turn her head and kiss her on the lips. I watched, and I became enraged with jealousy. Instead of marching to her and confronting them, I waited. Something changed in me that night. Something shriveled in my heart and began…I don’t know.”

“What happened?” Paul asked.

“I followed them through the city. It was easy. First, I went to my car and took my gun. I waited until they went to a hotel room and I crept under a window outside their room. How stupid is that? I heard them, of course. What had I been expecting? The two made love. You have no idea how much I loved her, how much I waited each day, longing to touch her silky skin.”

Romo shook his head. “I went crazy. How do you say it? I lost my mind. In the end, I pulled out my gun, kicked in the door and shot the cartel man in the chest. She screamed, and I aimed my gun at her. I don’t know. I didn’t really plan it. I wanted to scare her so badly, and I was yelling. The next thing I knew I heard a boom. It was the loudest sound of my life. I had shot her in the throat. It was an accident. I hadn’t meant to. But, but, I think the crazy side of me had wanted to teach her a lesson she would never forget. It was I who never forgot.”

As the lake’s waves bobbed the dinghy, Romo glanced at Paul.

Kavanagh had half-expected tears in his friend’s eyes. Instead, the assassin’s eyes were bone dry, although there was a far-off look to them.

“I quit the Army,” Romo said. “How could I go back? I had killed the woman I loved. It stained me. It changed me. In the years to come, I became a contract killer. Then the civil war grew hot and the Chinese filled up Mexico. I know one thing, my friend. I have one trade, one single ability over any other. I can kill because I have a black heart. Sometimes I think about it, but I can never go back to being the man I was and to being a man who can love again.”

Paul had no idea what to say, so he remained silent.

“You have a rare gift in your wife and son,” Romo said quietly.

Paul nodded. He agreed with that. He’d fought for them and struggled hard, and he would die for them if he had to.

“Now out here on the lake I wonder if my sins have finally caught up with me,” Romo said. “I am floating above miles of seawater and—”

Paul turned because he heard a noise. Likely, Romo heard it too, because the assassin fell silent. The sound was unmistakable: the heavy fans of distant GD hovercraft.

“There,” Romo said, pointing back toward the smudge of Toronto. “They’ve found us. I was right. My sins have finally caught up with me. I am sorry you had to be here when it happened.”

Paul ground his teeth together, and he picked up his oar. “Start paddling.”

“Why?” Romo asked, almost in a listless voice. “We have no chance.”

“Because we don’t know if they’ve spotted us or not yet, you idiot,” Paul said. “We don’t have any electronic signatures for them to home in on. They just have their eyes and we’re extremely low on the water. Now start paddling.”