by TJ Tucker
As they were finishing up, Finnegan turned to Ricci. “Joe, did ya hear anythin’ inside those containers?”
“Yeah, now that ya mention it. Almost like people movin’ around and talking.”
“Exactly what I heard.”
The two men finished their shift, but after leaving the port, they parked their cars a short distance down the street and returned to see what was happening.
They saw the greenshirts form a line from each container to the social facility. They opened the container, and a procession of men filed out, following the line to the facility. After some time, men started to emerge from the social facility, dressed in black.
“Did ya notice the clothes that came in yesterday?” asked Ricci.
“Yeah, but I had no clue what they were for. Now I know.”
The men walked to other containers as directed by the greenshirts. They opened them and started to unload weapons.
“Do those guys look Chinese to you?” asked Ricci.
“Yeah. And they’re unloadin’ weapons. What do ya’ think it is?”
“No clue. But let’s get the hell outta’ here.”
…
San Gustavo
It was the middle of the night in Del Rio, Texas when houses started to rattle to the point where objects fell off shelves. Car alarms further broke the nighttime silence. Many residents awoke fearing an earthquake. They quickly realized the rumbling was too steady and prolonged for that to be the case. It continued for several hours, fraying nerves and prompting calls to Laughlin AFB to see if any activity there might be responsible. Colonel March took the calls personally, assuring everyone that there was no military action that could explain the rumbling.
What the people felt was technically an earthquake, though the cause was not seismic activity. Ellis had given the order to commence at midnight, and General Kim sent his convoy of armored personnel carriers, tanks, and endless numbers of support vehicles through the gate that Cam Burrows climbed over some days prior. The pace was deliberately slow, taking three hours to reach the Amistad Dam. The sheer number of heavy vehicles was sufficient to shake the ground for many miles.
…
Laughlin AFB
The sentry felt the vibrations and feared an earthquake. He scanned the horizon with his binoculars, looking for anything unusual that might confirm his suspicions. The first shot hit him in the temple, knocking him out of the tower to the ground in a pool of his blood. The shot was the signal for fighters armed with rocket propelled grenades to launch an attack on any sitting aircraft, principally helicopters. The residual offensive capacity of Laughlin AFB was neutralized within the first minute. The next wave of fighters was armed with heavier rockets, which took out the armory. That accomplished, the fighters made their way to the command center, peppering it with bullets and waiting for the expected announcement.
Corporal Everett Smith was on duty when the attack came. He responded by going down his checklist of things to do in an emergency. Fortunately for Cam Burrows, one item on the list was to release any soldier held in the brig. Burrows emerged from his cell in fatigues given him by his attendants. As a result, he looked like any other soldier. “I don’t know you, but you’re free to go unless you have a role in defending the base.”
“Thanks Corporal,” said Burrows. “I don’t have a role. I was transferred here. It’s complicated.”
Before he could finish speaking, explosions sounded in the compound. Burrows ran towards an emergency exit, while Smith briefly resumed his duties. He was quickly interrupted by the loudspeakers.
“This is Colonel March. I am ordering all troops under my command to drop your arms where you stand. Report to the main hangar, and do not engage in hostilities. We are vastly outnumbered, and fighting will only produce casualties. And stay off the runways.”
The announcement was right on time, and the surrender of Laughlin removed the only significant possible source of opposition to the advance of the San Gustavo forces. Within a minute of March’s announcement, the runway lights lit up. Within five more minutes, fighter jets started to land, 50 in all. They were followed by several cargo planes. The base may have surrendered, but it was suddenly much busier than it had been in a long time.
…
Lindbergh Field, San Diego
Whether flirting and showing cleavage on the job was considered unprofessional behavior or not, Kate Wilson did not care. The results it produced for her were overwhelming. She was magnetically beautiful and she knew it. It was only three years ago that she had started in technical support with Aerozoot Engineering, and now she was Director of Technical Services and Client Support. Her coworkers and superiors were nearly all men. Engineers with limited social skills. Their self-esteem needed a little extra attention from her, she reasoned with herself. That it advanced her career was a bonus.
Kate had long dark hair, a perfect smile and curves that made men act silly. She was waiting in a round departure lounge in the San Diego Airport, otherwise known as Lindbergh Field. She and four coworkers were waiting for a redeye flight home after a conference they had attended.
“So did you do anything fun while you were here, Kate?” asked Russ Wiley, his shy closed mouth smile and slightly hunched posture betraying his degree of social discomfort.
“Sure. I went down to the beach and joined a bikini contest” said Kate, flashing a brilliant smile.
“Do you have any pictures” asked Russ, suddenly feeling tight around the collar.
“Of course, Russ” said Kate. She opened her laptop and called up fullscreen pictures of herself in a bikini that had men from other groups turning their heads to check them out.
“Um, can I have copies of those?” asked Jim Beamsley.
“Of course, Jim.” Kate was always happy to oblige her admirers.
The group was now completely fixated on Kate. Their imaginations took control of their senses, and they were unable to see anything else. They completely failed to notice the commandos entering the lounge from one of the boarding gates and assembling in the center of the room in front of the concession stands. They were jolted back to reality by the sound of gunfire as the commandos fired their weapons into the ceiling of the room, shouting something in Chinese.
The whole room recoiled at the sound and everyone was now paying attention. The commandos were waving to the walkway back to the main terminal, seeming to indicate they wanted everyone out. One man in a slick suit approached the commandos with a flick of his head, a broad smile, and an extended hand. The nearest commando raised his weapon and fired a single shot into the man’s heart, killing him instantly. Everyone in the lounge, including Kate and her addled co workers, quickly moved to the exit and left the airport. How they would get home was not of interest to the commandos.
After evacuating everyone from the airport, the commandos set up checkpoints at the roads leading to the airport terminals, and were shortly reinforced by arrivals in air transport planes with significant firepower.
…
Miramar Marine Air Base, San Diego
“They’re firing, Colonel!” screamed Corporal Avery out of the telephone.
“Who’s firing?” demanded Colonel Schneider.
“They look American, Sir. I don’t see any insignias, but the tanks and Armored Personnel Carriers are American.”
Schneider quickly got out of bed and donned the battle uniform he used in training exercises. He ran to the command center and demanded to know what was going on.
“It looks like a simultaneous attack on all Air bases,” said Major Neely. “At first we thought it was some kind of surprise exercise. But when we tried to send up an F-16, they hit it with a Stinger before it even got off the ground. Captain Liss was killed.”
“Who is doing this?” demanded Schneider. “Has anyone communicated with them?”
“No Sir,” said Major Neely. Just then there was an explosion near the building they were standing in.
“That was the armory,
Sir. Not that we had much to start with, but now we can’t mount any kind of counterattack.”
“And we don’t have any battle worthy planes here in any case. Shit!” exclaimed Schneider. “We’ve been caught with our pants down. What are our known casualties?”
“My best guess is between 10 and 20 dead or captured,” said Neely. “There was some fire exchanged when they crossed the perimeter, and any troops on duty at the time were neutralized. They came in from the West and hit our choppers before we could put anything in the air.”
“Can Coronado send anything over to help us out?”
“Sir, Coronado’s also under attack. They called for help right around when we were hit. And they don’t have a single flat top in port. Everything’s over in Taiwan. They tried to use a destroyer to get troops over to the base, but the attackers had anti-ship missiles. They never even got close. Hundreds are dead down there. It’s no better at Imperial Beach.”
“Then we can’t fight on,” said Schneider. “Major Neely, what is your recommendation?”
“Sir, I don’t see any alternative but to surrender.”
“I didn’t spend my life training and building an armed force to surrender on home turf the first time I’m attacked, Major Neely.”
“Yes Sir, I agree. Do you have an alternative?”
Another explosion occurred nearby, and now bullets were piercing the walls of the command center.
“No, I don’t have an alternative,” said a deflated Schneider. “Give the order to surrender.”
…
Amistad Dam, Texas
“Do you hear that rumble?” asked Tim Conroy.
“What do you think it is, an earthquake?” said Jim Burrman.
It had been a quiet night at the border checkpoint on the Amistad Dam, but things looked like they were about to change for the two Agents. Conroy stepped out of the office to take a better look. As he did so, the lights went out. “Is backup coming online?” he shouted back to Burrman.
“It’s not responding,” said Burrman. “I’ll try it manually.”
Minutes passed, and still nothing. Conroy walked to the generator to find an exhausted Burrman ready to give up. “It’s completely dead.”
They walked back to the office and found every electronic device to be nonresponsive, even those with battery backup.
It was suddenly quiet. The rumbling had stopped, and anything running on electricity was incapacitated. It was the same on the Mexican side.
…
Ellis was in his conference room, with Kim on the video screen. “You may cross the dam,” he said. “The EMP pulse has knocked out communications at the checkpoint, and as expected, Laughlin was a walkover. Colonel March really came through. My men nailed it down in about 10 minutes. Lackland took a half hour, and San Diego is almost ready. Then you can move fighters there also. It’s important to keep discipline, and not start any element too quickly.”
“Understood Sir,” said General Kim. “Is there any danger they might send a missile or something to blow the dam?”
“If they even knew what was going on and decided to do that, they’d spend the next four hours trying to get permission to do it, since it would wipe out everything downstream. That’s the least of your worries, General Kim.”
…
The darkness at the Amistad Dam was as short lived as the silence. The rumbling resumed, and in minutes there were lights visible. Hundreds, or even a thousand heavy vehicles, it seemed. “Jim, I have a bad feeling about this,” said Conroy.
“I think it would be a good time to get the hell out of here,” said Burrman. They got into their Border Patrol vehicle and drove off into the night, leaving the border unattended.
…
Quantico, Virginia
Over a hundred landing craft made their way up the Potomac in the middle of the night. Ten left the main group and landed at Turner Field and made for the command center. There were no aircraft on the ground at the time, and their information said the base was largely empty. They fired their rocket propelled grenades at the command center. They only found a few staffers who promptly surrendered. They were about to report back that Quantico was secured, when the counterattack hit.
Fire came from the perimeter, taking down three Morningstar mercenaries. The remainder quickly found cover and returned fire. “Can anyone see who’s shooting?”
…
Corporal Lance Grant had been listening to his short wave radio an hour earlier. He heard rumors of attacks at various military facilities, including several battles in San Diego. Miramar was reported to have fallen. Grant roused four colleagues, who grabbed their M-16s and night vision goggles. They then set up a post outside the air strip. When the landings began, they were ready. “Okay guys, if he moves, take him down,” said Grant.
The first shots were easy, catching the attackers by surprise. But once alert to the danger, the mercenaries adopted the techniques of counterinsurgency that had earned them their reputations. A group exchanged fire with the Marines, while two groups broke off to the sides and made their way around the source of the shooting.
“Lance, they’re flanking us,” screamed Bill Parnassus.
“Steady, Bill. If you see him, take him down.”
Parnassus took aim and hit one of the mercenaries, who dropped to the ground. He saw another scrambling away from his fallen comrade. He took another shot, but missed. They’re sure not Marines, he thought. He stood up to get a better shot, when he was hit from behind. His chest exploded in front of him and he fell dead on the spot. The others instinctively drew in closer together, trying to stay out of the line of fire. They exchanged fire for another minute, when a rocket propelled grenade found them. They had slowed Morningstar and inflicted losses. But they gave their lives in exchange, and they had not stopped them.
…
South China Sea
Flying that old Sea King helicopter was never very satisfying to Grayson Miller. He had joined the Navy to learn a skill he could use later in civilian life. Flying helicopters could earn you a living, but only if your training was on modern helicopters with their computerized operations. The Navy was planning to retire the Sea King when and if they ever cut back on operations and had a surplus, so there was no effort made to modernize the birds other than updating their basic communications equipment. The Sea King was seen as the lowest helicopter assignment you could have, and Miller was losing hope that he would soon be promoted and trained on the newer Sea Hawk.
Late in the afternoon, Miller was patrolling in the South China Sea near the disputed Dongsha Islands, a coral atoll mostly submerged at high tide. The only settlement of note was small Pratas Island with its air strip and few buildings. The Dongsha Islands were administered by Taiwan but were only 200 miles from Hong Kong. China had a standing claim over the Dongsha Islands, and for this reason there were constant air patrols to monitor any Chinese activities in the region. All this meant little to Miller, but he enjoyed flying over the region with its shallow, circular, turquoise colored lagoon bordered by little more than sand bars to the east and Pratas Island to the West. The shallow lagoon and sandbars reminded him of flying over the Bahamas, and he daydreamed of being back home when he flew over this segment of the South China Sea.
Miller slowed as he flew over the lagoon and savored the moment, the sun setting behind him. In the distance he saw a modern Sea Hawk helicopter approaching to relieve him. He would return to base, leaving the patrol to the luckier pilot. Wistfully, he pushed forward on the lever to increase his forward speed, but as he did so he noticed a blindingly bright flash coming from almost overhead. He scrambled to quickly analyze what might have just happened. His control of the helicopter was intact but his radio and all other electronic equipment were dead. He could not speak to the other crew members, and supposed that the wireless devices in their helmets were dead. He could not contact anybody electronically. His thought went to contacting the approaching Sea Hawk visually.
As
Miller scanned the horizon for the Sea Hawk, he saw it in an uncontrolled descent to the water. As he watched it splash down, he thought it had retained enough rotor speed that the crew would probably be unharmed. He turned the Sea King in the direction of the downed Sea Hawk, and noticed they had deployed an emergency raft. Why had they gone down when my old helicopter was flying just fine? he wondered. Because my flight controls are completely hydraulic while the Sea Hawk has an electronic interface he concluded, suddenly feeling more respect for the old bird. Miller hovered over the raft deployed by the Sea Hawk crew while his own crew winched them aboard, one by one. He was unable to communicate with the rescued Sea Hawk crew other than by hand signals, so he flew to nearby Pratas Island and landed.
“Did you guys lose all communications too?” asked the other pilot.
“Yeah, but the old bird could still fly. You went down. I guess your computer went out?” said Miller.
“We lost everything,” said the other pilot. They looked at one another briefly, and each could see the look of confusion in the others’ eyes.
…
Georgetown
Bill Connolly’s doorbell rang at six in the morning, waking his security personnel. They let an angry Tyler Matheson into the mansion and awoke the Director. Connolly dismissed his Security Staff and walked to his study to meet Matheson.
“This is no damn drill!” exclaimed Matheson, angrier than Connolly had ever seen him.
“Calm down, Tyler, I told you it would seem crazy.” Connolly walked to his desk, sat down in his chair, and motioned Matheson to sit at the guest chair.
Matheson sat down, but was in no mood for explanations. “It’s not a drill when my Air Force bases have scores dead and some sort of special forces in control of the place. And to think I’d spent most of the night discounting the reports, telling everyone there’s no need to panic. I’m going to revoke your codes for the Pentagon, and change the codes for our nuclear weapons. I should never have agreed to this. You’re some kind of traitor.”