by James Rosone
Smiling, Mack nodded his head. “Yes, sir. Locked and ready to rock.”
The four of them headed out down the road past the four Marine battle tanks and a couple of LAVs that had also taken up defensive positions. When they got to the front of the vehicles, Lance Corporal Pyro, who’d been designated as the man to carry the flag, waved it a couple of times high above their heads. He did that for maybe sixty seconds before he led the way, walking toward the enemy roadblock.
It took them a few minutes to walk the two thousand meters to the barricade. When they got a few hundred meters away, a voice called out, “That’s far enough!”
“We’re under a flag of truce. I’d like to talk to whoever is in charge,” General Shell bellowed.
“Stand by. We’ll get the colonel.”
As the four Marines stood there, they observed that a lot of people had weapons trained on them. Most were wearing the Army’s ACU uniform, but there were also a lot of folks who appeared to be wearing a hodgepodge of different camouflage uniforms.
Those must be civilian militia units joining their ranks, thought Staff Sergeant Mack.
Five minutes went by, and then an Army colonel walked forward with several additional soldiers. Two of the people joining him appeared to be wearing civilian camouflage. The two groups of warriors sized each other up.
Eventually, one of the men across from them stepped forward, extending his hand. “I’m Colonel Griffin, the commander of the California Army National Guard 79th Infantry Brigade Combat Team.”
One of the men in civilian camouflage stepped forward. He didn’t extend his hand, but he puffed out his chest a bit as if to signal his own importance. “And I’m Brigadier General Ryan of the California Civil Defense Force,” he said.
“I’m Brigadier General Shell, Commander of Marine Regimental Combat Team One. This is Captain Turpin, one of my company COs. I was hoping us commanders could talk for a few minutes and see if we could defuse this situation before a lot of people end up getting killed.”
Colonel Griffin nodded at the comment and smiled. He motioned for them to take a walk over to the center divider of the highway. General Ryan was about to join them when Griffin held a hand up. “Sir, I think it might be best if us military types talked first.” Undeterred, Ryan insisted on being a part of the conversation.
*******
When the three of them stood next to the center divider, the two military men sat on the dividers while Ryan opted to stand.
Looking at General Shell, Griffin said, “I suppose you’re here because you want to pass through our lines on your way to the ports,” he commented casually.
Shell nodded. “That’s right. I was hoping we could work something out, so none of us have to kill each other over it.”
“You guys should have thought about that before you sided with that illegitimate dictator in Washington,” Ryan shot back, flashing him a look of scorn.
Undeterred by the man’s outburst, Shell continued his conversation with the Army colonel. “We have a large convoy coming in from Japan. It’s going to dock at the Ports of LA and Long Beach to begin offloading our equipment being brought back home from Asia. I’d like my boys to be able to pass through without a problem, secure the port and escort their contents back to San Diego County.”
“Those ports are off-limits to the federal government. You’ll have to find another port to use, General,” the CDF officer said gruffly.
Turning to look at the wannabe general, Shell crossed his arms. He’d had enough. “Listen up, you civilian puke—just because they pinned a star on your shoulder doesn’t mean you know crap about the military or our capabilities. I have an entire RCT ready to punch its way into LA. We have thirty-two thousand Marines arriving from Japan in forty-eight hours. I have enough firepower to destroy your little world here and kill every last one of you!”
General Shell took a deep breath. In a calmer voice, he said, “I’m trying to talk to the man who’s in charge to see if we can prevent our two groups from coming to blows. If fighting starts, I have to afford his men the same rights they’d have to afford my men under the Geneva Conventions. However, if we capture you or your men, our orders are to either hang you on sight or execute you by firing squad. You all have been declared unlawful enemy combatants and have no rights. So why don’t you shut the hell up and let the professionals talk?”
Ryan was aghast. He huffed and puffed a bit and then walked away, cursing under his breath.
“That guy’s been a freaking pain in my ass since the first day he arrived,” Colonel Griffin said with a grin on his face. “Hey, maybe you could help me out with something, General. What the hell is going on down in Mexico? We keep hearing there’s some grand Chinese army that’s going to help us liberate the state of California.”
General Shell snorted at the question. “You heard right. There are two large Army groups. One’s down near Texas, and the other is south of San Diego County. Right now, I’m stuck having to deal with you guys to my north, and the Chinese to my south. I’d really like it if your force could help us keep these Chinese bastards out of our country instead of viewing them as liberators. You know what’ll happen if they get a foothold here. We’ll never get rid of them.”
Colonel Griffin nodded. “I don’t doubt you, General. Hell, I wish I could deploy my brigade down to the border to help you guys right now. But I’ve got my orders from the governor. I’m supposed to keep your Marines bottled up in San Diego County and away from the rest of the state.”
“Colonel, you know if I want to punch through your force, I can do it. I may lose some Marines in the process, but I’ve got gunships, F/A-18s, and other support I can call on to take you guys out. I’d rather not because, at the end of the day, I need your tanks, Stryker vehicles, and soldiers to help me defeat this Chinese army to my south. But if you’re going to be a problem, Colonel, then I’m going to have to deal with you guys as quickly as I can. Is there any way we can avoid having to fight each other? Do you need me to take these militia guys out for you?”
Now it was Griffin’s turn to sigh and think about the problem. Shell imagined that he was weighing his oath to the Constitution and his allegiance to California. Suddenly, he seemed to have an idea.
“What if we did this, General? What if you were to pull your force back and then appear like you were going to circumvent us here and make a run for Interstate 15 instead? I could convince Ryan that he needs to hold his boys in place here while I shift my force around to meet you guys. This will leave you facing only the CDF. You can solve my problem of having to deal with Ryan and his men, and then our two forces will completely avoid each other altogether. If I’m going to make a case to my troopers that we should switch sides again, and this time work with you to defeat the Chinese, I’m going to need more than five minutes, and I’m certainly going to need those CDF bastards dealt with. I’m pretty sure when my guys see your Marines slaughter them, they’ll have second thoughts about wanting to fight you.”
Smiling, General Shell held his hand out for him to shake it. “Deal. I’ll pull my guys back. But come hell or high water, tomorrow around this same time, my guys are going to come through this area like a freight train. We won’t stop, and we won’t be taking prisoners. Understood? Just make sure it’s those CDF guys left here, and I’ll take care of them for you.
“Once the rest of Three MEF arrives in port, you’ll have an easier time of making the case to switch sides. We’re going to have two full Marine divisions down here. You guys wouldn’t stand a chance if you chose to fight. That said, we sure could use your help dealing with these Chinese soldiers that are gearing up to invade us.”
Almost breathing a sigh of relief, Colonel Griffin took his hand. “Deal. Just don’t leave any of these CDF guys alive. You might even want to drop some heliborne troops behind them to make sure they don’t fade away. These militia guys aren’t real soldiers. They’re radical leftists that view this conflict as a way to settle scores and fash
ion California into the socialist, leftist model they want. I’ll be glad when you’re done with them.”
The two military leaders parted ways, and within thirty minutes, General Shell had his entire RCT turned around to head back to Pendleton. He made sure to send a force over to Interstate 15 to be a part of the ruse they’d agreed on.
When his scout units launched a few drones over the area, they confirmed that the Army colonel was, in fact, moving his units to I-15, just as they’d agreed. Come tomorrow morning, they’d find out if they had just been suckered into a bigger trap, or if they might have found a new ally.
*******
“Stand by for contact. We’re five minutes out from the roadblock,” the vehicle commander said to Captain Turpin.
Unlike yesterday, their convoy of vehicles was racing down Interstate 5 on their way to deal with the California Civil Defense Force.
Now that their scout drones had confirmed there were no tanks, Strykers, or Bradley fighting vehicles at the roadblock or anywhere nearby, the four tanks in the lead opted to barrel down the highway and punch a hole right through the barricade and clear a path for the infantry.
Depressing the talk button on his radio, Captain Turpin called out, “All Loki elements, when the tanks clear us a path through the barricade, I want you guys to push through the newly created hole and head for Objective Foxtrot. Platoon leaders, you need to secure the housing development overlooking the interstate before you expand further up the ridgeline. If you run into any serious challenges, we have MAG-39 on standby, ready to bring the pain. Let’s do this, Marines. Loki Six out.”
With his little pep talk done, Turpin turned to Staff Sergeant Mack. “Remember, Sergeant, no prisoners, unless they are wearing an Army ACU. Copy?”
Mack just nodded, and so did the three other Marines of his squad in the vehicle. The rest of his team was in the following two LAVs.
Boom! Boom!
The lead tanks fired two rounds, blowing the semitrucks apart. They then charged forward toward the tractor-trailers. While this was happening, the militia soldiers all along the spur, ridge, and other fixed positions around the choke point along the interstate opened fire on the armored column.
Seconds after the fireworks started, the gunner in the LAV Mack and Turpin were riding in fired his 25mm at some unseen target. As they got closer to the barricade, they heard bullets pinging and bouncing off their armored shell. They were taking fire from the militia.
“We’re through the barricade, Captain. We’re headed to your objective now,” the vehicle commander announced as they turned off the interstate.
Once they were through the barricade, they found that the volume of enemy fire being directed at their vehicle dwindled immensely. The sounds of war, however, only increased. They heard more tank rounds, along with a new sound. Mortars.
“We’re here!” shouted out the vehicle commander. The roar of gunfire continued to build outside their armored shell.
“OK. Everyone out!” Mack ordered. “Let’s get formed up and do this thing.”
Crump, crump, crump.
Mortar rounds landed where the barricade had just been. Most of the rounds missed the Marine vehicles, but every now and then, a lucky one would score a direct hit on one of the LAVs, AAVs, or troop trucks, killing a lot of good Marines.
Ping, zip, zap.
Bullets smacked against the LAV that Mack and his guys had just exited. Turning to see where the enemy fire was coming from, Sergeant Mack spotted a cluster of houses at the top of the spur. It looked like they had set up some fighting positions at the top. The place gave the militiamen an excellent position to rain fire down on them. It had to be taken out.
“First squad! Form up on me!” shouted Staff Sergeant Mack. He ran past the LAV to a small embankment at the base of the spur. He needed to get his squad under some sort of cover so they could formulate a plan on how to take out that enemy position.
Looking to his right and left, Mack saw the thirteen Marines of his squad were ready for his next set of orders. Several of his men were returning fire at the attackers. The enemy was probably about five hundred meters above them, so it was almost pointless for them to fire back with their rifles, although it did make them feel like they were doing something.
“What do you want us to do, Sarge?” asked one of his fireteam leaders.
“Where’s my RTO?” Mack asked.
“Here, Staff Sergeant.” The Marine who was carrying their SINCGARS radio stepped forward and took a knee next to him. The young man looked at him with the expression of a nervous puppy in a thunderstorm. Bullets randomly hit all around them. At this distance, the enemy fire wasn’t particularly accurate, but it did keep them on their toes.
“Get MAG-38 on the horn,” Mack ordered. “I want to see if we can get one of those gunships to take those guys out or at least provide us some covering fire while we bound up this spur.”
The young Marine pulled out his notepad, which had the frequencies and call signs on it for the units in their company, battalion, and support elements. Once he found what he was looking for, he contacted one of the gunships and handed the radio hand receiver over to Sergeant Mack.
Mack glanced at the young man’s notepad and saw the call sign before he depressed the talk button. “Thunderbolt Two, this is Loki One Six. I’ve got an enemy position that needs some love. How copy?”
“Loki One Six, that’s a good copy. Send the grid.”
“Enemy bunker and multiple fighting positions on top of the spur. Grid SC 7854 8543. How copy?”
There was a short pause, and then the gunship replied, “Good copy. Enemy bunker and fighting positions on top of the spur. We’ll make a quick pass of the area to confirm the targets, and then we’ll engage. Can you pop some smoke at your position so we can know where you are in relationship to the target?” asked the pilot.
Mack was more than happy to oblige the request. He wanted to make sure they didn’t accidentally hit the Marines they were supposed to support. He turned to one of his squad leaders. “Pop a smoke grenade for the gunships,” Mack ordered.
A second later, a purple smoke grenade started puffing away a handful of feet in front of their positions. The wind caused the trail to drift upwards into the early-morning light.
“Thunderbolt Two. What color smoke do you see?”
“Loki One Six. I see purple smoke.”
“That’s us.”
“Good copy. Stand by. We’re making our run now.”
Sergeant Mack looked off toward the ocean. He heard the rhythmic thumping sound of helicopter blades. Eventually, he spotted a pair of Super Cobra attack helicopters swoop in. They made a quick pass over the targeted area, attracting a ton of enemy gunfire.
Then both of the Cobras spat out flares and banked hard to one side, attempting to gain altitude at the same time. Mack saw two small objects fly up from the ground and chase after them. The helicopters split up. One dove for the deck while the other tried to lose the missile in a nearby canyon. Unfortunately, the Cobra that flew toward the canyon soared into another small pocket of militiamen, who summarily fired off a second Stinger at them. A second later, the missile hit the helicopter, blowing it apart.
The second Cobra managed to escape. It circled back around to where it had been attacked and fired off two missiles before it headed back out to sea.
“Loki One Six. We’re going to see if we can’t get some fast movers to plaster that enemy position for you,” the Cobra pilot announced. “It looks like these guys have some Stingers. Helicopters don’t like Stingers.”
“That’s a good copy. We’ll stand by for the fast movers.”
While Mack’s squad continued to hold their position, the rest of the platoon fanned out nearby as they waited for the Hornets to plaster the top of the spur. Then they’d bound up the hill and secure their first objective.
Looking again out toward the sea, Mack saw two objects flying fast toward them. The F/A-18s flew right over the enemy
positions, releasing several small objects from beneath their wings. With their special delivery made, the Super Hornets released a series of flares as they went almost vertical, lighting up their afterburners in the process. In the blink of an eye, they were gone, nothing more than noisy specks in the sky.
Sergeant Mack returned his gaze to the top of the spur just in time to see the entire area explode in a series of massive fireballs.
“That’s it. All Loki elements charge!” came the call over the radio from their captain.
“You heard the captain. Charge!” Mack yelled. He lifted his body up and over the embankment where they’d been hiding, and raced up the hill, willing his muscles and mind to overcome the pain and burning he felt as his body, laden down with over one hundred pounds of body armor and gear, tried to run for all its worth up the steep incline.
As he rushed forward, Mack saw the fireballs starting to dissipate.
Crap! he thought. Whatever defenders had survived the attack would resume shooting at him and his men soon. He needed to get to the top of this position swiftly.
As he continued to struggle up the hill, his quad muscles burned intensely. His chest started to hurt as his lungs fought to keep his muscles oxygenated. Several Marines charged right past him, which only spurred him to push harder.
Zip, zap, zip, zap.
As they got closer to the top of the hill, bullets flew back down at them. They were now less than a hundred yards from the top. Kneeling beside some rocks, Mack looked up and saw a handful of defenders had somehow survived the barbeque the Hornets had delivered—they were geared up for revenge.
Lifting his rifle to his shoulder, Mack aimed at one determined militiaman who kept firing at his Marines. He heard some of his guys calling out for a corpsman, so he knew some of them were getting hit. It infuriated him that his Marines were dying because of these militia groups. Sighting in on the guy, who was firing what appeared to be an AR-15, Mack fired a single shot. His round hit the guy and knocked him down.
Sergeant Mack smiled. At least I took one of them out.