Occupied Seattle (Occupied Seattle Book 2)

by Christopher Kennedy

  Leaving the AMRAAMs to find their way to the AWACS, CAG broke off to defend himself. Falcon 301 had given him enough warning that the J-20 wasn’t able get a shot at him, and they began a turning fight, both looking to get an advantage over the other. The J-20 had a better turning rate than the Hornet, and CAG was starting to lose position. Just before the enemy was able to get a shot at him, CAG’s wingman closed from behind the J-20 and fired a burst of cannon fire down the side of the aircraft. It hit the J-20’s fuel tank, and the aircraft exploded.

  Only one J-20 remained, and it was trapped between Falcon 302 and Falcon 310. It evaded 302, but flew right into the gunsight of 310, and the aircraft’s pilot, ‘Guns’ Simpson, had his second kill of the day.

  Having seen that his pilots had the J-20s taken care of, Falcon 300 looked for the AWACS and saw it going down in flames, hit by at least two of the Blasters’ AMRAAMs. Having been drawn relatively close to it by the dog fight, he fired one of his remaining Sidewinders, which impacted the outboard engine already burning on the left wing. The wing, weakened by two prior hits, failed, and the outer half separated from the airplane, causing the A-50 to spiral out of control and crash into the water in the bay off Seattle’s coast.

  With the demise of the last Chinese aircraft, there was nothing to prevent the Chinese SAM systems from shooting at the American aircraft, and the Americans’ threat warning systems quickly began to screaming alarms about a variety of active missile systems. “Blasters and Falcons, this is Liberty,” CAG transmitted, using the codeword that identified him as CAG, “Let’s hit the deck and get the hell out of here!”

  All of the pilots executed heart-stopping descents as they frantically tried to get below where the radars could see them, dispensing chaff and flares to confuse any missiles that might be fired at them. The aviators could see bright fires erupt in several places around the city as missile after missile was launched at them. With the loss of the AWACS, though, the Chinese lost the person that had been running the air defense; it took a few seconds for the next person to realize that he was now in charge. It took him additional time to authorize the SAM commanders to fire, time that was used by the Americans to run back to the safety of the Cascades.

  One commander, a HQ-18 battery commander in Seattle, was faster than the rest and launched three missiles at the fleeing aircraft. Falcon 301, a little slower than the other F-18s due to some minor battle damage, was hit by two of these missiles and knocked from the sky. Flying at 200 feet when the aircraft was hit, Swimmer didn’t have time to eject prior to the aircraft’s impact with the ground and he blew up with his aircraft.

  The other aircraft made it back to the safety of the mountains. Aside from a few bullet holes that Falcon 300 picked up going back across the line of battle, the aircraft would all make it back safely to Fallon, having somewhat evened the score with the Chinese. They wanted more.

  Bangor Naval Base, WA, 0645 PDT

  Colonel Bart Williamson now had nearly a regiment’s worth of men and women of the 7th Infantry Division at the naval base in Bangor, with more trickling in all the time. The 4,000 or so troops that he had were not well armed, as they only had hunting rifles and shotguns. They had beaten off the attack yesterday, but just barely. If they hadn’t caught the helicopters by surprise, they would never have prevailed. Over the last day, they had taken the wounded off to the nearby hospitals and had buried the dead; it was never good for morale to have dead bodies lying around.

  He expected the Chinese to be back. Without the nuclear weapons to hold the Americans hostage, the Chinese were going to get their butts kicked. Not by his under-armed forces, but he knew that the Army would be sending everything it could to take Seattle back. If his troops could just hold Bangor, everything would be all right. If his troops could just hold.

  He had used the time since the last attack to build what fortifications he could. He didn’t know how many helicopters the Chinese had left, but it couldn’t be many. The next attack would probably be on the ground, with possibly some air support. As long as they didn’t send tanks, he thought his men and women could hold for another day or two. Armored fighting vehicles would be bad enough, but he had enough men that the Chinese probably couldn’t overwhelm him with numbers. As long as they didn’t bring tanks up to support the assault.

  “Colonel Williamson, sir!” shouted his communications sergeant. “We just got a call from the State Patrol. We’ve got tanks and other armor inbound! At least 25 of them! The State Patrol is going to try and stop them, but their commander doesn’t think that they’ll be able to hold out very long against them.”

  With a sinking heart, he knew that they were screwed. He wondered if this is how the Americans at Lexington and Concord had felt. A militia armed with their personal hunting rifles was about to go up against a well-armed, modern army. Somehow, he didn’t think the Americans were going to fare as well, this time.

  Highway 16, One Mile East of Gorst, WA, 0645 PDT

  “Lieutenant, we just got word from the scouts,” the trooper said, running up. “We have armor inbound. At least 25 tanks and about that many more armored fighting vehicles. There’s also a big bunch of those Chinese black vans following them.”

  Lieutenant Geoffrey Mason looked around the roadblock that his men had worked throughout the night to prepare. It wasn’t everything that he wanted, but it would have to do. “Did they say how many vans were coming?”

  “No sir, they didn’t say how many, they just said there were ‘a lot’ of vans,” the trooper replied.

  “Call them back and get a number, if possible,” Mason ordered. “We need to know what we’re dealing with.” The trooper ran off to comply.

  Lieutenant Mason had just finished his dinner the night before when his long-time friend, Bart Williamson, had called and asked for his assistance.

  “Geoffrey, I need your help,” he had said, “and if I don’t get it, we may just lose this war.” Mason had listened intently as Williamson had described the nature of his three-fold problem: an indefensible objective, not enough effective weapons and a lack of intelligence. Throw in the fact that nuclear warheads were involved, and Williamson not only had his complete attention, but his offer of support as well.

  Mason would have helped anyway. He had been a classmate of Williamson’s at West Point and they had been commissioned as lieutenants together. They had also served in several of the same crappy places, as well, and had become good friends before Geoffrey had chosen to get out of the army. When Williamson had been stationed in Tacoma, they had renewed their friendship, and Mason would do whatever he could for him.

  He couldn’t defend the nuclear weapons depot any better than Williamson, though, nor did he have a stockpile of weapons with which he could engage the Chinese armor. He could, however, at least help with intelligence and maybe, just maybe, his men could also provide some assistance with the depot’s defense. The Assistant District Commander for the Bremerton District of the Washington State Patrol, Lieutenant Mason had instructed his operations group to stop what they had been working on and to do what they could to help with the defense of Bangor.

  Intelligence was easy. Unlike cell phones in the area, their car radios worked, and he had set up a daisy chain network to let Williamson know what Chinese forces were headed his way and when they would be there. Right now, Williamson would also be getting the bad news about the approaching Chinese armor. Hopefully, they could get a better idea of the exact nature of the Chinese force and send that up, too.

  Mason wasn’t done there. He intended to do what he could to stop the Chinese advance. His men, most of them veterans of various branches of the military, had whole-heartedly agreed and had called all of their friends that had military training. Overnight, he had gathered 150 State Patrolmen, National Guardsmen and various other men and women that refused to let the Chinese have their way. If they could, they would stop the Chinese armored column right here. Mason had also spoken with a Trooper Bob Davidson from District O
ne, who had ambushed a Chinese column the day before. His SWAT team had volunteered to come up and participate in the roadblock.

  Mason looked at the ambush that Davidson had helped set up. He approved. State Patrol District Eight had always owned the highways in the Bremerton area, Mason thought. Today would be no different.

  White House Situation Room, Washington, D.C., 1005 EDT (0650 PDT)

  The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff concluded, “Yes, Mr. President, we are good to go. If you give the word, we are ready to execute Operation Titanite for the Defense of Taiwan. You asked for a bold and daring plan, and we have put together the boldest and most audacious plan that we could. In one swoop, this has the potential to win or lose the war. All of the services are contributing and are giving their maximum effort.”

  “Those that don’t study the mistakes of history,” the president said, “are doomed to repeat them. It’s time for history to repeat itself. Launch Operation Titanite.”

  “Yes, sir!” said the Chairman enthusiastically. You have to bet big to win big and he was making the gamble of his life. The plan had a LOT of moving pieces, and it was going to take everyone’s best efforts to bring it off successfully. And a lot of luck. An industrial-sized helping of luck. Before he could start giving the orders to initiate the attack, a staffer broke into the room and ran over to the Chief of Staff of the Army. He spoke excitedly to him in a hushed voice.

  Finally, the Chief of Staff knew enough to proceed and waved the staffer down. Turning to the rest of the group, he said, “We have a problem in Seattle. It appears the Chinese are making another attempt to get the nuclear warheads at Bangor. This time they brought tanks.”

  Grouse Ridge Quarry, East of North Bend, WA, 0655 PDT

  The 101st was formed up and ready to go to battle. Calvin had led the formation of helicopters down out of the mountains and to the quarry where they had assembled for the attack. By staying along the ridge line, Calvin didn’t think they had been seen by the Chinese; if they had, they hadn’t taken any fire, which almost seemed too good to be true.

  He was glad that he had come with the 101st. Shortly after they landed, five F-18s had gone screaming over, and at least one of them had the Blue Blaster logo of his squadron on its tail. “Get some, boys!” he yelled to the aircraft. It was great to see them still in the fight and to know that their mission was possible because of what he and the platoon had done over the last 24 hours. Seeing the Blasters survive combat almost made all of the unmitigated terror worthwhile.

  He had just said good bye to Colonel Daly when his phone (well, Master Chief’s phone, but he was now holding onto it full time) rang. It was the CNO. Again. Looking at Master Chief, he said, “It’s the CNO. Suppose he’s calling us to thank us for all of our efforts and let us know that the Army’s got it from here?”

  “I doubt it, sir. He wouldn’t be a senior officer if he wasn’t calling to task us with something.”

  Calvin answered the call and within a minute was chasing after Colonel Daly. “Wait, Colonel Daly, sir!”

  The colonel stopped and turned around, looking a little annoyed. “Yes, what is it?” he asked.

  “Sorry to bother you, sir,” Calvin said quickly, “but I need to borrow whatever anti-tank capability you have, and I need it now!”

  Now the colonel’s annoyance was full-blown. “Son, I’m about to go into battle with a force of unknown composition, and you want to take my anti-armor capability from me?” he asked. “It’s not going to happen.”

  Calvin explained, “Sir, I’ve got a tank force that is trying to get onto the base at Bangor and steal our nuclear weapons. Last time, the Chinese used our nuclear weapons to keep us from attacking both here and in Taiwan. If they get them, we’re screwed. I need whatever anti-tank folks you have, so I can go take care of it.”

  The colonel waffled, “Well, that’s important, but I need some, too. How big a tank force is it? Do you even know?”

  Calvin was beyond exasperation; now he was pissed. The Chinese are going to get our nukes again, and this guy wants to draw straws for the capability he needed? Screw that. He pulled out the phone.

  “Who are you calling?” asked the colonel.

  “The President of the United States,” answered Calvin. “I’ve had him on speed dial since yesterday.”

  “Bullshit!” said Colonel Daly as the phone connected. Calvin said a couple of things to the person on the other end of the line and handed the phone to Colonel Daly.

  Fifteen seconds later Ryan and Calvin were on their way to the Boeing Hangar with four teams of M67 90mm recoilless rifles. The need dire, they took two Black Hawk helicopters into town, flying down the streets and over forests 10 feet off the ground, climbing when necessary to avoid power lines. Ryan’s SOAR buddies flew as quickly as they could, while still trying not to either hit anything or fly high enough that any of the remaining surface-to-air missile systems could see them. For an aviator used to flying a lot higher, it was a harrowing ride for Calvin. He closed his eyes at one point when he was sure they were going to hit an advertising sign (he didn’t want to go out as a topping on a Billy Bob’s Big Beefy Burger) and was so tired that he immediately fell asleep.

  Ryan woke him up 10 minutes later on their arrival. The 10 minutes worth of sleep hadn’t helped much. Ryan and Calvin woke up the other members of the unit in the hangar, who had at least gotten a couple of hours of sleep, which was just enough to be good and groggy. After convincing their coxswain to drive them to Bangor (another $100,000, and a promise that he wouldn’t get shot at, this time), Calvin held a quick briefing.

  “OK, guys, here’s the deal,” Calvin said. “We’re tired, we’re beat up and we’re really tired.” He didn’t notice the repetition. “The bottom line is that the Chinese are trying to get our nukes again, and this time, they brought tanks. The only anti-tank squads in the area with ammo, aside from the four RPG rounds we have, are these guys, right here.” He indicated the 101st Infantry recoilless riflemen. We have to get them to Bangor and protect them long enough to kill the tanks that are leading the assault.”

  “Then we can leave them there?” asked BTO.

  “No, then we all withdraw the area, with them included, and we come back here. I told their colonel I would return them to the battle east of here as soon as we were done with them. I’m sure he’d appreciate their return.”

  “And the piece of ass the president tore off him, too,” Ryan said in a stage whisper that everyone heard. Having seen the president give a reaming before, most of the men chuckled. It was a good way reduce the stress of immediately going back into combat.

  “Yeah, he’d probably like that back, too.” Calvin shrugged. “But hey, I warned him.”

  The men were well versed in manning up the LCAC and were quickly on their way.

  Highway 16, One Mile East of Gorst, WA, 0700 PDT

  “Red One, Red Five,” the lead tank called.

  “Go ahead, Red Five,” replied the column’s leader, Captain Zhu Jing, from the tank designated Red One.

  “We have a problem up ahead,” Red Five said. “It looks like there is a traffic accident. There are flares on the road and police vehicles ahead. I can see one of the Americans’ log carrying trucks, as well as a smashed up car that is upside down car in the roadway.”

  “Can you see any people around the accident?” asked Captain Zhu.

  “Yes,” replied Red Five. “There are several people walking around the cars and it looks like they are assessing the damage to the vehicles. No traffic is being allowed through. There are also two automobiles stopped in front of us that are also waiting to get by.”

  Captain Zhu was a suspicious man by nature. It had kept him alive on many occasions, and something didn’t seem quite right. He had heard about the column that had been ambushed by the American paramilitary organization the day before. That attack had been a roadblock ambush with log trucks, too. This didn’t seem quite the same, but it was better to be on the safe side
. He had 20 tanks, 25 infantry fighting vehicles (IFVs), four anti-aircraft guns and 400 soldiers in the column. With that much firepower, he wasn’t too worried about being attacked, but it was better to be too paranoid than not enough.

  He opened his hatch and took a look around. If he was going to set up an ambush, this would be the perfect place. One mile east of someplace called ‘Gorst,’ where Highways 3 and 16 merged to go north to Bangor, the road was heavily forested with embankments on both sides of the road. While the forest on the right was a thin strip that divided the highway from Sinclair Inlet, the forest to the left was think and about a kilometer thick. There was also a concrete barrier between the northbound and southbound lanes, but it was less than a meter in height. His armored vehicles could get over it if needed, but the vans containing the soldiers wouldn’t be able to negotiate it. They would have to go back and around it or have Red Five push the concrete blocks out of the way with the bulldozer blade that was attached to the front of it.

  “Red One to all Red units,” called Captain Zhu. “Be on the lookout for a trap. Everyone button up. Something doesn’t feel right.” He climbed back into the tank and shut the hatch. “Red Five, find out from the people when the road will be open. If it is going to take too long, push open a gap in the concrete blocks.” He wished the vans had radios so that he could communicate with them.

  “Red Five copies, we will go find out.” The tank pulled up behind the two cars waiting behind the accident and the tank commander got out and went to talk to the Americans.

  Highway 16, One Mile East of Gorst, WA, 0705 PDT

  Mason watched as the Chinese soldier climbed down from the tank and walked over to where he was standing, pretending to look at the upside-down car that he had towed in.