Invasion

by James Rosone

  General Markus jumped back into the conversation. “With your permission, we’d like to deploy additional THAADs to both Guam and Hawaii. I’d also recommend that we position our two carrier strike groups on opposite sides of Hawaii—one to guard the North Pacific and the other on standby to support Guam should the Chinese make a concerted move on it.”

  The President nodded, giving them the go-ahead to redeploy the necessary forces.

  Before they could continue, Sachs asked, “What’s going on with Taiwan? If the Chinese really are gearing up to attack us head-on, then Taiwan has to know they’re in the crosshairs.”

  “The Taiwanese are gearing up to repel any invasion attempts by the Mainland,” explained Admiral Smith. “I’m not confident they’ll be successful, but they will definitely bloody the Chinese up pretty good. Unfortunately, there isn’t much more we can do to help them.”

  The President shook his head in disgust. All the Navy had been able to do so far was sink a few Chinese warships in the area. “I hate to say it, but for the time being, they are on their own. Until we can defeat this UN force in the north and figure out what’s going on with the Chinese in the south, we’re tapped out. In the meantime, let’s continue with the brief. I want to know what’s going on along our northern border.”

  General Markus nodded and continued.

  “The 4th Infantry Division has officially secured Regina and Winnipeg, effectively cutting Canada in half. We’ve isolated the eastern half of Canada from their oil and natural gas pipelines in their western provinces. That’s going to have a huge impact on their ability to function as a country and a military.”

  “What about the Pacific Northwest? How is the offensive going there?”

  General Markus replied, “It’s actually going better than we thought. At least from a military perspective. We dropped an airborne brigade behind the UN lines, effectively cutting them off from any possible retreat out of the state. Lieutenant General Biggs, the commander for I Corps, was able to effectively drive the remaining Canadian, Russian, and Chinese forces back to the banks of the Snohomish River, where they ran into our airborne brigade. The clash lasted more or less for three days. They saw some really heavy fighting on the first day, but on the last day of the battle, the local UN commander surrendered his force.

  “There’s also a bit of a partisan fight that’s brewing up there. On the positive side, a pro-American militia unit has grown pretty strong around the city of Burlington, not too far from the Canadian border. We don’t know a lot about them yet, but what little we do know is they appear to have some of the National Guard deserters who wouldn’t side with the governor. The group also appears to have linked up with some other militia groups to create a much larger force.”

  General Pruitt, the Army Chief of Staff, broke into the conversation. “What’s making this group so deadly against both the CDF and the UN force is they appear to have a gifted bomb maker in their midst. My best guess is one or more of the National Guardsmen that deserted or someone in the militia unit is a former explosive ordnance disposal guy with combat experience in Iraq. Whoever is making those IEDs knows what the hell he’s doing. He’s been wreaking havoc on them since the war started.”

  General Markus nodded. “The bigger issue we’re going to have to deal with now that the UN force has largely been defeated is the remnant of the CDF militia force. We estimate the number of those who haven’t surrendered to be between two and four thousand. They’re primarily clustered in a handful of densely populated enclaves, which means our soldiers are going to have to root them out in some of the cities.

  “We’re holding off on starting that part of the operation until we’ve fully dealt with the UN forces that surrendered. When I spoke with General Biggs earlier this morning, he told me that as of right now, they had collected eighteen thousand UN prisoners. He’s having a hard time trying to figure out where to put them and how to logistically feed and guard them all while still carrying out his combat operations.”

  The President let out a soft whistle. “What were the UN casualties? I mean, if we took eighteen thousand prisoners, how many of them did we end up killing or wounding?”

  General Markus paused for a moment as he looked through his notes. “The last report I got from the I Corps staff was roughly somewhere around sixteen thousand killed or wounded during the last two weeks of fighting. We’re not sure what the CDF casualties are just yet, but they told me they estimated them to be somewhere around ten or eleven thousand.”

  Shaking his head in disgust, Sachs commented, “So much killing. I wish it hadn’t come down to this.” He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts before he asked, “What were our casualties?”

  Grimacing at the question, Markus replied, “Three thousand eight hundred. Most of that occurred during the three-day battle. The airborne brigade we dropped in from Alaska bore a lot of those casualties. The UN force made a concerted effort to try and breach their lines to attempt a retreat to Canada. The paratroopers held the line, but took a beating doing so.”

  Leaning forward, Sachs replied, “Send my regards and congratulations to the brigade commander. Make sure he knows the President said thank you for holding the line and winning this battle for us. While you’re at it, award their brigade a presidential unit citation and give those paratroopers some valor medals. I can only imagine what kind of hell it must have been like for them to try and hold off a force of probably more than twenty thousand soldiers with less than two thousand men.”

  General Markus nodded. He turned to one of his aides. “Make sure you write that down to action it after the meeting,” he ordered.

  Returning to his briefing, General Markus pulled up a map of the Midwest and pointed to several units. “III Corps has established a line of defense spanning from Cedar Rapids, Iowa, down to Springfield, Illinois, then across to Bloomington, Indiana, through Cincinnati, Ohio, and on up to Cleveland. It’s a massive bulge, but Lieutenant General Hightower believes he can hold the line while the rest of his corps continues to take up positions for his coming offensive.”

  Sachs held up a hand. “When is his offensive supposed to start?” he asked.

  “In six days.”

  “Why the delay?” the President asked, pushing back. “If he’s formed up a defensive line and stopped the enemy, then why is he not pushing back on them?” His voice betrayed how irritated he felt with the slow response of the military to recapture lands lost while he had been trapped in the tunnel.

  General Tibbets from NORTHCOM interjected, “That’s my call, Mr. President. I ordered him to hold his position until we’re ready to launch our counteroffensive. I’m still getting more of his units moved into place. Right now, we’ve been fighting it out with a joint Russian, Canadian, and French unit around Cleveland, Ohio, and Erie, Pennsylvania.

  “As a matter of fact, the 82nd Airborne has been fighting hard in the Allegheny Forest in Pennsylvania for the last three days. We lost New York State, and the UN forces are threatening to push down into New Jersey and potentially threaten Washington. Our focus right now has been on stopping them from doing that. Once that has been achieved, I’ll allow General Hightower to launch his offensive. Until then, we can’t split our forces that sparsely.”

  The President nodded and uncrossed his arms. He motioned for General Markus to continue with the brief. This was his first time getting a full update since he’d fully resumed his duties as President, so he was still drinking from the firehose of information.

  “I’m going to bring us up to speed on the Caribbean before we move to the southwest,” General Markus said, bringing up a new map.

  “The Russians landed a brigade of naval infantry on Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic. Our Navy interdicted their troop transport ships while they were attempting to ferry over more soldiers from Venezuela and sank them. For the time being, the Russians are going to be stuck on the island. They have the equipment they landed with, but not much else—and fortunately, i
t doesn’t appear that the Russians landed with all the equipment that they’d hoped to bring. The NSA intercepted a communique between them and their headquarters. The second landing was supposed to drop off several S-300 and S-400 surface-to-air missile platforms. We’re lucky the Navy was able to intercept them before they got those systems operational on the islands. It would’ve complicated things for us in the area considerably.”

  The slides on the PowerPoint now shifted to show Cuba. “The Marines have pushed the Cuban Army back to Las Tunas. We effectively control the entire eastern half of the country. The 24th and 26th MEUs have fully offloaded their brigades at Gitmo. We’ve now got a combat force of forty-six hundred Marines in Cuba. Do you want us to continue to expand out further and try to drive on Havana, or what would you like us to do, Mr. President?”

  Leaning forward in his chair, the President fixed a steely gaze on General Markus. “Can we support them moving on Havana?” he asked.

  General Tibbets responded. “Mr. President, the Cubans aren’t in good shape right now. The bigger challenge we have if we expand out further on the island is the Russians. They have several fortified positions in and around Havana. That’s what we need to take out. They’ve set up several SAM sites that are causing us some problems. The Navy’s done a decent job of going after them, but we need ground pounders to go in there and make sure they’re destroyed. My recommendation is we have the Marines hold their current position until we can send the 22nd Marine Expeditionary Unit from Camp Lejeune to reinforce them. Then I’ll feel confident about pushing on Havana.”

  “OK, then have them hold their positions for the time being until you can get that other brigade moved over to support them. In the meantime, what are we doing with this growing force on our southern border?” the President asked.

  The generals shared a nervous glance before they returned the President’s eye contact. General Tibbets dared to speak first. “Mr. President, we have a couple of ideas we’d like to get your permission to proceed with…”

  *******

  January 30, 2021

  Northwestern Pennsylvania

  Allegheny National Forest

  Private First Class Johnson of the 2nd Battalion, 501st Infantry Regiment, shifted cautiously from one covered position to another. Each time he moved, he hoped that he wasn’t about to be drilled by an unseen bullet.

  As his body thudded against a fallen log, he looked over the top of it into the distance, where his sergeant had said he’d spotted movement. Johnson squinted his eyes to try and see better, but he couldn’t see it. As his eyes darted to the right and left, what he did spot was fresh snow starting to fall. There were already at least four inches on the ground, and it appeared like Mother Nature was going to give them a few more.

  Slumping against the fallen log, Johnson couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the forest as the snow started to fall. If the area wasn’t crawling with enemy soldiers trying to kill him and his comrades, it might have been a lovely day for a walk in the woods.

  “Contact, right!” shouted one of the soldiers in his squad. Then his fellow soldier fired his rifle several times at whatever he’d just seen.

  A second later, the entire forested area in front of them erupted in gunfire.

  Johnson ducked down below the fallen log, just in time to hear a string of rounds slap into the wood, chipping away at his newfound protective barrier.

  “Covering fire!” shouted another private.

  Johnson jumped up from behind the log and proceeded to fire off four three-round bursts at a cluster of trees and underbrush where he saw a handful of enemy soldiers.

  “Grenade!” someone yelled.

  BOOM.

  “Take that machine-gun position out!” shouted his sergeant.

  “Ah, hell. I’m hit!” screamed one of Johnson’s friends, Tippins. “Medic…oh God, medic!”

  “Covering fire!”

  “Hang in there, Tippins! I’m on my way,” their medic bellowed. Johnson couldn’t see what was wrong with his friend, but he could hear him continue to scream and thrash about.

  Pop…swoosh…BOOM.

  “203!”

  Johnson watched as the entire tree line maybe two hundred meters in front of him erupted in explosions and fire. One of his squadmates had fired off a couple of M203 grenades at the enemy position while another soldier hit the enemy gun position with one of their AT-4 rockets.

  Dropping his now-empty magazine, Johnson slapped a fresh one in its place. He hit the bolt release, ramming a fresh round into the chamber. Johnson rolled over onto his belly and proceeded to crawl over to another firing position, maybe five meters away. He then rescanned his sector, looking for a target to shoot. Meanwhile, the guys in his squad continued to scream out orders and information to each other as they engaged the enemy soldiers.

  Just as Johnson got to his new firing position, he heard the unmistakable sound of incoming artillery.

  Oh crap, that’s not friendly, he realized.

  Boom, boom, boom!

  Three artillery rounds hit roughly three or four hundred meters behind their position.

  “Everyone, move forward!” yelled their lieutenant frantically. “We need to get closer to the enemy so they don’t start dropping arty rounds on us!”

  Private Johnson shook his head in frustration. The LT had just gotten the rest of the platoon moved over to assist them, and they were finally starting to tear into the enemy positions with the added firepower—but he knew the man was right.

  Johnson searched for the next best position to run to and spotted another fallen log maybe twenty meters in front of him. Looking to his right, he saw two of his squadmates. He waved his hand and pointed to the position. They both nodded.

  “Cover me!” he shouted. Then he jumped up from his position and charged forward. As he sprinted full out, bullets zipped past him like angry bees. Dirt and snow kicked up all around his feet. He dove for the fallen log, landing hard on the ground just as a grenade exploded maybe ten meters in front of him. Johnson found himself being showered by a cascade of debris mixed with slush.

  When the cloud had dissipated enough so that he could see again, he rose up on his right knee and brought his rifle to bear. Ahead of him were a handful of enemy soldiers who were shifting their fire in his direction. Johnson quickly unleashed several three-round bursts from his M4 to provide covering fire for his other squadmates who were now racing forward to join him. In seconds, one of the enemy soldiers’ heads had burst into a cloud of red spray, and another clutched at his chest and fell backward.

  Sensing he should duck, Johnson dropped to his belly and rolled on his back and to his left. A string of bullets hit right where he had just been. Then an explosion rocked the log he had been hiding behind, and the portion of the fallen tree exploded.

  Johnson winced as he felt a couple of sharp objects bite into his left leg. Looking down past his feet, he saw two of his fellow soldiers charging toward him. His sergeant was running with his rifle against his shoulder, firing away at the enemy while he advanced. The other man, his friend Private Miller, had a look of sheer terror on his face as he ran like hell for his position.

  Suddenly, Miller’s facial expression changed from terror to one of intense pain as an explosion went off near him and his right leg was ripped off. The man tumbled several times as he fell to the ground. The sergeant continued to run toward Johnson, finally landing right next to him.

  “Chuck a couple of grenades at those bastards and then go back and grab Miller!” barked the sergeant. He coughed briefly and did his best to get his breathing under control.

  Johnson pulled two of the grenades from his IBA and placed them on the ground in front of him. He pulled the pin on one and threw it for all its worth in the direction of the enemy. He then repeated the process with the second grenade.

  “I’m hit, Johnson! God, it hurts, man. Someone, help me! Don’t leave me here!” his wounded friend continued to cry out.

 
“I’ll cover you, go grab him,” his sergeant barked. Then he laid into the enemy position with his new M27 infantry automatic rifle. That beast could lay down some serious suppressive fire.

  Crawling back to his feet, Johnson took off the ten meters to his friend, whose leg was still bleeding profusely. Reaching down, he grabbed the handle on the top of the back of Miller’s IBA and dragged him as fast as he could to their position.

  When Johnson reached the fallen log, he knelt down next to Miller, grabbed his tourniquet from the field dressing pouch, and got it set up on his right leg. Once he had it in place, he cranked it tight, causing his friend to scream wildly from the excruciating pain.

  Their sergeant barked, “Hold that scream in! Take the pain, Miller. Your screaming is going to attract more attention to us and get us all killed.”

  Wrinkling his face in anger, Miller did his best to stifle another scream as Johnson finished tightening the tourniquet.

  Looking down at his wounded friend, Johnson said, “I’ve got it tied off. The bleeding looks to have stopped, but you have to try and not move too much, OK? We’ll get you some more help once we finish killing these guys.”

  With that, Johnson returned his attention to the attackers in front of them, hurling another grenade toward the enemy. Then several loud shrieks that sounded like runaway freight trains headed right for them.

  “Everyone down!” screamed their sergeant.

  Johnson dropped below the lip of the fallen log again. The world around them disintegrated into utter chaos as artillery round after artillery round landed among the trees where they were hunkering down. Chunks of hot shrapnel and splintered wood flew in every direction. Some of the rounds exploded as air bursts, delivering a rain shower of scorching red metal from the sky.

  The barrage lasted maybe ten seconds. When the noise of the explosions died down, the overwhelming sound was screams of agony.

  Private Johnson turned to check on Miller—a huge chunk of wood had buried itself in his friend’s neck, nearly severing it from the rest of his body. Miller was dead. His eyes were already glazed over.