by James Rosone
Before any of them could say or do anything else, two loud explosions outside rattled the entire building, blowing out any remaining glass. Shrapnel pelted the north side of the building. The enemy fire suddenly ceased, and an eerie calm took its place. Cries from the wounded suddenly broke the silence, as both friendly and enemy soldiers called out for medical aid.
“Secure the building!” shouted Price.
He ran to one of the blown-out windows to see what had happened. When he got there, he saw that the last two enemy vehicles had been blown up by something—maybe an Allied plane or drone overhead. In either case, it had saved their butts from certain death.
A few minutes later, the other two squads of the platoon arrived at the station, along with their captain. The next hour was spent securing the railyard, making sure no other enemy soldiers were nearby and then inspecting the tracks for any attempts at sabotage.
It took the Rangers nearly two hours to secure the city, but they had captured the critical railyard, highways and remaining critical infrastructure needed for the main army to arrive on trains. A battalion of Stryker vehicles and a company of main battle tanks arrived, relieving them and taking over security of the city while the rest of the Army group was trucked in by rail and heavy transports.
Over the next several weeks, Army Group One began the process of consolidating its forces in Inner Mongolia and preparing for their backdoor march on Beijing.
Chapter 8
Project Enigma
Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport
Victory Base Complex
The tension in the room was so thick, it felt like it could literally be cut with a knife. General John Bennet and General Roy Cutter exchanged a nervous look as the President’s Chief Cyberwarfare Advisor, Katelyn Mackie, finished briefing them and General Cutter’s division commanders on the “eyes only” program named Project Enigma. Months of planning for the invasion of mainland China had just changed in the blink of an eye.
General Bennet was the first to speak. “Ms. Mackie, the Pentagon, NSA, DIA and CIA are one hundred percent certain that these new UAVs are being built out of the Guangdong Province? We’re about to start our ground invasion of the area shortly. I’ve already scrapped our old invasion plans to secure this province as ordered by the SecDef—I want to make sure there are no more major changes to our invasion plans.”
The other generals stared at her in silence, waiting to hear her response.
“Yes, General Bennet. Our source within the program has verified it,” she confirmed. “He’s been a reliable source and very accurate. There are a series of manufacturing plants in and around the Guangzhou Baiyun International Airport. The UAVs are being built in the general area of the international airport and over in Shayao District, maybe ten kilometers to the east of it. The capture of this province, General, will in all likelihood knock the Chinese out of the war. It’s their industrial heartland and where most of their aerospace industry is located.”
“Do we have a firm timeframe on when our satellites are going to go down yet?” asked one of the other generals.
“I’m afraid we don’t know the exact date, only that they will, and soon. In anticipation, we’re moving forward with deploying as many of our UAVs and contingency equipment as possible.”
One of the G6 officers from the group responsible for the ground forces communications systems added, “Fortunately, the Pentagon has kept a large stockpile of older yet still effective communication systems. The older systems may not be able to handle as much data volume, but they will still allow our forces to communicate, coordinate and relay information. I spoke with my counterpart back at the Pentagon, and they’re moving a lot more UAVs to our location from Europe. Losing the satellites is going to hurt, but it won’t cripple us like it might have two or three years ago, before we figured out a workaround for all the Russian and Chinese jamming and cyberattacks that happened at the beginning of the war.”
A few of the other generals nodded. Unlike the Iraqis and Afghanis, the Russians and Chinese had proven themselves to be fairly adept at electronic jamming. However, when the US’s military satellites had started to get blown up at the beginning of the war, the American military had quickly switched over to their backup radio systems, so the solution had been proven to work at least once already, even if it wasn’t an entirely effective patch to the problem.
The Marine Commander, General Cutter, gruffly added, “My concern is with being able to call in for accurate airstrikes. We need effective communications when the fighting starts hot and heavy. So many of our current systems are digital, transmitting large quantities of data, and I’m worried our older systems may not be as capable of handling the load that’s going to be placed on them.”
Katelyn Mackie sighed. “Generals, I know this is going to be hard, but let’s look at the tradeoff. We are gaining complete access to the PLA’s communication system. If the PLA is sending reinforcements or preparing for a massive attack, you’re going to know about it in advance. You’ll be able to move troops around to deal with them or lay an ambush, knowing exactly where the enemy will be.” She paused for a second to let that sink in before continuing. “We can’t stop what they’re about to do. We were fortunate enough to learn about it far enough in advance that we’ve been able to prepare for it. Had it happened without our knowing about it, it could have lost us the war. As it is, it may be the very thing that wins it for us.”
The group sat there in silence for a moment, thinking.
General Bennet finally broke the stillness. “OK, I accept that I can’t do anything to change the crappy situation we’re about to find ourselves in. I can’t even imagine how badly this is going to screw up the rest of the global economy or our own country, but I have to focus on the military side and do what I can to defeat the enemy and end this war as swiftly as possible. That said, let’s talk about what I’m going to need from you.”
Katelyn nodded as she picked up her pen, ready to write down whatever he mentioned.
“Ms. Mackie, once the PLA destroys the global satellite infrastructure and we find ourselves listening in to everything they’re talking about, I’m going to need a team of folks dedicated to tracking and identifying where China’s nuclear weapons are located. I need confirmation of their silos, and I need to know where their mobile launchers are on a continuous basis. There’s going to come a point in this war where the PLA leadership will recommend the use of nuclear weapons to save face from a major defeat or surrender. When that decision has been made, we’re going to need to know exactly where their weapons are located so we can take them out before they can use them.”
Katelyn and Secretary Castle nodded. “General Bennet, consider your request granted,” she said. Her confident response silenced any further objections.
Chapter 9
Operation Fortress
Jinzhou-Fuxin Line
Private Shane Webster’s senses were overrun. The high-pitched shrieking sound of the high-mobility artillery rocket system, or HIMARS, firing another volley of 227mm rockets overhead was unmistakable. Yet another wave of cluster munition and high explosives reached the enemy positions. Intermixed with the piercing shrieks of the rocket artillery was the near-constant thunder of hundreds of 155mm howitzers, adding their own measure of death and destruction to the scene unfolding across the enemy fortress.
Every now and then, Webster and the other soldiers of 2-14 infantry would spot a massive fireball from a secondary explosion, letting them know the artillery got lucky and hit something important. In between lulls in the artillery, ground-attack planes swooped in, releasing a string of bombs or napalm, depending on what they were looking to target. For the newly arrived soldiers of the 10th Mountain Division, it was both awe-inspiring and terrifying to witness such a display of firepower. They all knew that in the very near future, they would have to assault the fortress before them.
Staff Sergeant Sanchez walked up and abruptly broke up the gaggle of spectat
ors. “Enough gawking, privates! I need everyone to head over to the ammo tent and load up. We’ll be moving out soon!” he shouted.
Private Shane Webster shook his head as he watched another massive explosion rock the mountain fortress, then he turned to follow the rest of the soldiers in his platoon to the ammo tent. It was a short walk since they were already in the rear of the American lines. When they arrived at the general purpose or GP tent, Private Webster let out a low whistle—the smorgasbord of items before him would make any gun nut salivate with envy.
Webster got in line with the rest of his squad. First, they stopped at a table with crates of 5.56mm NATO rounds packed in twenty-round boxes.
Staff Sergeant Sanchez, who had already seen action in the war, ordered, “Grab twenty-one boxes.”
They all dutifully placed the appropriate number in their empty rucksacks. This would give them 420 rounds, or fourteen magazines worth of ammo.
Once the squad had loaded up on the required number of bullets, they moved to the next table. This one had boxes of M67 fragmentation grenades.
“Grab eight,” ordered Sanchez.
Again, they put them in their rucks and moved on to the next table.
This time, Sanchez led them over to a crate of M18A1 Claymore antipersonnel mines. “Everybody, take one of these,” he directed.
At the next table, a supply clerk stood next to a stack of crates that held four AT4 antitank rockets. Only three of the eleven soldiers were told to grab one. Webster was glad he wasn’t one of the guys slated to lug one of those around. “My ruck is already heavy enough without having to shoulder a fifteen-pound rocket,” he thought.
The last table their squad leader led them to had tons of ammo cans opened on it. Inside were one-hundred-round belts of 7.62×51mm for the squad’s lone M240 Gulf heavy machine gun. They were all to grab one belt of ammo and stuff it in their rucks. Private Webster found himself grateful again, this time that it wasn’t his job to carry the machine gun, commonly referred to as “the pig.” It was heavy, and it chewed through ammo like a pig at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Now that everyone was fully laden with the tools of war, Sanchez had them all bunch in close to him. “Listen up, guys. We’re going to go back to our tent area and put our magazines and vest loadouts together. Once we’ve done that and I’ve inspected everything to make sure you guys are ready, we’ll pick up some cases of MREs from supply here and get them loaded into our rucks. Then, and only then, will we get some shut-eye. We move out at 0400 hours for the front.”
With their pep talk done, the squad got a move on to the transient tents their company had been staying in the last couple of days since they’d arrived. Walking into the tent, Private Webster and the others plopped their rucks on the floor or their cots and went to work on getting their magazines loaded up.
Private First Class Liam Miller, the squad’s heavy machine gunner, tried to make conversation while they got their gear in order. “Hey, Webster, what did you think of that fortress getting the crap pounded out of it?” he asked. Miller and Webster both hailed from the same Ohio city of Akron. They’d become quick friends throughout basic training and had been equally excited to be assigned to the same infantry unit.
Webster looked up at Miller and shook his head. “I don’t know, man. It sure looks like we’re pounding the hell out of them, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re just riding the bombardment out in some sort of bunker—you know, like the Viet Cong did in the movie Hamburger Hill. My dad told me his grandpa fought the Japanese during World War II and he said that’s what they used to do, too.”
“After the shellacking we’ve been giving them, I’ll bet they’re just ready to give up,” piped in another private. “I talked to one of the supply guys, and he said we’ve been pounding that mountain for nearly a week.”
“I just hope none of us die in the next couple of days,” said another private, who appeared to be holding back some tears. He was clearly scared, and it was starting to show.
“Good God, Private Hodge, are you going to cry again? We’re soldiers, grow up!” Specialist Nathan Ryle exclaimed angrily.
“Hey, cut him some slack, Nathan. We’re all scared; its normal. Plus, you know his brother died six months ago fighting the Russians,” Webster shot back. Several of the other soldiers in the squad all nodded.
Specialist Nathan Ryle came from the mean streets of Compton, California, and had a chip on his shoulder the size of the state he hailed from. A lot of the guys had had some friction with him at one point or another.
At that moment, Staff Sergeant Jorge Sanchez walked back into the tent. “Enough jaw jacking,” he barked. “We’ve got work to do. I want your magazines loaded and your MOLLE gear set up just like mine—use it as an example.” He set his pack down on the ground in the middle of the group.
“Pack your rucks the same way I pack mine so you and everyone else in the squad can find the extra ammo, grenades and magazines quickly. I’m going to grab a couple boxes of MREs. When I get back, I expect you guys to be ready for my inspection. Once I’m satisfied, we’ll go as a group and get some chow. We have an evening formation at 1900 hours.”
With his new set of orders issued, Sergeant Sanchez left the privates to resume their work.
“Why do we have to carry our magazines like this?” asked one of them as he rearranged one of his ammo pouches to match Sanchez’s.
“Because this is how the Sarge said he wants it done. Pretty simple if you ask me,” replied Nathan, the constant antagonist.
Webster felt the need to add something as he finished packing his last magazine into the front pouch. “We carry the magazines with the bullets facing down so when you reach down and pull one out, it’s facing the correct direction to slap into your rifle. It also keeps dirt and debris from getting stuck in the magazine when you go to pull it out. God forbid you ram it home in your rifle full of dirt—you’ll jam the stupid thing.
“We carry three packs of two flush against your IBA instead of two packs of three, so they don’t protrude as far out in front of our body armor. That way when you hit the dirt, you land relatively flat. It makes sense when you think about it.”
Webster grabbed the drop bag next and held it up. “If you’re right-handed, this attaches to your vest on the right side, so when you empty a magazine, you drop it in this pouch. That way, when you have time to reload them, they’re right there waiting for you, and you’re not placing empty magazines back into your magazine pouch and then suddenly finding your gun isn’t loaded.”
Holding up the pistol holster next, he added, “The Sarge has us carrying our pistol in a leg holster instead of attached to our IBA so we can have room to carry a couple of hand grenades and our first aid kit with the tourniquet.”
The privates kind of stood there for a second, looking at their vests and loadouts like a lightbulb had suddenly turned on. It all made sense now why the sergeant was harping on them to wear their gear in a certain way, regardless of how they saw other platoons or companies wearing it.
A second later, Sergeant Sanchez walked into the tent with a couple of MRE boxes and a smile on his face. The others in the tent stopped talking as they watched him walk over to his own cot, placing the boxes on it. When he turned around, he walked over to Webster and placed his hand on his shoulder as he looked at them all.
“I just heard Private Webster explain to you why I have you doing what you’re doing. He’s 100% correct. It may sound to you like I’m nitpicking, but I’m having you do certain things for a reason. I’ve seen the elephant and you haven’t yet. When the bullets start to fly and your buddies start getting hit, you’re going to want to know exactly where your battle buddy’s first aid kit or tourniquet is. If you have to search through a wounded or dead comrade’s vest or ruck for ammo or more grenades, you’re going to want to know exactly where to search, because your life or mine may depend on it.”
Sanchez then took a seat on the edge of Webster’s cot and mot
ioned for the others to stop and take a seat. “Look, I’ve been in the Army now for three years. The only reason I’m a staff sergeant instead of an E-4 specialist like Ryle is because all the other sergeants ahead of me were either killed or wounded eight months ago when our unit first encountered this Chinese version of the Maginot Line. During our fourth assault against that ridgeline out there, I got shot for hopefully the first and last time in my life. We were bounding up the ridge from one covered position to another when I caught a bullet in my left arm. As if that wasn’t bad enough, when I tried to move back to find a medic, I got shot two more times. One hit me squarely in the center of my back plate. The second bullet hit me in the back of my right shoulder. Fortunately, I was knocked unconscious, so I didn’t feel a lot of the initial pain, but I sure felt it when I eventually made it back to a field hospital.
“I spent four months recovering in the hospital. When I returned to the unit, they promoted me to staff sergeant and placed me in charge of Second Squad. I’m telling you all this because I want you guys to be prepared for tomorrow. The captain said our company is moving up for a big offensive that’s going to start tomorrow. That means a lot of fighting is going to happen. As a matter of fact, Lieutenant Fallon said I’m to promote one of you guys to corporal to take over for Corporal Ball. Apparently, he had appendicitis, so he’s having his appendix removed. He won’t be returning back to the platoon for at least a month.”