by James Rosone
With the orders given, the platoon set about rounding up their rucks from the drop zone and proceeded to head off to capture the radar station.
*******
Brigadier Sir Nick McCoil couldn’t believe how terribly this airborne assault had started. Not only had the Spectre gunship the Americans had sent to provide them ground support on the airfield been shot down, but two additional German Eurofighters had also been destroyed while trying to fill in for the gunship. Then a swarm of those new PLA fighter drones had jumped their air cover and had succeeded in shooting down five of his transport planes before they’d had a chance to offload their paratroopers. He’d lost an entire company of French Foreign Legion troops, a company of Gurkhas and three platoons from 2nd Battalion, 2 PARA. To add further insult to injury, he’d somehow managed to severely sprain his left ankle on his landing, making it nearly impossible to walk.
“Twenty-six years as a paratrooper and the only time I get injured is during the most important combat jump of my career,” he mourned.
As he propped himself up against the side of a tree, Brigadier McCoil grabbed the radio handset his radioman held out for him.
“It’s connected to the strike group commander,” the soldier replied. The young sergeant turned to look for his pad of paper to write down anything important. A captain and major also knelt down near them as a couple of other soldiers secured the perimeter around them.
“Major, I want that damn airfield captured now! We have to get out of this drop zone,” McCoil barked at one of his operations officers.
Then he directed his wrath toward the admiral on the other end of the radio receiver. “This is Gladiator Actual. Where the hell is my damn air cover? I’ve lost five transports—that’s nearly seven hundred paratroopers! I’d better get some more air support, or my next call is to General Bennet himself!” he shouted into the receiver, the sounds of machine gunfire and explosions still going off in the background.
*******
After holding the receiver to her ear for a minute and not hearing anything, Admiral Cord was about to hand it back to one of the communications officers when a distinctly British accent shouted into her ear. The sounds of explosions, men shouting and machine-gun fire in the background made it feel like she was right there in the thick of the action. She had to hold the receiver an inch away from her ear as the British brigadier ripped her a new one over the lack of air support.
She shot a quizzical glance to the Ford’s air boss and captain. Then, placing her hand over the receiver, she whispered, “What the hell is he talking about?”
The air boss leaned in, grimacing. “He’s talking about Kestrel flight being ambushed. We lost six Super Hornets in the dogfight. He lost nearly half of his first wave of paratroopers.”
Captain Fleece just shook her head. She was still in shock that they’d lost that many Hornets after the Air Force had done such a good job of clearing out the SAM sites.
“Gladiator Actual, this is Task Force 92 Actual. I’ve just been brought up to speed on your current situation. I’m directing all available fleet assets to assist you. Please have your forward air controller coordinate with my CAG on specific strike packages you need, and where you need them. I will also ensure your second wave of transports has more protection this time. Out,” she said. He handed the handset over to the Commander, Air Group to work out the finer details with the good general. She wasn’t about to listen to him chew her out one more time.
She went to find the task force’s operation officer. When she did, she stared daggers at Captain Zach Grady as she motioned for him to come to her. As Grady approached, she leaned in close and turned her body away from the others, speaking in a low voice. “I just got my head torn off by the British airborne commander for Operation Gladiator. He says nearly half of his first wave of transports were shot down before they reached the airfield and none of the antiaircraft guns at the base were destroyed. Want to fill me in on what the hell happened, Captain?” There was a sternness in her voice that she seldom used, but she was certain if she didn’t get to the bottom of what had gone wrong and fix it, Admiral Richardson or Admiral Lomas would have her head on a platter.
Turning a bit red at being talked down to by a female admiral, Captain Grady tried to reply in the usual macho dismissive manner he tended to use when speaking to a female officer. “Stuff happens, Admiral. We nearly lost an entire squadron of Super Hornets flying escort for them. They’re lucky they even made it to the drop zone, what with the number of enemy fighters the PLA jumped our guys with. The Chinese ambushed us with sixty of those new drone fighter planes. We’ve never fought them before and had no idea what their real capabilities were.” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.
Admiral Cord wanted to slap him for his smugness but knew she couldn’t. “Not good enough, Captain,” she exclaimed. “Try explaining that to me again, without the sarcasm. While you’re complaining that we nearly lost half a squadron of Hornets, you just lost seven hundred paratroopers we were charged with protecting. Do you know how that’s going to look to the brass above me? You’d be wise to remember crap rolls downhill until it goes splat on someone.” She took an open right hand and smacked her left fist, so as to emphasize that he would ultimately be the one in the hot seat.
His demeanor changed a bit. “Good,” Admiral Cord thought. Maybe he did realize that the naval air support planning for this operation was ultimately his responsibility.
“My apologies, Admiral,” Captain Grady said. “Let me start over. The Air Force went in ahead of us and cleared out the SAMs. They did a good job, although they lost a couple of F-16s in the process. We sent in two squadrons of Hornets, one ahead of the transports to go with the AC-130 Spectre gunship. The gunship was supposed to silence the enemy antiaircraft guns and the radar station on the ridgeline around the airfield. Unfortunately, the gunship was shot down before it reached the airfield. When this happened, we redirected two German Eurofighters who hadn’t dropped their ordnance yet to go in and do the job. That’s when the PLA Air Force jumped our guys with those new fighter drones.
“As I said earlier, we had never fought or even seen them before, so we had no idea how effective they were in combat or how to really engage them. From what I’ve been able to gather from talking with one of the flight leaders that fought them, they came in two waves. One from high-altitude and one on the deck. The one that came in from high altitude drew all the attention from our fighters. The one that came in from the deck was able to slip past the first wave of fighters and sliced into our second group of fighters, which was escorting the transports. By the time our guys fought them off, half the transports had been shot up,” he explained. Then he proceeded to tell her of his revised plan for escorting the second wave of transports, which were just crossing into Chinese airspace.
Admiral Cord listened while he spoke without interrupting. “All I can say, Captain Grady, is that your group had better redeem itself with this second wave of transports, or there’s going to be hell to pay. You get me?” Her voice was still full of heat.
He nodded and went back to his section, barking orders to his own little fiefdom.
*******
Brigadier McCoil handed the receiver over to his lone American naval special warfare guy who would act as the liaison for his air support. “I think I got their attention for you, Lieutenant. It’s now your show. Get me air cover over this place, and start taking out some of these anti-aircraft guns. Our second wave of transports arrive in exactly eighty-two minutes.”
A young captain ran up to their position. “Brigadier?” he asked, out of breath. “Sir, we’ve secured the remaining buildings at the airfield. We can move your headquarters over there now. Also, Baker Coy from 2nd Battalion is moving to assault the radar station and those AA guns on it,” he reported. As soon as he finished speaking, he took a swig of water to help catch his breath.
McCoil nodded. “Good job, Captain. Now help me up and give me a hand making my way ove
r there,” he replied, holding his hand up to the captain.
The young officer looked down at the brigadier, and it was as if he realized for the first time that the general had his foot all wrapped up in a compression bandage.
“Ah, yes, now you see why I’ve been propped up against this tree trunk instead of leading the charge myself,” Brigadier McCoil said with a chuckle.
The captain pulled him off the ground and placed his arm around his shoulder. Together, they hobbled and walked the half a kilometer to the building that would function as his headquarters. Dozens of other soldiers were working to get communication antennas set up, along with computers, map boards and everything else he needed to run the brigade. Another group of soldiers worked on getting security established around the buildings they were going to occupy and making sure the airfield was being properly cordoned off from potential enemy soldiers as well as curious civilians.
McCoil looked around. The soldiers around him were clearly doubling their efforts to make up for their lack of personnel. With half of their first wave of airborne units killed before they even made it to the ground, they were functioning with a skeleton crew as they worked to get the place ready to receive the main body of the brigade.
*******
Lieutenant Shay ducked behind a tree just as several bullets slapped into the trunk. “Someone take that gunner out already!” he shouted to his platoon mates.
Private Flowers heard the order and immediately took action. His SA80 had a grenade launcher attached to it; he was one of the few guys in the platoon with this setup. He popped out from behind the tree he’d been hiding behind and swiftly fired his 40mm grenade at the enemy machine-gun position.
Thump…BAM.
“Now!” shouted Corporal Wright. He and three other soldiers opened fire on the enemy position while another group of four soldiers leapt from their covered positions to charge. Continuing to fire at the enemy, the advancing fireteam of soldiers got to within twenty meters of the enemy line when they dove for cover. Another group of PLA soldiers further up the ridge had just arrived and were doing their best to provide their comrades with covering fire.
“Grenades! Hit them with grenades!” shouted Lieutenant Shay. He ran past Corporal Wright, charging up the hill to the fireteam that was lobbing grenades at the enemy soldiers.
Zip, crack, zip, crack, crump, crump, crump.
Explosions burst everywhere as both sides lobbed grenades at each other. Wright’s fire team continued to bang away at the enemy soldiers with their FN Minimi Para light machine gun.
Ratatat, ratatat, ratatat.
“Alpha team, covering fire!” shouted Wright. He signaled for his bravo team to move forward.
Zip, crack, zip, crack.
Bullets snapped past their heads, hitting branches, bushes and everything around them as they rushed forward.
“Oomph,” one of the soldiers muttered—he was spun sideways when a couple of rounds slammed into his body armor. Falling to the ground, the soldier yelped, “I’m hit, Corporal!”
Wright stopped charging. He dropped down next to the wounded man, quickly assessing him. “It looks like it hit your armor—did it go through the plate?” he asked.
The young man looked panicked. He used his hands to feel around and then shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he answered.
Corporal Wright didn’t blame the young kid—even through the plates, a gunshot could break ribs or cause some serious bruising. “Listen, Private, I’m going to leave you here while you catch your breath and recover. I need you to keep shooting at the enemy. We still need your help. Do you think you can do that for me?” Wright asked, concern in his eyes and voice.
The young private nodded and gave a thumbs-up. “You can count on me, Corporal. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll catch up to you guys.”
Wright nodded and then raced to catch up to Bravo Team. When they made it online with Alpha, they switched turns, providing covering fire while Alpha bounded forward, this time into the enemy defensive works. Once Alpha Team was inside the enemy trench and foxholes, Bravo Team rushed forward to join them.
It took them another ten minutes to finish clearing the enemy out of the radar station and the enemy antiaircraft guns, but their platoon had secured an objective that had been assigned to an entire company of Gurkhas. That was no small feat for the men of 2nd Battalion, Baker Coy.
*******
Brigadier McCoil hobbled over to the window of the building his headquarters staff had taken over and watched as row after row of paratroopers continued to descend in and around the airfield. More and more of his force was finally arriving and starting to get formed up, which was reassuring considering how the operation had started. He spotted several large packages being dropped directly on the runways. It appeared the Americans were dropping off his Jackal 4x4 vehicles ahead of schedule, which was fine by him.
“Brigadier,” called out a new voice. Colonel Jacques Vidal of the French 2nd Foreign Parachute Regiment had just walked into the building. The Legionnaire quickly walked up to him rendering a quick salute. “Brigadier, I’m proud to report the remainder of my force has officially landed and we’ve secured the road junction at Xiangshanzui and the surrounding area. My men are working on turning the area into a veritable fortress as we speak,” he proclaimed proudly.
General McCoil smiled for the first time in hours; he couldn’t be happier to hear this news. He’d been extremely concerned when the company of Legionnaires had been shot down early on and unable to secure the site earlier. If any PLA tanks or other armored vehicles were going to attack his position it’d most likely come from the highway interchange at Xiangshanzui or Huqiu to his north, at least until the Gurkhas arrived and moved to the area.
“Glad to hear it, Colonel,” said McCoil. “When the ERC armored cars arrive, I’ll send half of them to your command. It’s imperative that your men hold that junction. Make sure your men have plenty of antitank rockets and missiles ready to deal with the PLA when they do start to show up. My guess is we’ll start to see some heavy PLA resistance before the day’s out and certainly by tomorrow.”
Colonel Vidal nodded. “I believe you’re right, Brigadier. I had my men jump with twice as many antitank weapons as they normally do. We’ll be ready for the PLA, and when the ERCs show up, it’ll only strengthen our position,” he said confidently. “If I may, when will our artillery support be available?” he inquired.
McCoil turned to look for one of his operations officers. “Major, when will 7 RHA be operational?” he asked.
The major walked over to them, explaining, “They just landed. It’s going to be at least an hour to get them unpacked and moved to their firing locations. If the guns are needed right now, they probably could be made ready, but I’d like to get them moved to their firing location and out of the way for future drops.”
“That’s fine, Brigadier,” the French colonel responded. “I don’t believe we’ll need their support within the next hour. I just wanted to make sure they’ll be operational by evening, in case the enemy does start to show up.” With that, the two officers shook hands, exchanged a few more directions and then parted ways. The French had a critically important area to secure, and McCoil didn’t want to keep the colonel stuck here with him any longer than he needed to.
“Now, if only my Gurkhas could get organized and ready,” he thought.
A few minutes later, Lieutenant Colonel Ganju Lama walked into the building. As soon as he spotted Brigadier McCoil, he headed over to him. “Sorry for my tardiness, Sir. It appears a few Chinese soldiers wanted to greet my arrival,” he said with a half-smile. “My men are now on the ground and getting formed up as we speak. Is there any change to my orders or am I still to proceed to Jiangsu National Forest Park?” he inquired.
“It’s good to see you, Colonel,” said McCoil as he held out his hand to shake Lama’s. “My condolences on your company of men that didn’t make it. It was a terrible tragedy, what happened
with our air support.” He paused as if giving a moment of silence for the departed. “As to your original orders, I want you to continue with the original plan. Your battalion must hold that position at all costs, even though the PLA is going to throw everything they have at you to get at this airbase. You’ll have artillery support and as much help as I can give you from here, but we’ve got to keep our claim on that position. When the rest of 3 PARA arrives, I’m going to send another company of soldiers over to help you as well. Do you have any further questions on your orders, Colonel?”
“No, Sir,” Lieutenant Lama answered. “We’ll get that place turned into a real nice fortress. You can count on that.” A wicked grin spread on his face.
With his orders in hand, the Gurkha commander turned and left the building to go form up with his men. They had a couple kilometer road march to get to their position and they needed to get set up and ready to defend the area as quickly as possible. Nobody knew when the PLA forces in the area would get organized enough to launch an attack, so it was a race against time.
*******
Victory Base Complex, Taiwan
General Bennet’s Headquarters
Like an expectant father in a hospital, General John Bennet paced back and forth in the operations center as he waited for confirmation that the second wave of his joint British and French airborne force had made it to their drop point. He had been livid when he’d found out the Navy, who was supposed to provide fighter escorts for them, had lost half of the transports they were charged with protecting during the first wave. It had nearly cost them the entire operation.
He had placed a three-way call to Admiral Lomas and Admiral Richardson and thoroughly dressed them down over the loss of 700 paratroopers and those critically important transports. He replayed the conversation in his mind.