Free Invasion: China (Invasion America) (Volume 5) by Vaughn Heppner

misunderstanding come between us?”
    “I hope not, sir.”
    “Good. I feel the same way.”
    Stan nodded but was far from convinced. Words without actions meant little. For one thing, he noticed the general hadn’t stood as he entered. The man had not come around the desk and extended a hand so they could shake. Had that been an oversight on the general’s part? He doubted it.
    “I drank too much that day,” McGraw was saying. “Can’t even remember what we were talking about.”
    Stan wanted to say, “Me neither,” but he’d be lying through his teeth. Many a night he’d lain awake, going over the meeting in his mind. Therefore, he said nothing, waiting.
    McGraw regarded him, and a smile might have played along the corners of his lips. Then the possibility vanished as the general’s mouth firmed. The corners of his eyes tightened.
    “Colonel, I have some bad news, I’m afraid.”
    Stan continued waiting.
    First clearing his throat, McGraw opened a drawer and took out a tablet, setting it on the desk. “It says here that three of your Behemoths are having engine trouble. I’m sure you realize that’s over the acceptable limit.”
    Stan couldn’t believe McGraw would personally worry or act upon something like this. Had the general been searching for dirt on him? Is that the best you can do?
    Instead of vocalizing his thoughts, Stan said, “The Chinese caught us all by surprise, sir. We had to move the regiment before the three received their scheduled overhauls. I don’t know if the report shows it, but those are my three oldest Behemoths. They fought in California. Tenth HQ told us they were going to farm out two of them to the newer regiments and replace those with the latest model.”
    “Let me interrupt you, Colonel. I’m not interested in excuses. I’m concerned that my best Behemoth regiment will be understrength before we’ve even fired the first shot.”
    Stan wasn’t sure how to take that.
    The thing with the super tanks was that everyone wanted more of them. That meant constructing more assembly plants. The first Behemoth manufacturing plant had been in Denver, but the Chinese siege had ruined it. The government had built a new one in Detroit.
    The secret to making hordes of tanks was a gargantuan plant, maybe two or three of them. It’s what the Soviets had done during WWII. A vast plant allowed the easiest concentration of effort and the best way to mass-produce something, at least from an economic standpoint. With three shifts working morning, noon and night, tanks poured off the assembly lines.
    Although it made the best economic sense to have one or two huge plants versus many smaller ones, there was a drawback. The enemy only had to destroy a few places to halt production. Detroit had seemed like a safe place until the German Dominion launched its surprise attack out of Quebec. In the end, the military stopped the German advance and saved the plant as it continued to churn out tanks.
    That meant more Behemoths, enough to fill six entire regiments of them. Most of the regiments fielded thirty super tanks. The United States Army therefore had one hundred and ninety of them, with ten held in reserve. Until this year, America had only fielded one regiment and performed miracles with them. With six regiments concentrated in one area, hopes ran high for the coming offensive. Yet with only one hundred and eighty super tanks in all, concentrated in six formations, three tanks out of thirty represented a ten percent loss to his regiment before hostilities began. That might reasonably trouble the Southern Front Joint Forces Commander enough to call him in. Okay. Stan could see that.
    “I’m not making excuses, sir,” he said.
    McGraw snorted. “Son, I know an excuse when I hear one. You just made it, and I already told you I’m not interested in any. I want to know how soon those three tanks can be ready.”
    “I’m short on engine parts, sir. These aren’t ordinary tanks.”
    “I’m