by TW Powell
“You will be playing a dangerous game, my friend.”
“Yes, I will be your substitute. You have been ejected from the game.
“But enough of all that. I have some important information. Gather your commanders.”
15 minutes later, James, Delvin, Porter, and Vet met at the National Café.
“As you know, I have just returned from Fallon. There is a large force of at least several hundred Peoples’ Militia gathering there, at the Fairgrounds.”
Vet interrupted, “James, are we talking a couple of hundred, or a thousand?”
“Probably 200 to 300, but they have armor. I saw two Abrams tanks and two Bradleys.”
Porter interrupted, “Are you certain you saw Bradleys and Abrams?”
“Look, all CSS cadets go through extensive weapons identification training. I dare say I can correctly identify military hardware better than anyone in this room.
“There is some good news. I stopped by Top Gun in my CSS identity.”
“You did what?”
“You heard me, Delvin. I stopped by Top Gun.”
“That’s outrageous. So, I imagine you just drove through the front gate and went directly to headquarters and got a report?” Delvin was now breaking up laughing along with Vet and Porter.
James answered with a deadpan straight face, “Yes, that’s pretty much what happened.”
The laughter stopped.
Delvin was incredulous, “OK, what did they say?”
“The desk sergeant said that Top Gun is under investigation resulting from the Resistance attack back in April. All aircraft have been relocated to Nellis, down in Vegas. She said Top Gun has ‘no eyes and no teeth.’ Those are her words exactly.”
“James, your family’s life depends on this intel. Are you certain?”
“Yes! Oh, one more thing. I briefly spoke to a Militiaman over at the Fairgrounds. The word is out among the troops that they are going to “kick some Mormon ass.”
Porter didn’t react in the slightest.
Delvin gave James his orders, “OK James. Go find your wife and pick out a room upstairs. Spend this evening with your family. I want you out of here by 2 a.m. Leave Austin just like you arrived. Go through Gabbs and hit US 95 down at Hawthorne. I want you back down at Mountain Pass sometime tomorrow morning. Do not go through Indian Springs. Hang a right at Amargosa Valley and head on down through Shoshone and Baker. Your family will be safe with us.”
“I knew it. You’re after those rare earth minerals, aren’t you?”
“You know I won’t tell you shit about operations. You just learn everything you can about that operation. Got it?”
After James left the Saloon, Delvin talked things over with Porter and Vet.
“We shouldn’t have to contend with enemy air. That’s good news.”
Vet chimed in, “Yeah, but where did those Abrams come from?”
Porter answered, “If I were a betting man, I’d bet the farm all that armor came from Hawthorne.”
Vet slapped his forehead in disgust, “Shit Porter, I done forgot about the Depot. What do you think, Delvin?”
“Last night we passed through Hawthorne as we weaved our way over here. We were delayed for a few minutes in Hawthorne, heavy military traffic. I think we can’t assume that we’re only up against four armored vehicles. We’re up against at least four armored vehicles.”
“I think I need to get hold of my boys at Indian Springs and tell them to keep at least one Reaper on station over Austin 24/7. We have two Javelins up at the Castle. I’ll tell the crew to keep those missiles in top attack mode and expect hostile armor at any moment.”
Vet knew the mountains much better than his comrades, “There’s several old Forest Service Roads that wind around Austin. They’re just single lane, dirt and gravel firefighting roads. We’re blocking US 50 just like the Spartans at Thermopylae, but we shouldn’t repeat their fatal mistake.
“A sizable force could use those roads to hit us from either flank or even hit our rear. One of those old roads intersects US 50 at Austin Summit. They could completely bypass us here in Austin and hit Kingston. They could definitely split our forces.”
Tom Jackson had just radioed Delvin an after-action report on the battle at Bowman Creek. “Those folks down in Kingston covered our asses this morning at great cost.
“Vet, could armor make it up those backroads?”
“Captain, it would be slow going, but honestly, yes, an Abrams could probably make it up those tracks.”
“You know, I just received word from my boys down in Indian Springs. They did find a Global Hawk down there.”
Delvin’s countenance changed from gloomy to hopeful, “Is she operable?”
“We’ll know soon enough.”
“Can your boys pilot that bird?”
“Probably. They’ll get the hang of it. That’s not my biggest concern. Just like horses need feed and water, aircraft need fuel. We have at least two Reapers, a Global Hawk, and 13 choppers. Those birds are going to get thirsty fast. A raid is easy, but a campaign relies upon logistics. Whether we like it, or not, this mission is morphing into a campaign. Captain, are you slick enough to lead a campaign?”
“I no longer need to be slick. You know what ‘Old Blood & Guts’ said, ‘Never tell people how to do things. Tell them what to do and they will surprise you with their ingenuity.’ You men already know what we have to do.”
Vet laughed, “Yeah, but Patton was Army, he never had to lead a bunch of Jarheads.”
Ingenuity
The 100 Salt Lake Troopers departed Eureka well before sundown. Porter ordered the Troopers to cover the 60 miles to Austin without delay. This night’s ride would press their horses to their limit, but they must arrive in Austin by mid-morning at the latest.
Meanwhile, four of Porter’s Troopers departed WestBlock at sundown and made a short 10- minute drive west on US 50 to the Reese River bridge. They set a “hide-in-plain-sight” pattern of IEDs along the western approach to the bridge and prepared the bridge itself for demolition.
It was close to midnight when the tech specialists down at Indian Springs finally reported “wheels up” for the Global Hawk. At dawn, Global Hawk would be on station over Austin giving real time intel for the entire region, Austin, Fallon, Eureka, Kingston, Carver’s, Tonopah, Hawthorne, and Round Mountain. The Hawk could loiter there for up to 30 hours.
While the Hawk was streaming the strategic picture, Puma 1 would be streaming the tactical view, particularly the western approaches to Austin and those forestry service roads that were Vet’s great concern. At least one MQ-9 Reaper would be on station over Austin/Kingston 24/7.
At midnight, another tandem tanker truck left Eagle Spring Refinery. Just like the first truck, it carried a mixed load, one trailer full of a close match for JP-4, the other trailer full of gasoline. This truck was bound for Austin.
Austin’s airport lay about 6 miles southwest of the Castle, near the Reese River. It was far outside the Austin defense perimeter. Eventually, that airport could be used to refuel the Reapers and even the Hawk, just not today.
Bobby Lee and Big Sid were heading out to the Kingston Airport at dawn to clear that runway of any debris from the destroyed hangars. In a pinch, drones could be refueled at Kingston.
The remaining 400 Salt Lake Troopers were on the move. Day after tomorrow they would be in the old mining town of Manhattan, just south of Round Mountain. The day thereafter, they would hammer the Peoples’ Militia in Round Mountain and Carver’s.
Despite their recent losses, Thomas Jackson and Junior were committed to seeing this thing through. Kingston would mobilize tomorrow and move on Carver’s that evening. They would dig in along a dry creek bed that ran out of Belcher Canyon, about 3 miles north of Carver’s. The Kingston folks would be the Mormon’s anvil.
Special Operations
If anyone ever doubted the capability of Red Chinese Special Forces, Lance Corporal Darius Johnson (now Sergeant John
son) could straighten them out in a New York minute. He had fought those bloody bastards on Okinawa in ’25 and respected them almost as much as he hated them.
If anyone ever doubted the special place gold holds in Chinese culture, Rambro could also clarify that point quicker than a one-legged cat in a litter box. Almost every dead PLA soldier he came across over on Okinawa had gold dental work, gold jewelry, and a gold watch. Same thing with the Taiwanese and Koreans. Not so much with the Japanese.
Yes, the Chinese loved their gold. In recent years, China had produced over 400 metric tons of gold per year and still imported large quantities, much of that coming from Nevada. All this Resistance activity near the major Nevada gold trends could not be tolerated. More so, the obvious ineptitude of the Peoples’ Militia could no longer be overlooked.
It was now 2 a.m. While one Chinese, Inspector James Wu, was departing Austin, a stealth helicopter of unknown design dropped an 8-man Chinese Special Operations Force into the northern end of Victorine Canyon. The Chinese knew something was going on in the narrow canyons around Kingston and chose the wide-open Victorine Canyon for their LZ.
Equipped with night vision, sound suppressed machine pistols, and cannisters of CVX nerve agent, this ChiCom Spec-Op Force were acting as exterminators. The battle at Bowman Creek confirmed their suspicions, Chinese Intelligence was now certain that Resistance forces were based in Kingston Canyon and must be exterminated.
Max was laying curled up next to Jo’s cot, catching a few winks, when he suddenly jumped up and went on point. He just stood there motionless, his left front paw slightly raised and his nose pointing up Kingston Canyon.
Miss Stormy was checking on Vince, Gabby, and Jo when she noticed Max, “Whatcha hearing old fella?”
Jo raised her head slightly. She looked like Imhotep with her face covered in bandages. Her left shoulder was also heavily bandaged as Doctor J had carefully removed every fragment of Huey’s rotor from that shoulder earlier that day. Jo was still very groggy from all the pain medication, but her Colt never left her right hand.
“He hears something.”
Max darted out of the Aid Station and shot up Kingston Canyon.
Stormy blew it all off, “That mongrel probably caught wind of a jackrabbit.”
“He is a mongrel, but he’s a smart mongrel. He just got wind of something he didn’t like.”
Jo staggered outside the Aid Station. Junior was camped out there along with Carlos, Bobby Lee and Big Sid. Bobby Ray wasn’t out of the woods just yet. Gabby was in satisfactory condition but faced a long recovery.
“Junior, wake up.”
“Good Lord, Miss Jo, what are you doing out here staggering around looking like Boris Karloff in a Saturday Matinee?”
“Junior, something ain’t kosher up the Canyon. Have you got your weapon?”
“I’ve got a BAR and my sidearm.”
Big Sid heard the Marines talking, “What in the hell are you two doing up at two o’clock in the morning. Miss Jo, pardon me, but you look like I feel.”
“Save it Bumpkin. Get your old man up. Have you two rednecks got your sidearms?”
“Yes, Mam, me and Daddy are packin’.”
“Carlos, get your ass up and don’t give me any of that manyana crap. Get your rifle.”
“Is that Hummer gassed up?”
“It’s got about a quarter tank.”
“Sid, you drive.”
“Where in the hell are we going?”
“Junior, you sit up front with Sid and keep that BAR ready.
“Sid, take us up to Victorine Canyon. Step on it!”
Max ran into the mine shack and began licking The Keeper’s face.
“So, you finally decided to return to duty?”
Max turned to the door, looked out, and once again went on point with his nose pointing northward up Victorine Canyon. Then he began to growl. He growled softly, but angrily.
“What’s the matter, old buddy?”
Then The Keeper heard a low thud-thud-thud-thud coming from a hideout up the canyon. He grabbed his weapon, having only fired a few practice rounds. In the dim moonlight, David thought he saw movement about 100 yards to the north. Max was growing more agitated by the minute.
Thud-thud-thud, then a muffled scream, then The Keeper distinctly heard Chinese voices coming from a camouflaged camper trailer only 50 yards away. The Chinese Spec-ops were murdering civilians in their sleep.
The Keeper had never been this scared in his life, not even during Jo’s white knuckled helo rides. He was not a soldier, but he was The Keeper. Now was his moment of truth. David Shulman marked his target, then The Keeper opened up with his M4 assault rifle.
The Hummer was just pulling into Victorine Canyon.
“Sweet Jesus men, that’s The Keeper firing up yonder.”
Now Max was barking and snarling and raising holy hell.
As the Hummer pulled up next to the shack, Junior saw movement when Sid clicked on the high beams. Junior began firing the BAR. Bobby Lee, Sid, Carlos, and Jo took positions in and around the shack, supporting The Keeper.
“Tommy, son, wake up. All hell’s breaking loose up the Canyon.”
Thomas grabbed the other BAR and Tommy grabbed his AR-15 and a saddle bag full of grenades. They quickly mounted up and rode toward the sound of the guns.
The Chinese had night vision and were a well-trained special operations force. The Keeper had wasted one of their number with his first couple of shots. Likewise, Junior had shredded another ChiCom when he opened up with the BAR. It was now 6 on 6. Jo’s crew had the advantage of a good defensive position. The Chinese had CVX cannisters, but no way of delivering the nerve agent. Those cannisters were designed to kill personnel in confined spaces, preferably while they slept. Junior had seen this show once before and was in no mood to watch any reruns.
“That’s not Peoples’ Militia out there. That’s Chinese Special Forces. Jo, those guys love to use gas.”
“For once, I have to agree with you. Those Red fuckers aren’t in Korea, or Taiwan, or Okinawa. They’re in my country now. Me and Max don’t like it one damn bit!”
With that, Jo and Max began crawling through the brush on the Chinese left flank. Max sprung from behind a bush. When the Chinaman suddenly turned toward Max and fired, he revealed his position. Jo fired twice. One .45 caliber round from Jo’s Colt put her opponent down, then Max finished the job.
“Holy shit, that’s Jo’s Colt. That crazy bitch is supposed to be in bed recovering.”
The Jacksons had just arrived at Victorine Canyon and tied their horses at the canyon mouth.
“Whoever is out there don’t know we’re here. Let’s circle round to their right. I believe Jo’s to their left.”
The Hummer’s high beams were quickly shot out by the attackers. Now the odds shifted against the defenders. Junior and the other defenders fired at muzzle flashes, sounds, and perceived movement without being able to quite mark their targets. The Chinese commandos’ night vision provided good vision in the pale moonlight. One round grazed Bobby Lee’s forehead, then another round put him down.
“Daddy!” Big Sid was a bomb just looking for a place to explode. Sid saw the muzzle flash and movement in the brush about 30 yards straight ahead.
The commandos were armed with Type 05 Suppressed Submachine Guns firing subsonic rounds. On this mission, stealth was paramount, not penetration. Good thing for Big Sid. Sid grabbed up a rusty man-sized scrap of quarter inch mild plate steel and charged. An AK-47 firing AP ammo would’ve penetrated the steel and greased Sid, woulda, shoulda, coulda. The Type 05’s subsonic 5.8 mm rounds squashed against the quarter inch steel plate like it was Captain America’s shield.
Sid smashed into the Chinaman like a runaway Mac Truck. To Sid’s surprise the commando jumped back to his feet and went into some kind of martial arts crouching pose.
“Bring it, Mother Fucker.”
Sid’s opponent yelled one of those kung fu “waaah” yells. Then he sp
rang into air with both combat boots headed in Sid’s direction. Sid just stood there. 6’4” of bad assed Georgia Redneck. Sid caught his adversary in midair and snapped the Chinaman’s right leg like a twig, using nothing but his bare hands.
“This is my country and that was my Daddy you just shot.”
The look on the commando’s face was a mixture of shock and fear. Sid rang his neck just like he was one of Mama Skipper’s baking hens. Then Sid ran back to the mine shack, grabbed Bobby Lee up, and ran all the way back to the Aid Station with his Daddy in his arms.
It was now 4 Chinese vs. 5 Resistance.
Thomas and Tommy had so far avoided detection and they were now within 50 yards of the enemy.
“Tommy, you pull the pins and I’ll toss ‘em”
Thomas was lobbing hand grenades in rapid succession at every sight, or sound, that could possibly be enemy contact. The Chinese thought the incoming grenades were mortar fire. They had already lost half their strength. Then, they lost yet another man to Tom Jackson’s pitching arm. The three survivors decided to regroup and begin a slow withdrawal back up Victorine Canyon and request immediate evac.
Tom, Tommy, Carlos, and Junior were hot on their tail. Tom had exhausted his supply of grenades, so now he and Junior began laying down murderous fire with their BARs. The Keeper was back at his post guarding The Charters.
“Whoosh, Whoosh. Whoosh.” A black shape passed overhead and the air around the four Patriots became a raging vortex.
Jo hollered out from her position along the eastern wall of Victorine Canyon, “That’s a chopper, boys. They’ve requested evac.”
“There she is, Cowboy.” Junior had just sighted the black chopper as it passed in front of the sliver of moon now setting behind the Toiyabes.
For a few brief seconds, the chopper hovered mere feet above the canyon floor, then slowly started to rise. This chopper was made for stealth, it was not a gunship. It was relatively unarmored.