Occupied Seattle (Occupied Seattle Book 2)

by Christopher Kennedy

  Calvin walked into the room as the newcomers were being introduced. In addition to First Sergeant Smith, the group of soldiers included Sergeant Jim ‘Shuteye’ Chang, Private First Class Steve ‘Tiny’ Johnson, Private First Class Mike ‘BTO’ Bachmann, and Private John ‘Jet’ Li. Private Li’s family was originally from Beijing. He could read a little Mandarin Chinese and was able to speak a bit more. Sergeant Chang’s family emigrated from the Guangzhou region when he was a child; he could get by with passable Mandarin and spoke Cantonese like a local. The woman was Corporal Suzi ‘Deadeye’ Taylor, who had just joined the company from Ranger School and was the first female Ranger.

  If Calvin thought he felt out of shape earlier, he felt positively obese standing next to the Rangers and the SEAL. That is, next to everyone except Tiny Johnson, who made him feel like a child. Johnson was black and an absolute mountain of a man at 6’5” and over 300 pounds. Johnson was the sniper for the unit. In his giant hands, the .50 caliber sniper rifle that was a load for anyone else looked like a kid’s toy gun. His spotter, BTO, was his polar opposite; as white as Johnson was black, barely five feet tall and 140 pounds and as fiery in personality as Tiny was withdrawn and reticent. BTO looked like a little Chihuahua running around a Great Dane.

  “Hey, Top, I heard your CO was a little upset that we asked for your help,” Ryan said with a smile as they gathered around the kitchen table where some maps had been spread out. “How’d that work out for him?”

  “Hell, yeah, he was mad. The only person more angry than my commanding officer was the Chief of Staff of the Army, who got onto the phone and proceeded to give my CO a reaming the likes of which I’ve never heard an officer get. I wish I had a recording of it; you’d have loved it. He ended by promising to demote my CO to second lieutenant and have him reassigned to muck out horse stalls at Fort Sill. I think my CO was crying at the end of it.” He laughed. “In any event, here we are, as requested.”

  “I would have loved to hear it,” said Ryan. “Serves him right for not letting you come to my housewarming. However, unless my math is bad, he shorted us quite a few people. I asked for 20, and I only see five.”

  “No worries,” said Top, “You’ve actually got 21. In addition to the six of us here, we’ve got a rifle squad and a couple of M240 machine gun crews.” Top paused. “We couldn’t get onto base to get our weapons, so I sent the other men to go by your armory and pick some up. I hope that’s all right. We’ll meet them at the university. Shuteye and Jet are here in case you need to plan any undercover operations, and Tiny and BTO are here because they’re the sniper team and need to know the big picture, so they can understand who they need to target. Deadeye just checked into the company from Ranger School. She is a former intelligence specialist, so we thought she might come in handy for any planning that we needed to do.”

  “Good job sending them to my place,” congratulated Ryan, “but we’ll need to give them directions to get past the checkpoint on the way there. It will be good to have them at the university ahead of time, so they can start watching the area. Do we have any of their cell phone numbers so that we can call them?”

  “We can call them now, but we won’t be able to once they’re at the university,” spoke up Sergeant Chang. “My girlfriend lives close to the campus, and cell phones aren’t working in the vicinity. They must have a cell phone jammer or jammers in the area. Anywhere within about 10 miles of the downtown area is a no-cell zone.”

  “Oh my god!” exclaimed Corporal Taylor from the window. “Did you know there is a missile transporter in your backyard?” Deadeye was easily six feet, two inches tall and had broader shoulders than most of the men that were present. Not only that, she also had muscles that most of the men would have been proud of. With long blond hair and a pretty face, she was still very attractive…just in a large, intimidating sort of way. Her voice, Calvin noticed, was far too high for someone her size, though. It was probably too high for anyone taller than about three feet that wasn’t a cartoon character.

  “Yeah, we know about the Growler,” said Calvin. “It’s currently at the top of my list of things that must be blown up.”

  “All right,” said Ryan, bringing the conversation back to the point, “We’ll just have to plan around the no-cell zone. We can work out a couple of contingency plans and finalize things once we get there. How are we set for transport?”

  “We’re good,” Top replied. “I had a couple of the guys here drive their own cars. I thought it would look a little funny to have six or eight guys in a big Suburban all driving around together.

  “Yeah, it probably would, at that,” agreed Ryan. “What intel do we have on the area?”

  “You told me earlier that Miss Sommers saw a big group of students being taken into the Intramural Activities Building (IAB) at the University of Washington,” said Top. “As near as I can tell, that’s one of three groups of prisoners the Chinese captured yesterday to be used as hostages. They also took prisoners at the convention center and at Safeco Field. They released all of the convention center hostages and the hostages from Safeco Field last night after the announcement was made. They never released any of the students from the IAB. Why do you suppose that is?”

  “They obviously had different purposes in holding each of the groups,” answered Calvin, happy to be contributing something to the discussion. “They wanted to be able to threaten the big groups of hostages in the event we tried some sort of military attack on them. If they could threaten a big group, they might have been able to make us back down. When they met all of their invasion goals for the first day, though, the Chinese decided they didn’t need them anymore.”

  “That’s what I thought, too,” replied Top, to a chorus of nodding heads. “However, that doesn’t tell us why they’re still holding the students in the IAB. There’s got to be a different reason.”

  “How about if they were holding the warheads from six nuclear weapons in the building?” asked Ryan. “Think that would be a good reason for them to keep holding the students? We obviously can’t attack the building and risk setting one of them off now, can we?”

  “What is everyone here for, if you aren’t going to do anything to rescue the hostages?” asked Sara, who was standing behind Ryan, looking frustrated.

  “Oh, we can and will do something about the situation at the IAB,” said Ryan, “I was just emphasizing what the Chinese would like us to believe. By the way, I forgot you were standing there. You didn’t hear me say ‘nuclear weapons.’ Please forget you ever heard those two words.”

  “I figured it was something like that,” said Sara. “Why else would you have to delay everything else that needs to be done until you completed this task? It just didn’t make sense any other way.”

  “Smart girl,” said Ryan. Noticing a sick look on Calvin’s face, Ryan asked, “Is something wrong, sir?” Calvin noticed Ryan’s use of the word ‘sir,’ as it was the first time that Ryan had called him that. As the planning had gone on, Ryan had lapsed into his former role of SEAL Senior Chief. Gone was the blustering bravado of the ‘backwoods hermit;’ he was now 100% the consummate, confident professional. Calvin approved. The navy had lost a tremendous asset when Ryan had been forced into retirement.

  This did nothing to help Calvin’s own state of mind. “Yeah, Senior Chief,” Calvin said, willing to play the ‘professional’ game with him. “I don’t see what my role is in this anymore now that you have experienced Special Forces backup. I’m thinking that maybe I should be trying to get back to Fallon and my air wing.” Now that he had said it, Calvin realized that he probably was out of his league. Although he had initially wanted no part of being a ground troop, he had actually been looking forward to the challenge, the opportunity to make a difference and, if he were honest with himself, the danger of doing it. Now that the professionals had arrived, he was nothing more than a fifth wheel, at best, which was far more disappointing than he would have ever thought it would be. Sara’s presence only added to his
distress. He didn’t know why, but he really wanted to impress her.

  For her part, Sara could feel his anguish, and her heart went out to him.

  Ryan smiled and said, “You’ve got the most important role of all, sir; you’re our platoon leader! Every military organization has to have an officer to take the blame when things go wrong and give us enlisted men the credit when things go right. You’re the one responsible for looking at big picture things and making sure we don’t desecrate dead bodies or burn holy books or anything else that looks bad on the nightly news.”

  “That’s great and all,” replied Calvin, “but I don’t know anything about Special Forces stuff. How am I supposed to plan for what we’re doing?”

  “Well, sir, that’s the best part about being you. You’ve got Top and I here to do all of the planning for our tactical operations. We’ve got over 50 years of experience between us. Your part is to look at the operational and strategic level and make sure that what we’re doing is in accordance with the United States’ goals and objectives in pursuing this war. We’re good at killing people and breaking things. You just handle the rest.” He paused and then said with a grin, “Besides, I voted for you!”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” asked Calvin.

  “It means that, when the CNO asked who was in charge of this mixed platoon, I, of course, said that you were. I told him how you were taking charge of all of the planning out here, how you were giving us great direction and inspiration for getting back the nukes that the navy had lost, and what a great job you were doing, blah, blah, blah. He now thinks that you are the ‘absolute best’ man for the job here and wants you to stay and watch over all of us, so that we don’t get into trouble.”

  “You told the CNO I had taken charge?” Calvin sounded shocked. He thought about it a second and then said, “Thanks, I guess…but wouldn’t it be better to have Top’s CO in charge? Doesn’t he have a lot more experience in this sort of thing?”

  “Well, sure, he’s more tactically qualified,” answered Ryan, “but he’s an ass.” The Rangers all nodded in agreement. “Besides, all my issues with authority aside, military operations need to have responsible leadership, and I think you’ll do just fine. You’re the big picture guy. You just give us the objectives and let us handle the details.” Ryan’s phone rang. Looking at it, he smiled as he handed it to Calvin. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” said the former SEAL. “You also get to deal with higher authority.” He chuckled and then winked at Top. “By the way, the CNO’s on the phone for you,” he added.

  The other shoe dropped for Calvin, as he saw how he had been neatly maneuvered into doing the thing that Ryan hated most, dealing with senior leadership. Still, someone had to do it and, while he never thought he’d be personally talking to the CNO, this was something he could do. Taking the phone, he said, “OK, I’m in. You guys work out the plan, and I’ll go talk to the brass,” he said, meaning the senior leadership. Switching the phone on and walking away from the table so he could hear, he continued, “Lieutenant Hobbs, may I help you, sir?”

  PLAN LHD Long, Pier D, Naval Base Kitsap, WA, 0830 PDT

  Admiral Zhao Na looked around at the small group of officers assembled in his conference room onboard the PLAN Long to ensure he had their attention. “I just spoke with one of the vice premiers,” he said, “and we are to send the American nuclear warheads back to the People’s Republic of China (PRC), where they can be disassembled and studied. It is my intention to leave one of them at the university in case we need it; however, we shall send the other five back to the PRC as soon as we can arrange it.” A large man, both tall and stout, the admiral didn’t need to raise his voice to be heard; everyone was very attentive, as befit a discussion on handling nuclear weapons. He looked at Lieutenant Commander Lin Gang, the Air Operations Officer of the Long. “What craft do we have to get them back?”

  Lieutenant Commander Lin, a tall and studious-looking man, looked at his notes and said, “We have a variety of options, sir. We can fly them out of any of the airports at Whidbey Island Naval Air Station, Seattle-Tacoma Airport or McChord Air Base. We have six Y-20 Kunpeng aircraft standing by at the military bases, as well as several Air China 747s available at the civilian airport.” The Y-20 was a heavy lift aircraft similar to the U.S. Air Force’s C-17, although it couldn’t carry quite as much cargo.

  “Here’s what I want,” said the admiral. “In order to maximize the chances for getting at least one back, I want you to send two Z-8 heavy lift helicopters, along with four Z-10 attack helicopters for support. Each of the Z-8s will carry two of the weapons; one will go to Whidbey, the other to Seattle-Tacoma. Load them onto two Y-20 aircraft at Whidbey Island and two Air China 747s at Seattle-Tacoma. When all are ready, I want them to launch at the same time, although I want their routes of flight to be different. All of them should avoid American bases or known American positions and ships to the greatest extent possible.”

  “That accounts for four of them, admiral,” said Lieutenant Commander Lin. “What do you wish us to do with the other one?”

  The admiral looked at Captain Chan Ming, the Commanding Officer of the Long. “You will send one of our landing craft to bring it back to this ship by sea. We will take it home with us, ourselves.”

  Captain Chan bowed. “It will be done as you order.”

  Sommers’ House, North Bend, WA, 0835 PDT

  “OK,” said Ryan, “that’s it, then. Are there any last minute questions or anything that I missed?” He looked around the room but didn’t see any questions.

  The planning session had ended, and everyone was preparing to leave to get into position. Normally, the Special Forces soldiers would have wanted to conduct an operation of this type under the cover of darkness, but it wasn’t possible. They needed the weapons recovered quickly, before the Chinese could disperse them and further complicate their recapture. The soldiers had come up with two broad plans to accomplish their mission. The first relied on trickery. If two Chinese army uniforms could be acquired, the two Chinese-speaking Rangers would wear them and infiltrate the building where the students, and presumably the nuclear weapons, were being held. Once inside, they would take care of any forces that were watching the building’s entrance, providing access to the rest of the platoon.

  If there weren’t any uniforms to be had, then the platoon would go with the ‘smash and grab’ approach, overcoming resistance by hitting the Chinese hard and fast and getting away with the weapons before major forces could respond. Both options involved eight soldiers with SUVs driving up to the building to remove the weapons. This would leave them with only 13 Rangers, a SEAL and a pilot as the assault force. It had quickly become apparent they would need additional support, so Top had asked for another squad of soldiers. Most of the nine additional personnel he received were borrowed from one of the rifle platoons, but he also wanted two people to man the Ranger Anti-tank Weapons System that Ryan had in his armory.

  When Calvin had called the Rangers’ commanding officer to apprise him of the need, Calvin had found him to be meek and very agreeable; apparently, he hadn’t gotten over his reaming yet.

  Calvin’s other phone call with the CNO had been…interesting. As a junior officer, he was not used to dealing with senior admirals, but Calvin had played along as the platoon’s commander. He had briefed the CNO on their plans to recover the weapons, as well as their intentions to take out the HQ-19 battery as their next operation. This would give a little more freedom to U.S. forces operating to the southeast of Seattle. Calvin had also made two requests of the CNO when he finished briefing him, both of which had been approved.

  “Before everyone goes,” said Calvin, interrupting Ryan’s final words. “As your new CO, I need to take care of one administrative thing.”

  “Look at that,” said Ryan. “He’s only been in charge 15 minutes, and he’s already trying to get us to do paperwork. Maybe he is a typical officer, after all.”

  “No,” said Calvin, “this is imp
ortant.” Seeing he had everyone’s attention, he looked at Ryan and said, “Hold up your right hand and repeat after me, ‘I, Ryan O’Leary, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.”

  “Umm, yeah, all that stuff. So help me God,” said Senior Chief Petty Officer Ryan O’Leary, who recognized the oath of office for an enlisted man. “Are you authorized to do that?”

  Calvin nodded, “By the power invested in me by the Chief of Naval Operations, I am so authorized. Face it, I couldn’t have you running around in a military operation as a civilian, so it was a decision that had to be made, whether you wanted it or not. Congratulations, Master Chief Petty Officer O’Leary.”

  “Thanks, but that’s Senior Chief,” corrected Ryan.

  “Actually, no, it’s Master Chief,” said Calvin cheerfully. “I had them reinstate you from when you were retired in 2013, which includes your promotion in the 2016 or 2017 time frame, which we’ll have to argue about with the Navy’s Personnel Department at a later date. The most important thing to know is that you now have about five years of back pay coming, so if we survive this, the drinks are most definitely on you!”

  “Damn, sir, I don’t know what to say,” said the newly minted Master Chief humbly. “I guess a pretty big thank you would be in order.”

  “Hell, don’t thank me,” said Calvin. “As the senior enlisted, though, you need to get the troops moving, so they can get into their positions for the…” He was interrupted by a ‘woooosh’ and a window-shaking roar as a missile roared out of the tubes of the HQ-19 missile transporter closest to the house, followed closely by a second missile, then a third. Running to the window, Calvin could see all four tube doors on it were open; either the fourth missile failed to fire or was aborted for some reason.