Uprising

by Chris Harris

  Eddie was lobbing grenades at a group of Chinese soldiers who had reached the ditch at the side of the road and were laying down sustained and accurate fire at the positions around him. Bravely exposing himself to the incoming bullets, he threw his fourth grenade. He knew the advantage was being lost and something needed to be done. The incoming fire as they exploded in quick succession reduced, giving him the opportunity to fire a long burst, emptying his magazine at the Chinese who had thrown themselves flat to the ground. Others emerged from cover as the incoming fire reduced. They lined the foxholes, and fire from his sector began to rip into the attackers once more.

  He screamed at those around him to keep firing as he leapt from his position and moved to the flanks to bolster the defenders who were still being pinned down by the increasing level of fire. With bullets hitting all around him as his movement attracted unwanted attention he dove into a foxhole where two terrified townsfolk were cowering, bullets hitting all around their position. Another lay dead in the bottom of the trench. The two alive were covered in the blood that had sprayed from the wound that had killed their friend.

  An unused rocket launcher leaned against the side of the trench. Risking a glance over the lip of the trench, he identified where the fire was primarily coming from and spotted a group of about ten soldiers with guns blazing sheltering under a truck untouched by the rockets.

  “Stand up and fight!” Eddie shouted at them, berating them for their cowardice. He picked up the rocket launcher, taking a few seconds to arm it ignoring the fire that was hitting all around them, then stood up and fired at the truck. The rocket exploded, shredding the men under it and the volume of fire coming toward them reduced significantly.

  Grabbing the two cowering men he pulled them up and pushed their weapons back into their hands, screaming at them in his best sergeant’s voice to get back into the fight. It worked. Eddie watched as their courage returned and they both, shouting incoherently, began to fire down on the Chinese again.

  He slapped them on the back and leapt out of their trench to go to the next one along. Once again bullets kicked up the dirt and splintered the trees around him as he ran. Every time the defenders responded to his actions and encouragement. Instead of cowering, they stood up and faced their enemy. Slowly the fight began to swing back in their favor as more and more guns fired at the ever-reducing quantity of enemy soldiers.

  Returning towards his original position he stopped at a fallen tree and from a new angle surveyed the battlefield. The increasing fire from the townsfolk had subdued the Chinese and those he could see were now mainly trying to hide from the bullets being fired from all directions. If one returned fire it immediately brought a lead-filled response from the townsfolk searching for a target.

  He watched with dismay as a group of about twenty soldiers broke from the cover of a burning truck and made for the trees on the opposite side of the road to him. It was a coordinated move timed when sudden bursts of accurate counterfire from the Chinese made the defenders duck back into their holes. Four or five were hit before they reached the cover of the trees, but at least fifteen made it.

  Knowing that the defenders would not stand a chance against the highly trained troops, he needed to act quickly. He ran down the line of defenses and shouted at every third person to follow him. It was leaving them thin on the ground but the counterattack, if allowed to get established, would finish them, so the risk was worth it.

  Stopping behind the barricade he addressed the reserve force and those he had ordered to follow him. “They are outflanking the left-hand positions. At least fifteen made it to the tree line. We will advance along the left flank until we meet them. Stay in your squads as you have been shown and don’t bunch up.”

  He could not explain fire and maneuver tactics to them, the only advantage they had was numerical and weight of firepower they could bring to bear. “If you see something just keep firing at it till it falls over or you see another target.”

  With no time to waste he waved them forward and led the group of mainly untried civilians toward the enemy. The sound of fighting to their right was now limited to brief exchanges. As they approached the first position he again told every third person manning it to grab their spare ammunition and join them, and those remaining to keep the Chinese in the convoy pinned down and to watch their left side, but not fire unless they were certain it wasn’t them.

  Indicating for everyone to spread out they advanced, gathering more from every foxhole until a series of explosions and screams of pain ahead in the woods made them stop. Hand signals would not work so all he could do was shout his instructions and hope that his voice was mistaken by the Chinese as coming from the defenders calling to each other.

  Finding cover behind trees both standing and fallen, the forty townsfolk got ready to hold the line. It was only when gunfire ripped into their single line of defenders, hitting four of them, that they saw the Chinese advancing in small squads, overlapping each in the classic fire and maneuver discipline.

  “Fire! Hold the line. Do not let them get through us,” Eddie bellowed with more than a hint of desperation and panic in his voice.

  For every Chinese soldier he saw getting hit at least three or four locals went down screaming in pain, clutching hands to wounds or more ominously lying still and silent.

  He knew they were in a desperate position but was unable to do anything more than keep fighting until either they or their enemies were all killed. A blow to his left arm knocked him over. Looking at it as he lay on the ground he knew he had been hit by a bullet but felt no pain. Regaining cover behind a now bullet-splintered tree he held his rifle in one hand and emptied the magazine toward the enemy. His left arm was useless making it impossible for him to insert a new magazine once he had ejected the spent one, so he let it fall to the floor. He pulled his sidearm from its holster strapped to his leg and held it out in front of him.

  He knew it was all over and they had been defeated. Understanding they were dead anyway as soon as the Chinese found out what they had done to their fellow countrymen, he decided he may as well take as many with him as he could before the end. Every single one he killed would be one less for another American to kill before they could take the country back.

  The sounds of firing and voices cursing and screaming at the advancing Chinese told him a few others were still in the fight.

  A soldier emerged from cover behind a tree, and Eddie raised his pistol and took aim but before he could pull the trigger a red mist of blood and brains blew from the side of his head and he crumpled to the floor. Another came into view, not pointing his weapon in his direction, but away to the left, further up the hill in a direction he knew no one should be. Again he fell to a well-aimed shot to the head. More distinctive booms of heavy caliber hunting rifles rang out.

  Hope began to rise in Eddie. Someone was on the enemy’s flank, firing into their exposed sides as they advanced toward them through the trees. Another broke cover knowing he was outflanked by an unseen marksman; he tried to run back down the slope to the convoy but was brought down by Eddie emptying his pistol at him as he ran past.

  As he fumbled trying to reload his gun one handed a voice called from further up the slope. “Don’t shoot, we are approaching from your left. We think we got ’em all but there could still be one or two we haven’t noticed.”

  No more fire was incoming and Eddie, who had eventually managed to reload his handgun, called back. “Okay. But watch your front for incoming rounds, there are still Chinese down on the road.”

  Holding his gun in one hand Eddie kept it pointing forwards. Pain from the gunshot wound in his arm, that until now he hadn’t felt, hit him like a hammer blow and he staggered. His left sleeve was soaked in blood, but he couldn’t look at it yet, there was still more fighting to do.

  Captain Li Wie looked around himself in despair. He could hear no more firing coming from the direction of the counterattack he had ordered in a last-ditch attempt to subdue the ambush th
ey had driven into. Most of the men under his command lay dead or injured around him and he had no idea if any other officers had survived. Incoming fire still rang off the metal sides or hit the ground around the smoking truck he was under.

  The two soldiers still with him were out of ammunition and he only had a few rounds left. He shouted out, calling for any soldier to respond, trying to figure out how many were still capable of fighting. He could hear his command being repeated by a few soldiers further down the convoy. He had no radio to issue or receive orders.

  The last orders he had received were when they boarded the huge convoy of vehicles that drove away from the port where they had arrived. They were being driven to a town already under Chinese control where they would strengthen the garrison and await further orders.

  The mood on the bus until the explosions and bullets started flying had been of excitement. They had been told that the American invasion had been an unqualified success, the whole country was under their control and the mission was more a policing role, so they could begin to reap the rewards of their victory. He and the men in the bus gawked out of the window at the passing landscape, calling out landmarks or city and town names they had only seen or heard of in movies.

  Now he found himself lying under a smoldering wreck of a bus, surrounded by dead and dying men, the shame and anger building up inside him in equal measure. He had been misled by their leaders; if they had known the Americans were fighting back they would have been more prepared and wouldn’t have driven blindly into an ambush. He felt shame knowing most in his command had been killed and he had not been able to lead or protect them—he had failed them all.

  Deciding to do the one action he could to protect his men he reached into a pocket and pulled out a light-colored silk scarf his mother had given him before he left his native land.

  Waving it in front of him he crawled out from under the bus and stood up. Half expecting to be struck down by a volley of fire he shouted out one of the few English words he knew. “FRIEND, FRIEND!”

  No bullets struck him. As he stood there waving his scarf, more soldiers up and down the ruined line of vehicles dropped their weapons and emerged to stand with their hands above their heads.

  Tears of shame ran down his cheeks made worse by the cheering he could now hear coming from the trees around him.

  Bobby, the man Eddie had met in his shop only a few hours before, helped him down the slope.

  Wayne ran forward to help him when he saw who he was assisting. Eddie looked at Wayne and said weakly, the pain and blood loss from his injury making his words slur, “Bobby here just saved our asses. If he and the others from his village hadn’t arrived when they did, we would have lost.”

  Still holding his pistol in one hand Eddie looked along the road at the locals who were guarding the surrendered soldiers. They had won but at a heavy cost, he knew many had given their lives to protect their town.

  His vision faded, and he collapsed.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Four

  Pacific Ocean

  Sea Sparrow missiles launched from all the Canadian frigates as they ploughed through the seas at maximum revolutions heading away from the Chinese fleet. The fully automatic point defense systems took over, launching missiles and decoys to destroy or confuse the incoming Chinese anti-ship missiles heading toward them.

  Commodore Phillipe James watched the information being relayed from the ship’s operation room to a screen on the bridge. There was little he could do but trust the automated defense systems to counter the threat. They had launched their own missiles at extreme range on purpose, with no real hope of success, the only aim to create a diversion for the next stage in the plan.

  He silently prayed that the incoming missiles which, from what he understood of their capabilities were also at the limit of their range, would not get through their own defenses. Calculating that it was now time to begin the next stage of the plan he picked up the handset next to his chair. Speaking directly to the commander of the squadron of CF-18 Hornets he told him to begin their mission.

  The four CF-18s that had already entered the fray were dueling with the Chinese Shenyang J-15s launched from the carrier; missiles flew, and cannon fire ripped across the sky as they played their deadly game of cat and mouse, but that was a distraction intended to draw the Chinese away from the next threat. At the commander’s order twenty CF-18s—that had been loitering behind the Canadian frigates out of radar contact of the Chinese—lit their afterburners and streaked into the battle. Carrying a mixed load of air-to-air and air-to-surface missiles, they gained altitude and sought their targets like an aerial pack of hunters.

  The first missiles were launched at the anti-ship missiles speeding toward the Canadian vessels. They knocked more out of the sky, but still some got through and streaked toward the ships that were emptying their launchers at the honing-in ship killers. Onboard the ships the Phalanx close-quarter defense guns began spitting a solid stream of 20 mm cannon fire at the incoming missiles.

  The ship’s speakers broadcast the reports from the operations center. Initially, each reported hit had been met with cheers, but now an air of tense silence settled over the ship. With inevitability the commodore recognized they were not going to get them all and ordered the collision alert to sound. Knowing what they were attempting to do he had ordered every fifty-cal machine gun to be mounted on the decks.

  “Port side open fire,” he commanded through the ship’s PA system, and immediately the distinctive deep chatter of multiple guns firing filled the air as thousands of bullets flew outwards in the hope that just one hit would destroy the incoming missile. The seas around all the ships filled with bullets hitting the wavetops sending up plumes of spray. An explosion on the horizon indicated at least one hit.

  “Sir, the Vancouver has been hit!” a seaman shouted pointing off the starboard side of the ship.

  The commodore rushed to the bridge window and, grabbing some binoculars, searched for the frigate that was under his command.

  The fireball was still rising from the missile that had exploded in the bow of the Vancouver. It looked badly damaged, but ships were hard to sink in reality, and as long as the hull was not breached too badly, and if the fire could be brought under control, he knew there was chance to save it. There was nothing he could currently do but tell the radio operator to send a message that they would render aid when they could. They still had a battle to fight and the crew of the stricken frigate would have to rely on their own resources to control the damage.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when the PA system announced, “No more missiles inbound.”

  He performed a quick evaluation of the progress so far in his head. His ships had done their duty and feigned an attack on the Chinese from the north, causing some to leave their positions and pursue them as they turned tail and steamed away at high speed after launching their missiles.

  Even though one ship had been hit and was out of the fight, all the onboard defense systems had coped with the incoming missiles. The chance that, if faced with multiple targets, one or two might get through was a risk they had had to accept.

  An old general would have probably said, “You can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs.” And that was true, but he would still have to live with the fact that the eggs were men and women under his command and most likely many had been killed when the Vancouver was hit.

  It was time for phase three to begin. “Send the order to launch all remaining harpoons at the pursuing ships please.”

  His own ship juddered as more missile leapt from their tubes and, with engines sprouting long jets of flame, shot across the ocean to an enemy he had yet to see. Smoke trails led away from the other frigates and he experienced an emotional moment of pride as two missiles launched from the stricken Vancouver. It was still in the game despite the catastrophic damage it had received.

  The Hornets turned the air battle quickly into a one-sided slaughter as multiple air-to-air missiles
turned the four J-15s to burning fireballs falling from the sky.

  The four original CF-18s, low on fuel and ordnance, peeled off and went to find the waiting refueling plane before returning to their base in Canada. The rest continued pressing the attack, launching Maverick missiles at the multiple targets that showed on their targeting displays.

  Chinese Type 002 Carrier, Fifteen Miles off the Coast of California

  The operations room of the carrier was in chaos. One moment they were tracking their outgoing missiles, the operator calling the countdown to impact, and the next multiple aircraft appeared, flying toward them at supersonic speeds.

  One by one the four fighters they had launched blinked and disappeared from the screens and then over thirty more inbound missiles were detected.

  The aircraft carrier was in the center of a multi-layered ring of defense provided by over sixty destroyers, frigates, and corvettes covering hundreds of square miles of ocean. Huge landing ships and converted cruise liners were disgorging their complements of men, armored vehicles, attack helicopters, and huge quantities of other stores at ports along the coast. Once they had they cleared the port, they joined the fleet of vessels and even though not heavily armed they carried defense weapons of all capabilities.

  Twenty aircraft did not possess the strength to break through to them, but they could seriously damage or destroy many ships if not repulsed. The admiral in command of the Chinese fleet was on the bridge of the aircraft carrier following the flow of information that was relayed to him via screens or verbally from the ship’s operation center.

  “I don’t care if the fighter pilots want to engage the Americans,” he shouted angrily down the handset. “We need them to protect the carrier. Order them to remain on station. We have enough missiles to blow one hundred times more than they are sending at us out of the sky. I am not wasting precious planes because they want to show the American cowboys who has a bigger dick.”