Invasion: Colorado ia-3

by Vaughn Heppner

  Anderson gave him a sharp look. It seemed he would speak. Instead, he straightened. “Good-luck, Marine. Give the enemy hell.”

  “Yes, sir,” Paul said. “You, too.”

  “Semper Fi,” Anderson said. Then he headed for the jeep.

  Paul looked around a final time. Speaking of Hell…this place was about to go through it. He turned and ran back to the helo.

  A few minutes later, the helicopter lifted, heading west toward the Rockies, taking Paul and Romo to their next assignment.

  -8-

  Dong-Fong 15

  THIRD FRONT HQ, COLORADO

  Marshal Liang and his Chief of Staff General Ping stood around a computer map of the Third Front. They were alone in Liang’s study, although they could hear the sounds of the Third Front Command personnel through the closed door. Two cups of steaming tea sat on the edges of the map.

  The primary frontages were in Colorado, divided between Army Group A and Army Group B. The bulk of Army Group A was storming Greater Denver, while a smaller portion had swung west and attacked Greeley. Greeley was part of the Front Range Urban Corridor, which was on the eastern face of the Southern Rocky Mountains. The city of Greeley anchored the American defenses along the South Platte River, and the fierce resistance by the enemy showed that the enemy had put the rainy weather halt to good use.

  Army Group B assaulted along the South Platte River to the west of Army Group A. The area of attack extended slightly into western Nebraska. So far, Liang had kept General Zhen’s Sixth Tank Army in reserve. He waited for a weak spot to appear in the American defenses. Once he found it, he would unleash the Tank Army against the opening. The Tank Army would exploit the weakness to drive into the American rear areas, wreaking havoc by destroying supply dumps, communications and headquarters units.

  Liang had expected a stiffening of the American defenses. The mud-induced halt had hurt the Chinese momentum, but he expected to regain it soon. What troubled him more than the enemy’s stiffening resistance was his ally to the east: the South American First Front, commanded by Field Marshal Sanchez. By all appearances, things did not go well with the South Americans, the Venezuelans in particular.

  “The First Front is tardy in its assault,” Liang said.

  General Ping nodded in agreement.

  Liang picked up his tea, gently blowing across it. He touched his lower lips to the cup, but found that it was still too hot. With a click of noise, he set the cup into its saucer.

  He’d spoken at length with Chinese observers placed among the SAF forces. All agreed that the Latin Americans had found the invasion too bloody and the defenders too ferocious for their tastes. Some of the elite Brazilian divisions did well, particularly their high-speed armor. But the bulk of the South Americans lacked the needed fire in their hearts and in their bellies to engage the enemy with zeal. They used prodigious amounts of artillery before every attack. They also expended an excessive number of drones, both airborne and ground. Even before the mud-induced halt, the South Americans had showed a decided lack of fervor in the attack. Now, they were late assaulting the Americans and causing a slowing all along the line because they were not pinning down the enemy’s forces.

  White Tiger recon teams and deep-penetration drones showed that the Americans had built a heavy defensive system along the North Platte River and the main Platte River in Nebraska. Unfortunately, the SAF First Front had yet to reach the southern Nebraska border. Instead they inched upward through northern Kansas, clearing away American delaying battalions.

  Marshal Liang attempted to be philosophical concerning the South Americans. It was good China had allies. For one thing, it added millions more troops to their side. And if the SAF armies lacked aggression, they still made reasonably good garrison troops. Frankly, China needed bodies, great masses of them, to conquer the United States. The South Americans had helped flesh out the invasion force. That was to China’s benefit and it certainly aided Third Front.

  However, the lack of SAF fighting power also meant the primary advances would have to come from the two Chinese Fronts. The two outer drives would have to be like a bull’s horns. Those horns would have to encircle the American front and crush everything in the center. Therefore, the South Americans didn’t need to drive the rest of the way to the Canadian border. They simply needed to hold what they had and keep the Americans from escaping their coming doom. It meant the SAF armies were adequate for victory.

  There was one problem with the fact of SAF inadequacy. The Chinese horns needed to pierce the American defenses, and the deeper they did so the better. Because of Chairman Hong’s desire to capture the Behemoth Tank Plant, and thereby force the storming of Denver, Liang lacked the necessary power to smash decisively through the hardened American defenses in his region of responsibility.

  “We need all of Army Group A,” Liang said. With his right-hand middle finger, he tapped Greater Denver on the map. The tip of his finger happened to touch the “N” in Denver. “Instead of attacking the city, we could use those two armies in the north to help in the main assault.”

  “The American line has stiffened considerably,” Ping said. “They have received reinforcements from somewhere.”

  That was another thing troubling Liang. He said, “I have read reports of massive reinforcements.”

  “I have read those reports, too,” Ping said. “I would discount the part of the assistance being massive, but I do agree the Americans have received considerable aid. You and I knew this would occur. The truth: the weather halt hurt us.”

  Liang grunted agreement. Ping and he had talked about this for months before the initial invasion. The conclusion had been obvious even then. China must shatter the main American Army fast, never allowing it time to regroup and regrow.

  Chairman Hong believed his armies would now race to the Canadian border, along the way snatching the crucial oil fields in Montana and North Dakota. Yes, Liang believed those things would happen. First, though, they needed to encircle the Americans in Nebraska in one gigantic trap. A gargantuan battle of annihilation, with one to two million American soldiers caught and devoured. That would win them this campaign and give China the war. For that to occur, they needed to smash through the defensive lines quickly, before more American levies could join the veteran formations.

  “This winter might be our last chance to finish this,” Liang said. “The Americans must be mobilizing millions of new troops.”

  “Perhaps,” Ping said. “But with German Dominion aid—”

  “No!” Liang said. “We cannot count on anyone else to save us. We must mass and punch through these defensive lines now. I need all of Army Group A. I need them to add weight to our northern assaults. Later, I will need them to help encircle the Americans so we may devour the enemy.”

  General Ping was silent for a time. He took off his glasses, cleaning a lens with a rag from his pocket. When he put the glasses back on, he said, “The storm-assault into Denver is proving costly in soldiers.”

  “We must seal off the Americans there and keep them from receiving aid,” Liang said. “We must destroy I-70. There are many places to break the route.” As he stood, he leaned against the computer map, using his middle finger to tap various locations along I-70.”

  “Our Air Force—”

  “We will save our Air Force for less costly missions,” Liang said. “I have talked with Marshal Wu and he agreed I should use a portion of our Dong-Fong 15s to break the route.”

  “Ballistic missiles?” asked Ping. “The Americans might believe we’re launching nuclear weapons and retaliate before they realize ours carry conventional warheads.”

  “Nevertheless, I will use the DP-15s.”

  “Their CEP might not be tight enough,” Ping said.

  CEP meant circular error probable. It was a matter of accuracy, how many meters the warhead was likely to miss by.

  “The DP-15 has a one hundred meter CEP,” Liang said. “If we fire enough at each target, it should suffic
e to shatter the route.”

  “How many missiles do you plan to use?” Ping asked.

  “Fifty should insure I-70’s destruction along critical key junctions.”

  General Ping was silent.

  Liang picked up his cup and sipped tea. Finally, it was the perfect temperature. He regarded his Chief of Staff.

  “Fifty missiles should demolish I-70,” Ping said.

  “You think I’m using overkill?” Liang asked.

  Ping moved his shoulders in a deferential shrug. “You want Denver captured with speed. This might do it.”

  “Go on,” Liang said. “But…”

  “Even if the city is cut off from direct supplies, the Americans will use air transports to ferry more.”

  “True,” Liang said. “That is the battle where we will employ our Air Force. We must starve these stubborn defenders of food and ammunition. We must show them that their cause is hopeless. I need Army Group A in the north. If we don’t capture the city soon enough, I’m afraid the Chairman might divert supplies there. He has an obsession with the Behemoths.”

  “As do I, Marshal.”

  Liang grunted once more. He used his middle finger and traced I-70 in the Rockies behind Denver. “This time we will achieve success.”

  “With fifty ballistic missiles, yes, I would think so,” Ping said.

  Liang set down his teacup and picked up a phone. He stared at the map showing I-70. Then he glanced at Ping. “It is time to initiate the attack.”

  PUEBLO, COLORADO

  Ten big eight-wheeled Chinese transporter erector launchers (TELs) pulled out of Pueblo along I-25. The first two drove off the side at a rest stop. First Rank Wei slowed down three miles later. He took the turn-off and came to a halt in a pasture. Five hundred meters away, a herd of Holstein cows grazed. Several looked up at the three TELs.

  The captain pulled up in his command vehicle and climbed out. His comm-team hurried to complete their tasks.

  First Rank Wei made sure his TEL was level. Then he began pre-launch procedures.

  The hydraulic system whined. Slowly, the Dong-Fong 15, or East Wind 15, began to stand upright. It always reminded Wei of an erection.

  He grinned to himself. Some of the American women were most accommodating. They liked to eat well, and few in Chinese Occupation Territory had enough to eat. Already East Lightning sent captured American food supplies back to China. That made it much easier for Wei finding good lays.

  With a critical eye, First Rank Wei watched the DP-15. This SRBM—Short Range Ballistic Missile—was nine point one meters long. It weighed six thousand two hundred kilograms and had a one-meter diameter. The engine was a single-stage, solid propellant rocket. Its operational range was 600 kilometers, or about 370 miles.

  Finally, the DP-15 stopped, ready for launching.

  Now First Rank Wei went to work. He typed in the coordinates and checked the systems. The missile unit’s captain came by, inspected his work and told him he’d done well.

  First Rank Wei waited. A half hour later, the order came down. Wei stood at the launch controls. This was going to be a coordinated attack with fifty other missiles.

  The captain gave the word. Three… two… one… zero—First Rank Wei pressed the red launch button.

  A billowing cloud grew and the roar of the missile brought a smile to Wei’s face. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the cattle stampeded away. He knew that was going to happen. He laughed with amusement.

  Three Dong-Fong 15 missiles slowly lifted from the transporter erector launchers. One of the launchers rocked badly, going up and down, causing dirt to fly from the sides. Each missile increased speed and in seconds, they became streaks.

  The ballistic missiles roared away into the sky out of view of First Rank Wei and his captain. Each missile climbed at an astonishing rate and quickly reached its parabolic apogee. First Rank Wei’s DP-15 performed as built. The warhead separated from the rocket and began its preplanned descent.

  The warhead was one-tenth the rocket’s size. It possessed a maneuverable reentry vehicle. That would allow it to jink, to offset any anti-ballistic missiles or lasers the enemy used to try to shoot them down. Wei’s DP-15 was moving fast now as it dropped toward target in a ballistic arc. Its terminal velocity would reach Mach 6. Maybe as important, the rocket body trailed the warhead. It was there as camouflage, to give American radar and missiles too many targets to properly engage.

  PATRIOT MISSILE BATTERY I-70, SITE 6, COLORADO

  A PAC-5 firing battery at Site 6 on I-70 first picked up the DP-15 attack.

  The AN/MPQ-65 radar detected ballistic missiles. The radar’s AI reviewed the speed, altitude and behavior of the target. The discrimination parameters were met and it was therefore passed on. The data appeared on Corporal Vincent Jimenez’s screen as a ballistic missile target.

  In seconds, in the AN/MSQ-104 Engagement Control Station, the TCO reviewed the speed, altitude and trajectory of the track. He authorized engagement and told his TCA to go from “standby” mode to “operate” mode.

  At that point, automated systems took over. The computer determined which battery’s launchers had the highest kill probability. Pairs of Patriot missiles ripple-fired 4.2 seconds apart, two Patriots per DP-15.

  The AN/MPQ-65 radar continued to track the incoming missiles. Detection of greater numbers of incoming enemy missiles caused more alarms to sound.

  “They’re saturating us,” the TCO said. “They’re making another try for I-70. I hope the tac-lasers are ready.”

  As First Rank Wei’s Dong-Fong 15 missile headed for the western opening of the Eisenhower Tunnel, the first PAC-5 missile reached its terminal homing phase. The Ka band active radar seeker in the nose of the PAC-5 acquired the DP-15. Now the altitude control motors fired, precisely aligning the missile on its interception trajectory.

  The two missiles closed, and the interceptor flew straight through the DP-15, detonating it and destroying the warhead. The second Patriot attacked the DP-15’s empty rocket body and likewise scored a hit.

  The other ballistic missiles kept coming. There were forty-seven of them, for one Dong-Fong 15 had failed to launch. A second ballistic missile blew up during its boost phase due to a malfunction.

  American radio chatter increased, helping coordinate the data-linked battery as the PAC-5s launched more interceptors. Tac-lasers at sister sites along I-70 incinerated incoming warheads and empty rocket tubes, creating a Fourth of July spectacle.

  “Fifteen enemy missiles still incoming,” a radar operator said tersely.

  Tac-lasers swiveled on their mounts. Once more, the generators hummed.

  “Eleven missiles incoming,” the radar operator reported.

  Behind him, the TCO grit his teeth and put a hand on the operator’s shoulder.

  “Nine missiles, sir.”

  “Come on,” the TCO said.

  The last interceptors stuck. The final beams slashed at the speed of light.

  “Hit, sir,” the radar operator said. “One bogey struck us.”

  “Just the one hit?”

  In the end, five Dong-Fong 15 ballistic warheads struck their targets. Their CEP averaged fifty meters. Three struck nearly perfectly, one at the western end of the Eisenhower Tunnel.

  The Eisenhower Tunnel was the longest mountain tunnel in the world. The explosion caused a cave-in and did massive damage.

  The second missile struck a bridge in Glenwood Canyon, destroying it. The third destroyed a viaduct in the same canyon. The fourth missile hit outside the normal DP-15 CEP. It did greater damage, though, not less, causing a landslide onto the I-70 and its nearby rail-line.

  The attack cut I-70 for the moment. Repairs would take precious time and no more supplies would come through by land until these places were repaired or rebuilt.

  ENGLEWOOD, COLORADO

  Jake and Goose agreed, the Lieutenant of the Eleventh CDM Battalion was insane. They were down to one hundred and fifty-three effectives an
d one lieutenant, and half of the men were shell-shocked, with the thousand-yard stare. They badly needed rest.

  It didn’t matter to the Lieutenant or to High Command. They needed everyone on the line in order to stem the enemy attack, while the Lieutenant wanted to show President Sims the loyalty of a true American. He meant to stop the Chinese, by himself if he had too.

  A few times the past few days, Militiamen had gone crazy, screaming or crying, just wanting the terrible, grinding battle to end. The Lieutenant’s answer had been the same every time: beat them. Fists, rifle-butts, the steel toe of a boot, beat the craziness out of each man and bring him back to normality. The Lieutenant said the men needed the shock to wake them up: that the beating was mercy, not cruelty. The worst part to Jake about the treatment was that it worked. It left the former screamer or crier with black eyes and bruises, but he often became sane again, with the madness exorcised from his heart.

  The Lieutenant and his last NCOs—former guards of the Detention Center—were all muscle-bound steroid-users. They were strong to a man and the steroids must have warped their judgment toward hyper-aggression.

  Yesterday, the Lieutenant had a flash of inspiration. The Battle of Greater Denver had turned really evil, almost two weeks of constant city fighting. The Chinese used artillery. They used bombers, heavy drones, anything that could bring destruction from above onto the men on the ground. Two Chinese Armies battled their way in with continuing and frightening success.

  Flame-throwing light-tanks, armored bulldozers, IFVs, heavy machine gun-pouring Gunhawks, armored infantry and the Eagle commandos seized more of the city every day. The enemy brought tremendous firepower, horrendous bombs, shells, bullets and liquid fire to the fray. It was murderous war, and like rats, the Americans in the rubble and in the ferroconcrete buildings that simply refused to collapse fired their assault rifles and heavy machine guns back. Jake and his fellow Militiamen blasted back with Javelin missiles and used mortar rounds to rain shrapnel on every Chinese advance.