Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5) by Vaughn Heppner Page A

number five?” the captain asked in his slow drawl.
    “ Starting from the right, sir?” Jake asked.
    “Of course from the right, son,” the captain said. “We’ve been over that.”
    “Yes, sir,” Jake said, as his neck prickled with embarrassment.
    “I know you’re the colonel’s son …”
    Jake swallowed. Colonel Higgins didn’t run this regiment. His dad attacked farther to the east. Colonel Nelson ran the show for the Sixth Behemoth Regiment. But Jake knew the captain meant his dad.
    Through the screen, the captain’s eyes bored into Jake. “You done fine so far, son. You keep paying attention, hear?”
    “Yes, sir,” Jake said.
    “Number five laser tank,” the captain said. “That one’s yours. I want it dead before it damages anyone else.”
    “Yes, sir,” Jake said. He wanted to assure the captain that everything would be all right. But he knew the captain hated boasting. Doing counted with this man, not saying.
    “This is where we earn our money,” the captain said. “If we smash them, Oklahoma City is going burn with enemy dead.” The captain squinted. “If we burn Oklahoma City, we might end up smashing the entire front. It’s time to fry us some laser tanks. Good hunting, Higgins.”
    “Yes, sir,” Jake said. “Good hunting to you, too.”
     
    TEN MILES NORTHWEST OF OKLAHOMA CITY
     
    First Rank Lon Lu of MC ABM #5 sat at his controls. He was the engine tech in charge of the magnetic-propulsion turbine. Without the great generating plant, the laser cannon would be useless.
    Lon Lu was small, dark-haired and studiously serious. He had arrived from China, from a suburb of Beijing, a little over two months ago. He should have gone to Wei Mining in northern Manchuria, but the Army had drafted him for service in this land of savage barbarians. The stories coming from America had frightened many of the men his age in China. A few better-connected or richer souls had already escaped possible conscription by finding office jobs in Korea or Indonesia. Lon Lu hadn’t been so lucky.
    Still, this was exciting technology, and the commander of the MC ABM #5 implicitly trusted him and his judgment—Lon received honor and accompanying letters to his mother and father because of it.
    First Rank Lon Lu took pride in his work. Their MPT — magnetic propulsion turbine—was the quietest in the brigade, and their cannon continually fired the hottest beam. The only troubling thing so far about the assignment was American women.
    Lon was fiercely Han centric, proud of Greater China and xenophobic of foreigners to a high although rather ordinary degree for someone from Beijing. He planned to marry a Chinese woman when he received a marriage permit from the Ministry of Matrimony. His honors and letters here would greatly aid in that regard.
    The trouble with American women was their ready availability in Oklahoma City. China had a gross gender imbalance with too few women. It came from the one-child-per-family policy. Many more girls than boys were aborted because a high percentage of parents desired the family name to continue and wanted a son.
    “Warm the turbine,” the commander said from his chair.
    This was the main compartment to the three-trailer vehicle—that number didn’t include the giant tractor to move them. Driving the vehicle took careful preparation and route coordination. Mobility was a relative term. They could move, but weren’t mobile like a Behemoth tank.
    Lon sat at the engine section, and he reached up and began to tap controls. He watched gauges and heat levels, and like a master pianist, he made his instrument purr with excellence.
    Others worked the laser coils, the bin-washers and coolant radiator, while officers matched UAV-gathered intelligence with the cannon’s precise elevation.
    Lon Lu sat alertly even though his crotch itched and stung. Han were superior to North American barbarians. The obviousness of the statement made it a truism. Lon Lu meant to marry a proper