by James Rosone
*******
Monroe Doctrine
Volume II
*******
By James Rosone and Miranda Watson
Copyright Notice
©2021, James Rosone and Miranda Watson, in conjunction with Front Line Publishing, Inc. Except as provided by the Copyright Act, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Table of Contents
Chapter One: Ranger Ho
Chapter Two: Decisions
Chapter Three: Survivor’s Guilt
Chapter Four: Behind Enemy Lines
Chapter Five: Screamin’ Eagles
Chapter Six: This Ain’t Khe Sanh
Chapter Seven: Operation Tricorne
Chapter Eight: Gray Wolf
Chapter Nine: Hospitalization
Chapter Ten: Jade Dragon
Chapter Eleven: The Grenadines
Chapter Twelve: War of Attrition
Chapter Thirteen: NATO Plus One?
Chapter Fourteen: Hamburger Hill
Chapter Fifteen: Battle of the Red Sea
Chapter Sixteen: Viva Cuba
Chapter Seventeen: Transition Team
Chapter Eighteen: Empire of the Sun
Chapter Nineteen: New Opportunity
Chapter Twenty: First Day
Chapter Twenty-One: Mass Mobilization
From the Authors
Abbreviation Key
Chapter One
Ranger Ho
Bravo Company, 3rd Rangers
Naval Air Station Key West
Key West, Florida
The giant naval air station was abuzz with activity as the dawn began to push aside the darkness. All around, ground crews were fueling and readying dozens upon dozens of helicopters and ground-attack planes. Even so, the place was not without its own scars from the opening day of the war. Many buildings and some hangars were still charred, burnt-out wrecks of their former selves—reminders that the American homeland had been viciously attacked.
It was a unique sight. Navy and Air Force weapon technicians worked together on a row of aircraft not far from the hangar the Rangers were operating out of. The weapon technicians were crawling over a row of A-10 Thunderbolt IIs, more commonly known as Warthogs. There was a specialized machine just behind the cockpit, feeding 30mm rounds into the aircraft. Air Force and Navy ordnance technicians were working together as carts of AGM-65 Maverick missiles, newly redesigned CBU-103 cluster munitions, and dozens of regular five-hundred-pound dumb bombs were affixed to the wings of the Warthogs.
“It’s amazing to see, isn’t it, Sergeant?” Captain Meacham commented as he handed Amos Dekker a cup of coffee.
“It sure is,” Dekker replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a flight line of aircraft being made ready for a combat mission. It’s incredible how many sailors and airmen it takes to get one aircraft loaded up with munitions before the plane can even fly. If you look over there, sir, you can see them doing the same thing to the Apache and Viper helicopters.”
Meacham looked over to the parking ramp with a small fleet of helicopters parked on it. It was just as impressive to see as the rows of A-10s being made ready.
“Hey, aside from bringing you some coffee and disturbing your morning moment of solace, Amos, I wanted to give you these,” Meacham said as he pulled out a pair of new sergeant first class chevrons. “I’m sorry there wasn’t time to officially pin you before the mission starts. Top is going around the company and platoon making sure everyone knows it’s official even if we didn’t have a formal pinning ceremony. Still, you’ve earned them, and I wanted to be the one to present them to you. The S1 said your pay changed two days ago, so it’s official. You get to lead a Ranger platoon into battle, and not just any battle—an invasion of Cuba.”
Dekker knew he’d been selected for sergeant first class last week, but the battalion was in the middle of deploying, so he hadn’t been able to officially pin on the rank. He smiled as he looked at Meacham. “It’s not your fault, and thank you for letting me pin them on before the invasion. You’re still wanting me to take over the Second Platoon?”
“I am. I hate to say this, but we’ll have to wait to see what kind of casualties we end up taking over the next few days. I may end up moving you to wherever we’re shortest.”
Dekker nodded. Then he asked, “Any news on the election, sir?”
Meacham shook his head. “The election results are a concern for tomorrow. Today we focus on the mission.”
He and Captain Meacham were both from Bozeman, Montana. Dekker had been a freshman when Meacham had joined the Army. Looking back on it, Dekker realized he should have gone the ROTC route like his friend. However, when he’d graduated high school, all he’d wanted to do was to get out of Bozeman and his parents’ home.
Surveying the area, Dekker commented, “You know, I didn’t think they’d get this place fixed up and ready for action so fast.”
When the two of them had come down on a scouting mission a few days ago, the place had been a wreck. Half the runways had still been full of craters in addition to nearly all the buildings being charred ruins. Now, the place still looked like hell, but the runways were patched, and new fuel farms had been established.
“As you said during our visit, Sergeant First Class—you tell the Seabees what needs to get done and by when, and they deliver,” Meacham reminded Dekker.
“Did the S2 say anything about the air defenses at the airfield or what kind of defenders we’ll likely run into?” asked Dekker.
Meacham shrugged. “Not really. I don’t think anyone really knows for certain. I mean, the Air Force and the Navy have hammered the island pretty hard this last week. I suppose we’ll find out when we get there.”
The MH-47G Chinooks and the MH-60M Blackhawks were almost done being fueled. Once they were, the entire battalion would load up and fly across the Straits of Florida to seize the first of what would be many Cuban military airfields. They were going to be conducting a series of airfield seizures once they got their first foothold on the island established.
“How soon do you think it’ll take for them to get the 101 brought over to reinforce us?” asked Dekker, still unsure of the grand plan the brass had come up with.
“I was told as soon as the birds return to Key West”—Meacham pointed to the 160th SOAR—“they’ll refuel and the 101 will load up to join us. I suspect that unless things really go to crap, they’ll join us within a couple of hours.”
The battalion command sergeant major suddenly interrupted their conversation. “That’s it! Everyone to the helicopters!” he shouted. He’d been moving amongst the companies, checking on the men and doing what he could to pump them up. This would be one of the most dangerous missions the battalion had taken on in decades.
“See you when we land, Sergeant,” Captain Meacham said as he left to go find the first sergeant and the chalk he was riding with.
“OK, boys, you heard the sergeant major. It’s time to load up!” Dekker called out to the squad he was going to ride into battle with.
The eight riflemen loaded down with their gear, weapons, and faces painted were as ready for war as anyone could be. The groups of Rangers all around them advanced toward the Chinooks they’d be riding into combat.
After packing into the troop bay of the helicopter, Dekker checked on the squads to make sure they were ready to go. First and Second Squads were riding along the right side of the helicopter while Third and Fourth Squads were on the left. The company’s lone LS3 robotic pack mule, which was carrying their extra ammo and mortar equipment, was situated in the middle bet
ween the soldiers.
Looking out the rear of the helicopter, Dekker saw the first stick of Blackhawks take off. The first platoons from each of the three companies conducting the assault were the battalion’s pathfinders or scouts and would race ahead of the main body. They would land at the four corners of the box the battalion had been assigned to secure, identifying potential threats to the less maneuverable Chinooks before they got there.
“Hey, there go the Apaches.” One of Dekker’s new soldiers pointed.
The attack helicopters would race ahead of the assault force to take out threats the pathfinders found.
“Sergeant First Class, how long until we get there?” asked one of the nervous soldiers. He was fiddling with his rosary beads.
Dekker’s platoon had eight new soldiers, all fresh from Ranger school and training. This would be their first mission. They were rightly nervous.
“Forty minutes, give or take. So I suggest you sit back and get comfortable. We’ll be here for a little.”
*******
75th Fighter Squadron
Straits of Florida
Major Wilhelm “Baron” Richter banked his aircraft to the left, making sure to stay below one hundred feet. He was twenty minutes out from Havana and wanted to avoid getting shot down before he could support the Rangers seizing the Playa Baracoa Airport, a small regional airport along the coast, halfway between Havana and the port city of Mariel.
“Good hunting, Tiger Sharks. I’ll see you all back at Key West,” came the voice of their squadron commander, Lieutenant Colonel Lane “Banjo” Miller.
Good hunting indeed, thought Baron. The closer to the shore they got, the more the knots tightened in his stomach.
The shore of Cuba was illuminating with the predawn light. In a couple of minutes, the sun would be fully up.
Looking off toward Havana to his left, Baron saw strings of red and green tracer fire crisscrossing the night sky. He wasn’t sure if the gunners were hoping to get lucky or if they were actually aiming for something.
The closer he got to land, the more his own warning systems squawked. The Chinese and Cubans still had a few functional radars working for their surface-to-air missiles. Steadily, some of the SAMs disappeared—probably a stealth bomber overhead being fed some targeting data.
Gotta love the bomber guys—they make our job a lot easier, Baron thought. Getting up close and personal with the ChiComs was a lot more fun when they weren’t dodging supersonic SAMs.
Once Baron was over land, he spotted the Port of Mariel off to his right, and Playa Baracoa Airport to his left. The small airport was a ruined wreck from the previous cruise missile attacks and some special attention the B-52s had paid it over the last week.
In another fifteen minutes, the 160th SOAR would be arriving to deliver the Rangers. Baron wanted to make sure he cleared them a good path if one needed to be cleared. Right on cue, though, he spotted six helicopter gunships approaching at near wavetop levels. They were moving in to clear the airport before the ground elements arrived.
As Baron neared the coast from his perch, his radar and FLIR weren’t identifying any threats so far. He did spot several enemy gun emplacements around the airport that had been hit. More than a dozen aircraft parked on the side ramps had been destroyed.
Zooming over the runway, Baron banked his plane hard to the right as he gained altitude and assumed a defensive loitering position over top of the airport. He kind of thought if there was a hidden gun system, they would have fired on him. He wanted to make sure they attacked him and not the helicopters. He could take a few hits; they could not.
As he was gaining altitude and repositioning his aircraft, sure enough, a couple of guns let loose. Unfortunately, they didn’t fire on him. They were going after the approaching helicopter gunships. The Apaches took evasive maneuvers to get out of the line of fire.
Damn it, I was flying too low and fast to see them on my first pass, Baron thought as he cursed under his breath.
Turning his plane down to attack the threat, Baron locked onto the first gun position and fired one of his Mavericks. He then angled himself toward the second anti-aircraft gun and fired another Maverick. As he released both missiles, the helicopters circled around for their own attack run on the AA guns.
One of the Apaches turned a little too close to one of the AA gun trucks, and the quad 35mm autocannons ripped the tail boom completely off. The helicopter spun out of control and exploded on impact.
Crap, I was too late, Baron thought, chiding himself for not spotting and taking those guns out sooner.
Circling around the airport, Baron started looking for more targets of opportunity. At the far end of the airport, near the town of Rosa Marina, he spotted some movement. Using his onboard targeting computer, Baron moved the FLIR to look where he thought he had seen it. Sure enough, he spotted a column of armored vehicles emerging from the tree line near the village. Now that the ground war was on, they advanced toward the airport.
Baron angled his A-10 for another attack run; he still had a couple of missiles left. He planned on firing them on the two lead vehicles. Best he could tell, they looked like T-99 main battle tanks followed by a column of ten APCs or infantry fighting vehicles.
He radioed the Apaches, providing them with the enemy location. Baron planned to nail a couple of tanks but wanted their help in finishing them off. The pilots thanked him for the heads-up and said they’d stay out of his way for the moment.
Baron turned his aircraft around for an attack run. He felt like a World War II–era dive bomber pilot. It was exhilarating.
Having lined up for his attack, Baron let loose his two remaining Mavericks at the tanks. He then switched over to his guns and strafed the column with his 30mm rotary cannon. The vehicles were doing their best to scatter, but his guns ripped right across half a dozen of them before they had a chance to escape. As he flew over the column and climbed out of the area, his alarms started blaring. A pair of MANPADS jumped out after him.
Firing off a burst of flares, Baron took the aircraft into a hard turn to shake the enemy missiles heading toward him. He felt a bit of satisfaction when he saw one of the MANPADS explode against one of his flares and the other missile fly off into the sky harmlessly.
Just as he was about to hoot and holler with excitement at beating the two enemy threats, his aircraft shook hard. Then his canopy shattered, and he felt the armored tub he was sitting in take a ton of hits.
The air started whipping his face as smoke swirled around in the cockpit. Alarms blared and half his instruments were flashing red. The eject alarm screamed at him to get out of the plane. Baron didn’t know what had hit him. All he knew was the plane was barely responding to anything he was trying to do. Then it shook violently, and more alarms lit up.
He depressed the talk button on his radio, unsure if the damn thing was even working. He delivered a quick mayday call and his approximate location so that maybe a combat search-and-rescue team or the Rangers could find him.
Damn it! Baron thought as he grabbed for the ejection handle and gave it a hard pull.
What was left of his canopy blew off, and his seat shot up and away from his stricken plane. It was only then that Baron saw how badly his aircraft had been hit. One of his engines was completely missing and more than half of his left wing was gone.
As his chute deployed, Baron watched his plane spin out of control until it blew up not far from the airport. He spotted a pair of Apaches heading toward the column he had shot up. They plastered it with a slew of rockets and some Hellfire missiles.
One of the helicopter pilots flew not too far from him and gave him a thumbs-up. They would stay somewhat close to him until help could arrive. He was thankful for that. He just hoped as the ground battle below started, he wouldn’t be naked and alone for too long.
Seeing he still had a few thousand feet to go before he landed, Baron started looking for a safe spot to set down. He spotted a field not too far from the airport and
turned the guide wires on the parachute as best he could. His heart skipped a beat when he saw one of the Chinese armored vehicles racing toward his position.
Seconds later, the vehicle exploded as a Hellfire missile slammed into it. Baron smiled. He would have to buy that Apache pilot a beer if they all lived through the next couple of days.
*******
“Sergeant First Class! We’re two minutes out,” the lieutenant said, passing down the warning from the crew chief.
Sergeant Dekker nodded at the information. He turned to his right and passed the word to the next guy. They were still over water, but it was clear by the color change that they were getting close to the shore—the seas were looking lighter.
For the last hour, they had been flying just above the waves. The pilots did their best to stay below the radar in case the Air Force had missed a SAM.
The engines changed pitch when the pilots gained a little bit of altitude as they approached the shore and their target. In seconds, they were no longer over the water. They had crossed over onto land as they approached the airport. So far, no one was shooting at them.
The helicopter flared up a bit as the pilot bled off their airspeed and angled them in for a landing. Dekker couldn’t see much from his vantage point, but what little he could see told him this airport had been worked over hard by the Air Force.
“Prepare for landing!” shouted the crew chief behind the pilots.
The Chinook settled down into an open field at the southeastern side of the airfield. The long blades of grass were flattened by the rotor wash while the palm tree leaves waved and danced from the turbulence of the air.
“Everybody out!” shouted one sergeant, jumping out of his seat at the end of the rear ramp and rushing off with the third squad as they broke to the right of the helicopter, fanned out into a half circle and went to ground. The other squads did the same as they ran off the Chinook.
Lying in the tall grass, with dust, dirt, and debris flying all around him, Dekker held his rifle out, covering his field of fire.