America's Trust (47 page)

It was a cannon with wings and built with one purpose in mind, to kill tanks. He had instantly been reminded of it when Victor had talked about a problem with tanks and how he had driven past them with Swanson in Baltimore.

They were perfect, simple, effective and utterly devastating, and with over seventy being prepped and readied in five days, along with a number of tankers to refuel them, they were the answer to the ground forces’ prayers. The Chinese were in for a surprise and not a pleasant one.

Jack had paused his forces when they neared their point of attack. As they formed up into their final attack positions, a familiar voice called across to Jack.

“President King!”

Jack looked across and looked through the man whose pick-up was pulling closer to him. It took him a few seconds to recognize him. “Shooter?”

Bill Swann nodded. “Sergeant Major Swann reporting for duty, sir!” he said with a proud smile.

“How in the hell did you get here?” asked Jack.

“That, sir, is a long story. But a couple of boys reckoned I could still shoot some. So here I am and I’ve been assigned to protect your sorry ass.”

“Well stop me having to shout across to you and get on over here!”

“I’m afraid there are three of us,” he said, seeing no room for Lauren and Mike.

Jack looked at the girl who, unbeknownst to her, had probably saved his life, her impostor ‘replacement’ having alerted him just before the attack.

“Well I’m sure these two boys would be happy to trade places,” said Jack, much to Frank’s horror. He was already freaking out that the president was leading from the front. The loss of the two highly skilled ex-Special Forces soldiers in exchange for two students was not a good trade in his mind.

“Ignore him,” he said, nodding his head toward Frank. “He thinks I can’t look after myself!”

The three swapped with the two Special Forces guys and, as Bill began to tell the president what he’d been up to, the screech of jets overhead killed the conversation. Initial concerns were short-lived as they all looked up at the skies to see one of the ugliest looking planes ever to fly. A huge cheer erupted.

“
Go Ugly Early!” came a chorus of shouts. Men who had served and witnessed the power of the Warthog cheered their flying brethren on.

Jack watched as the A10s flew overhead and on towards the capital ahead. He smiled at the thought of the invading Chinese forces finally facing a fight. They were about to understand what true grit and determination achieved.

Jack waved the troops on. The pick-ups accelerated as they looked to strike and make maximum capital of the devastation that was about to befall the Chinese armored divisions ahead.

“
Sir, the aircraft are approaching, five miles out now,” said the operator. The general waited.

“The main body of the force has begun to accelerate,” said another operator.

Still, the general waited. He wanted to make the most of what was about to happen.

“The aircraft are one mile from our front line, sir.”

“Now!” said the general.

The Chinese had watched with interest the work underway at the boneyard from their untouched and perfectly functioning satellites. It was the one piece in the puzzle that hadn’t made sense to the general. Why would men with rifles try to fight tanks with cannons? The activity had been the answer, particularly when they had begun to prepare the A10s. That was their killer move, the reason they thought they had a chance. Again, he had the choice to take them out before they attacked or wait.

Without them, their attack would have been futile. They would have tried other means. Something he might not know of. They may even have delayed their attack or moved to another method of attack. ‘Full on’ was what he wanted. That way, he could deal the most decisive victory.

“Fire!”

The cheering stopped as the first A10 was blown out of the sky. The wall of surface-to-air missiles that had been fired devastated both attacks, the North and the South. Over ninety percent of the aircraft were destroyed in the first wave of missiles. Fired from almost point-blank range, it was a wonder any survived.

When a second wave of missiles was set off, both Swanson and Butler were screaming at their pilots to abort.

Circling high above the action, Swanson and Butler were safe from the missiles targeting the low flying A10s but with their radar, they could see what the Chinese had in store for their troops. A mass of dots suddenly appeared over both Washington and the camp. Moving slowly, they could only be attack choppers.

There were a few stingers below, in both forces, to deal with the few attack choppers that had been noticed before. They had nothing like the number required to deal with the mass of choppers that were about to attack them. A hundred or so dots appeared on the radar.

“Retreat!!!” screamed Butler into the radio tuned to the frequency for the ground forces, another addition to the C130, thanks to the boneyard.

“Wait a minute,” said Swanson. “What the hell is that?” she said, pointing to her radar screen.

President Junpeng walked into the meeting. His face told everyone in the meeting that his mood had not improved. The death of his son and brother had rocked him to the core. He was not a man that suffered loss. The news of the Americans amassing their forces and the way in which the general had proposed to deal with it was so far the only piece of good news he had had. It had also saved the general’s life. Somebody had to pay for his brother’s death. So far, the three bodyguards had been the scapegoat but few doubted more would have to pay.

“What is happening in Russia?” he asked, kicking off the meeting angrily, the way in which he meant it to go on.

“We are being held by greater than anticipated Russian defenses,” replied the general responsible for the Russian invasion.

“Greater than anticipated? I’m hearing that a lot at the moment with regards to the Russians!”

“Their troops are far greater--”

“Do not say it,” he threatened. “I expected to be in Moscow today, not five hundred miles short!” he screamed. “What’s happening on the Western front?”

“Little or no movement,” replied his intelligence chief.

Junpeng shook his head in wonder. “Why is that?” he sighed loudly and with some frustration. “The West are half the force without the Americans, yet the Russians are holding us back. We’ve sent double the force the Russians expected and they’re still holding us back! Any ideas?”

His generals and cabinet remained silent.

“Play the tape,” he instructed his secretary, who waited by the projector.

Two scenes were played to the group. The first was in the East where the Russians were fighting wildly against the Chinese forces, defending their homeland. The second showed the Western front. A far more sedate battlefield was displayed, a few small skirmishes but no real battle ensued.

As the tape stopped playing, he asked again, “Any ideas?”

Heads dropped around the table, as no one dared catch his eye.
“Anyone?”

“They know! They’re playing us. They know!”

“Warn General Petlin in America and send everything we’ve got in reserve to Russia. I want them crushed and I want to be in Moscow by tomorrow night!”

“What’s that?” asked Butler, looking at the radar. Those dots that have just appeared, coming in from the sea?”

“No idea but they’re moving fast!”

Jack was in the process of signaling a retreat when the first missiles struck the attack choppers ahead. The jets that followed were ones he had really not expected to see over American skies. Spanish Harriers, French Rafaels and British F35s tore across the sky. Over a hundred aircraft ensured that their missiles obliterated the slow moving choppers which had been tormenting the Americans with a steady and deliberate approach.

A number of explosions on the ground signaled the end of the missile threat as another wave of Canadian jets flew in and destroyed the plane killers.

General Petlin replaced the phone to its base following his call from China. They had just alerted him to the allies’ sham in Europe, just as he had received the news of the foreign jets destroying his choppers.
A little too late
, he thought. He wouldn’t have kept his jets out of the picture had he known the allies were a potential threat. Having not anticipated a need for fast jets, it was the one piece of equipment that he lacked. The entire USAF was about to become theirs and so he had not gone to the hassle of shipping many over. Given the distance and lack of need, they just weren’t deemed necessary, especially when as many as possible were required for the Russian offensive. But with the allied jets around, he really wished he had asked for more. However, the J-10s and J-11s that he did have in reserve were more than a match for the allies and would level the field.

The jets soon appeared over Washington and chased the allied fighters who had spent their missile loads back out to sea.

The trap worked perfectly. As the allied jets went into after-burn to hurry back to their aircraft carriers which lay well protected far out to sea, smaller missile cruisers of the allied nations had sailed much farther inshore into the Chesapeake Bay in support of the attack. As the allied jets flew safely overhead, the missile cruisers fired a wall of missiles into the Chinese jets. Much like the A10s, the J-10s and J-11s stood little chance.

With the screams of his aircrafts’ dying crews reverberating around his operations center, General Petlin ordered his tanks to attack the Americans full on.

The sight of the wall of armor proceeding at pace towards them was not a sight any American wished to see. With the fighters gone, it was down to Jack and his men to fight for their capital. He raised his arm and waved his forces on.

It would be a massacre but he wasn’t retreating. He knew Victor would be doing the same against the camp. They were beyond the point of retreat. It was determination versus might.

“
Just get us down there, I don’t care how! I want to get into that fight!” shouted Butler. He felt helpless and with no A10s to command, utterly useless. The pilot spun them around and headed towards JFK. As they circled in towards the airport, a flash to the East of Washington caught their eye. Initially, Butler panicked, thinking a missile had just been launched at them. However it wasn’t. He yelled to Swanson. “Tell Victor to retreat!”

Jack raced towards the oncoming armor. The wide open fields in the area would allow them maximum maneuverability and more importantly, minimize civilian casualties. He knew the Chinese tanks would come into range soon. Their 125mm guns would make short work of the US pick-ups but they had to try. The number of tanks that were coming to meet them was far greater than they had anticipated.

He stood tall on the back of the pick-up, pointing his troops forward. He hammered on the roof on the cabin, he wanted to go faster. The charge was on.

“Mr. President, they’ve just told Victor to pull back and support us!” the radio operator from the passenger seat below him said through the rear window of the cab.

“Why?”

“I’m not sure, something about taking Washington first.”

Jack looked ahead at the line of tanks and wondered if somebody was feeling a little overconfident at their chances. He had almost thirty thousand men with him and it would probably be all over in the next ten minutes. They didn’t stand a chance.

The appearance of another wave of attack choppers popping over the horizon behind the tanks was the last thing they needed to see. He reevaluated. They’d be lucky to last five minutes.

With the tanks almost in range, he braced himself. The choppers fired first. The fire spouting from their missiles and rocket launchers were clearly visible.

“Hold your line!” shouted Jack.

The Chinese tanks took the full brunt of the choppers’ onslaught, exploding as they were caught totally blindsided. The remaining tanks’ turrets swung wildly to where the choppers had been but were too late. They had already moved on and unleashed another deadly volley. The tanks that were able to turn began to race back towards the city for some semblance of cover.

The very recognizable form of the Apache attack chopper appeared before them in unfamiliar Greek, Japanese and British guise. They appeared to fly above them and wordlessly tell them to follow on. Jack wasn’t for stopping in any event. Follow was what they’d have to do. He hammered the roof for more speed.