by James Rosone
The militiamen’s native English skills and knowledge of the area would serve Joffre far more than any limited military capability they might possess. As such, he had them thoroughly integrated with all his units to provide the public interface with the civilian populace when the time came.
*******
As his column of vehicles moved across the border, Joffre had his scout units begin to fan out. Their intelligence unit said there was an American brigade operating in the area, so the French general sent his forty-two Panhard Véhicule Blindé Léger scout vehicles, or VBLs, to fan out and smoke them out. Truth be told, it was an American battalion, not a brigade. The American force was scattered across much of upstate New York and parts of Vermont, so Joffre wasn’t facing a full American brigade. Nonetheless, he wanted to find them and destroy them quickly so he could advance down the state and liberate New York City, which was his primary objective.
Ten minutes after his first regiment had crossed the American border, his own command vehicle finally reached the Customs and Border Protection building. It was incredibly odd to see this usually busy location, where officials would regularly search vehicles and trucks crossing back and forth across the border, reduced to a ghost town. However, it occurred to Joffre that the structure could give him some strategic advantage, at least for the time being.
“Seize the building,” Général Joffre ordered. “We are going to turn this into a forward command post, at least until the rest of our unit is further into the state.”
Once the building had been cleared and secured, Joffre went to work making himself at home. One of the first orders of business was getting the maps set up with the various regiments’ positions. Next, his reconnaissance unit began launching their scout drones to help in the search to find these vaunted American units. In a few minutes, his staff was able to make contact with the Air Force squadron assigned to support his force, making sure they had ground support should they need it.
Steadily, things were starting to shape up. It began to look as if they were going to have an easy go of capturing New York City. That was, until they received a frantic call across the radio.
Joffre’s lead units had finally made contact with the enemy. Now it was time to fix them to their position and let the Air Force pound them while his armor shifted around their flanks and destroyed them.
*******
Lieutenant Tom Boyette of the 2nd Battalion, 14th Infantry Regiment watched as the first enemy scout vehicle passed through their kill box. It took a lot of willpower not to open fire and smoke ’em, but his platoon sergeant had insisted that if they let the scout vehicle through, they’d be rewarded with a much more tempting target to blow up and save their element of surprise. It was one of the best tactical advantages they had. Even though it was winter in upstate New York, that didn’t mean they couldn’t conceal their positions well. They had various winter camouflage nets set up at different angles to break up the silhouettes of their vehicles, and at the moment, they were all but invisible.
Boyette and his platoon sergeant were under no illusion about their prospects in this fight. They had to hit the enemy fast and hard, and then do their best to pull a Houdini and slip away to fight another day. Their unit’s orders were to carry out hit-and-run attacks on the French force until the rest of their battalion could maneuver around to meet them.
Nearly ten minutes went by before they saw their first real target rolling down County Road 11, a column of six VAB armored personnel carriers supported by four AMX-10 RC vehicles, which were light reconnaissance vehicles that packed a 105mm cannon. This group looked to be about a company-strength-level unit. It was precisely the type of target they’d been waiting for.
Turning to look at his platoon sergeant, Lieutenant Boyette nodded, knowing the sergeant would make sure the platoon did what they were supposed to do.
Boyette’s platoon had set up four Javelin ATGMs, and two of their Stryker vehicles had been outfitted with their own 105mm cannons. Two of the four JLTVs they had with them were set up with the venerable M2 fifty-caliber machine guns, while the other two had the M240 light machine guns in their turrets. They also had the only 105mm cannon equipped Strykers in the company, which meant they packed most of their unit’s firepower. For a small platoon, they packed a big punch.
Pop…swoosh…Pop…swoosh…
Boom, Boom.
The surreal scene of silence and peacefulness was instantly shattered as the Javelins shot across the three hundred meters of distance toward the French recce vehicles.
“Fire!” shouted one of the sergeants in the turret section of the Stryker.
BOOM, BOOM. Bam, bam.
The two Strykers fired their 105mm rounds right into two of the six APCs, blowing both vehicles completely over onto their sides and off the road as they erupted into flames. The crews in both Strykers scrambled to reload the 105mm cannon so they could take out the next two vehicles.
Several voices yelled out in French, barking orders to their men as they sought to react to the American ambush.
“Let ’em have it!” shouted Boyette over the platoon net.
The two M2 fifty-caliber machine guns on the JLTVs opened fire on the remaining French armored personnel carriers. Unfortunately, hitting them would be a little harder because they had popped off some smoke grenades to obscure the view and were doing their best to find a concealed position on the side of the road.
Around twenty of Boyette’s infantrymen also opened fire on the soldiers that were spilling out of the two APCs that hadn’t been hit.
Ten seconds after the fight started, two more cannons opened fire, hitting the last two APCs and turning them into charred ruins. The few enemy soldiers that survived continued to fire back at the Americans, doing their best to lay down covering fire for their own comrades.
Seeing their work there was done, Lieutenant Boyette yelled over the platoon net, “It’s time to saddle up and bug out!” They needed to get out of there and fall back to their secondary position before reinforcements showed up.
*******
Tampa, Florida
US Special Operations Headquarters
Lieutenant Colonel Seth Mitchell kissed his wife and his two kids goodbye, not knowing exactly how long he’d be gone. After a tumultuous deployment to Kosovo in late October and early November, he’d been fortunate enough to spend a couple of weeks on leave with his family. However, he’d always known that come January, the ops tempo at SOCOM was going to go through the roof.
During the month of December, the command had been charged with figuring out how they were going to disrupt and attack the UN forces operating across the border in Canada and Mexico. However, when close to twenty percent of the active-duty military went AWOL and crossed over to the rebel forces in Canada, the strain on the Special Forces community increased dramatically.
SOF was sadly not immune to the crossovers either. Fortunately, the percentage of Special Forces going AWOL didn’t exceed ten percent, but the fact that ten percent of America’s most elite warriors had joined the ranks of the enemy still stung. It didn’t help that a former JSOC and SOCOM commander had joined the Tate administration as his new Secretary of Defense. His appeal to the SOF community had netted them a few thousand operators from across the four branches of service. Most of the SOF that crossed over had come from the ranks of the Naval Special Warfare groups, and some had been Marines.
When Seth had reported into work at 0700 hours the day after New Year’s, he’d learned of the early-morning attack on the carrier USS Nimitz. He’d fully expected the UN forces to respond. A little over a week later, when the carriers Truman and Stennis had been attacked, General Royal, the SOCOM commander, had immediately issued attack orders to the various Army and Marine Special Forces units that had already crossed into Canada.
*******
As Seth walked into the command center that morning, he saw his boss, General Royal, in a heated discussion with one of the operations officers about s
omething and made his way over to see what was going on.
“What do you mean one of our teams has gone missing?” Royal demanded angrily. “Were they captured or killed, or did they just decide to go AWOL as a team?”
“We’ve tasked a drone with trying to get eyes on their last location,” the colonel responded. “They had reported receipt of the attack order and were moving to proceed with dropping the US side of the Ogdensburg Prescott Bridge. It’s possible the UN had their own SOF team on our side of the border, ready to interdict our guys. We know the UN had forces there, and they would need to capture that site if they were going to cross into upstate New York.”
General Royal shook his head in frustration. “Tell me our other operations are at least going well,” he demanded.
The colonel smiled and nodded. “They are. One of the A-Teams just ambushed a convoy of French soldiers headed to the Thousand Islands Bridge, just north of Fort Drum. Two more teams engaged a German column trying to cross into Vermont from Stanstead, Quebec.”
“What about the air bases?” asked Royal. “I’ve got the Pentagon all over us about putting them out of commission ASAP.”
“Two of the ODA teams reported solid hits on the Canadian air bases at Trenton and Kingston,” replied the colonel. “The bases won’t be down for long, but it should give the Air Force enough time to hit them with a much larger strike.”
“OK, good enough,” said Royal with a sigh. “Tell the other teams to keep the pressure up and keep those intel reports coming in.”
His conversation with the colonel complete, General Royal turned around to move to his next task and realized that Seth was standing next to him. “Your bags packed and ready?” he asked.
Seth nodded. “Yes, sir. Just point me where you want me and tell me what you want me to do. I’m ready.”
General Royal signaled for Seth to follow him back to his side office. After a short walk, Seth closed the door and they both sat down.
“All right, Colonel, here’s the deal,” General Royal began. “I know you want in on the action now that we’re in a shooting war with this UN force. However, I’ve been tasked with a special mission by Homeland Security and I’ve selected you to handle it for me. We’re going to set up a training facility at the Florida Army National Guard base. The SecDef has directed us to work with DHS to help them get this new Homeland Security force up and running. So, we’re going to use the Camp Blanding Joint Training Center to begin preparing it to receive new recruits so we can get this program up and running.”
Seth leaned forward. There was a small part of him that thought he must be one lucky SOB to get to stay in Florida, but the Special Forces side of him was highly disappointed to have such an anticlimactic assignment.
“In light of all the civil unrest that’s been spreading across the country, the DHS Director, Patricia Hogan, recommended to the President and the SecDef that they create this new national security force to augment the local civilian governments across the country. This was decided a few weeks ago, but we were just officially tasked with implementing it as of two days ago. This will free the National Guard units up for federal service, especially now that hostilities have started. I’m going to task you, and a few other officers and senior NCOs, with getting this new force ready.”
General Royal held a hand up to forestall any comments from Seth. “Before you ask—this mission has been specifically handed down to SOF. This is essentially exactly what we train indigenous forces to do so this makes it an ideal SOF mission. Right now, nearly all of our teams are deployed to support our conventional forces in the north and south of the country. That means I have to peel off guys from our headquarters group to meet this need. Now, I’ve been told Homeland wants to grow this force to around 100,000 personnel. I have no idea what they plan on using them for when the crisis has ended, but for the moment, we have too many of our National Guard units tied down with providing protection of critical infrastructure facilities and supporting local law enforcement. The regular Army needs their combat power, and we’ve been tasked with getting this force trained up so they can be freed for Big Army to use.”
The general sighed briefly before he continued. “You’re going to have about two days to get things ready at the base before your first batch of recruits will start to show up. They’ve already received seven days’ worth of initial training, medical in-processing, uniforms and all that other admin stuff from the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Georgia. So when they do arrive, they’ll be ready to begin your training without delay.”
Seth finally interjected to ask, “What kind of training are we supposed to provide these guys if they’re going to be used in a civilian law enforcement capacity?”
Grunting at the question, General Royal replied, “You’ll be responsible for providing these guys with basic rifle and pistol marksmanship, and training them how to properly guard a facility and defend it against an attack. It’s basically a shortened four-week version of basic combat training with the exception that, instead of military history, drill and ceremony and other stuff we teach raw recruits, you’ll be focusing on making sure they have the basic skills needed to defend themselves, their comrades, and whatever it is they’re assigned to protect. There will be a detachment of Homeland Security law enforcement instructors who’ll handle a lot of the classroom and admin functions for you. You’ll basically have charge of the recruits for ten hours a day, seven days a week while Homeland has charge of them for six hours a day, seven days a week.”
General Royal could see the frustrated look of disappointment on Seth’s face at this new assignment. The general paused for a moment before adding, “It’s a safe gig, Seth—away from the fighting. You did a good job for me in Kosovo, so I wanted to throw you a bone and help keep you out of harm’s way; plus, I need some good officers to help whip this group into something useful.”
Seth thought about it for a moment. He’d nearly been killed in Kosovo, and he was at the tail end of his career. No one wanted to get killed in their last year of military service before they retired if they could avoid it.
Seeing he didn’t have much choice with the assignment, he figured he’d try and make the best of it. “OK, sir. I can handle this,” he responded. “We’ll get this group ready for whatever assignment Homeland gives them.”
With his new marching orders, Seth got his affairs in order at work and back home before he headed off to Camp Blanding, which was located just south of Jacksonville in the northern part of the state.
Chapter 12
Man Down
Maryland/Pennsylvania Border
Camp David
Marine One turned hard as it swooped low, flying just above the treetops. The warning alarms in the cockpit blared as the pilots deftly maneuvered the helicopters to the nearby presidential retreat of Camp David.
“Why are we not heading to Raven Rock?” the President asked Bill, the head of his Secret Service detail. The helicopter circled the helipad at the facility and prepared to settle down.
Turning to face the President, Bill replied, “Enemy fighters are in the area. One of the helicopters that were carrying a group of staffers from the Pentagon was just shot down as it approached Site R.”
The President’s eyes grew wide as saucers as he realized how close they had just come to dying. There had to be close to a dozen helicopters heading to Raven Rock at that moment.
As the helicopter landed at the helipad, a contingent of heavily armed Marines ran forward and fanned out to set up a perimeter around Marine One as it landed and promptly turned its engines off. A second later, one of the Secret Service agents opened the side door and scanned the area to make sure it was safe. He then nodded to Bill, who guided the President out of the helicopter.
The group then made their way to the Aspen Lodge, which was where the President and his family would typically stay when they bedded down at the presidential retreat.
Walking into the lodge, the Secret Service age
nts spread out and secured the inside of the building while the Marines established an outer perimeter. They relocated small squads to various defensive positions around the camp while they tried to figure out what to do next—the camp wasn’t exactly a defensible position where they could keep the President long-term, but with enemy fighters in the nearby area, it wasn’t safe to move him via helicopter.
One of the Marine majors, who was the commander of the Marine contingent at the camp, made a side comment to Bill. Despite the fact that the President had begun a conversation with General Peterson, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, who was being fed information by phone from someone at the Pentagon, Sachs could overhear the major say, “Sir, we could move the President to the tram and get him to Raven Rock that way.”
Bill paused as he thought about that for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and approached the President and General Peterson. “Excuse me, Mr. President. We’re going to go ahead and move you over to the camp commander’s quarters. The entrance to the tunnel is inside one of the rooms there. We’ll be able to evacuate you to Site R via that route. It’s a more secured location than where we are now.”
The Marine major interjected, “I’ve got a platoon of Marines heading over here quickly. I recommend we wait to move the President until they get here.”
Even inside the lodge, they could occasionally hear the scream of aircraft high above. From time to time, they heard a distant explosion, signaling that a plane or missile had exploded. The man who always traveled with the President, who had the nuclear football attached to him, looked uncharacteristically nervous.
The President turned to face his senior military advisor. “I thought this place would be safe, General. We should have gone to the PEOC at the White House.”