Chapter 23

Thursday

We were awake early enough to eat a good breakfast and then reach Fort Bragg just before reveille. They had commed us yesterday and asked us to be back by their breakfast.

The two teams that went with me had to run through a strafing and bombing range to test their proficiency with the 10 mm automatic rifles, and other weapons systems on the grav sleds. The rest of us broke up into groups. Each group reviewed all the intel available for their target.

I met the troops going with me to Chongqing. I had two platoons of SEALs, two platoons of Green Berets, and three platoons of Marine Raiders, as well as almost the same number of Force recon and Airborne.

I also had an excited guest, one that I had suggested to Don. Eric Harkins, the INN reporter was going with us, purportedly to cover the fighting in Colombia. When we left at 0600 tomorrow, INN would broadcast footage of our task force headed south/southeast about three hundred klicks off the east coast of Florida until we were over the Caribbean.

INN would receive a message from Eric right after our attacks in China began. In it, Eric would explain the reason we wanted everyone to think we had headed for Colombia.

The greatly reduced government of China lived in three Chongqing hotels that had survived Taiwan’s Revenge. When the dams were burst, the Yangtze River (Chongqing in Chinese) and Jialing Rivers destroyed or washed away much of the city. What saved part of the city was the elevation, and that floodwaters from each river reached the city far enough apart so as not to compound the devastation.

The legislature now meets in what used to be a large conference room in one of the hotels. It currently consists of 231 members, not even a tenth of what it was originally.

The State Council occupies the floor above. It consists of the Premier, Executive Vice Premier, Vice Premier, three State Councilors, and twelve Ministers. Before Taiwan’s Revenge, the State Council consisted of seventy people.

The military presented several options for our attack on Chongqing, all of which hit a discordant note in my nervous system. “There has to be another way. Every one of those options send bad chills down my spine,” I commented.

“What would you suggest?” asked the man I knew only as Walter, head of the Military Intelligence Bureau.

“I’m not sure,” I replied as I looked at the surveillance photos. I asked numerous questions about the visible guards. They didn’t have a conclusive estimate on the number of interior guards, but thought there were between a hundred and a hundred-fifty based on the number they had seen entering and leaving the building. They estimated ten guards per floor at night in addition to the guards outside the three hotels.

That’s when I realized that only the hotel where the government met had outside guards during the day. Walter confirmed that but felt there were still guards inside the other two hotels--although not as many.

The closest military base was forty klicks to the southwest, built where the rampaging Chongqing River had washed away the entire city of Jijiang. The troops guarding the hotels came from that base twice a day. One group arrived at 0600 hours. The nighttime guards arrived at 1800 hours.

Together, we worked out a plan for a daytime raid to be conducted while the government was working and mostly together in one place. To accomplish that, we scheduled the attacks to begin at 1000 hours Monday. We would spend Saturday at Forward Base Papa recuperating from the overseas flight and would leave Sunday for our respective targets. Then we would perform surveillance for a day.

“Does the military have enough secure laser communication satellites over China?” I asked.

“They will have. The last of the stealth surveillance satellites will be in position sometime today and will have a laser communication satellite above each target by tomorrow evening,” George replied.

“I suppose that China has surveillance satellites watching us, too,” I mused aloud.

“Probably,” he replied at the same moment that I answered my own question.

“Oh, yeah, they definitely have them, including one right above us,” I laughed.

“How could you possibly know that?” he gasped.

“I could feel a small amount of danger as soon as I asked,” I replied. “Now, if the airship that brought you here when the Secretary of Defense called you has any sort of offensive capabilities, especially laser, we could eliminate some of them. Possibly clear a corridor all the way to Colombia. If we then fly to China cloaked, they’ll never see us coming. They’ll have news coverage of us headed towards Colombia. Knocking out their spy satellites along the corridor to Colombia should convince them even more that we’re headed for Colombia,” I suggested.

“I like it,” he said. He left us alone to finish polishing our attack strategy and went outside to com someone.

He came back inside half an hour later with a grin on his face. “Your ride will be in hangar 8 at 0300 tomorrow. They’ll have the minimum crew so they can get your sled aboard. Clear the eastern seaboard of spy satellites and then hit anything that could spot us going to Colombia and Venezuela, or over the Nicaragua and Panama. They’ll shuttle you to your final destination once you finish,” he informed me.

“They warned me that you were devious,” he chuckled as he slapped me on the back.

We ate an early dinner and, after making sure that my sled, gear, and weapons were loaded and ready to deploy, I went right to sleep.

Friday

The alarm on my com unit woke me at 0200. I dressed and went out to run for about fifteen minutes to clear the cobwebs. Then I showered and dressed before grabbing my sled. I was at the hangar fifteen minutes early and had to show my ID to one of two dozen guards around the hangar.

“Your passenger is here,” he spoke into his radio and then motioned me towards the large hangar doors. A smaller door beside the large hangar door opened just enough for me to enter the pitch-black hangar with my sled. It closed behind me. Using my expanded awareness, I walked to the closed hatch of the Talon and knocked.

The navigator was laughing when he opened the hatch. “You just made me two hundred bucks,” he explained, still laughing. “I know Ensign Cooper and he swore that you could find your way blindfolded in the dark, so we left the hangar lights off for better security. The pilot and co-pilot bet me that you’d wander around the hangar until you bumped into the plane.”

“Cooper was right. I even saw you guys when you delivered the head of Military Intelligence here the other day. I was so jealous that I didn’t get to Beta test one of these,” I replied.

“You’d have to be a fighter jockey to fly one of these,” he replied, “although that grav sled of yours just might get you into space if you had the right suit,” he mused aloud.

By then, we had the grav sled stowed and he showed me the seat for the weapons specialist. “You’ll be using the laser since we probably won’t be able to see the damn thing unless we’re too close to safely attack it,” he explained. Minutes later, they’d finished the takeoff checklist while they made me don a spacesuit. The hangar door opened, and the Talon lifted slightly as I strapped into the weapons specialist’s seat. I felt the landing gear retract and we began moving forward.

“Sit back in the seat and hang on,” the pilot warned once we cleared the hangar.

“Tower, this is RMR Quebec Whiskey November 717492-X requesting permission to take off. Request immediate clearance to twenty thousand meters, heading zero-three-five,” the pilot radioed.

“Rodger RMR Quebec Whiskey November 717492-X, you are cleared for takeoff from your location and cleared immediately to twenty thousand meters at heading zero-three-five,” the tower replied. Seconds later, we started accelerating upward even faster than I could on the grav sled, and at a much steeper angle.

It took far less than an hour to climb to nearly thirty-two thousand klicks above the earth, the altitude for satellites in geostationary orbit this far north of the equator.

There are three ways to maintain geostationary orbit this far from the equator. One is for the satellite to use anti-grav, which requires a hell of a lot of energy. Second is to make a large satellite that holds lots of fuel for frequent orbital corrections. The third is to use small satellites that run out of fuel and need frequent replacement.

“How do you want to do this?” the pilot asked me over the intercom.

“I was told to clear the eastern seaboard, so head for the Canadian border and hang a U-turn,” I replied.

Everyone on the crew laughed at my terminology.

“You already know I’m not a pilot,” I remarked. “I drive a mean tractor, though.”

“Tractor 1 at the Canadian border and coming about,” the pilot chuckled.

“Come about to heading 218.43 magnetic,” I guided.

“Rodger, 218.43 magnetic,” the pilot confirmed. Once he reached the proper heading, he looked at me questioningly and I held up the digital electronic compass Major General Conklin had given me.

“How do I fire the laser?” I asked the weapons specialist. He showed me how and I aimed along the vector I felt the danger coming from. I felt it coming closer and pulled the trigger, emitting a beam as I hollered, “Hard left!”

The ship banked left just as the beam impacted the satellite over New York City. “Good, there’s no explosive charge on the satellites,” I commented. “Set course to 243.82 degrees magnetic.”

“243.82 magnetic,” the pilot repeated. “I’m sure glad you can sense those things because I didn’t see anything but a small flash when the laser impacted.”

“Correct course to 244.49 magnetic,” I guided them. “Firing laser,” I warned, hitting the one over Washington, D.C. This time, I didn’t worry about the satellite exploding.

We knocked out three more satellites along the Eastern seaboard and then one over Louisiana. From there, we headed almost due south. Twelve satellites later, I had finished with all the Chinese surveillance satellites I was supposed to disable or destroy, and we headed for Forward Base Papa.

When I unbuckled myself from the seat so the weapons specialist could have his station back, I laughed. I’d been so intent on what I was doing and had been strapped into the seat tightly enough that I’d forgotten about being weightless. “To quote someone I met recently, this is extra extra,” I laughed as I floated out of the way. The rest of the crew laughed at my enthusiasm.

“I wonder how high I could make a HALO jump from,” I mused aloud as we descended. Our angle of descent was much shallower than our ascent had been.

“I think the record is around 55,000 meters,” the navigator replied.

“Damn, and I thought we were high when we jumped from 20,000 meters,” I said.

“You’ve HALO jumped?” the pilot asked, surprised.

“Four times, although the first was a HAHO jump. Once I survived that, we did a granny HALO jump, face down, arms and legs spread to slow us down to 196 kph. The third and fourth were faster, diving headfirst. The third jump we reached three hundred kph and on the fourth, we reached 480 kph. Those were exciting. I just wish I could have actually felt the wind on my face instead of just feeling the wind making the material of my jumpsuit flap and flutter. I suppose I wouldn’t have felt it for long before I froze or couldn’t breathe.”

“It does get a mite chilly up here,” the co-pilot laughed. “We heard that Don put you through a rigorous training program, but I never thought he’d have you do a HALO jump.”

“He made sure I had plenty of experience with regular skydiving first, and that I had an emergency oxygen supply and an automatic parachute activation device, as well as an emergency chute when we did the HALO jumps. He also didn’t tell Mom about it until afterwards,” I laughed, as did everyone else aboard.

“Forward Base Papa, this is RMR Quebec Whiskey November 717492-X inbound with Lima Juliet, ETA three minutes,” the pilot radioed ahead.

“Rodger RMR Quebec Whiskey November 717492-X, you are clear to land. There is no other inbound traffic at this time. Hangar 5 is open for you,” they replied.

Five minutes later, I climbed out of the plane, laughing because I was a bit unsteady on my feet. “Thanks for everything,” I told the crew as we unloaded my grav sled and gear inside the hangar and in the dark.

“I’m sure we’ll see you again. The government will probably want all the spy satellites knocked out eventually,” the weapons specialist commented.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Now what?” I wondered. The flight had taken six hours, so my body said it was 0900 hours, although local time was 2100 hours. The rest of the troops wouldn’t be here for four hours. I was too wired to sleep, so I exited the hangar in search of food, not that I expected to find much. I was hoping for vending machines at least.

I surprised one of the men guarding the hangar. “How did you get in there?” he asked. “Wait, I recognize you,” he exclaimed. He stopped when I put my finger to my lips.

“Sorry,” he apologized quietly. “We were expecting a high-ranking officer. The first group is in hangar 4,” he said, pointing to the hangar next door. Boy was I surprised when I checked inside hangar 4 with my expanded awareness. Three hundred-fifty men wearing uniforms with RCC patches were inside, along with their grav sleds. The grav sleds had huge carbon fiber crates firmly strapped beneath both the sled tender and the sled. There was some sort of attachment rigged on top of the sled tender that looked like the enclosures Don and I used during rescues to carry stretchers with injured people to the nearest hospital.

“ID?” the guard asked gruffly when I approached the regular door into the hangar. He looked at it, did a double take, and looked at me with his light in my face. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, and then opened the door for me.

Everyone inside turned to see who had just entered. “Welcome to the party,” one of the men laughed. The name on his uniform said Cooper. “I’m Max, Aaron’s older brother,” he said when he noticed me looking at the nametag.

“I’m Jim,” I replied. “What are you guys doing here?” I asked.

“Don sent us to transport prisoners, as well as any goodies you find. We can also act as backup if necessary. Everyone has previous military experience, and more than half were in one of the elite forces. We’re expecting another one hundred-fifty men tomorrow sometime. They couldn’t build and install enough crates in time for all five hundred of us to leave at the same time. They had to finish another thousand sleds the government ordered for the invasion force first,” he explained.

“They’re hoping to build another four thousand sleds for regular troops to fly to the other hotspots, like the provincial capitals. They can also help at Chinese military bases and any border crossings with Russia you guys will be watching. I guess they pulled troops from each of the services to fly those. They headed for Colombia two days ago and will head this way tomorrow. They’ll be stationed at bases in Japan, Korea, and India, as well as at Forward Base Kilo in Laos and Forward Base Mike in Myanmar,” he added.

“How did you get here so fast?” he asked. “We weren’t expecting you guys for four more hours.”

“I started at 0300 Eastern. They had me help knock out the Chinese surveillance satellites along the eastern seaboard and all the way down to Colombia to make it look like the invasion will be in Colombia, not China. An INN reporter broadcast the first leg of the trip south until they were beyond Florida to help reinforce that,” I answered.

“You’re probably hungry, and we’ve got extra food,” he said, motioning towards a temporary kitchen set up in the corner. “The mess hall won’t be open until 0200, giving the rest of the troops time to arrive and organize themselves. The base didn’t even know we were coming until an hour before we arrived. They think we’re transporting supplies and equipment from Nicaragua that won’t be needed in Colombia. We brought lots of cots and bedding for the troops arriving later. The guys arriving tomorrow are bringing ammo and ordnance for your automatic rifles and sleds.”

“Great, I was looking for the mess hall when one of the guards guided me over here. I had no idea what I was going to do until the rest of the troops got here. Normally, I’d run or hunt, but I don’t think that would be a good idea right now,” I explained.

I used the encrypted, untraceable com unit and commed Don on his. “I hear that you talked your way onto the plane you saw the other day,” Don laughed when he answered.

“I got in some target practice, too, and found out what weightlessness is like. I still want one of those, but I’ll never be able to fly it,” I laughed.

“Did you reach your destination?” he asked.

“Yeah, and I found your surprise when I got here. They even had something I could eat.”

I talked to my wives who had just gotten home from Tensas Parish. Things were moving much faster than anyone had thought they would. They had to bring in even more tents to hold everyone who had shown up. The farm equipment from the Myanma freighter we seized from the Chinese was already being used, as well as even more equipment that was purchased. The Nicaraguans had arrived and were welcomed by Idania and Lurdes, which helped them feel more at home.

I heard a lot of racket in the background and Sally told me that my brothers had just gotten back from shrimping. They were excitedly telling everyone about their experiences shrimping. “Do me a favor,” I told her. “Tell Don not to say anything about what I did this morning. Let the boys enjoy the limelight tonight.”

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I got to ride in outer space,” I said.

“What?” she exclaimed excitedly.

“Like I said, don’t say anything so the boys can brag tonight,” I reiterated.

While I ate, I listened as the other men and women swapped war stories. Far too many of the stories were about good friends they had lost. I was surprised to learn that about half of the men and women here were disabled to some degree. They were all qualified and able to fly the grav sleds, though. Don had purchased the land in Honduras Thursday, and had been training them to use the sleds to help patrol our now four properties. The President and most of the rest of the government were excited that we were already creating so many new jobs for people, especially for disabled veterans and war widows.

That the Lucky J operations in Meridian and elsewhere were underwriting most of our operation and sending us so many top people had gotten them off the government’s shit list for finishing the Lucky J Haiti before starting something in the continental U.S., even though Haiti was now part of the US.

I was surprised when I spoke with Juana. She told me that she had spoken with her parents and Cezar’s parents yesterday, telling them about the arrangement Cezar had with Don.

Then she told them about me coming over all the time to bring food and to play with the kids. Finally, she told them that, even though she had only recently buried Cezar, she felt it was time to marry me. Both sets of parents were surprised at the enthusiasm her four children showed about me being their new father, as well as my insistence that family pictures with Cezar remain on display in our home so the kids would remember him.

“They all gave me their blessing, so come home safely,” she said emotionally. I promised that I would do my best to stay safe.

I spent over two hours on my com talking to the women in my family. Juana’s four kids and my mothers and siblings each wanted to talk to me. I finished with Don. He told me that Ed was tentatively planning to turn about half of the land we bought in Honduras back into a preserve. We would have to replant much of that area with indigenous flora. When that was mature enough, we could scan the area to see if we needed to introduce more wildlife, or if they’d naturally begin to repopulate the area.

Much of the remaining land was small farms. While the farmers owned the land, we now owned the mineral rights, and only a few of those farms were in places where we would need to dig. He was sure that many of the farmers would listen if we showed them better ways to enrich the soil and increase their yields and felt that many more would sell us their farms and work for us, making it worthwhile for us to build another large farm there.

Saturday 0100

I had actually managed to doze off for a short time before one of the guards stuck his head inside the hangar and let everyone know that the rest of our group had just arrived. Even though I was half-asleep, I could tell that the guard was both surprised and excited. Five thousand elite forces troops were not the “assets” they had expected, and he knew immediately what that meant.

“Are you guys really going to attack China?” he asked excitedly.

One of the men Don hired put an arm around the man’s shoulders. “Please tell everyone on duty right now that anyone talking about the “assets” that just arrived, or speculating about what those assets are for, will find themselves in a deep, dark hole, with nobody else to talk to, for a very, very long time,” he growled.

“Yes, Sir,” the soldier replied as he snapped a crisp salute and quickly left.

“I’ve still got it,” the man chuckled once the door closed, getting laughter from everyone nearby.

I headed back to hangar 5 where I had to show my ID to a different guard. I saw her eyes widen in recognition and she quickly opened the door for me. Inside the hangar was a madhouse as groups tried to find spaces to bunk together on the cots.

“I think your group is in hangar 3,” one of the officers told me when he recognized me. Grabbing my sled, I went looking for hangar 3.

The inside of hangar 3 was much more organized and I saw the reason within seconds of entering. Major General Conklin had a clipboard and was busy assigning bunks to each group. Lieutenant Cortez noticed me and pointed at me, making the General turn to see what he was pointing at.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” he said with a grin. “Lima Juliet group has that corner of the building,” he added, pointing towards the right front corner. Rather than bother him just then, I headed over to find a cot and pulled out my bedroll. I was amazed at how many cots the CC group had set up. A little math after a quick count of rows along the back and along one side left me with over twelve hundred cots just in this hangar. I guess that made sense with five thousand troops and their equipment in six huge hangars.

Cortez came over and sat on the cot next to mine. “We were worried that you might have been delayed,” he said questioningly.

“Nah, I caught a ride here in an orbital plane--after we destroyed all the Chinese surveillance satellites along the eastern seaboard and then in Central America and Northern South America. I got here about four hours ago and was visiting with the group in hangar 4, including Cooper’s brother. Don sent retired troops with grav sleds that have big carbon fiber crates below the sled and the tender. They also have a pod to transport wounded attached to the top of the tender. Every one of them is armed in case we need the backup. More than half were in one of the elite forces. They’ll carry back prisoners, wounded, and any goodies we find,” I explained.

“I’ll have to tell Cooper so he can find his brother and smack him around,” he laughed.

“The mess hall should be open about 0200. They wanted to give everyone a chance to settle in first,” I told him.

“Good, we had a small lunch in Hawaii and I’m sure everyone is as hungry as I am.”

Once everyone found a cot and it looked like Conklin had a chance to catch a breath, I went over to see him. “Still in the doghouse?” I teased him.

“Nope, they asked if I’d assume command of the attack. They know that you and I know each other. They thought it would be better to put someone in charge that you’ve worked with before. The last thing they wanted was someone in command who won’t even listen to you. I heard that you threatened to call on the President and Congress to get a Letter of Marque and Reprisal, and then raise the necessary troops from retired Elite Forces veterans,” he chuckled.

“It wasn’t an empty threat,” I replied. “I knew that we had to attack China first, and the sooner the better. Too many lives depended on our success. I had promised myself that the President’s oldest son wouldn’t have to face this.”

“Amen to that,” he said soberly.

“The mess hall should be open in a few minutes,” I told him. “They wanted to give everyone time to ... shit. Keep everyone inside the hangars until you hear back from me,” I said as I ran for my sled. “Shut off the lights,” I shouted. Someone next to the door flipped the switches and the inside of the hangar was quickly plunged into darkness again.

“Whoever shut off the lights, please open the door next to you. Once I go by, warn the guard outside that there’s a danger off base but nearby,” I hollered, although a lot quieter. Everyone was silent.

Seconds later, I was out the door. I hopped on my sled and zipped off to the west. I grabbed my handheld 10 mm since it was loaded with tranq rounds. About two klicks beyond the fence around the perimeter of the base, I sighted in on the man setting up a mortar and pulled the trigger. I then took down the two men with him before either of them could react beyond looking around.

I commed Cortez since I didn’t have the com number for the General’s encrypted com unit. “I just dropped a homing beacon tuned to frequency Blue 8 about two klicks outside the west perimeter fence, and about a third of the way down from the north corner of the base. I tranqed a three-man mortar crew setting up a Chinese DK-193 60 mm mortar. I’m going to do a wider search to see if there are any more out here, as well as seeing if someone was watching them to report on how they did,” I reported, even as I climbed higher.

My danger sense picked up two more teams still moving towards the base, one on the south and one on the east. Neither team had even begun setting up and they were easy targets. I dropped a beacon near both of those groups, too. I still felt a small threat to the north and quickly zipped over there. What I found was a lone man with a monstrous pair of binoculars watching the base from a crude platform of branches lashed together about twenty meters up in a tree. He was about three klicks from the base. I was glad that he was lying on his stomach while watching the base. That way, he didn’t fall out of the tree when I tranqed him.

I grabbed the binoculars, intending to claim them. I also grabbed his laser radio and 10 mm automatic rifle. Then I emptied his pockets and looped a rope around his ankles. After dropping another beacon, I carefully extracted him from the tree and flew him back to the base, dangling beneath my grav sled.

“I’m coming in over the north perimeter fence with one prisoner hanging below my sled. You probably noticed three more beacons. The ones east and south of the base are each a tranqed three-man crew with a 60 mm mortar. The one to the north is where I caught my prisoner. I think he’s just an observer. That’s all the danger I feel around us,” I told Cortez.

I settled in front of hangar 6 a minute later. Several people were there to grab my prisoner before he hit the ground. “Come with me,” I whispered to Cortez, motioning him to my sled tender. I stopped a minute later. “I lied about no more danger. There’s one more small danger vector, but it’s here on base,” I explained. Three minutes later, I’d narrowed the search area significantly, although the source kept moving.

Sitting cloaked above an area about a hundred meters square, I finally pinpointed the source. “Got him,” I told Cortez as I dropped down towards the tranqed man.

“This could get ugly,” Cortez hissed when we saw the man’s Vietnamese army uniform.

“Not really,” I replied. “I don’t think anyone saw him drop since he fell behind the tank. We’re cloaked, so nobody saw us pick him up. All we need is someplace to stash him.”

“Drop me off near the General. I’ll ask him for instructions,” Cortez suggested.

“Grab this guy’s com unit,” I suggested. “When they get all the prisoners I tranqed here, check their com units and make sure they’re on. Then com the last number this guy commed today and see if it goes to one of their units.

The General didn’t look happy when Cortez told him what we had found. Ten minutes later, he had the correct com unit near the head of each of the tranqed men and commed the last number the inside guy had used. Sure enough, it went to the observer’s com unit.

“I know just the spot to take your prisoners,” Conklin said to me with a vicious grin, and commed someone. “Colonel Kaung, it’s General Conklin,” he greeted whoever answered, speaking Myanma.

“I have eleven Chinese or Chinese sympathizers as my prisoners and would like them questioned.”

“Excellent, they will be there within the hour, probably closer to half an hour. The leader of the group goes by the call sign Lima Juliet. Don’t be fooled by his youthful appearance,” he added.