Red Tide: The Chinese Invasion of Seattle (Occupied Seattle Book 1)

by Christopher Kennedy

  He asked, “I understand that you are Senator Turner, from Oregon, yes?”

  “Yes, I am Senator Turner from Oregon,” he replied, “and I demand to know what is going on… ugh!” He doubled up in pain as one of the soldiers hit him in the stomach with the butt of his rifle.

  “My name is Major Chin Haung,” said the man with the pistol, “and I neither take demands nor requests from imperialist dogs like you.” He smiled at Mrs. Turner and then turned back to Jack, who was almost standing back upright again. “I do, however, have a request for you.”

  “I’m not doing anything for you until you let my wife and children go!” said Jack, his voice loud in the confined space.

  “Have it your way,” said the major, sighing as he opened the door. Eight more soldiers entered the room. They approached the family in twos, grabbing his wife and children and pinning them to the floor. The senator they held up against the wall, where he could see what was going on. The major said something to one of his men in Chinese, who nodded sharply and handed over his bayonet to the major.

  The major walked over toward Janet Turner, idly picking at something under one of his fingernails with the point of the bayonet. Jack could not take his eyes off the long, razor-sharp knife. The major knelt down next to Janet’s head and put the point of the knife next to her right eye. She squirmed and struggled to get away from it, but the soldiers were far stronger than she was and didn’t allow her to move.

  Jack also tried to get away from the ones holding him, but they were ready. This time, the butt of the rifle intersected with his crotch, rather than his stomach, and he was again doubled up in pain and nausea. “Wait…” he groaned.

  Major Chin looked up at Jack, but kept the knife close to Janet’s eye. “No woman should have to see her husband beaten,” he said. “Perhaps it is better if I take out both of her eyes so she doesn’t have to watch.” Both children screamed.

  “No,” said Jack, still struggling to get his breath back. “Don’t do it. I’ll do anything you want!”

  “Yes,” said Major Chin, standing up, “I know you will. My men have been trapped aboard this vessel without entertainment for weeks. I doubt you’d want to see what they could do to your wife and children.” He paused, “Especially the little girl…”

  “I’ll do anything,” Jack sobbed. “Anything you want; just leave my family alone.”

  “Yes,” said Major Chin, “I’m sure you will.”

  Seattle ARTCC, Seattle, WA, 1815 Pacific Daylight Time

  “Major, I have three American military aircraft that want to fly over Seattle and land at Whidbey Island,” said the Chinese soldier sitting in the Seattle Center seat that controlled flights to the south of Seattle.

  “Turn them around to Portland. If they ask, tell them that both Whidbey and Seattle have had power failures, are not taking any more aircraft and that you don’t know when they will be back open again,” replied Major Yang Wei. He picked up his phone and began dialing. “I will call McChord, in case they refuse.”

  Skybolt 501, 30 Miles South of Sea-Tac Airfield, Seattle, Washington, 1815 PDT

  “Skybolt 501, this is Seattle Center,” Mighty Mite looked up as their aircraft was called by the air traffic control (ATC) facility.

  “Seattle Center, this is Skybolt 501,” he replied.

  “Roger, Skybolt, I understand you are a flight of three headed to Whidbey Island Naval Air Station, correct?”

  “Skybolt 501, that is correct. We’re a flight of three, headed to Whidbey.”

  There was a short pause. “Roger, 501, be advised that Seattle and Whidbey are both experiencing power outages at this time. All aircraft are being diverted to Portland International. Come right now to a heading of 180, vectors to Portland International.”

  Mighty Mite looked at his pilot, Bob Dog. “They’re trying to turn us to the south,” said Mighty Mite over the intercom system. He pointed out the window. “The weather is fine—let’s go VFR. When we get to Lake Tapps, that big lake down there, we’ll head to the northeast and then follow the Cascade Mountains to the north.” VFR was short for “Visual Flight Rules,” meaning that ATC would not provide them any advisories on approaching traffic; the aircraft would be responsible to “see and avoid” all other aircraft. Having flown in the area for many years, all of the aircrew were familiar with a variety of visual references to help get them home to Whidbey Island.

  “Seattle Center, Skybolt 501,” Mighty Mite radioed. “Thanks, but we are going to go VFR from here. We’d like to descend to 15 thousand, 500 feet and proceed visually to the northeast.”

  ATC wasn’t long in replying. “I’m sorry, 501, but I can’t let you do that. Whidbey and Sea-Tac aren’t landing aircraft and won’t be for a while. We don’t have an estimate on when power will be restored. Come right to 180 now for vectors to Portland.”

  Mighty Mite wasn’t to be denied that easily. “Center, Skybolt 501. That’s OK, we have enough gas to return to NAS Fallon. We are going to cancel our instrument clearance and proceed visually.”

  Nor, apparently, was ATC to be denied. “Skybolt, this is Seattle Center,” a new and sterner voice answered. “We need to keep this airspace clear! You are to turn south now, or you will receive a flight violation.”

  Getting a flight violation would ensure that Bob Dog would never be the commercial pilot he wanted to be once his time in the military was over. He looked at Mighty Mite. “Umm…he sounds pretty serious,” he said over the intercom. “Maybe we ought to head south.”

  “This is weird,” said Goggles from the ECMO2 position over the intercom. “I’ve got what looks like a HQ-9 radar coming from the direction of the Tacoma port.” He had recently come from Electronic Warfare School and, although his knowledge was incomplete, he did know the parameters of quite a few of the radars that he would see on deployment.

  “It’s not that weird,” replied Basket. Air Wing 2, of which their squadron was a part, historically conducted Pacific cruises, so he was familiar with Chinese radar systems. “Remember, the Chinese fleet is in town? Didn’t they have those new destroyers with the naval version of that missile? I think one of them was going to Tacoma for some reason or another.”

  “Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” said Goggles.

  Seattle ARTCC, Seattle, WA, 1817 Pacific Daylight Time

  “Skybolt, this is Seattle Center,” said Major Yang Wei in his sternest voice. “We need to keep this airspace clear! You are to turn south now, or you will receive a flight violation.”

  “Sir, they’re not buying it. It appears that they are trying to get past Seattle to see what is happening at Whidbey,” said the Chinese soldier sitting in the Seattle Center seat that controlled flights to the south of Seattle.

  “No, it doesn’t appear that they are,” replied Major Yang. “It appears that stronger measures are required.” He picked up his phone again.

  Skybolt 501, 18 Miles South of Sea-Tac Airfield, Seattle, Washington, 1817 PDT

  Mighty Mite tried one last time, “Center, 501, how about a practice approach at either Bremerton or Snohomish County Airfield. Are either of those available?” By this point, they were within 20 miles of Sea-Tac Airfield and almost to the lake that Mighty Mite had pointed out earlier.

  The stern voice replied, even angrier this time, “501, this is the last time I’m going to tell you. Turn right to 180 now, or I will write you up a flight violation!”

  “HOLY SHIT SIR!” screamed Basket. “I’ve got HQ-9 tracking radars coming behind us to the left. They’re at McChord Air Force Base! They’ve locked us up! Chaff! Dive! Get us the hell out of here!”

  “MISSILE LAUNCH!” screamed one of the Blasters over the Lancer’s frequency; Mighty Mite thought it was Calvin. “Missile launch from McChord Air Base. Break right!” Both fighters immediately started dispensing chaff, little bundles of metal to confuse a radar-guided missile, as they executed 6-g turns while diving to get as low as possible.

  It all happened too quickly for the c
rew of Skybolt 501. Unable to get their jamming systems turned on in time, they were a slower and a bigger target than the Hornets. The HQ-9 had a guidance system that was equal to the U.S. Patriot missile system and missiles that could fly at Mach 4.2 (over four times the speed of sound), or almost 3,200 miles per hour. From launch, it only took nine seconds to cover the 10 miles distance to Skybolt 501, which was instantly destroyed as its 400 pound warhead went off.

  The destruction of Skybolt 501 helped the two Blasters, as there were now many large pieces of metal falling through the air that functioned even better than chaff. The second missile locked onto one of these, blasting it to smaller fragments. The Blasters continued their high-g maneuvering and were able to make it down to less than 100 feet of altitude, where they hoped to be able to sneak away from the missile system. As they reached the foothills of Mt. Ranier, with the peak straight in front of them, Calvin made the decision to come back to the northeast. If they could just make it 20 miles further, they’d be able to contact Whidbey Approach and complete their mission. They could then hang a right on I-90 and follow it through the mountains to safety.

  “Oscar,” he radioed his wingman. “We’re going to go northeast for three minutes and try to call Whidbey. When we get to I-90, we’ll follow it to the east and get clear of the SAM trap. Copy?”

  “Got it,” said Oscar, sounding shaken.

  “We owe Mighty Mite and the boys, and we’re going to complete this mission for them,” radioed Calvin.

  The next two minutes were tense, as the Blasters could see on their threat warning systems that there were several missile systems that were looking for them, hoping to finish off the job. As they came over Tiger Mountain, they were close enough that Calvin thought they ought to be able to reach Whidbey Island. He transmitted several times, but no one answered.

  Banking hard to the right, the Blasters turned to follow I-90 through the valley to the southeast as they flew over the small town of Snoqualmie. Looking down as they travelled further southeast, they saw several large truck-mounted SAM canisters moving into positions at E.J. Roberts Park in the town of North Bend. Offloaded late from the transport, they had not been set up yet and were unable to stop the Blasters. Calvin didn’t know what they were, but he knew that the large canisters were one or the other of two new systems that were extremely dangerous; he did not want to come back this way.

  The Blasters continued down the valley, lucky to be alive; the HQ-19 wouldn’t be finished setting up for another 15 minutes. Unfortunately for Oscar, though, the two PGZ-95 self-propelled anti-aircraft artillery (AAA) guns at the large Travel Centers of America truck stop were very operational, and both of them had acquired his aircraft. The AAA gunners had used the systems’ pulse-doppler search radars to pick him up at about seven miles away and had transitioned to their optical tracking system at about 3.5 miles. They held their fire until Blaster 207 was at about two miles out and then opened fire. Both vehicles had four 25mm cannons and were each able to fire up to 800 rounds a minute; instantly, there were over 25 rounds a second being fired at Oscar. The tracers looked like two fire hoses reaching out to embrace him.

  “Break left!” he yelled over the radio to Calvin. Both aircraft executed hard left turns to follow the Middle Fork Snoqualmie River away from the guns. The maneuver was partially successful, as it succeeded in making one of the systems miss. The other, though, stitched a line of holes up Oscar’s starboard wing, severing the fuel lines in the wing and setting the aircraft on fire. The control surface of the wing was also damaged, and Oscar could feel himself losing control of the aircraft. Just as he thought he was going to have to eject, he was able to regain control over the stricken aircraft and breathed a sigh of relief. The relief was short-lived, though as a surface-to-air missile slammed into the starboard wing.

  In addition to the cannons, each PGZ-95 vehicle mounted four QW-2 surface-to-air missiles. Based on the Russian shoulder-launched SA-16, the QW-2 missile was a third-generation, all-aspect infra red-homing, ‘fire-and-forget’ missile, and the gunner that had missed Oscar with his guns had done so because he was switching to missiles. Although one missile stopped tracking the aircraft after launch, by firing two, the gunner was able to hit the plane with the other. The warhead on the QW2 was small, at only 4 pounds of high-explosive, but between it and the previous damage, it was enough to cause the right wing to fail. Calvin watched in horror as Oscar’s wing came off, and the plane began to tumble through the air, impacting with Granite Mountain a few seconds later. Calvin didn’t see an ejection and knew that his friend had died on impact.

  The loss of Oscar strengthened his resolve to get back to Fallon so that he could return with a fully armed aircraft. Looking at his gas gauge, he realized that he was going to have to climb to a more fuel efficient altitude, and very soon, but knew that he was still too close to some of the SAM systems, so he continued down the Middle Fork Snoqualmie river valley, using the terrain for cover.

  Middle Fork Camp Ground, WA, 1832 Pacific Daylight Time

  Ryan O’Leary hid behind a tree. He had successfully evaded the men that had followed him up into the hills and had made it most of the way up the valley to his cabin. He had just passed the Middle Fork Camp Ground when he heard the sound of a helicopter. Damn, he thought, as he caught a flash of it through the trees. It was a Chinese attack helicopter. While he didn’t know the model number, the big chain gun on the front and the red and yellow star on the side were all the things that he needed to know to identify it as something he didn’t want to play around with in the open.

  However, he wasn’t in the open, he was in a heavy forest, and the helicopter didn’t know where he was as long as he stayed off of its infra-red sights. It also probably didn’t expect him to have one of the latest Chinese surface-to-air missiles, either, which would go a long way toward evening the odds between them. He might be able to take out the helicopter if he could just get to a spot where he had a good shot from ambush. If he missed, though, and the helicopter saw where he was, things were going to go very badly for him, very quickly. He decided it would have to be a shot from behind, or it wasn’t worth the risk.

  With an hour and forty-five minutes until the sun set, Ryan didn’t know if something on him had reflected a flash of sunlight, or if the helicopter was working some predetermined search pattern, but it was coming too close to him for comfort. As it passed overhead, he heard the sounds of gunfire and explosions from down the river valley. As the sound of an oncoming jet reached his ears, the helicopter stopped its slow search and nestled down into a gap in the trees.

  Ryan knew he was too late as the jet passed closely by, and the helicopter sprang a couple of hundred feet into the air to where it could use its weapons without the trees being in the way. It was now a race to see who could lock up their target and get their missile off first. Ryan quickly readied the missile, whose controls were like any other Russian or Chinese handheld surface-to-air missile he had ever seen, and, getting a “good lock” indication that the missile had acquired one of the helicopter’s engines, he fired.

  As the smoke from his missile launch cleared, Ryan realized that the Chinese pilot had fired before Ryan’s missile had hit him, as there was a similar smoke trail leading away from the helicopter toward the F-18 Hornet that had just passed by. Disgusted, he realized he hadn’t been fast enough, and both of the aircraft blew up simultaneously.

  Blaster 203, Middle Fork Camp Ground, WA, 1832 Pacific Daylight Time

  Reaching the junction of the Snoqualmie and Taylor Rivers, Calvin turned right to follow the Snoqualmie River. Having made it out of harm’s way, he was starting to feel pretty good about his chances. He had just throttled back to a more fuel-efficient setting when there was an explosion in his left engine, and the fire light came on. He quickly ran through the emergency procedures for shutting down the engine, then realized that the right engine appeared to be having problems and was losing power, as well. Looking at his gauges and indicators, he rea
lized that the right motor had flamed out. He tried to re-start the motor, but, although he didn’t know it, the fuel line was cut, and the motor would not reignite. Realizing that he was low, slow and basically out of ideas, he reached up with both hands, grabbed the handles of his ejection seat system and pulled, ejecting himself from the aircraft.

  The rockets on his seat fired as designed, propelling his seat up and out of the aircraft. Reaching its apogee, the seat kicked away from Calvin, and his parachute deployed. Looking up, he saw that he had a full parachute, without any tangled lines. “First thing that’s gone right all day,” Calvin thought. Looking down, he saw that he was going to come down on the slope of Mount Garfield, or at least that was what he thought it said on his map before he had ejected. He tried to remember the parachute training that he had so that he could steer himself into an open area and not get hung up in a tree.

  “Let’s see,” he said to himself as his altitude continued to decrease. “I need to come right…I think I pull on the right riser.” As he pulled on the right riser, he was rewarded with a slow turn to the right. “Sweet!” he thought, as he saw that he was going into the clear area. As the ground came up, he noticed that he was falling a lot faster than he had previously thought and tried to set himself up in the proper landing position. He impacted the ground, rolled awkwardly, and then jumped to his feet. Happy to be both on the ground and alive, he unclipped his parachute, and began gathering it up.

  He jumped in surprise as someone behind him said, “Way to go, dumbass. Now, if you’re ready, can we go, please, before more of the bad guys come?” Calvin turned to find that the speaker was a big man, who was holding some sort of tube. He looked like he was in tremendous shape, which was to be expected out here in the boonies, he guessed.

  “What do you mean?” asked Calvin. “That may not have been a perfect landing, but it wasn’t bad for my first ejection. Also, having just had to eject out of my plane and being 800 miles from where I need to be, I’m having a pretty bad day. What’s up with calling me a dumbass?”