Free Invasion: New York (Invasion America) by Vaughn Heppner Page A

the American and Canadian defenses have stiffened. No, we are still quite able to mount an effective offensive this year out of Quebec.”
    “What?” Wessel asked. “That’s preposterous. In fact, your words are meaningless. Your miscalculation will cost the Dominion dearly. It is too bad the Chancellor trusted you. You have betrayed his faith in your military acumen.”
    Mansfeld allowed himself a brief smile. He let Kleist see that the smile came at Wessel’s expense. He did so for a purpose, not because he thought Field Marshal Wessel was a buffoon. The Chief of Staff was a buffoon, but that wasn’t the reason for the smile. This was the turning maneuver: to show Kleist where he needed to let the hammer fall. Because the Chancellor had summoned Mansfeld back to Berlin, Kleist needed to axe someone. That had been clear to Mansfeld from the moment he’d read the summons in Montreal three days ago.
    Like a trapped bull being readied for castration, Wessel must have sensed danger. It was impossible the Chief of Staff understood the exact reason for the danger, but he must have smelled wolf in his nostrils and it likely terrified him.
    Wessel pointed a big finger down the table at Mansfeld. “Have you conveniently forgotten? You predicted the Chinese and Americans would be locked in a wrestler’s embrace during the 2040 spring and summer. You said each would have bled themselves white against the other. Instead, the two have disengaged. They are not entwined in a wrestler’s hold. Each has built strong defensive lines. Such is the strength of the American line that they can pull troops from it and send large numbers elsewhere on the continent. Some of those excess numbers even now circle Quebec.”
    “Correct,” Mansfeld said.
    Wessel banged a fist against the table. “The Chinese have been bled white, but the Americans are stronger than ever.”
    “No,” Mansfeld said. “That is incorrect.”
    “You predicted that the situation would be ripe for us to exploit this year.”
    “Correct,” Mansfeld said, “given that the Canadians did nothing, or at the very least refrained from helping the Americans. As I’ve said, the Canadian formations came to the rescue. They tipped the scales. The failure wasn’t mine…but that of the Home Office.”
    “Tipped the scales?” Wessel asked in amazement. “The Americans won a strategic victory. That means the Canadians more than tipped the scales. The very extent of the victory means that what the Canadians did had no real bearing on the outcome of the battle. You grossly miscalculated. Because of our trust, you have harmed the Dominion.”
    Mansfeld allowed himself to laugh aloud.
    “You find our situation amusing?” Wessel asked. “We bartered with the North Americans to improve our strategic situation. Instead—”
    “If you had studied the winter battle more intently, sir, you would realize how closely fought it truly was.” Mansfeld glanced at the others. Must he teach them the rudiments of war? The General Staff members didn’t even have second-rate minds. Third-rate would be more accurate.
    “In every battle,” Mansfeld said, “there is a critical phase or moment. Upon that moment, everything hinges. I tell you that it was at that point the Canadians gave the Americans the needed edge.”
    “You are wrong,” Wessel said.
    “If you would pull your foot out of your mouth for a moment,” Mansfeld said, “maybe you could learn something.”
    The words shocked Field Marshal Wessel, even as his face turned red. The red crept down his neck and disappeared under his tight collar.
    “I refer to the time when the Americans and Canadians barely had enough military power to keep the encircled PAA Third Front trapped,” Mansfeld said. “That was the critical phase. With the Canadians’ help, the Americans had enough to keep the Chinese bagged. The gigantic encirclement is what cost the Chinese so dearly, the one million lost soldiers. Due to the loss, the