Invasion: Alaska (36 page)

“It is hard to know,” Anna said carefully. Then she was aware of every eye focused on her. It was at that moment she truly realized that she had become the Chairman expert. It’s why she was here. “Yes...there is a possibility he would launch a strike at our heartland, as you say.”

“A possibility,” the Defense Secretary said. “It’s a gamble then, not a foregone conclusion. Sir,” he told the President, “I think this is a gamble worth taking.”

“Are the seven carriers bunched together?” the Secretary of State asked.

“As you know,” General Alan said, “we’ve used high-level flights and recon drones to try to pinpoint their position. The Chinese keep shooting those down and shifting their ships.” He looked up. “It’s almost as if they expect a nuclear attack.”

“Mr. President,” Anna said, “could I interject a point?”

“Please do, Ms. Chen.”

“I believe the Chairman would think along conventional Chinese lines concerning nuclear weapons. Ever since Chairman’s Mao’s time, they have believed—or they have stated—that China will win any nuclear exchange.”

“We’re all familiar with the statement,” the Defense Secretary said. “But that’s not the point here. We’re not talking about firing at China, but at her fleet, the one the Chairman used to stab us in the back. Do we let them grab Alaska, or do we use our nuclear missiles to stop them?”

“And risk ending the world,” the Secretary of State said.

“If you want to be melodramatic about it,” the Defense Secretary said. “But then why did we build the ICBMs if we’re not going to use them?”

“Mr. President,” Anna said, “I’m beginning to suspect the Chairman and his advisors would think much like the Defense Secretary. Great men in power follow similar lines of logic.”

The Defense Secretary became somber as he eyed Anna.

“Can you clarify that?” the President asked.

Anna nodded. “If we destroyed their fleet through a full-scale ICBM attack, I think they would strike our military bases with a retaliatory strike.”

“Those bases now all lie within America,” the Secretary of State said.

“But they’re invading our country!” shouted the Defense Secretary. “How could they dare to be upset at us for destroying their invasion force?”

“If I may interject one more point,” Anna said. “I think you should notice that they have refrained from using nuclear weapons. I believe that is critical.”

“They don’t need to use them,” the Defense Secretary said. “They’re winning.”

“No,” the President said, as he looked at Anna. “No nuclear weapons. The Chinese have not used them. We will not use them. I will not begin World War Three, the last war with a nuclear exchange. We must stop the Chinese, but we must figure out a way to do it with conventional arms.” He checked his watch. “We’ll take another short break. Then we will meet again and figure out some means to increase our odds of victory.”

SOUTHERN FRONT, ALASKA

The air wings from the seven Chinese carriers would have established air superiority over Alaska but for two key elements: defensive lasers and mass SAM sites providing safe havens for the American pilots.

First, there were the strategic ABM laser stations. The nearest was at Talkeetna in the Denali National Park, well north of Anchorage. It protected the city from direct Chinese air assaults. There were also two mobile laser batteries ringing Anchorage airport. They were small, tactical weapons as compared to the giant pulse-laser near Talkeetna. Wyvern Surface-to-Air Missiles together with radar-guided antiaircraft guns helped create safe pockets and air corridors lethal to any Chinese fighters and bombers. The combination gave American fighter pilots a sanctuary, a base from which to launch sudden raids on the enemy. Afterward, they darted back into safety.

This morning, C-in-C Sims of the Alaskan fronts practiced a bolder plan. The Army needed numbers and they needed more professionals at the Kenai Front
now
. Therefore, Sims was racing an advance company of a quick-deployment battalion of U.S. Army Rangers into Anchorage. It was a risk, as the company and some supplies rode on three Boeing 747s. They had left Oregon and gone deeply inland over the Yukon and presently flew for the metropolitan airport. Sims wondered what the Chinese were going to do about it. He was hoping nothing, but he doubted it. The Chinese pilots were good, their operators were better and their tech superior to anything America possessed.

The 747s neared the end of their journey: Anchorage airport. They flew alone and the sky was clear. High above Anchorage and out of visual sight were F-16s on combat patrol, ready for anything. An AWACS out of Fairbanks now warned Sims and his Air Chief of Chinese fighters approaching the city, although the Chinese were still fifty kilometers away.

“They’ve seen the Boeings,” Sims said.

“The enemy fighters are increasing speed,” the AWACS controller said. “It looks like they’re going to try to loop around the city. I think they want those Boeings, sir.”

Sims watched a screen in his command post bunker as he calculated odds. Should he order the 747s to break off and head for Fairbanks? The Army needed those Rangers at the front. He also needed all the air-transports he could cobble together. He couldn’t afford to lose any.

“Tell the 747s to hit the deck,” Sims said. “Tell them to race in and get near the airport’s lasers as fast as they can.”

The Air Chief relayed the order and sent the F-16s into action. They roared from their great height and out of the sanctuary of Anchorage, darting to intercept the Chinese.

More than two hundred kilometers away from the Chinese fighters, the lumbering transports banked hard.

The F-16 pilots were good, and they had the advantage of height. They traded it for speed. As more F-16s scrambled on the runways, the original fighters reached interception range and hunted for Chinese J-25 Mongooses, air superiority fighters.

Switching on their radars, the American pilots scanned the skies. Unfortunately, the Chinese jamming equipment was better than anything America had. The F-16 radar ranges were cut in half by the jamming. As yet, they were unable to track any targets.

The F-16s kept boring toward the enemy. Finally, their radar began to burn through enemy jamming. Then their threat receivers growled, telling them enemy radar was locked onto their aircraft. Almost immediately, Chinese air-to-air missiles arrived. An F-16 exploded. The others jinked hard, to the side, up, down—a six-inch wide missile roared past a fighter. Other missiles found their targets, hard kills as the destroyed F-16s rained metallic parts.

Three American pilots refused to let it go. They swerved back onto an intercept course. The radar locked onto individual Mongooses. American missiles launched, zooming in the direction of the oncoming Chinese. Then more Chinese air-to-air missiles arrived, and another F-16 exploded.

“Keep attacking!” the Air Chief radioed. “Engage them. Keep them from the transports.”

The last two pilots keep going, seeking visual range. They would use their cannons. They never made it as Chinese missiles killed one and damaged the other, forcing the pilot to turn for home. The Americans didn’t know it, but their air-to-air missiles had killed one of the Mongooses.

Using afterburners, the rest of the Chinese fighters now swung around Anchorage. They had a healthy respect for the laser batteries. The fighters swung to the south of Anchorage, thereby giving themselves more range from the Talkeetna pulse-laser than if they’d gone to the north.

Chinese radar burned through American jamming and presented them with three massive targets: 747s. From thirty-four kilometers away, the Chinese launched Black Thunder air-to-air missiles. They were radar-guided, a deadly piece of ordnance.

The big transports had been engaging their anti-radar jamming as well as ejecting chaff and EW decoys. It was a war of computer chips and software. Three Black Thunder missiles veered off course. One hit an EW decoy, creating an intense explosion in the sky. Two of the missiles zoomed at the lumbering transports. The first slammed into the giant aircraft and exploded spectacularly in a massive fireball, consuming jet fuel and incinerating the majority of the fighting men aboard. The survivors plummeted to Earth. No parachutes deployed from those inert figures. The second 747 was luckier at first. With smoke billowing from a joint of wing and body, the monstrous plane made an emergency landing on a highway. Tires skidded and smoke billowed from the rubber. It was looking good until the end. The wheels left the blacktop and hit gravel. The left wing went down, hitting the ground, scraping. Metal sparked and screeched. Seconds later, a fireball explosion killed every U.S. Army Ranger aboard.

The last 747 survived the air-to-air missile barrage, a tribute to chaff, EW decoys and luck. The pilot also attempted to jink, giving his passengers a wild and terrifying ride.

Two of the Chinese fighter-jocks became overeager, unsatisfied with their destruction and wanting more. Trusting in their jamming and superior electronics, they raced into Anchorage’s sanctuary zone. They wanted the last transport and therefore came within range of the airport’s defensive lasers. One of the Chinese fighters disintegrated in the air, parts simply dropping away. The remaining fighter veered away sharply. The pilot must have come to his senses as he fled for safety.

In the end, one 747 landed at the airport, disgorging the needed soldiers onto the tarmac.

It also started an argument between General Sims and his Air Chief. Should they rush the needed troops to Anchorage or land farther away at Fairbanks and put the soldiers on a train for the front? It was a matter of time, keeping air-transports intact and sheer desperation. Sims desperately needed to stem the Chinese advance, and for that he needed more and better-trained soldiers and always tons more munitions.

USS
SAN JOSE

Captain Roger Clemens stood at the command module of his
Los Angeles-
class nuclear-powered fast attack submarine. They were also known as the 688 class. His hands gripped the module’s sides. He mustn’t let the crew know he was having doubts.

I’m going to die today
.

Captain Clemens knew it because he was going to show the Chinese what happened when you challenged the United States of America on its home ground.

“The destroyer is turning north four degrees, sir,” the boat chief said.

Tightening his grip on the module, Captain Clemens watched the VR blips. The module was one of the newest improvements of this old submarine. He swallowed. They had spent the last ninety-seven minutes sneaking up on a carrier in the center of the defensive zone surrounding it, using a deep layer of cold water to do so. During these last few minutes, they had crawled out of the layer and into the warmer, upper water.

Captain Clemens was a small man. He had a narrow nose and close-set eyes. He now removed his captain’s cap and pulled a comb out of his back pocket. He ran the comb through his thick dark hair. His mother and later his wife—before the divorce—had continuously commented about it. Combing his luxuriously thick hair was a nervous habit of long standing. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught one of the sonar men nudging his fellow. The other man looked up, and both craned around to glance at him.

“Do you have something to report?” asked Clemens.

The two sailors turned back to their sensors, their heads hunched as they peered intently at their monitors.

Clemens swallowed as he realized they thought his behavior odd. He put away the comb, put on his hat and tightened his grip on the module so his fingers began to ache.

I’m going to show the Chinese what it means to come stomping in our playground
.

The chief, a big man with a red face, moved beside him. “Are you feeling well, Captain?” he whispered.

Clemens couldn’t answer that even though he wanted to present the calm image of a daring and tough-minded submarine captain. He’d watched every movie ever made about submarines and knew how a good captain was supposed to act. During his younger days, he’d read endlessly about underwater warfare. The last time there had been a really good naval war involving submarines had been between the Imperial Japanese Navy and the American Navy. Now
there
had been a group of submariners. No one had ever beaten the records of those American submarine captains. His favorite story in those days had been called, “The Skipper who Hated the Japanese.” In the story, Bridge Commander Sam Dealey had shown the Japanese that American subs could hunt destroyers. Clemens still knew the story by heart, and had always wanted to emulate Sam Dealey, a lean, quick-tempered Texan.

“What’s our way out?” the chief whispered.

With an effort of will, Captain Clemens tapped the module. “Right there,” he said. “We’re hitting it.”

“The carrier?” asked the chief, sounding shocked. “If we attack them now from where we are they’ll pinpoint us, sir.”

“I have an idea about that,” said Clemens. He wanted to destroy an enemy carrier. He wanted people to point at him and whisper to each other about his courage. Yes, they would say it took fantastic courage to slip in among hunting destroyers and helicopters and demolish a Chinese supercarrier. The Chinese had taken the place of the Imperial Japanese. Why was it always one of the Asiatic peoples trying to attack America? What was wrong with them anyway?