Invasion: New York (Invasion America) by Vaughn Heppner

momma’s boys and couldn’t stand up to a bareknuckle brawl.”
    “They don’t need to,” a colonel said.
    Zelazny pointed a dirty finger at the colonel. “That’s where you’re wrong, Brad. Maybe we could break out of here if we poured everything into one spot. Well, I don’t mean that. The Krauts are smart. They always have been at war. I’ll tell you want I suspect. They’ve left one special weak spot for us. The old Mongols of Genghis Khan used to do that. The Mongols never totally surrounded a foe, but gave him a gauntlet to freedom. Once those beaten foes rode for and through the gauntlet, the Mongol horse-archers poured arrows by the tens of thousands, slaughtering the running enemy.”
    Zelazny eyed the colonels. “I think that’s what the Germans have done here. We could maybe break a small corridor open, but we sure as Hell couldn’t all slither through. We’d lose all our heavy equipment and die by the tens of thousands. No. I don’t plan on running, and I’m not just going to stay and take it.” He scratched at the eye patch. “I don’t like the idea of sitting in these rat holes waiting for Krauts and Frogs to come and collect us.”
    Colonels nodded.
    “I’ve been done some hard thinking,” Zelazny said. “I’ve tried to dredge up some advantage we have over the GD.”
    “They have better tanks, better planes, better—”
    “Stow it, Tom,” Zelazny said. “I don’t want to hear that right now. I’m talking about our strengths, not theirs.”
    A thin colonel with terribly red eyes nodded.
    Zelazny cleared his throat, and he pointed his dirty finger again. This time he pointed at Paul Kavanagh.
    Colonels made rustling noises as they turned to look at Paul.
    Realizing he was the object of scrutiny, Paul sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up.
    “Do you mean we’re supposed to look at that Marine?” a colonel asked.
    “He’s Marine Recon, an LRSU man,” Zelazny said. “We have a good number of his kind here. I don’t just mean recon specialists, but elite soldiers used to working alone and often behind enemy lines.”
    “I don’t get it,” the red-eyed colonel said. “Are you saying they can help us break out of Toronto?”
    “I already told you,” Zelazny said. “There is no breaking out for us.”
    “Is that right?” a small Canadian colonel asked Paul. As he spoke, the man’s left cheek twitched. It happened twice. “You couldn’t slip away?”
    Paul glanced at Zelazny.
    “Go on, son,” Zelazny said. “Tell him what you believe. I’m interested in hearing it too.”
    “Sir,” Paul said. He paused, thinking about it. Then he decided to speak his mind. “I could slip away. Don’t know if I could take many men with me. It wouldn’t be like retreating with conventional troops. Regular soldiers wouldn’t know what to do. But I and a few others could get back to our lines easy enough. Is that what you’re thinking, sir?”
    “No,” Zelazny said, with a scowl.
    Paul shrugged. He hadn’t thought so, but he’d hoped for a second. He didn’t much like the idea of dying here. That went against the oath.
    The colonels stared back at Len Zelazny. They looked confused, but he had their attention.
    “The Krauts are invading our country,” Zelazny said, “and the Japanese are getting their shot at us again as they soldier under the Chinese. This is a replay of World War II, but with America on the receiving end. During the War in the Pacific, the Japanese faced elimination like this on more than one occasion. The officers usually sharpened their samurai swords and led their men in banzai charges against their foes.”
    “I’ve read about those,” the red-eyed colonel said. “They were suicide charges against Marines and U.S. Army soldiers. Our boys back then cut them down. The Japanese would have lasted longer defending. I did read it worked sometimes against the Chinese of that era.”
    “That’s right,” Zelazny said.
    “You’re saying it’s