Assault by Fire

by Lt. Col. H. Ripley Rawlings IV (USMC, Ret. )

  “I follow, Mr. Vice President. What about our active units deployed against Iran in the Middle East?”

  “It’s a good question. We don’t have any command and control over our forces, so I wish I could tell you we could order them back and have them attack and repel this invasion. But here’s the thing I do know. The Canadian government has offered, through secret comms, to help us reestablish command and control over all our forces.”

  “Well, that’s the best news I’ve heard since the damn Russians invaded. But I’m not sure what I can do to help. I mean, I barely made it this far without losing the whole regiment. We are low on ammo and weapons, and we don’t have any of the considerable advantages in technology we once possessed. No satellites, air-cover artillery, or armor.”

  “Yes, we’re aware. All those assets are now in Russian hands. But I can get you a small stockpile of ammo. In fact, one of your attached leaders, Captain Blake, was training on the site just recently. We’ve had training ammo out there for the SF units for some time. Radios, batteries, some anti-tank equipment. All in limited supply, but I understand you could use it.”

  “That would be a very welcome surprise, Mr. Vice President.”

  “But it all comes with a catch.”

  “Okay, you have my attention, sir.”

  “I need you to seize Yeager Airport and get the Cabinet and myself aboard a plane—”

  “Two planes, sir,” interrupted one of the Cabinet members, who Tyce recognized as the secretary of state.

  “Correct, two planes. We’ll split the Cabinet for survivability into two aircraft and head north. If only one aircraft makes it, mission accomplished.”

  “It sounds like a very good idea. There would need to be a lot of planning. I don’t imagine the Russians at the airport will roll over. In fact, Yeager is one of the most defensible airports in West Virginia. Has to be—it houses some of the West Virginia Air National Guard’s biggest commands.”

  “Exactly why we think it’s the best for our needs. U.S. aircraft will still be there. Our best intelligence suggests the Russians didn’t destroy much of it at all and are cross-training their pilots on our captured aircraft. And why wouldn’t they? It’s basically a free air force, with all the parts and fuel reserves they’ll need to comb fighting men like you in the hills for years.”

  “It sounds like it’s at least the start of a plan, but it begs my biggest question. How the heck am I supposed to fly you to Canada, Mr. Vice President? All my men are infantry, reconnaissance, and support specialties.”

  “Ah, that’s where Mark and Gene come into play. Gentlemen.”

  Two men in civilian attire, whom Tyce had assumed were Secret Service, stepped forward.

  “These men are actually the source of much of our intel. They are both pilots from the 130th Airlift Wing. You get us there, and they’ll fly us out.”

  “Is this a direct order then, Mr. Vice President?”

  “No. Does it need to be?”

  “I’ve always been told to steer clear of volunteer missions, sir. They are usually the ones that leave a lot of men dead,” Tyce answered flatly. He’d watched a lot of good men get cut to pieces, and he did not relish going on some fool’s crusade if it didn’t accomplish one of his two goals: hurting the Russians or taking care of his troops.

  “I understand. May I call you Tyce?”

  “Yes, sir, but it doesn’t bring me closer to agreeing to put my folks’ lives on the line again. They have been through a lot, and we’re finally getting up on our feet a bit. We’ve stuck a knife in the Russians’ side, and I intend to keep twisting that knife until we take back what’s ours.”

  The VP smiled at the governor and Susanna. “I think we have the right man,” said the VP. “Tyce, the mission will ensure the continuity of our government. Your government and the last duly elected government by the people, of the people in the United States before it was crushed under the boot of a foreign invader. This isn’t my mission, Tyce, this is the mission of the uniform you wear and the people it represents. Will you do it?”

  Tyce scratched at his three days’ worth of beard growth. In all the excitement, he had yet been able to take a razor to his face. “Well . . . I’m not sure how I could turn that down, Mr. Vice President. Any way I look at it, it becomes a necessity. A duty. If we don’t get you out, the Russians will eventually close in and find you. With both the VP and the president in their grasp, I suspect the Russians will declare all their policies lawful. Whereas right now, with you missing—well, almost missing—once you show up in Canada, the whole Russian invasion loses any sense of legitimacy.”

  “That’s right. I’ll add something else if it helps you make your decision, Tyce. You can have anything you can drag or grab from Yeager Airport. Finally, I’d like to use my powers as the vice president to promote you to lieutenant colonel for your bravery in fighting thus far, even if you don’t accept the mission.”

  “No, sir.”

  “No, you won’t do it?”

  “No . . . I mean, yes, sir, I will do it. We will do it. But no promotions. That looks like a bribe to get you out. Not only does it turn my stomach, but the men would see right through it and think I was on some kind of quest to make rank. Using their lives as fodder. No, sir, if we do this, we do it because it’s our duty to preserve the nation we love.”

  “Okay, we are in your hands, Major. You may have everything you can take from the armories in the SF training grounds east of here. Distribute it to your troops as you need. I imagine you need some time to do some planning?”

  “Yes . . . yes, sir,” said Tyce, looking over at Susanna. “But I’m going to need you to authorize me to exert some power over the local establishment. The police . . . and the mayor.”

  “Granted. Whatever you need, within reason. You have full autonomy and military authority over the region and whatever matériel you need. We must preserve the Union.”

  “Good. Thank you, Mr. Vice President.” He turned to the door and called for Gunny, who arrived from the adjacent shower looking clean and fresh. “Gunny, grab the usual suspects. We’ve gotta figure out how to save America.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Morgantown

  General Tympkin eyed Colonel Nikolaevich but listened patiently as the colonel went over his plan to fight the resistance in the mountains. The briefing consisted of ways in which the Russians intended to work with the local population and help them increase their crop yields, and by doing so win their hearts and minds. Much of the plan centered around reeducating the people to the ways of the Russian Federation—to the ways of communism.

  Colonel Nikolaevich personally briefed them on what he believed was an excellent overview of the ills of democracy, how, according to his well-educated thinking, they could convince the American proletariat to surrender the things they didn’t need and come to understand the excellent advantages posed by a collective system. No more superrich bossing them around, they would be free to enjoy the fruits of their labors, to farm and live off the land.

  The colonel and his staff droned on for over an hour. Finally, General Tympkin showed his annoyance and stopped the briefing.

  “Colonel Nikolaevich, send your people to go get some dinner. I wish to speak with you in your offices.”

  In the colonel’s offices, the general proceeded to rail against Colonel Nikolaevich and his overly nuanced plan to fight the hillbillies.

  “Do you not understand that these remnant elements of the former military are determined to defend their homeland? Before you even have an opportunity to reeducate the local farmers, you are going to have to get off your ass and fight what’s left of their army. Get in the hills and root them out. I need you to be ruthless.”

  Colonel Nikolaevich was scared stiff. Since the general’s last visit, he’d pulled out all the stops and worked up what he considered to be the plan Tympkin would want. If this wasn’t good enough, he had no other ideas. There were two reasons Colonel Nikolaevich had been sent
to the sleepiest part of America: No one ever expected resistance in the mountains of West Virginia, and maybe more apparent to General Tympkin at this very moment, Nikolaevich had graduated at the very bottom of his officers’ course.

  “You have one week, Colonel Nikolaevich. One week to get after an opponent that, right at this moment, is sharpening their blades and searching for your throat. Mark my words, these men want to defend their homeland and will resist anything you do to stand in their way. They care little for collective farms and the ability to exchange their wares. They want freedom.”

  “But General,” the colonel interrupted, still not understanding the signs the general was giving. “Once we teach them about our system of free education and show their minorities the Russian system of true equality, they will gladly relinquish any hold their system has over them and relish the wonderful workers’ system that we provide them.”

  The general listened, nodding without interest, and stood to go, then reemphasized his point. “One week. Then it’s Private Nikolaevich in the assault-breaching element of the 8th Guards.” He marched out and signaled General Kolikoff to follow.

  On his way out, Kolikoff pulled Nikolaevich aside. “Old comrade, let me know what I can do to help you. I’m in the new center of power, the American Pentagon, and we have many assets available in the area that are not tied up in fighting the former regime at their old bases. We still have some reserves. Do not go at this fight alone. Let me help. But also, I have seen General Tympkin at his best, and at his worst. He means what he says, comrade. And he is not a man to be trifled with.”

  Colonel Nikolaevich stared at him vacantly, and then General Kolikoff hastened off for the flight line to fly back to Washington and the Pentagon.

  CHAPTER 35

  Parsons

  “We only have one choice,” Tyce said as he finished up the attack briefing and looked around at his leaders.

  Gunny was the first to offer up anything. “Sir, what you’re asking for is basically suicide, running directly into the mouth of the enemy like that.”

  Tyce rubbed his face with his hands. His Marine Corps instructors in college had always told him “Never let ’em see you sweat.” Fine advice for some deodorant commercial, but it was one of those stupid phrases of the day that everyone repeats over and over, trying to sound pithy. But just at this moment, it resonated deeply with him, and he finally understood what they had meant with their cheesy pop-culture mantra. The men didn’t like to see their leader frustrated or in doubt. But it was hard to hide his feelings from his men in such constant close quarters and under such critical circumstances.

  “Look, I know I’m asking a lot—”

  “Boss, you’re asking everything. You’re asking them to go right into the teeth of the bear,” Wynand interjected.

  It looked like Victoria was about to burst, and she blurted out, “It’s all how the men understand it. Ty . . . I mean, Major, if you say it’s necessary, if you tell them they are the last hope to keep the vice president alive. If you tell them they are the last gasp of a democracy not just under fire, but on fire and with only one elected official still alive at the top . . .”

  She stopped just short of finishing her thought, but Blue, in a rare instance of speaking in public, finished for her. “Then we’ll all follow you to the gates of hell, Major. You’ve got my rifle at the ready.”

  “And we’ll need it, Blue. You stick with the snipers, see if you can’t teach them a thing or two.”

  Even the sly Wynand interjected. “It’s the best way, boss—hit ’em where they least expect it and let them hit us where we ain’t. Think I might be able to get some eyes on the lay of the land, too. Got a bud up there who does the sewage trucks for the airfield.”

  “I’m not gonna ask—it seems you know a lot of folks. If you can find out where the flight-worthy birds are, though, we sure could use that intel. It would be murder to get all the way into the perimeter and find the aircraft have no fuel.”

  “Or be missin’ an engine.” said Wynand.

  Tyce looked at Ned. “Captain Blake, what do you think?”

  Ned chuckled. “Sir, I’m still trying to get used to you and your Marines’ tendency to lead by consensus. Me and the men of 19th Special Forces are here to do the job. Maybe we can even prevent you Marines from just becoming cannon fodder, as you all seem determined to do.”

  Tyce and the rest laughed a bit, but the last words also stung some—as they were intended to. Since Ned was only one rank below Tyce, and was a card-carrying special forces Ranger, he had the chops to take the occasional poke at the boss.

  “Okay,” Tyce said slowly. “We do it. Ned, you’re the bait. Commander Remington, you need to get all your sailors who can walk and every bit of medicine you can scrounge. Gunny, have all hands ready to move out at twenty-two hundred hours. It’ll take at least four hours to get there.”

  As everyone scattered to go get their men prepped, General Lawton tugged on Tyce’s sleeve. He’d had a rough go, and everyone just assumed he’d beaten a bad fever. Victoria told Tyce in private she though it might be something far worse. He might have radiation poisoning.

  “Good work, son.”

  “Thanks, sir. Means a lot coming from an old salt such as yourself.”

  “Old salt . . . hmmm, I have some miles on me, but just you remember, wisdom and judiciousness are friends at the same party.”

  “And which dead general is that quote from?”

  “Well . . . let’s just say, he ain’t dead yet.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Parsons

  Captain Ned Blake stared through his night vision binoculars at the approaching convoy. In any other scenario, against any other opponent, the approaching Russians would have gone unnoticed until they were directly on top of their quarry. That was, in fact, exactly their aim. But Ned’s men of the 19th Special Forces were not an ordinary opponent.

  Ned’s men hadn’t just spotted the approaching Russian convoy as they made their way across the frozen and snow-covered West Virginia landscape. True, the Russians had traveled the forty miles under cover of total darkness with blackout lights to conceal their travels over the highway. But Ned’s men had used an RQ-20 Puma, a low- to no-light military drone, to covertly observe the Russian soldiers as they rolled out of their racks at one a.m. They had watched the Russian officers muster their troops on the snow-covered cement outside the former National Guard barracks, and even watched them lazily go to the chow hall to eat breakfast before the NCOs performed weapons inspections by flashlight, then mount up and head toward Ned and his troops. All this before the drone had to return due to its battery limitations. If Ned’s men were the bait, they were the kind of bait that looked like easy prey, but turned out to be anything but.

  Still, Ned was taking no chances. He reached over to his pack and fished out his thermal vision binoculars. They took a moment to warm up, but after a few heart-racing seconds, he was rewarded with a clear image of the vehicles stopping on the next rise over. He watched patiently as they dismounted, their NCOs quietly and efficiently getting them into their assault formations. The light artillery, two small field guns, might actually have gone unnoticed. Ned’s drone had come back to charge up before the light artillery had been spotted.

  They must have mustered and departed from a different part of the base, Ned surmised. But at least two of the “gun bunnies,” as the Americans called artillerymen, seemed to have an unquenchable smoking habit. Ned watched the cherry-red embers at the ends of the smokes dangling from the lips of their men through his thermal vision as they unpacked and set up their gun.

  Well, one thing’s for sure, thought Ned. They are ready for the day. Ned was more than a little envious of the Russian’s battle array. He could see medium and even heavy machine guns.

  He smirked a bit and leaned over to one of his senior sergeants. “Here we go, brother. Tell C Company to prepare to unleash all hell on my command.” He locked and loaded his M4 carbine.


  * * *

  Just like Ned’s team was doing outside Parsons, Tyce looked through his night vision goggles. But Tyce wasn’t playing defense to the Russians’ offense. He and the rest of the 150th Cavalry were one hundred percent on the offensive. And if he played his cards right, the Russians at Yeager Airport near Charleston would be nowhere near as ready as the Russians attacking Ned. Or, more accurately, falling into Ned’s trap.

  Blue slid across the snow on his belly up next to Tyce, his military-issued snowsuit keeping him dry.

  “Major, I’ve done all I can with your HQ folks. Given them all the Russian positions we reconnoitered. I’d like to ask permission to head back to your snipers’ positions and help out there for the battle.”

  “Sure, Blue. Keep sending back reports as best you can. I know they’re glad to have your rifle in their mix.”

  “Don’t know about that, Major, but one more long gun can’t hurt, and I’m no good to anyone back here at your HQ.”

  Tyce was experienced enough to know that Blue meant no offense by the remark, but Tyce also knew he’d be spending almost the entirety of the upcoming battle up on this very hill overlooking the airport. It pained him more than a little. As a Marine, he wanted to be where the action was, but as an officer, especially a field-grade major, and the commander of the unit, he knew his place was orchestrating the meticulously planned pieces, taking in the ebb and flow of the fight, and shifting forces who were heavily engaged or spurring on the groups that were meeting success and encouraging those that inevitably were not. As the old militarism went: “all plans fall to shit on first contact.” Tyce hoped to make today an exception.