INVASION USA (Book 2) - The Battle For New York (29 page)

“Yes, yes, I know that, Fung. The two aircraft are on their way. It should take the engineers an hour to get the fuel pumps to activate the flow of fuel to the aircraft once they land. What else? I’m busy.”

“Report from Comrade Deng. They have arrived in the state of Alabama and are proceeding two hours ahead of schedule. They are expecting to meet up with Comrade Bo Lee Tang within 24 hours and complete their attack on the Raleigh airport, and then will immediately travel north. Do you have any orders for the other squads? You told me to remind you—to tell you about moving everyone towards New York.”

“I remember, Fung,” Wang replied. “Tell all squads to begin moving towards the New York airport called JFK and to report in at headquarters. They must not arrive until the morning of Day Eight. That will allow our Red Army troops to set up their control base and be ready for our squads to arrive.”

Comrade Wang suddenly realized that the chairman, the admiral of the Zedong fleet, another five high-ranking naval officers, and every one of the 14 other men were staring at him. The chairman looked rather angry at Mo Wang for ruining his special moment.

“Comrade Wang, your conversation was important enough to hold up our navy’s christening occasion?” the chairman asked sarcastically.

“My humble apologies, Comrade Chairman,” replied Comrade Wang, bravely. He was nervous enough to let his phone slip through his fingers and it bounced onto the hard wooden platform. He left it there hoping nobody had noticed the drop. “Unfortunately, I must be in contact with the operations in America at all times, Comrade Chairman. Without our satellite global positioning systems or our satellite communications and directional aids working on our aircraft, I must be informed about weather and runway conditions at all times. Once our aircraft take off and reach a certain point, there is no returning, Comrade Chairman. Good news though, the weather is good and the runway is half cleared, perfectly on schedule.”

“Relax Comrade Wang, you are worrying too much. Nobody can thwart our attack. Look at what we have to fight with against anything they could possibly find to fly or shoot,” he stated, lifting his right hand into the air and turning towards the magnificent scene in the harbor.

Mo Wang’s insulting action was quickly forgotten by the rest, and he quickly picked up the phone and put it in his pocket without checking it.

“Comrades,” began the chairman. “I give you Admiral Hun, the commander of our navy. He will explain each ship to you. Admiral Hun, please.”

“Comrade Chairman, glorious members of the Zedong Politburo, fellow naval personnel, I am honored today to present you the most powerful navy in the world—The Zedong Navy.” This was greeted by standing and enthusiastic applause from everybody on the platform.

“May I introduce to you our greatest naval asset, the Shi Lang, the only operating aircraft carrier in the world!” The applause continued. “The Shi Lang has a crew of 2,500 and 30 J-10 fighter aircraft especially adapted for her. She is the largest military vessel, which can actually pass through the Panama Canal with inches to spare. The aircraft landed on the Shi Lang for the first time yesterday, and our pilots will practice while we are sailing toward the Panama Canal and then into New York. Naturally, without our global positioning systems and satellite directional radar infrastructures, many of our weapons are not as accurate and their success ranges are limited, but against the United States of America, who has nothing, we are a very potent force.”

“Next, are our two ultramodern Type 052C destroyers—numbers 170 and 171. They are the best the world offers, fully armed for air and sea attacks, and our main defense for the Shi Lang. Third, our two modern Type 054 frigates—numbers 572 and 573. Both were launched less than six months ago and are the most modern frigates in the world. They have the same capabilities as the destroyers and are completely invincible against sea or air attacks. Here are our captains from each vessel, who are directly under my command,” the admiral introduced, pointing to the five men standing behind him.

“May I introduce you to five of the largest and most modern container ships in the world. We own ten of these new ships and these five are named ‘Xin New York I’ to ‘Xin New York V,’ and all are destined for New York Harbor. The other five super ships, still being loaded in other harbors are ‘Xin Los Angeles I to V’ and will leave two weeks after us and head for Los Angles. Two weeks will be adequate time for our naval fleet to escort the container ships into New York, and then return through our Panama Canal to meet up with the next five ships in the middle of the Pacific and escort them into the western capital of our new country. We have two military resupply ships already a day out from Shanghai, and they will be ready to refuel our military ships once they get through the Panama Canal. Comrades, I thank you for listening.”

The chairman regained the podium as the admiral received loud applause. He continued by giving a short speech on how he was looking forward to the start of the journey and each of the Politburo members would each have a specially built stateroom aboard the Shi Lang. He nodded to the band, which started with the Zedong Electronics National Anthem—the Chinese National Anthem from the days of Mao Zedong.

There was silence as they gazed upon the view.

It was a beautiful sight and they would be staying aboard the Shi Lang that very night, but first it was off to a restaurant for lunch and then a tour of the docks on a tug boat to view all ten ships. The suitcases were already on their way to the ship, and the bus had already left to return to Zedong Electronics’ headquarters.

Flight to Alaska

Several hours before the men of the Politburo were getting ready for breakfast on Z-Day 6, U.S. time, General Allen was snoozing in Ghost Rider at 29,000 feet and cruising at 275 miles an hour. The light was going to fade pretty soon and he needed help, and Carlos would need daylight to get a fix on the whereabouts of Anchorage compared to Ghost Rider’s current position. Apart from the two pilots in control, the large crews on both 130s were trying to catch some shut-eye.

The HC-130 tanker was off their starboard wing, about 800 yards away; they were over the ocean and about 200 miles offshore of Juneau when Pete Allen called Carlos. The phone rang three times before Carlos answered.

“Carlos? Pete here. I need to get a fix on where we are in relation to our destination.”

“I’m in front of the screen,”
replied Carlos.
“Let me just look at my map of your area and I’ll be ready. Okay Pete, turn on your transponder.”
The two C-130s both turned on their transponders and Carlos saw a small flicker of light plus a number 1 and 2 next to it. “It looks like you are about 60 miles east-south-east of a vertical line south of your destination. I’m getting out my compass and protractor. Hold on a second, and I’ll give you an angle.”

“We must have easterly winds at about 20 then, as we have been on this course now for three hours,” Pete told the crew with him, as they were doing the same as Carlos was—looking over maps with calculators and protractors getting angles. They waited for Carlos to give them a basic longitude and latitude, as well as a flight-angle to head towards Anchorage.

“OK turn your transponders off,”
instructed Carlos, giving them longitude and latitude.
“Your angle into Anchorage allowing for a 20-knot easterly wind is 319 degrees.”

“Thank you, Carlos. We are about 500 miles from our destination. Two hours of flying and we’ll be on the ground. We will call you again on our way into Japan in about 14 hours. Out.”

They were about 400 miles out from Elmendorf Air Base when the radio operator managed to get into contact with the base.

“Elmendorf, this is Ghost Rider. Do you copy? Over.”

“You are who?”
was the confused reply over the radio.
“Are you allowed on this frequency, whoever you are?”

“Roger that,” replied Pete. “We are incoming from McChord, two aircraft, name is Allen Key. Get your base commander on the radio. Over.”

“He’s gone fishing,”
was the reply.

“How do you have a working radio?” asked General Allen.

“We borrowed one from a local trucking company and have kept it on the Air Force emergency signal,”
was the reply.
“Who are you anyway?”

“Have you got fuel and a clear runway for two Charlie-130s?” the general asked.

“I’m not telling you that, whoever you are, until you give me some I.D., Mr. Allen Key. You could be a logger aircraft for all I know.”

“Do you have the blue Air Force book of personnel call signs, radio operator?”

“Roger that, Allen Key, pulling it off the shelf now. What page are you on?”

“Page 1, and look for Allen Key,” replied the general smiling. Alaska was a different world.

“
Shit! Shit! Roger, Allen Key. The only aircraft we have operational here is an old 130, ‘Blue Moon, and a couple of helicopters from before I was born, sir,”
the radio operator replied.

“Why is Blue Moon with you?”

“She was incoming from Osan via Misawa with a tanker about six months ago when her outer-right engine went down. It’s taken a year to get her reconditioned engine up here and fitted. They finished just before Christmas and she’s waiting for orders.”

“Confirm she is still fully equipped. Over.” asked the General.

“Affirmative, she’s bristling with whatever you want Allen Key.”

“How is your heating situation on base?” was Allen’s next question.

“We have a dozen logging companies around here, enough gas for our gas heaters for about a month, and enough wood for the indoor fireplaces for forever. MRE food stocks are down to three to four months, tons of salmon, and we are doing okay, Allen Key.”

“How are the locals doing?”

“I’d hate to see what’s happening stateside, but we are ready for such emergencies up here,”
the radio operator replied.
“All civilian houses have some form of wood burning back-up, we can never run out of wood, and we can always eat the polar bears when we get hungry. Hell, I’ve had grilled salmon five nights in a row and would love a burger right now. We have about a ton of frozen salmon on base if you want some.”

“Please give orders to fuel up Blue Moon for me,” continued the general. “Make sure her tanks are filled to the extreme max. She will be coming with me. Also make sure there are two sets of pilots ready to fly her. We are about an hour out and need fuel ourselves.”

“Roger. Runway 34 clear and dry, wind from the north five to ten, temperature minus 21. Radio me and I’ll get the lights on for you. Do you want a welcoming committee, Allen Key?”

“I’ll radio in for high flares when we are closer. Actually, young man, get about two dozen salmon on that grill of yours and I’ll swap you for a couple of cases of frozen burgers, rolls, and cheese so that you can have your cheeseburgers. Out.”

They went in directly from the south onto Runway 34. They were still 20 miles off course to the east when the flares went off and could be faintly seen on the dark horizon through the left cockpit windows.

The weather was cold and brittle as the door opened, and they were surrounded by thick-coated personnel to refuel both aircraft. Blue Moon, three months younger than Ghost Rider, was in the same shape, with the same guns. She was expected to be on show at Andrews and hopefully at the Washington Aerospace Museum, if the funding for the new Air Force museum building complex ever went through.

At least five of the aircraft he had currently flying had been destined for this new complex—to have a display of still-operational Vietnam War-era aircraft. General Allen had been waiting for government funding for three years, but it had never been granted. The display would have been great. He had designed a showing of two F-4s attacking ground units, a third F4 on the ground being rearmed and refueled, and two Hueys being refueled by the HC-130 tanker, which was now flying with him, and Ghost Rider and Blue Moon being air refueled by Mother Goose also at the same time.

A squad of 30 soldiers was in formation as a welcoming guard, and he introduced himself to them as well as the radio operator— a young airman that was six foot ten inches tall and weighed in at a muscular 300 pounds.

“You say the base commander has gone fishing?” the general asked the airman.

“We are looking at all possible ways to feed the 1,200 personnel on base, sir,” the airman replied. “We have food supplies for a couple of months, or until we are resupplied, but it looks like this outage is everywhere. We’ve had no traffic in or out for six days, sir. Is this problem country-wide, sir?”

“World-wide, son,” replied the General. “You guys are on your own until we can get supplies up to you, which will be closer to spring. So tell the colonel that he may go fishing as much as he wants, but he needs to have this base on lockdown until further notice. We believe the Chinese are to blame for this electrical meltdown, and I will know more in a couple of days. I have a satellite cell phone for you with the number for Colonel Mondale at Edwards AFB, who will be your only contact until further notice. You are to call him with a sitrep every 24 hours starting two days from now. Unfortunately, Edwards hasn’t received their cell phone yet. I’ll give you my number in case you need to contact someone before then, and if you see the red number that is listed on the back of the phone come up on the screen, do not answer it under any conditions. That number is the enemy, and they are going to want to speak Chinese and ask you where you got the phone from, understand?” The airman nodded.

“Does Blue Moon still have her fuel bladder?” General Allen asked the tech sergeant who had come up to give him a report.

“Yes, sir. She has both her 1,250 gallon bladders from her flight in here,” he replied, saluting. “We have filled her tanks and both bladders for you. She cannot take any cargo or ammo, she would be overweight, and her bladders will give you 1,000 miles at low cruise each. With your tanker being refueled now, General, she has a range of over 4,400 miles and can deliver 3,000 gallons of fuel. You will need 2,500 gallons to get Ghost Rider into Misawa and you’ll have 500 gallons spare, or 45 minutes of extra flying time. Since both aircraft can be refueled at the same time, your engineer can also pump out another 500 gallons from the tanker’s own tanks in yours and increase your fuel reserves to 1,000 gallons.”