INVASION USA (Book 2) - The Battle For New York

by T I WADE

  “At which harbor do you want my men? I can’t hear you well. What happens if I don’t see Comrade Deng?” the voice asked.

  “Something is not right, Bo Lee Tang. You should know the operation,” Wang said, worried.

  “My dead commander did not tell us anything,” was the reply. “We left the north, came south, he did not tell us anything, and now I am commander.”

  Comrade Wang was worried. He could understand a need-to-know basis and he racked his brains to remember what the men in the termination squads were actually told. It was quite normal that the men knew very little and he now needed to check to see if he was talking to the man he knew—after all, he had recruited him all those years ago. In those days Bo Lee Tang was a good boxer and Mo Wang had won a good amount of money on his achievements in Shanghai.

  “Bo Lee Tang, what do you have on your shoulder?” asked Wang.

  “A tattoo” was the reply.

  “What is the tattoo?’ Wang asked.

  “You know, Comrade. A bottle of Jack Daniel’s. You often must have seen it when I was boxing in Shanghai.”

  “Of course, Comrade Bo. I needed to check because your voice is not the voice I remember,” continued Mo Wang.

  “I have a small injury to my face and a bandage on my face. I have a small piece of metal in my cheek, have lost a little blood, and I can’t talk too good.” The telephone crackled back at Wang. This seemed to satisfy most of his worries. Of course! Bo could have been injured.

  “Your orders, Bo Lee, are to destroy the Raleigh airport with Deng. Then go north to your original position. We have engineers and troops flying in on two aircraft tomorrow night to reconstruct the three airports and harbor before our aircraft and ship arrivals. You are to report to our troops at the biggest airport. You need to be there in one week. It will be under our control. I will be there several days after you arrive, and I will communicate to you and Deng once you get to New York, not before. Good Luck!” said Wang, still feeling in his hollow and empty stomach that something was wrong.

  *****

  Carlos and Lee had been working hard since they had received the equipment from the dead Chinese. They had studied each piece and found all the equipment to be simple satellite communication electronics. Thousands of Americans had the same quality two-way systems with Hughes Internet. The only difference was that both sides could verbally chat to each other.

  “Lee, I think we are ready for communication,” said Carlos to a worried-looking Lee Wang. “Remember to keep the cloth of the towel over the phone. It will hide most of your voice tone. Tell them that a platoon of 30 military troops killed your commander and many of the others. Ask for orders. Remember to state that you are in control. You can be nervous; you haven’t been a commander and you are only told stuff on a need-to-know basis. Remember, there were 30 troops, 20-odd pilots with guns, a lot of small airplanes. Other than that, buddy, just wing it. You need to get information from whoever is at the other end. Don’t be scared to ask and act stupid, Lee. It always works.”

  They turned on one telephone and waited. It wasn’t 30 seconds before the phone rang—a sound they hadn’t heard in days! Lee Wang made sure that the cloth was covering the mouthpiece and he looked at Carlos. Carlos smiled, gave him the thumbs up, and Lee Wang answered the call.

  “Control, this is Bo Lee Tang. Mi Lee is dead. This is Bo Lee Tang, Mi Lee’s Number Two in command,” answered Lee Wang. There was silence at the other end.

  “Bo Lee Tang, you said your commander is dead?”

  “Correct, Control. It was a bad fight but we won,” Lee Wang continued. Then he heard a voice he recognized from his days in China. It was the floor sweeper—the man who had recruited him. He looked up at Carlos, who was dialing another number on the second phone. Then Carlos remembered that he was holding a telephone and not a radio, and his brain suddenly clicked into gear. Anybody could use the system, and he wondered if the control center in China would notice a second phone being used at the same time. He scrambled through the pile of phone components and found one with a number written on the backside so that the owner wouldn’t forget it. He then found a second one and saw Lee looking at him. Carlos told him to keep going, but Carlos could see that Lee Wang was in shock for some reason. Then Carlos heard a voice on the other end fire off in rapid Chinese.

  “Bo Lee Tang, this is Comrade Mo. Get one of the other commanders on the telephone to give me a full report.” Lee Wang looked at Carlos and his face told Carlos that he knew the man on the other end. Carlos whispered for him not to worry, that the cloth should hide his voice. “All commanders are dead. We have 23 dead men, Comrade Wang,” Lee Wang replied nervously.

  “Don’t ever mention my name again! Or use my first name. Understand, Bo Lee Tang?” replied the man in Nanjing venomously.

  “Sorry, but I need to know who is to be in control here. I will give you my report,” continued Lee, with Carlos showing numbers on his fingers. “We killed 30 American soldiers, 20 American pilots with guns, and all women and children are dead. We had 12 airplanes on fire, but the fires are now over. Two of the airplanes were American Air Force—not jets, but they had propellers, very old airplanes. We have 23 dead, three wounded. End of report.”

  “Yes, I saw the small flickering of fires on our satellite screens. Good job, Bo Lee Tang. Wait five minutes and I will call back,” replied Comrade Wang in Nanjing and hung up. Lee put the phone down on the table in front of him and Carlos congratulated Lee for a job well done.

  “I’m sure he has to go and get orders for you,” Carlos explained, looking at the back of Lee’s phone. There was its own black number printed in black ink on the back side as well as a second number printed in red ink. He checked the others; they all had it, one black number, different on every phone, and the same red number on each phone, and Carlos sighed with relief. Then he told Lee that he was going to dial a number while they were on the line to see if they got a response.

  “I know Comrade Wang,” replied Lee. “He is the man who recruited me right at the very beginning. Remember the floor sweeper I told you about. That is him!”

  “Don’t worry,” reassured Carlos. “Remember to act stupid, like you have a head wound or something. He must have recruited hundreds of people. Just don’t panic. We need all the information we can get. Remember, this guy hired you and then was prepared to kill you and your family. I’m going to see if they respond when I call one of these other phones. I will cover it up so that they can’t hear the ring if it goes off.”

  Lee’s phone rang again.

  “Bo Lee Tang, this is Control. Bo Lee Tang, Control,” stated the first voice over the telephone, and Lee tried to sound breathless.

  “I can’t hear you well, we have a bad connection. This is Bo Lee Tang. We are burying our comrades.” Carlos phoned the third working phone from the second working phone, and he could hear the ring under the cloth. He switched the third phone on and spoke a few words of gibberish into it. He made funny sounds for several seconds and then turned both phones off. Lee Wang indicated that he had not received any notification about the phone being used.

  Lee Wang ended his call and Carlos grabbed the second phone and dialed the red number. “Ask them if you should continue to bury the dead men and if it matters which phone you use,” instructed Carlos. The call was answered and Carlos listened to Lee speaking Chinese rapidly into the cell phone. Then Carlos ended his call.

  “Control said not to phone them again, and that all the phones ring to him with the red number. I asked him if I could phone Deng, and he gave me his number. I asked if Control wanted to hear my conversation and he said that they couldn’t and did not have full control of who was using the telephones, so it wasn’t necessary.”

  “Great!” replied Carlos.

  “Carlos, I know Comrade Wang had reservations about my voice.” Carlos was looking for a clean piece of paper to write the information down.

  “He asked me, or Bo Lee Tang, about the tattoo. He kn
ew Bo was a boxer, and he was a good boxer before Mo Wang recruited him. I watched him fight often. I think we have won the war of hiding my identity, so far,” said Lee, now very relieved.

  “Lee, call me on your phone. Talk stupid so that nobody can understand you. I want to see if they come back and complain about you using the phone. Say Zedong Electronics will lose in English or something stupid.” Lee did, and they spoke stupid talk for two minutes, sounding like a bunch of monkeys.

  “Okay, let’s write down the Information we’ve collected,” stated Carlos, after they hung up. “First, we have 50 squads coming in from somewhere—where, your friend did not say—but after destroying RDU airport you are to head north, so I think that from the south or west is where this Comrade Deng is coming from. Does that sound correct?”

  Lee Wang nodded. “I think a squad is four men in one vehicle. That is what I saw in the SUV when they passed me in Salt Lake City. That means that there are 200 men coming here in about two days and the next fight will be at the Raleigh airport,” replied Lee. “Then I, Bo Lee Tang, must go north in one week, under the command of Comrade Deng, who will take over from me if he survives the fight at the airport. Also, Wang said that engineers and troops were flying into somewhere tomorrow night and that I must report to the airport with Deng and my men. So I am expected somewhere in one week at an airport that is under their control. That is what I understand.”

  “So they have airborne troops flying into the United States, but they can’t land without landing lights and the airports need to be cleared of snow. So they must be leaving China tomorrow, flying overnight, and I’m sure landing at dawn. The runways up north will have a lot of snow on them, so somebody has to clear them before any aircraft can go in. That means that other squads must be heading into this airport. I think it can only be one or two northern city airports, since you have been instructed to meet them somewhere big. We need to speak to General Allen immediately!”

  Carlos switched on the radio. “We can easily have lookouts in Washington. If they are flying in directly from China, they will either have real big military jets, or real big civilian jets. That’s a 7,000-mile flight,” said Carlos, waiting for the radio to warm up. “Anything else we can put together?”

  “Yes,” added Lee. “Comrade Wang said that he was coming several days after we supposedly arrive there, so if he is coming, then so are many others, I think. He said that he would see me and Deng there. And, he said the engineers were fixing three airports and a harbor area for their arrival by air and sea.”

  “To bring in more troops,” added Carlos. “I think we know part of their plans now. They are getting three airports and a harbor ready. So that must be a big city with more than one airport. It could only be New York or Washington. All are on the coast with a harbor,” Carlos thought aloud. “Washington doesn’t have a harbor! Only New York has three airports. Boston doesn’t, but both have large harbors for shipping. Yes, they must be coming into New York—JFK Airport, Lee! Time frame—they are leaving China tomorrow, also two days before Deng gets here, then one week later you must be in New York, then Wang is coming in several days after that—two days plus about two week’s time!”

  Carlos got responses from all three of the other bases within five seconds. The radio operator knew where the general was, but didn’t want to say. Carlos told him that he needed to speak to the general immediately—or as soon as he was within radio range—he explained to the operator. The radio operator understood.

  *****

  Preston drew the Cargomaster up by the airport gate and saw the most interesting group of vehicles—even more interesting than the ones they had at the airstrip. He closed the engine down and got out as Lady Dandy switched off, also on the apron. A dozen troops got out, and Pam Wallace brought the slower 172 to a halt next to Preston’s. She jumped out and waved at the onlookers as the gates opened to let them in.

  Pam ran up and hugged Captain Mallory and brought him over to meet Preston. They were introduced as was Barbara as she walked over to meet the newcomers.

  “Old Michael Mallory—I believe we went to flight school together—Dallas, 1992?”

  “Barbara Mclean. Yes, I remember you. You were the hot blonde all the guys were after. Still hot, I see. Where were you flying before all this crap hit the fan?”

  “Lear jets for a private company out of Phoenix,” she replied.

  “Funny how all pilots seem to know one other,” remarked Preston. “Okay, Captain Mallory. Your escorts, Joe and David, are about three minutes out. They are going to escort you guys back to our airfield. We are loading up supplies here and will be back in about an hour. My hangar is off limits for the moment as we have a couple of guys trying to make some Chinese satellite phones work and they don’t want interference until they have sorted out the communication. The men you saw in that convoy on I-95 are not a threat anymore.”

  At that moment, the two armored cars pulled up to the airport gate and stopped. Joe and David got out and came over to meet the newcomers.

  “Captain, I’m planning to transfer your civilians to Seymour Johnson Air Force Base in Goldsboro after you arrive at my place,” continued Preston. “They can use the empty housing there. There is lots of it due to so many troops being overseas and the Air Force has plenty of rations for them. Anybody who can fly a plane will stay at my airfield. Joe, David, get these interesting vehicles back to base. We sure could have used that fire engine this morning!” he laughed.

  Preston and the soldiers stationed at the airport helped load Lady Dandy with over 100 boxes of food supplies. There were still dozens upon dozens of food and booze cases left after Lady Dandy headed out onto the runway with Barbara in the cockpit. They filled the Cargomaster with more boxes, and a dozen were placed in the rear seat of the 172. Then it was time to look at the few remaining aircraft. Preston took a quick look around. Anything worthwhile was too new or too small. They now needed aircraft to carry supplies, and an old 172 was not much good.

  He headed for the Cargomaster. Six of the soldiers had gone with Lady Dandy, so he told the remaining six to get in with him and Pam.

  His radio squawked into life as he came in for final approach at his airfield. The hangar door was being opened on Carlos’ orders while Carlos was on the radio desperately trying to reach General Allen.

  Preston heard the other bases come online, and Jennifer reported that she was an hour out, arriving from Texas, and would land first at Preston’s field. He noticed the convoy pulling onto the dirt road and driving through the attack zone as he came in low from the southeast. He landed and parked close to Barbara and Pam, whom he had followed in. The 172 had landed first. Pam was a pretty good pilot for a flight attendant.

  It was quite a sight once all the vehicles were parked in a line. It looked like they were waiting for Noah’s Ark to arrive; two rat patrol jeeps, two armored cars, two old SWAT team vehicles, one ambulance, the fire engine and odd-looking Studebaker police car at the end. On the other side were the three Mustangs and a plethora of working and nonworking aircraft. There were a lot of people getting out and looking around in amazement. It looked like Disney World.

  “Welcome, Captain Mallory! Welcome to my Air Force,” Preston exclaimed, shaking the pilot’s hand.

  “Preston, we need a meeting right now,” shouted Carlos as several of the aircraft radios started chattering at once. Preston went over to the Cargomaster and picked up the microphone.

  “Preston, this is Buck… Preston, this is Buck… do you read?”

  “You are very faint, Buck. I can just hear you,” replied Preston, with Carlos coming over to listen.

  “I overheard Carlos’ message 20 minutes ago while I was in the air over the White Cliffs of Dover. I went back down and told Pete that Carlos was having a nervous breakdown and I suggested that we head straight back to you since it’s not very often Carlos gets a bee in his bonnet. Ghost Rider needs to be refueled and Baby Huey has a fresh tank, so Pete is on board with me. We
are an hour and ten minutes out from your airfield and I have Baby Huey at maximum cruise. By the way, I‘m Alpha Fox-trotting around the world again, so be prepared. I told Alpha Foxtrot One that there could be a spare room in the house. If not, he’s happy staying at his ranch to the south. Over.”

  “Roger that,” replied Preston. “Jennifer is also 55 minutes out, so keep a visual for her.”

  “Will do,” replied Buck.

  “What was that all about?” Captain Mallory asked. “And call me Mike—everybody else does.” Preston and Carlos both laughed. “New in-flight radio procedures, Mike, not approved by the FAA,” replied Carlos, shaking the captain’s hand. “We talk in a kind of code in case we are being listened to, and we know we are closely monitored. It is now against the law to fly with transponders because the enemy satellites pick them up. That goon-squad that passed you was coming here to take us out. Buck McKinnon, who was just on the radio, has an old Huey helicopter that we call Air Force One when the president is on board—yep, that’s right, the president. Ghost Rider is an AC-130 gunship that belongs to a friend of ours, General Pete Allen, who you will meet soon. Jennifer is Air Force Captain Watkins and she is bringing in a C-130 transporter.” “And the ‘White Cliffs of Dover,’ I assume, is Dover Air Force Base in Delaware,” added Preston. “Any aircraft built before 1980 still flies and General Allen is trying to bring all the older military aircraft together that he can. Most of the stuff is from the Vietnam era, but so far we have three F-4s, eight C-130s, and three helicopters. One of the 130s is a gunship and one or two are in-flight tankers, and we are growing by the day. We also have our own private civilian Air Force here. The P-38 is now fully equipped with air-to-ground rockets and/or 1,000 pound bombs, and the three Mustangs’ rocket additions will be finished tomorrow. The only piece of junk here is unfortunately the general’s private aircraft—the King Air 200—the rest are ready for action.”

  “John,” laughed Mike. “It looks like our best flying days are still to come and from now on can I assume my call sign is Mike and he is John? What happens if we have more than one Mike or John?”