by James Rosone
Before they could even walk over to him and his headquarters staff, Kilgore turned to his operations officer and barked, “Get those civilians out of here! Tell them to go back to their homes and hide their weapons. I don’t want them needlessly getting killed.”
He then turned his back on them and returned his attention to the battle still raging.
Just as he turned to look at his soldiers fighting it out with this lead German element, they heard a new sound pierce the battlespace—there was a sharp crack followed by the boom of a tank gun. The first sound was followed by three more in rapid succession. To his horror, Kilgore saw four German main battle tanks that must have been traveling along the frontage road of I-69 veer off the two-lane road and begin to race through an open farm field toward his troopers. A second volley of red-hot rounds raced from their tank barrels right for his troops, hitting them with devastating effect.
Colonel Kilgore turned to his radioman. “Get me our aviation support now!”
The young soldier handed him the radio handset a second later. “I’ve got them,” he said.
Kilgore grabbed the radio. “Arrow Two-Two, this is Darkhorse Six. I’ve got four German tanks hitting my right flank. I need air support ASAP!” he shouted.
While he was talking, the German tanks fired another volley into his soldiers and two more of his Strykers went up in smoke.
In response, a lone missile flew out from one of the Javelin crews toward the enemy tanks. Two of the German tanks fired off smoke canisters to try and confuse the missile’s IR tracking sensor, and they swerved to one side. The missile just missed its target at the last second.
“Copy that, Darkhorse. Arrow Two-Two is engaging now,” replied the Apache pilot. Kilgore could hear his rotor blades and other electronics in the background as the pilot spoke.
In the distance, not too far away, Colonel Kilgore could hear the sound of helicopter blades getting closer. A second later, four Hellfire missiles streaked across the sky over their position on the hill toward the enemy tanks, flying right through the enemy smokescreen to slam right into the tanks.
Boom, boom, boom, boom.
All four enemy tanks blew up, and the attack on his flank ended as swiftly as it had started. Scanning back to where his soldiers were, Colonel Kilgore sadly saw eight burning wrecks that had once been Stryker vehicles. Looking toward the enemy positions, he also saw several new black smudges and a few new explosions as the Apaches now flew ahead of his position, engaging whatever enemy vehicles and units they spotted just over the horizon.
Go get ’em, boys, he thought.
Just as he was starting to feel good about the situation, or at least like they were getting the upper hand in this tug-of-war, both Apaches exploded in midair. A second later, a sleek-looking fighter plane with black Iron Crosses on it flew fast and low over their position before banking hard to the north as it sought to gain more altitude.
“Holy crap! They just took out our helicopters, sir,” shouted the radioman incredulously, shock and horror written all over his face.
“Get me Brigade!” yelled Kilgore.
Changing to the Brigade frequency, the soldier handed him the hand receiver again.
“Stable Six, Darkhorse Six. I just lost both of my Apaches to a pair of German fighters. We need fighter cover from the Air Force now!” He hoped someone with more rank on their collar than him could get him some higher-level support. If the Germans had fighter support, they’d make short work of the rest of his regiment.
Thirty seconds went by before he heard a response. “Darkhorse Six, Stable Six. That’s a good copy. I’ve relayed your request to our forward air controller. They’ve got fighters inbound to our AOR. I’m retasking additional helicopter support to you now. We’ve got a sizable German unit moving out of Port Huron toward you. I need you to hold your current position for a little while longer. Is that understood?”
Colonel Kilgore shook his head in frustration. He’d just lost more than half a squadron, and now he had an unknown German force headed toward him? He needed more information than that.
“That’s a good copy. Be advised, I just lost half a squadron’s worth of soldiers and vehicles. I need additional support if I’m to hold this position.”
Another minute went by. Presumably, Brigade was looking at the bigger picture, trying to see what forces they had that could be shifted around to help him out. Then the radio crackled for a second and beeped as the SINCGARs finally synced. “I know you’re in a tough spot, Kilgore, but we’re getting hit all across our lines right now. The best I can do for support is shift a battery of guns from the 16th Field Artillery Regiment. Do what you can and report back if it looks like the Germans are going to break through your position. Out.” And with that, Lieutenant Colonel Kilgore was on his own.
How big is this force heading toward us? he wondered.
Shaking his head, he looked at his radio operator. “Give me 5th Squadron.”
A minute later, he had his tank squadron commander on the radio. “Hammer Six, Darkhorse Six. I need you to shift your tanks over to grid MI 5768 5786 and be prepared to deal with enemy tanks. We just got hit by a platoon of Leopard IIs. Stable Six said we have a large German force headed to our position along I-69. I need you to move ASAP and get ready to deal with them,” he said.
“Copy that, we’re on the move.”
A moment later, Kilgore heard from one of the six scout units he had scattered in front of their positions. “Darkhorse Six, this is Watcher Two. We’ve got what appears to be two companies’ worth of tanks moving down either side of I-69 toward your position and those four tanks you guys blew up earlier. Estimate their arrival in ten mikes. We’ve also spotted another column moving up Lapeer Road to your north. We’re relocating to alternate site Delta. Out.”
Lieutenant Colonel Kilgore wished they could have had more scout units. Maybe we could have spotted that first platoon of German tanks and called in helicopter support earlier, he thought.
Looking at the map of where Watcher Two was located, he saw they were in a good position to call in some artillery support on at least two of the German columns. With the armored force still four miles away, he really wanted to start getting some steel on them quickly.
Seemingly sensing exactly what Kilgore was thinking, his operations officer opined, “We could try and call in an artillery strike on those positions—at least let them know we’ve spotted them. Maybe it’ll cause them to advance a little slower and give us more time to get our own tanks in position.”
Turning to look at the captain, Kilgore nodded. “Get back on the horn with Watcher Two and see if they can relay some coordinates for the artillery. See if you can’t disrupt their movement while we wait on getting some additional gunship support from Brigade.”
For the next twenty minutes, a near-continuous roar of artillery rounds flew over their heads toward the enemy, and then they heard counterbattery fire as the Germans tried to locate and take out his artillery support. The artillery duel continued until the whistling and rumbling of the rounds pounding the earth was joined by the metal clanking of his tanks and the German tanks traveling toward each other.
The two sides continued their long-range duel with each other as they sought to maneuver around each other for a better angle of attack. Interspersed with the artillery and tank fire was the growing crescendo of small-arms fire as the APCs and infantry fighting vehicles ferried the German infantry soldiers closer to his own.
As the battle grew, it became clear that Kilgore’s men were most likely facing a substantially larger force than they’d first thought. More and more enemy tanks and armored vehicles continued to show up, probing around his flanks and looking for spots to punch through and encircle them.
The radio crackled and then beeped, letting them know the encrypted radio had synced. “Darkhorse Six, Stable Six. I need you to begin a tactical withdrawal to the Capac Rest Stop. It’s roughly sixteen miles behind your current position. I’ve got
most of the brigade moved up to that spot. We’re going to try and organize a counterattack once you pass through our lines.”
Finally, some good news, Colonel Kilgore thought, letting out a deep breath.
“Copy that. Out.” He was more than happy to get out of Dodge.
With their new orders, Kilgore sent out the word to his squadrons to fall back to their new coordinates.
Now comes the fun part, Kilgore realized. Disengaging from an enemy that was determined to kill you was easier said than done.
*******
Capac Rest Stop
Colonel Chris Compton of the 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 1st Cavalry Division, cursed at the situation he now found himself in. Somehow, he had to do his best to stop this German horde that had crossed into Michigan.
His intelligence group had said they were facing the 10th Panzer Division and elements of the division Schnelle Kräfte—these were the Germans’ crack armor and airmobile divisions. This meant his meager brigade of 4,500 soldiers was stuck facing down 25,700 Dutch and German soldiers until the rest of the division came online.
Colonel Compton examined the map again and swore. How the hell am I supposed to stop two freaking divisions of troops with a brigade? he thought. If General Pots didn’t get the rest of the division up there ASAP, he and his men were going to be nothing more than a speed bump.
The chaos around him didn’t help him to stay calm. Even though the brunt of the fighting was sixteen miles to their front, the sounds of war still reached them. The nearly constant thumping of artillery rounds from the regiment of artillery to their rear was making itself known to the enemy. The counterbattery fire was forcing his artillery regiment to change positions every couple of shots. From time to time, a loud explosion could be heard as one of their M109 Paladin self-propelled vehicles or one of the ammo carriers took a hit.
High overhead, he heard the screaming of fighters dueling it out in the skies above them, adding to his anxiety of not even having solid air support to rely on. With a squadron of A-10 Warthogs, they could make short work of this German unit, but not with Eurofighters smothering the skies above them. He was lucky they weren’t pounding his own positions yet.
“Sir, it looks like Kilgore’s regiment is coming in,” said Colonel Compton’s XO. He handed him a pair of binoculars and pointed down the two frontage roads on either side of I-69.
Taking the field glasses, Compton looked down the road and saw Kilgore’s ragtag force. Several of his tanks had their turrets facing behind them while their smoke generators were going. The tanks were doing their best to screen for the Strykers, Bradleys and other vehicles that were trying to beat feet back to his lines. Compton knew that not far behind them was a much larger armor force, ginning up for a fight. Kilgore’s regiment had bloodied them up, but now they were looking for revenge.
Colonel Compton handed the binoculars back to his XO. “Send a message back to Warhorse Actual and ask him what his ETA is,” he ordered. “Ask if he wants us to fall back to position Golf.”
Five minutes went by as his XO went back and forth with Division, trying to figure out exactly where the rest of the other brigades were and if they should try and hold their position for a few hours or fall back now before they were fully engaged. Part of the problem with allowing a force to make contact was trying to break contact later on. Disengaging from a determined enemy was not an easy feat.
Before his brigade became bogged down, Colonel Compton wanted to know if help was only a few hours away or if they were looking at a day or two on their own. If it was the latter, then they’d carry out a fighting retreat rather than try and stand and fight. Maneuver warfare was the best option when outnumbered and outgunned.
*******
Saginaw, Michigan
City Hall
Mayor Peter Russo stared at the police chief for a second as he tried to take in what he had just been told.
“You’re saying the UN force across the border has not only invaded, but they’ve captured Port Huron?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes, Mr. Mayor. That is exactly what I’m saying. My nephew is a captain in the National Guard. He told me the regular Army is going to fight it out in Detroit, but aside from the city, they’re going to conduct a fighting retreat south. That means the rest of us up north are going to have to fend for ourselves,” Chief Ryan explained, clearly despondent himself.
The fire chief chimed in. “So, we’re on our own, then?”
“It would appear so,” the police chief replied glumly.
Mayor Russo knew the situation was serious, but a part of him felt like this might be his moment to shine. He remembered watching that movie Red Dawn about Cuban and Russian soldiers parachuting into a western town and trying to take it over. He specifically thought of the scene where the scared kids had stopped at one of their dad’s sporting goods stores on the way out of town, and the man had given them all the rifles, ammo, bows and arrows he could. Russo knew he could do the same.
“OK, listen up, people,” the mayor announced. His voice was loud enough that it caused everyone to pipe down and focus on him. “Here’s what we’re going to do. For the time being, we’re on our own. But that doesn’t mean we’re defenseless. While some may welcome the UN as liberators, I, for one, do not. This is America. And we govern ourselves.”
Mayor Russo pointed at Chief Ryan. “I want you to find all the records of people who personally own a firearm, either at the police station or the individual gun stores and sporting goods stores, and I want them destroyed. We’re not going to let these so-called peacekeepers know who in our community is armed so they can arrest them.
“Second, I want all the gun and sporting stores to work with you on handing out all the firearms and ammo you can to volunteers to defend the city. If the Guard and the Army are going to leave us to fend for ourselves, then by God, that’s exactly what we’ll do.”
As the group continued to talk about what they could do to defend their town, the police chief got an urgent call over the radio.
“Chief Ryan, this is Patrol Five. I’ve got a visual on eight military vehicles heading toward town. What do you want us to do?” called one of the police officers.
The radio crackled again before Ryan could respond. “Ah, yeah, this is Patrol Eight. I’m out near the airport and I’m seeing hundreds of paratroopers landing. I don’t think they’re Americans. What do you want me to do?”
The room suddenly became quiet as all eyes turned to the chief and the mayor.
“Order him to pull back to the edge of town,” said Mayor Russo. “Everyone else, grab a firearm and let’s set up some sort of ambush for them when they enter town.”
Everyone but Ryan got up without hesitation and headed toward the door.
The chief depressed the talk button on his radio connecting him with the police station dispatcher. “Shirley, tell Captain Lacey to grab every rifle, shotgun, pistol and all our ammo and head over to city hall. We’re going to arm our citizens with everything we have. If things work out, we’ll ambush these foreign invaders and then we’ll be able to steal their weapons.”
The next twenty minutes were tense. The city government used the alert system that was normally activated for an Amber Alert to notify the citizens of Saginaw of the coming foreign attack. The message asked anyone with a firearm to report to city hall and requested that all others lock their doors and remain inside.
As the armored vehicles approached the outskirts of Saginaw, Chief Ryan began to receive reports from the field on his radio.
“Sir, the UN vehicles have stopped and seem to be surveying the scene. They’ve definitely spotted the roadblock.” Several civilians had parked their cars and trucks across the main roads in an attempt to slow or stop the invaders.
“Stay the course,” Chief Ryan ordered. A few minutes went by in anxious expectation.
“Sir, they’re moving forward now.”
The silent anticipation was broken by the sounds of gunfire.
“Chief, we’ve got several of the armed civilians shooting at the vehicles with their hunting rifles. Unfortunately, the bullets are bouncing off the armor.”
“Well, at least they should be receiving the message that they aren’t welcome here,” Ryan replied.
“The armored vehicles have successfully pushed aside the roadblock, sir,” his man on the ground announced.
The chief could still hear the occasional gunshot, but they seemed further away. The defenders must have retreated to the homes and vehicles nearby, just taking shots of opportunity as they were able.
“Sir, the convoy has stopped. They’re dismounting their infantry.”
The battle for Saginaw, Michigan, population 196,542, had begun, and so had the battle for the heartland of America.
*******
New York/Quebec Border
Town of Chateaugay
Général de brigade Joseph Joffre hoped the politicians knew what they were doing. His brigade was about to cross the proverbial Rubicon, from which there was no returning. No nation had ever invaded America and come close to achieving any sort of victory. His superiors had told him that this was not an invasion, but a liberation with widespread support from within.
Well, we’ll see if that’s true in about five minutes, he thought.
The sky above them was silent, almost peaceful. However, the rumbling of nearly 1,200 vehicle engines that had just started broke through any sense of calm. The 8,000 French soldiers of the French 7th Armoured Brigade were ready to roll. The UN operation to remove President Sachs from power was no longer a tabletop exercise; it was now a real military operation with real lives and military equipment involved.
Intermixed with their armored force were roughly 2,000 New York Civil Defense Force soldiers. These newly created American militia units would help the UN force to support their narrative that they were not an invading army but rather liberators working with Americans to help remove a tyrannical dictator.