The screen cleared quickly, however, and he found himself looking at his direct supervisor.

It is late in Beijing. Good, the government is taking the situation seriously. They’ve called in all available people, I hope.

“What is it Ambassador Shi? Things are . . . busy here.”

“I have little time. However, this is important. I just came from a meeting with the Confederate President . . . it was held in the secure bunker,” Shi said, delivering the last line with just a hint of satisfaction as he saw his supervisor’s eyes widen.

“We will require a full debrief . . .”

Shi waved the man off. “Yes, yes, that is the least of things. The Confederacy . . . they are frightened.”

With those words, Shi settled in for a long conversation.

WAR ROOM BENEATH 1600 PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE

THE PRESIDENT’S ARRIVAL in the large command and control center went largely unremarked, something that only went to underscore just how focused people were on the situation at the moment. He wasn’t about to complain about the lack of pomp and ceremony, however, and so he just walked around to the place reserved for the Commander in Chief and took his seat.

“Talk to me, General.”

“We’re still tracking landings, sir, with an eye to seismographic readings worldwide. Total confirmed count is now over three thousand, sir.”

“My lord.” Conner closed his eyes. “God save us.”

“Let’s not rely on the almighty just yet, sir,” General Caern said. “All the landings have been in major population centers. That’s bad for casualties, but it’s even worse for the enemy.”

Conner scowled. “How could it be worse for the enemy?”

“We can easily strike at every major population center on the planet, Mr. President,” Caern answered. “Especially if the choice is do or die. We’ll kill a lot of our own, yes, but we’ll kill them too. If I were planning a genocidal strike on a planet using a weapon system such as these Drasin, I’d be landing my assets in Antarctica, the Sahara desert, any out of the way, impossible to get to place I could find. I sure as hell would not land them in New York City, Mr. President.”

“You think they’re planning something?” Conner asked, confused.

“No, sir. I think they’re specifically not planning.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Captain Weston’s reports on these things indicates an almost . . . schizophrenic personality,” Caern said. “One personality is a planner, picking targets, using strategy even . . . the other, however, is bestial. Sir, I think that the beast is in charge right now. They’re striking at population centers just because they don’t like them, not out of any kind of strategy.”

“The people?”

“Perhaps,” the General conceded, “or maybe they’re targeting based on power usage, heat, or any number of other signatures from a major city. The point is, they’re not thinking big picture. They’re acting like a wounded animal, sir. See the thing that hurt them and rip its heart out. If they were planning, we’d be in a lot more trouble.”