Invasion: New York (Invasion America) (8 page)

“This is the critical point,” Mansfeld said, finishing his strategic overview. “The Chinese lack of offensive punch this year gives us a limited window of opportunity.”

Kleist laughed as a wolf might if watching a sick deer struggle through a snow bank. There was something shiny about his eyes, something almost lustful. “I’d expected to hear something stunning, General. Instead, you point to what infuriates me the most. Compared to last year, the Chinese are ailing. But they rearm quickly. By 2041, they will be ready again. The trouble is that because of Chinese weakness this year, the Americans can peel off enough forces to hem us in Quebec. They already have peeled off enough troops. We won’t be ready now until 2041. That invalidates our neutrality ploy, giving us nothing extra. You told me four months ago—”

“Excellency,” Mansfeld said. “If you would let me continue to show—”

“Bah,” Kleist said. “I’ve heard enough.”

Mansfeld knew a moment of doubt. Could he have miscalculated Kleist’s intelligence? He would have to speak fast.

“Excellency,” Mansfeld said, “Chinese weakness this summer will keep them from exploiting our coming victories
this year
.”

“Victories…?” Wessel muttered. “You’re mad to think we can achieve victories this year.”

“Not so,” Mansfeld said. “It isn’t madness but my ability to see what others cannot. That frightens the pedestrians among you.” He pointed to himself. “To those like me who see the possibilities, this is an exciting time.” As he spoke the last words, he stared at Kleist, challenging him with his eyes.

Wheels seemed to turn in the Chancellor’s mind. A crafty look stamped his features. “Tell me more about this limited window of opportunity?”

“Yes Excellency,” Mansfeld said. “Numbers and a strong defensive position have allowed the Chinese and Brazilians to entrench in safety. Meanwhile, new weapon systems make the long journey from mainland Asian factories, across the Pacific, through Northern Mexico and to the waiting soldiers. Given Asian production and shipping, this will bring their armies to offensive capabilities within a year.”

“I understand that,” Kleist said. “This—”

“Forgive me for interrupting you, Excellency,” Mansfeld said. “I will be brief and to the point. Before we speak about Quebec and our expeditionary force, we should first examine the American-Canadian situation.”

With the diamond of his wedding ring, Kleist stroked his chin. “Yes, continue.”

Mansfeld tapped the keyboard, changing the holographic chart. “Here is a quick rundown of American-Canadian military resources at present…” He proceeded to tell them.

“It’s worse than I realized,” Kleist said, after Mansfeld had finished talking. “We have—
you
have caused us to squander a golden opportunity.”

“On the surface it might appear so,” Mansfeld said. “The reality is quite different.”

“Excellency,” Field Marshal Wessel said. “We have a little over one million soldiers in Quebec.”

Mansfeld spoke for a time about HKs, drones, robotic equipment and GD quality.

“Excellency,” Mansfeld said, summing up. “Counting our forces as they are, not the mere number of flesh and blood soldiers and operators, and adding the Quebecers, we have nearly three million troops versus the 1,600,000 American-Canadian defenders. That being said, we also possess two critical advantages.”

“Those are what?” Kleist asked.

“The first is the German edge in terms of quality,” Mansfeld said, “our planes, drones, tanks, hovercraft, missiles, lasers, space forces, etc. In that sense, we have a preponderant advantage.”

“You spoke of two assets,” Kleist said.

“Yes, Excellency,” Mansfeld said. “Not to put too fine a point on it, our second great advantage is me.”

Chancellor Kleist sat back, and he smiled.

Field Marshal Wessel had been eyeing Kleist. He chuckled in a manner that said he understood how mad and arrogant General Mansfeld was. The other General Staff members dutifully chuckled in response.

They’re misreading the Chancellor
, Mansfeld thought.
Kleist is smiling because he appreciates the truth of what I’ve said. I believe he’s finally beginning to realize that I’m the only one who can give him what he wants
.

“The Americans will have two million or more troops in place by the time you’re ready to move,” Kleist said. “What’s more, the Americans also have an advantage.”

“Of course,” Mansfeld said. “They have many veteran soldiers. I have not discounted that.”

Kleist drummed his fingers on the table. “So you’re a strategic asset, eh?”

“Yes, Excellency,” Mansfeld said.

Wessel slapped a meaty palm on the table. “This is an outrage. You are here to explain—”

Without looking at the old Field Marshal, Kleist raised a hand.

Wessel stopped speaking, and he looked helplessly at the Chancellor.

You are an obedient dog,
Mansfeld thought
, who heels well. Such as you do not produce world-winning strategies, and the Chancellor knows that.

Kleist ignored his white-haired Field Marshal. He kept his wolfish gaze on Mansfeld. “I presume you have a plan?”

“Yes, Excellency,” Mansfeld said.

“And you’ve brought it with you on that memory stick?”

“Yes, Excellency.”

“Give me the outline of the plan.”

Mansfeld tapped the keyboard, switching the holo-image.

This was the plan of a lifetime, and he knew it followed in the footsteps of the great German strategists. Since the rise of Second Reich under Otto von Bismarck, German military planners had fallen in love with the Battle of Cannae in 216 B.C. There, Hannibal had encircled and destroyed one of the largest Roman hosts in history. Many had considered it the perfect battle. The Schlieffen Plan of World War I had used many precepts gleaned from Cannae, and it had almost given Germany the victory in the first months of the war. Erich von Manstein’s brilliant plan that gave Hitler France in 1940 also followed the Cannae model, as did the greatest battlefield victory on the Russian Front in 1941, when Germany captured 665,000 enemy soldiers in the Kiev Pocket.

Mansfeld spoke tersely and continued to tap the keys as he outlined the plan. During the first phase, he would blitz into Southern Ontario, driving for Detroit. In the second phase, he would amphibiously invade across Lake Ontario and Lake Erie, heading for the Atlantic Ocean.

As Mansfeld spoke, Kleist put his elbows on the table. The man’s eyes gleamed with appreciation.

General Mansfeld’s hands tingled with anticipation. This was the key to the invasion, the winning move: phase three, the amphibious invasion of New Jersey and New York City. The second hook launched from Cuba would meet the first hook from the Great Lakes. The two-pronged pincer move—the Cannae—would meet in mid-state New York and Northern Pennsylvania. They would trap the bulk of the million-man or larger American force holding New England, New York and New Jersey.

“I begin to perceive your plan, General,” Kleist said. “It is daring.”

“Chancellor,” Wessel said, “may I add a thought?”

Kleist studied the large Chief of Staff.

The man surprised Mansfeld, and maybe he surprised the Chancellor. Wessel held his ground and met Kleist’s stare. He shuffled his right foot, perhaps in nervousness, the sound noticeable in the quiet chamber.

“By all means,” the Chancellor said, “speak.”

“General Mansfeld’s plan strikes me as reckless,” Wessel said. “The American-Canadian defenders plan an attack against Quebec. You yourself have told us they long to strike. Presently, the American-Canadians have positioned 1,600,000 soldiers there. By mid-summer, they could have closer to three million. Against three million, the general’s plan will falter.”

“My plan calls for blitzkrieg strikes,” Mansfeld said. “It calls for boldness and risks, calculated risks. Let the Americans stuff more troops into the trap. That will make next year’s campaign that much easier for us.”

“No,” Wessel said. “Considering your plan—as the enemy—I would do the obvious.”

“Please,” Mansfeld said. “Tell us the obvious.”

Wessel pointed at the holomap hovering over the conference table. “Army Group C of Marshal Fromm must hold the strip of land south of the Saint Lawrence River. You’ve allotted them three siege armies, is that not correct?”

“I have,” Mansfeld said.

Wessel snorted like a bull. “Ninety percent of the people in Quebec live between Montreal and Quebec City. It is a pitifully short distance for the Americans to cross. All our supplies enter through the Saint Lawrence River. What if the Americans mine it?”

“We must prevent that,” Mansfeld said.

“Must, will...” Wessel shook his head. “You live in your ivory tower, planning dreams. I talk about reality. The Americans will mass against Fromm’s armies and shove them back through brute force if necessary. They will cut off your supply by capturing Montreal. That will bring a swift end to your campaign.”

“You said an interesting thing, sir,” Mansfeld said. “You said it is the obvious move.”

“Yes,” Wessel said, “it
is
obvious.”

“And that is why the Americans will fail,” Mansfeld said.

“You will build a defensive wall there?” Wessel asked. “Have you studied modern war? The Americans tried that in SoCal. The Chinese smashed through their defenses.”

Mansfeld shook his head. “I will build no wall.”

“Then how will you defend Montreal?” Wessel asked.

“By two methods,” Mansfeld said. “I will attack—”

“You will attack with Fromm’s siege armies?” Wessel asked. “Have you studied the terrain there or the number of Americans? It is clear they plan to attack us there as soon as the ground dries out.”

“Fromm will make a spoiling attack…after the Americans have stripped their defenses,” Mansfeld said.

“What?” Wessel asked. “That’s preposterous. You can’t know what the Americans will do four or five months from now.”

“I realize you cannot predict that,” Mansfeld said. “But I can, and I do here, right now. After the Americans strip their defenses, Fromm will attack with Kaiser HKs and under our air and space umbrella.”

“You truly plan an attack there?” Wessel asked.

“You’re not listening: I said a spoiling attack. It will give us ground, space. Then I will build a Kursk-like defense that will make the Russian buildup in 1943 seem like a lark.”

“No, no,” Wessel said, shaking his head. “You’re no prophet of God or Allah, or Apollo, either, for that matter. I believe you fail to grasp reality.”

“And you fail to grasp our qualitative superiority in equipment over the Americans,” Mansfeld said. “We are a generation ahead of them, in some cases, two generations. They will be like Iraqis to us. I have no doubts concerning our ability to hold them in place. The challenge will be in attacking and bagging a million Americans. In the end, we will do to them as they have done to the Chinese. And we will have conquered New England, New York and parts of Northern Pennsylvania and New Jersey.”

Mansfeld turned to Kleist. “Then, Excellency, you will be able to begin your reorganization of American society. That is the lynchpin to our conquest of North America. I will give you the first victory and the American territory needed for your political genius to assert itself.”

Kleist nodded slowly, glancing from the Field Marshal to Mansfeld. “Perhaps…” He nodded firmly. “The meeting is temporarily adjourned. I wish to hear General Mansfeld’s ideas in detail. We will meet again…in five hours.”

Chief of Staff Wessel blinked stupidly. “But I thought…”

“The meeting is adjourned,” Kleist said. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, Excellency,” Wessel said.

Everyone rose as Kleist stood.

“Come, General Mansfeld, you will ride with me. There are a few matters that have made me very curious indeed.”

The churning in Mansfeld’s stomach had lessened. He had passed the first test, and it was likely the hardest one of all. Still, one needed to practice caution with Kleist. The man was an alpha wolf. For now, he should be safe. The great danger would be later. But on that subject, Mansfeld refused to even think about it until the proper moment presented itself.

His survival, his life, depended on doing
that
right.

OTTAWA, ONTARIO

General Mansfeld opened his eyes. He let his arms drop and sat up, automatically reaching for the coffee cup. No. The coffee would be cold by now. He needed to pour himself a fresh cup.

With a grunt, Mansfeld stood. He moved to the computer map. Was Kleist more subtle than he realized?

Having just gone over the meeting four months ago, he would have to say yes. Kleist hadn’t tried to shoot down his ideas. The man was famous for his wit and scathing attacks. Instead, the Chancellor had been content to let Field Marshal Wessel do the questioning.

I was so absorbed with deflecting my death sentence that I failed to fully grasp the situation
.

Kleist had put him on record. Yes, the Chancellor had teased the battle plan out of him before the General Staff.