Battlefield China

by James Rosone

  Corporal Biggs was a rail-thin twenty-year-old from Nome, Alaska. The guy was the best shot in the company and had accordingly been assigned to be their sniper.

  “That second minaret to the right looks to have someone in it,” Sergeant Starr explained, pointing toward the tower. “Our binos can’t pick out if the guy’s a sniper or just a spotter, or if they have a machine gun up there waiting to open up on us. I need you to grab that long gun of yours and see what you can see.”

  “Roger that, Sergeant. Give me just a second to get set up,” Biggs replied. He turned around and headed back to where he’d dropped his gear. Six months ago, the Army had started issuing the new Heckler & Koch 417 to replace the older, heavier Knight’s Armament M110. The new HK417 had been given the designation M110A1. Not only was it lighter and more compact, it was easier to maneuver with since it was five inches shorter than the rifle it was replacing. The new rifles also hadn’t lost any of the range, accuracy or hitting power of the previous model.

  Corporal Biggs saddled up next to Sergeant Starr and put his gear down on the ground near the base of a large tree. He unfolded the bipod and did a quick check of his rifle before peering through the scope.

  Specialist Hoover plopped down next to him and pulled out his spotter scope, which also had the range finder built in. He did a quick check. “Target 519 meters out,” he called.

  Biggs made a couple of adjustments on his scope and then peered through, looking to identify the potential threat.

  It took him a few minutes of surveilling the minaret, checking over each of the windows to see if he could spot anything in them. When he reached the top one, where the imam would usually announce the calls to prayer, he saw several sandbags had been placed on the ledge. Just past the sandbags, he spotted two soldiers. One guy was lying next to a belt-fed machine gun, while the other guy was looking around the area with his binoculars. The duo was clearly hunting for Americans to shoot up.

  He turned to Sergeant Starr and the lieutenant. “Found `em,” he announced. “Looks to be two guys. One’s got a belt-fed machine gun up there and the guy next to him is probably the assistant gunner. I’m going to check the other minarets before we engage these guys.”

  Slater nodded. He was glad he’d waited for armor support and not continued forward.

  Over the next five minutes, Corporal Biggs and his spotter, Specialist Hoover, identified seven other machine-gun positions in the other minarets and along the roof of the Islamic center, and they still had most of the windows of the buildings left to check. While they continued to annotate their findings on a notepad, they heard a small commotion behind them.

  A minute later, a call came over the radio. “Ronan One-Six, this is War Machine Six, I believe we’re near your position with a couple of Strykers. Can you send a runner over to help guide us to you?” asked their battalion commander.

  Slater looked at Starr and the two of them shook their heads—neither of them wanted War Machine saddled up with them. Then again, Slater thought, maybe he could help them get some air support to clear their objective instead of using the Strykers. Slater had found very few problems on the battlefield that couldn’t be solved with the proper application of explosives.

  “War Machine Six, Ronan One-Six. That’s a good copy, sending a runner to you now,” Slater answered.

  Sergeant Starr huffed slightly but then yelled over to a couple of his guys, “Go find those Strykers and lead the soldiers with them to our position!”

  Fifteen minutes went by before the two privates returned with the battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Isaac Zacharia, and a handful of soldiers from Bravo Company. They sauntered up to their little makeshift observation post.

  Zacharia said, “I heard you guys may have found a den of vipers waiting for us.”

  Slater nodded. “It would appear so, Sir,” he answered. “My sniper team has already located seven machine-gun positions in the various windows and minarets of the mosque and Islamic center.”

  “Make that nine, Sir. Found two more,” added Corporal Biggs. He still had his rifle out and he continued to scan the building.

  “Well, I’ll be damned if we’re going to willingly walk into this ambush,” Zacharia said. “I’m going to get the rest of the battalion moved over here, and we’ll see if we can’t get some air support to blast the place before we advance. We’ll lead with the tanks and Strykers and then follow in on foot after I get us a couple of JDAMs on that place.”

  The men around them nodded in approval.

  He turned to his radioman. “Put me through to our Air Force TACP,” he demanded.

  A few minutes went by as the Air Force guys were tracked down. An Air Force master sergeant made his way forward to their observation post and nodded toward the battalion commander. “I heard you have a target you want blown up, Sir?”

  Lieutenant Colonel Zacharia smiled. “I sure do,” he said nonchalantly. “You see that mosque and nearby Islamic center? Our sniper here and his spotter found at least nine enemy machine-gun positions throughout the building. Every couple of minutes they find another one. I need both buildings leveled. I’m not going to lose any of my soldiers because the Chinese are hiding behind a religious structure.”

  The master sergeant took a couple of steps forward. Then he leaned down and got next to the spotter. “Can you show me the positions you’ve found already?” he asked.

  “Sure thing, Master Sergeant.”

  The TACP thoroughly examined the building and the enemy positions. Eventually, he pulled out his map and then got up and walked back to the battalion commander. “Sir, I can take the building out, but could you help me identify the friendly units in the immediate area? I want to make sure when we drop ordnance on that place, our friendly units know how far to stay away.”

  The group plotted out where the other companies were at in relationship to the rest of the brigade. There was also another brigade of soldiers that was slated to come ashore that evening, and they would need to keep them updated.

  Now that he had all the information he needed from the ground level, the TACP got on his own radio and began to identify what aircraft were in the area and what munitions they were carrying. He eventually got a hold of a pair of F-16s who were packing 2,000-pound JDAMs. After giving them the coordinates and making sure they read them back to him, he gave them the green light to hit the building with four of them, one on each corner of the building.

  “That should be more than enough to flatten the mosque as well as the nearby building,” Slater thought as he listened to the TACP’s side of the call.

  When the TACP put down his radio, he turned to look at the group of officers. “OK, Colonel, our birds are inbound. They should hit the target in five mikes. I’d suggest we tell everyone to get down and stand by for a really loud boom,” the Air Force guy said with a grin on his face.

  The minutes ticked by rather quickly until the ground and everything around them shook. Then the blast wave from the bombs going off smacked them with a wave of searing heat. Looking back toward where the mosque had been, Slater couldn’t see anything left standing. Now there was just a bombed-out shell with fires everywhere and debris raining down to the ground.

  With the building destroyed, Lieutenant Colonel Zacharia ordered the battalion to attack. The four tanks he’d managed to grab lurched forward, quickly followed by their Stryker vehicles. As the vehicles moved forward, the soldiers advanced, leaving their covered positions. The men felt a lot more confident about going into the open field now that the Air Force had blasted the buildings ahead of them and they had plenty of armor leading the way.

  An hour after they destroyed the mosque and secured the surrounding area, a small contingent of Chinese soldiers made themselves visible under a white flag. This was the first time Lieutenant Slater had seen a group of Chinese soldiers ever come forward to surrender. He hoped it truly meant they wanted to end the fighting there. He’d already lost three soldiers that day, and another four h
ad been wounded; he didn’t want to lose any more.

  Two hours after they spotted the Chinese officers with the white flag, the fighting on the island officially ended. The PLA colonel whose unit was in charge of defending the island decided that he’d rather save the remaining lives of his men than fight a futile battle he had no chance of winning.

  Lieutenant Slater just hoped this was just the beginning of Chinese forces surrendering. He’d seen enough death and killing for a lifetime; all he wanted now was to go home, get drunk, and not do anything for a long time.

  Chapter 6

  Complications

  Russian Provincial Authority

  Kremlin, Senate Palace

  Ambassador Ava Hicks was four months into the occupation of Russia. Already, things were starting to fray at the ends. While there was no open revolt against the Russian Provisional Authority yet, there were increasing demonstrations denouncing the occupation and the slow progress of the postwar recovery. Of course, it didn’t help that key generals across the military were dragging their feet in helping the Allies maintain law and order.

  That was not what was weighing on Ava’s mind, however. The Russians’ latest request was for them to be allowed to bring their Spetsnaz teams back home from the US and other Allied nations. Since the official end of the war, the ones that hadn’t already been hunted down and killed had been lying low in hopes of being able to return home. Ava was conflicted about how to handle this situation. The American people wanted them held accountable for the wanton destruction and deaths they’d caused within the Allied nations—and rightly so, Ava thought.

  However, it wasn’t a simple one-sided argument. The Department of Defense had reasoned that what the Spetsnaz teams had done was no different than what the DoD had done to the Russians when they had gone after their power grid or the Indian railway system.

  It was a tough position Ambassador Hicks found herself in. If she sided with the Russians and the US Department of Defense, then the American people and political establishment would turn on her. If she sided with the Department of Justice and the politicians, then the military and the shaky Russian government might turn on her and the occupation force.

  She grabbed a chocolate bar from the secret stash in her desk and munched on it anxiously as she considered her options. Although she wasn’t proud of it, she’d gained five pounds in the last month from all the stress. There was a heavy weight on her shoulders.

  As if things weren’t complicated enough with the issue of the Spetsnaz teams, she also had the far more concerning issue of the “missing” nuclear weapons. There were still almost a thousand nuclear devices that were unaccounted for. She thumbed through the papers on her desk, as if they were going to tell her something new, but she already knew what they said. The Russian Air Force report claimed that three hundred nuclear-armed cruise missiles had been destroyed during several Allied raids in the last weeks of the war. However, the US investigators countering weapons of mass destruction disputed that argument; there was no evidence that these weapons had been destroyed, only of radiation where they had been previously held.

  Besides the missing cruise missiles, two Russian ballistic missile submarines had yet to be located. Her Russian counterparts continued to insist that those subs had been sunk during the war, but the US Navy had been unable to verify that claim. She thumbed through more dossiers that didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know.

  She took another bite of chocolate. It wasn’t helping.

  Knock, knock.

  The sudden appearance of her secretary nearly caused Ambassador Hicks to jump out of her skin. She’d been so deep in thought trying to figure out the ins and outs of the situation that she hadn’t seen her approach the office.

  “Ambassador Hicks, General Brice is here. Shall I send him in?”

  “Yes, please do.”

  A minute later, General Luke Brice walked in with a couple of his aides in tow. “Good morning, Ambassador. How are you this fine morning?” he asked. His tone belied his alertness at 0800 hours.

  “Morning, General,” Ava replied, attempting to feign cheerfulness. “I was doing well when I felt like the Russians were honoring the surrender terms and turning over their nuclear weapons. However, from the reports I’m reading, it would appear that may not be entirely true. Is there something I’m missing?”

  The general and his two aides took a seat at the small conference table in her office. General Brice answered, “It’s hard to say, Ambassador. The Navy hasn’t been able to verify the loss of those two boomer subs—it is possible they were sunk, and the Navy just can’t confirm it. I’ve spoken with our counterparts at the NSA and CIA about this, and they’re going to assign some satellites and other intelligence assets to try and keep tabs on the Russian Navy and potential locations they could be hiding the subs or areas they’d look to provide them with a resupply. If they’re really trying to keep those subs hidden, then it’s going to require a long-term sustained effort to keep them supplied.”

  He held up a hand to stop any potential questions. “I spoke with the Chief of Naval Operations office last night. They said they’d assign a few more hunter killer subs to help search the known SSBN bastions. They’d send more subs but there heavily tied down in Asia right now supporting operations up there. Plus, our sub force has suffered some terrible losses this last year.”

  Crinkling her forehead, she asked, “What about the cruise missiles? Is that a dead end as well?”

  One of the aides raised his hand slightly, indicating that he would take the question. Ambassador Hicks hadn’t really spoken with this aide before but realized from his uniform that he must be a French Air Force officer. “We are bringing in some specialized drones that we believe will be able to help us in verifying the destruction of these weapons,” he began. “I’d like to point out that despite the high levels of radiation, there was no actual nuclear detonation at the bunkers. It would appear that several of the warheads must have been damaged during the raid if that is in fact what happened. If that is the case, then that would explain the radiation levels. We’ll hopefully know more in a few weeks once the drones arrive.”

  “What about the smaller tactical nuclear weapons and the large silos?” she asked.

  “We’re in the process of dismantling the silos now,” General Brice said. “Nearly all the warheads have been removed and accounted for. Those are a lot harder to hide and cheat on; it would be too obvious—”

  Ava cut him off. “—That still leaves the tactical nukes. Am I correct in assuming there are more accounting irregularities with them as well?”

  Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, the general was clearly looking for a diplomatic way to address this question. Sensing his discomfort, Ava pounced. “Just spit it out, General. If we have a serious problem with the denuclearization part of this surrender, then I need to know.”

  “There are accounting irregularities,” he admitted, but he held up his hand to stop her from interrupting again. “I’d also like to point out that we have taken possession of thousands of nuclear weapons so far. I think the Russians are secretly hiding some of them, for what purposes, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s national pride, or maybe they just don’t trust us. What I can tell you is this—over time, as we build up our human intelligence networks inside Russia and start to build more trust with the local populace, we will find them. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about strategies and deceptions, it’s that the more people who are involved in creating them, the harder it is to keep them a secret. Someone will talk, and when they do, we’ll find them.”

  Ava snorted. She didn’t like the idea of waiting for these weapons to be discovered later. The Russians had made an agreement, and by Jove, she was going to make them stick to it. Before she could respond though, the other aide, also a colonel, broke into the conversation. “Ma’am, we need to discuss the Russian Spetsnaz units.”

  Looking at the colonel, Ava noticed the Special Forces tabs on his s
leeve. “Colonel, this is a touchy issue domestically,” she stated.

  “Agreed, but these guys are no different than my own Special Forces teams we had operating behind Russian lines carrying out the same type of attacks.”

  She quickly retorted, “Except that they lost, Colonel.”

  Sighing, the colonel decided to take a different approach. “Ma’am, at the end of World War II, during the Nuremberg Trials, Admiral Karl Dönitz was charged with a number of crimes and convicted. However, one of the charges was waging unrestricted submarine warfare against neutral shipping. On this charge, he was found not guilty, because as Admiral Chester Nimitz said, the US had the same policy in the Pacific against the Japanese. Ultimately, Ma’am, over one hundred senior Allied officers sent letters to Dönitz and the court conveying their disappointment over the fairness and verdict of his trial.”

  He paused for a second, letting that sink in before he continued, “I’m not disputing the actions these Spetsnaz soldiers committed or the loss of life they inflicted on our people. What I am saying, Ma’am, is if these Russian soldiers are charged and prosecuted in America, then how are our soldiers who did the same actions in Russia any different? How are our pilots any different? We’ve bombed hundreds of cities, and invariably, civilians did die. Remember that bunker-buster bomb that was knocked off course during the opening days of the war here in Moscow? It killed more than a thousand civilians. All I’m saying, Ambassador, is right now we’re in a fight to win the peace. The war is over, but if we lose the peace because we want to exact some sort of justice on these enemy soldiers, then we’re going to lose the public relations battle we’re waging right now across the country. Allowing these enemy special forces to return home would go a long way in helping to heal the wounds of war. It may even help us with finding these missing nuclear weapons.”

  Sitting back in her chair, Ava had to hand it to him; he did make a good case. She turned and looked outside the window. Spring was in the air and the trees were starting to return to life. Thinking for a moment, she finally made a decision.