Текст книги "The Battle for New York"

Автор книги: T. I. Wade

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

The southern states were a little easier to stay alive in, but even most of Texas had temperatures in the teens and people there were even less prepared for cold weather. The death toll was nearly as high as further north. In the warmer areas by the coasts, like Florida, gangs of starving people shot each other for food and warm shelter. Many gangs would form one day, just to be knocked off by a bigger gang the next. Any food stockpiles were now exhausted in many well-populated cities. Supermarkets and stores were empty and were not much more than blackened ruins by the end of the first week.

Food looted from neighborhood stores in other areas would normally last many thousands of people several weeks, but having the food meant that anybody who saw you steal the food was keen to take it away from you. Large gangs of 30 to 40 men roamed in stolen vehicles, running into houses, killing the families inside, and running out with any spoils they found.

By the beginning of the fifth day, and by the time warmer air fed into the north, a third of the U.S. population was dead.

*****

Captain Mallory and his group had found another clean hangar in which to spend the night. It was not as comfortable as the one the previous night, but with the gas heaters on, it soon became comfort able and the group bedded down once they had the standard fare of hamburgers and hot dogs followed by cheese and chocolate.

The weather got close to freezing outside and they decided to leave early, find their way to Raleigh’s airport, and then have breakfast. The fuel in their tanks would just make it, and after leaving a few dollar bills for the hangar owner from their now empty wallets, they left just after dawn with hot cups of black coffee and tea in hand. Two hours later, without seeing anyone else in moving vehicles, they reached the US 64 off-ramp and turned west towards Raleigh, their southern migration over for the time being.

Again, they noticed a slight increase in stranded vehicles as they got closer and closer to the city. A car sped by on the other side of the road and the occupants waved as they went past, driving towards the coast. Another car appeared in John’s rear view mirror, tailing them a half a mile behind. It shadowed them for several miles before it turned off the highway and disappeared.

They knew they were close when they entered the 440 Beltline around the state’s capital. Here, there were many more dead vehicles, but luckily a path had already been pushed through the pile of dead metal by other vehicles that had come before them—the Chinese convoy for one.

An old black Cadillac suddenly appeared on the other side of the highway coming towards them, with a second car close behind it, both driving through the wrecked traffic pretty fast. Captain Mallory could hear gunshots coming from them as he rolled down his window. The two cars seemed to be engaged in a gun battle with each other and ignored the convoy as they passed 20 yards away on the other side of the highway.

The group drove onto I-40 as the signposts to the airport directed them to. The cemetery of stranded cars and trucks was much heavier here, as this part of the road was the direct connection between Raleigh and Durham. There must have been many people travelling around midnight four days ago. There were blackened wrecks everywhere, and for the first time since Washington, the SWAT truck had to carefully force its way through tangled wreckage.

Captain Mallory thought he heard aircraft engines as they neared the off-ramp to the airport, and then three small, black dots flew over the gap in the trees a couple of miles in front of them. One of them, he recognized, was an old DC-3 going into the airport.

By now, his fuel gauge was on empty and he radioed back to John to find out that his was the same. They slowly crept up the high way off-ramp and turned right towards the airport. It took several more twists and turns before they came across the two blackened cars close to the underpass that Martie had told him to look out for.

They had already been moved to one side and the convoy continued into the airport itself.

The captain headed for the private terminal entrance and found the gate he had been told to look for, guarded in plain sight by U.S. Air Force guards. As he stopped in front of the gate and switched off the faithful truck’s engine he also saw a FedEx Cargomaster taxiing towards the guard tent. They had reached their first official destination.

*****

Breakfast was being served in the White House. The president had left Seymour Johnson at 7:00 am and arrived at Andrews at 8:30. Buck had fired up the Huey, and the general was already getting Ghost Rider refueled to continue on his base tour. Buck had taken off with the president, the ambassador, Manuel, their three bodyguards, and cases of food supplies for the Colombian Embassy.

Everyone apart from Buck and the president were getting off at the embassy, and helpful hands, shocked at seeing the U.S. President aboard the chopper, unloaded the several cases once they landed inside the embassy grounds. The Colombians asked Buck to fly in more supplies when he had a chance, and that for now they would protect their building.

Once everyone said their goodbyes and the president shook hands with many of the embassy staff, Buck rose off the grounds with the president in the front right seat and flew on to the White House. Both Buck and the president had a good chance to view the blackened mess that the capital city had become.

“I count about a dozen large areas where aircraft must have gone down,” Buck stated as he flew over the damaged Pentagon, and the untouched Capitol building.

“I think that we need to discuss when you can pick me up again,” answered the president, over the intercom. “I want to get the official letters printed for Preston, Manuel, and you as my private pilot, and you might as well have breakfast with me while they are typed up. I’m sure we must have a typewriter somewhere at the White House.”

“Picking you up, Mr. President is not a problem. It will take me about 90 minutes to get to the White House from Preston’s airfield and 90 minutes to get back. I can do it without having to refuel. I’m sure you will get permanent communications soon, as the general is getting a military radio sent in with an old jeep later today. They are also looking for other vehicles to commandeer. You will be patched into Andrews and then you will be able to communicate to Raleigh, Hill, and Edwards.”

There was an inch of new snow on the White House lawn when Buck readied to land, and an icy wind howled out of the northwest, making it pretty tough to get the Huey down in a gentle and disciplined way. The Secret Service was happy to have the president back but the bodyguards stared in disbelief when they saw him exit the Huey with no security detail.

By this time, the kitchen was running, a large section of the downstairs had electricity, and the rooms were warm. It was good to sit down in a hospitable White House and have breakfast.

They chatted for a couple of hours. Buck was introduced to the First Lady and the children, while the president was making some decisions about his next moves.

“I would like to go down and help with the food distribution project, and I’m sure my wife and girls would enjoy getting out of here,” he explained. His family nodded in agreement. “Will and Maggie Smart’s kids would give them other children to mix with, and I know my wife would love to get involved. There is no reason for me to sit here and do nothing, it will drive me crazy,” he added.

The president called for one of the office staff and dictated the necessary letters he wanted, and asked if they could be typed out on official White House letterhead. The staffer replied that a Commodore computer had been located with a working printer, and they were working on refilling it with ink. He would have the paper work within the hour.

“You know what Buck? It’s time I became a real leader again and gave orders myself. What is the weather like?”

“Certainly a bad storm to our north,” replied Buck. “I would say that going further north in the next few hours is not good. It seems that the more severe conditions are north of here and Washington seems to be on the edge of it.”

“Do you think you can fly into Dover Air Force Base in Delaware?”

“It’s about 100 miles due East of Andrews. I would think that the weather is no worse than here,” answered Buck.

“Good, get on your helicopter radio and find out where General Allen is. I believe he will be headed into Dover pretty soon. If he is, tell him to wait for us and organize some fuel. I want to talk to him.” Buck did as he was told and picked up a faint Ghost Rider transmission on the radio. The general was on his way to Dover from Langley Air Force Base in Virginia and confirmed that he would be available for the president.

The letters were going to take some time, so Buck, the president and two Secret Service agents climbed into the Baby Huey. It took several minutes to get her airborne, and with the president in the right seat again and the agents sitting in the comfortable chairs in the back, they aimed for Dover.

Thirty minutes later, with a strong tail-wind, Baby Huey landed close to Ghost Rider, which was already being refueled by a small, antiquated 3,000 gallon fuel tanker truck. It would take a long time to refuel the larger aircraft.

The general gave orders to refuel the helicopter first, and Buck was invited into the meeting with General Allen, the president and the Base Commander, General Ward. General Allen introduced everybody. “Mr. President, you wanted a meeting?” the general asked. They sat down, and cokes and fruit juice were brought in.

“I want to get involved with the food program and see what I can do out there. I’m not going to sit in the White House like a scared cat and do nothing. While you are organizing the country through our air bases, I would like to work with the guys down in North Carolina and get a distribution network operational.”

“I was hoping you would say that, sir,” the general responded with a smile on his face. “It would get rid of the need for protocol and you having to authorize everything I do, plus it would solve the need for that extra radio or satellite-phone system.”

“Yes, I was thinking about that, too,” the president responded. “If we are expecting a full-scale invasion in the near future, it doesn’t make sense to have the Commander-in-Chief sitting virtually unprotected in the White House like a sitting duck. They should have to work very hard to find me, don’t you think?”

“Totally agree,” answered General Allen. “Mike Ward, what do we have operational here? I’m hoping your oldest C-130, a C model I believe, could still be flyable and I’m sure you must have a helicopter or two in storage?”

“We are checking through the older models now, Pete,” the other general responded. “Every older aircraft is currently undergoing tests. We lost 17 aircraft on flight missions over New Year’s Eve, and I did not think to check the old stock until yesterday when we received your C-130 and the pilot’s message from Andrews. We are servicing one C-130C’s engines. She’s flyable but several of her electronic components are toast. We have servicemen currently working on bypassing them. We have another C-130A that is flyable, Pete—an old HC-130 tanker which could be operational by tomorrow and we are working on two Vietnam-era Bell helicopters right now.”

“I want the HC-130’s tanker engines fully inspected within 12 hours,” Pete Allen ordered. “Get all the maintenance men on her you can and get her to Hill AFB in Salt Lake in 18 hours. Get the helicopters and the other C-130 flown down to Andrews as soon as possible. I’m leaving ASAP and need the tanker. I’m flying to Japan with Ghost Rider. Also, Mike, please check the refueling rigs and make sure that her refueling line is compatible with Ghost Rider. I’m going to need the tanker to pump fuel into Ghost Rider over the Bering Sea.”

“You are taking these old birds over to Asia?” asked General Ward in shock.

“That’s right, Mike. I want two of the best and most experienced crews in that tanker and two more of your most experienced crews in Ghost Rider. I’ve done my homework. Ghost Rider has a range of 2,200 miles. I‘m going into Hill to refuel, then I’m heading up to McChord Air Force Base in Tacoma, Washington. I believe they have a couple of old C-130s over there as well. Then I’ll fly into Elmendorf Air Force Base in Anchorage—that’s well within range from McChord. McChord might have a couple of old operational helicopters as well, but I haven’t been up there for a while. Elmendorf in Alaska should have cleared runways—they usually clear them 24/7 since they have so much snow.”

“So will Misawa Air Force Base in Japan where they should have bulldozers still working and something flyable. It’s a 3,200 mile flight into Misawa from Elmendorf. From Misawa, I plan to refuel and fly into our bases at either Osan or Kunshan in South Korea. The distance is only 900 miles from Misawa. The HC-130 tanker has a 4,500 mile range. If you take out 1,000 miles of fuel for Ghost Rider, that will give her 3,500 miles, and if I put a soft 1,000 gallon fuel-bladder into Ghost Rider, and there are several bladders at Elmendorf, both aircraft should make it into Japan. I believe that there is a still-operational AC-130 gunship at either Kunshan or Osan. Buck, by the way, I want to take Mr. Lee Wang with me on my mission. He needs to be at Hill AFB in 36 hours. Somebody will have to get him there by then.”

“Why the rush to Asia, Pete?” asked the president.

“Carlos believes that if we take out their satellite communication station on the other side, we could take over complete control of all their operational satellite hardware. If we capture or kill their mercenary squads over here and relieve them of their cell phones, we could be in control of global communications again, plus I will get the chance to blow their headquarters off the face of the earth. I want to take one of the captured cell phones with me, since I heard from Carlos on my way in, that they have captured several American satellite phones. That could give me direct satellite contact with you, Mr. President. Carlos is going to get as many of the systems working as he can. I will take one with me on my flight, since he thinks that by using the aircraft’s transponder for short intervals and using the aircraft as a massive antenna for the satellite phone, he can satellite-guide me across the Bering Strait into Japan, and then on to my target. I can also warn you, Mr. President, about any attack on our aircraft by Chinese fighters when I get there. If that happens, you can act accordingly with a missile strike.”

“How many cell phones did they capture?” asked Buck.

“They have three fully-operational and three broken ones. Carlos said that he and Lee Wang can repair the three broken ones. There were ten in total and they have four for spare parts,” the general replied. “Why?”

“Any extra spare parts could be built into the dead ones you Air Force guys use,” suggested Buck. “I know Carlos has a satellite phone. I bet he hasn’t thought of replacing the electronic parts in his phone. I’ll tell him when I get down there later today.”

“Good point, Buck,” smiled the general. “My plan is still in the making, but if I survive over Nanjing, Mr. President, I want to fly into Beijing and find out the truth—whether or not the Chinese government has anything to do with this catastrophe. Then I want to fly up to Moscow. I’m sure I can refuel in both cities, and if the Chinese Government is friendly, they can fuel us up and get me to the Russian border. Or I can go via India since there must be tons of unused jet fuel at all the world’s commercial airports. If I take my own tanker, I can refuel anywhere. If I come up against opposition forces, I can relay the information back to you.”

“That’s one hell of a trip in old C-130s,” stated General Ward, no so optimistic. “You are going to need a lot of luck to find little Japan in the middle of nowhere, on low fuel reserves and without modern navigation. How long are you expecting to fly around the world, Pete?”

“Only ten days, Mike,” laughed General Allen. “I want to get from Moscow, through to our base in Turkey. My biggest challenge at the moment is getting our troops back to the States—a million men and women. Lady Luck is going to have to show her face. I believe that we must try to thwart any attack on our mainland by the opposition as soon as we can—by either Zedong Electronics or the Chinese or Russian governments. I don’t know how they plan to do it, but they will need fully working naval ships and aircraft carriers to get to us, and when they do, we must try and capture what we can, fill them up with gas, and send them over to the Middle East to bring back our troops.”

“South Korea should be okay, and our troops should survive in Europe, but with no back-up vehicles or protection in the Middle East and Africa, those guys have only a few weeks or months at most. I can’t do much here against the weather at the moment. You guys can start a food distribution system with a civilian air force and workforce, but over there I must find massive ships to bring back our men and women. First, I want to know who we are dealing with, and I believe that any attack on the United States will be caught by Carlos and Navistar P in time to prepare. I’m hoping I can get back in time to see the action—I will be returning via our base on the Azores, just within range of Andrews.”

*****

The boardroom on the 30th floor was busy. On Z-Day 4, the full membership of 16 men was in their seats. Once again, it was time for reports. The room had only one other man waiting to speak—the chief technical officer from the satellite communications department, one floor below. The chairman rose and gestured for silence.

“Before I get to my latest report, Comrades, I would like our specialist from downstairs, as well as Comrade Wang to give their reports on our first major attack on foreign soil.” He pointed to the technical officer.

“Comrades,” the gentleman started. “Comrade Wang and I have been in contact with our termination squads in America. It took a couple of hours, as it seems the battle was long and hard. We lost communications with them for over three hours. From the communications side, we are now up and running again and I will let you know of any news. Comrade Wang has the rest of the report.” He bowed and left the room.

“Comrade Chairman and fellow Comrades, I have excellent news from America,” Comrade Mo Wang smiled to the room, even though his gut was signaling to him that something wasn’t quite right. “We had a two-hour battle with Americans at the small airport in North Carolina. It was an unimportant and small air base and it seems that there was a platoon of 30 American soldiers guarding the propeller-driven aircraft. This caused our Comrades a bit of a problem and we unfortunately lost half of our brave men to the Americans. On the positive side, our men killed everybody there including all the American soldiers, as well as 20 pilots, several civilian and their families—a remarkable feat. Our squad commanders were brave and fought well, but many lost their lives in the attack.”

“If our commanders are dead, Comrade Wang, who are we communicating with?” asked the chairman.

“A young man I know well,” replied the stressed Wang. “A man I personally recruited, and even though I haven’t spoken to him for 30 years, I recognized his voice. I have given him command of the remaining troops and told him to stay at the base until I get authorization from you to send more troops to take over command from him. He stated that they are still seeing several small civilian aircraft around Raleigh and believe that the city’s international airport could be another place that has a group of aircraft. I have ordered him to go and take a look and told him that we would send in more squads to deal with any enemy problems before they are needed in New York and Washington.

“And this man is dependable?” asked the chairman. “I want him to remain close by that Raleigh airport until we get more squads in. It sounds like this area is full of civilian aircraft. I believe it may be due to the massive storm over the northern states. I will assume that these aircraft flew south and are congregating at this airport south of the storm. It is in our favor, as we could potentially destroy all of the remaining aircraft in one battle and then move our squads north to meet us in New York. Comrade Wang, send the 50 termination squads from the southern American border area to this Raleigh airport, and check with our technical staff downstairs to see if there has been any transponder movement around this city. They must destroy everything they see in this area! Once this problem is dealt with, then order our squads to move north.”

“We only have two and a half weeks before our arrival and we need all three major airports ready for our airborne troops, and with American aviation fuel flowing, to get our 30 747-400ERs and five Airbus 380s back to China. Thank you and well done Comrade Wang. I knew America wouldn’t be easy to invade and I’m sure we are going to deal with more problems before we can call North America our own. Wang, I want the rest of our East Coast termination squads in New York to get to the JFK airport on time. They will inspect and start up the six bulldozers we have hidden in the rented warehouse. The squads must be there 24 hours ahead of our aircraft, as planned. They must first clear the main runway at JFK and meet our incoming men and troops at the airport. And remind them, comrade, they have a ton of salt and the six bulldozers to do the job.”

Comrade Mo Wang sat down, his mind spinning. He had recognized that voice on the satellite radio, but something was telling him that it sounded different. Maybe his memory was vague but he had a notion that the voice didn’t belong to the man who had identified himself as Bo Lee Tang.

“We will now hear the latest report on troop readiness, food ships, and aircraft. Comrade Rhu, please,” ordered the chairman as the door closed behind Mo Wang.

“Thank you Comrade Chairman,” started Rhu. “All plans are ready for our invasion, Comrades. You are all to be ready to depart here in three days. We sail out of Shanghai harbor with five of our container cargo ships. Each of the five of our most modern container ships owned by our shipping company, China Shipping Lines, holds 9,600 containers of food. Each container has been packed with 1,800 meal packs and each meal pack holds enough basic food to feed one person for a week. Our first shipment will be 60 million food packs, and is expected to supply the northern area of the East Coast of America for three months. We have new, red Chinese passports printed for 15 million women and children. They are to be handed to male children under ten years old only. Any male children over that age will be terminated. Each new Communist citizen will be given four weeks of food, which should get them through the middle of the winter, or at least to when our container ships return. Our Boeing 747-400 aircraft is due to leave Shanghai for America tomorrow. The 747 will be taking 100 electrical engineers into New York’s John F. Kennedy Airport. They will be protected by our Special Forces flying with them—over 200 of them– as well as our squads already there. The engineer’s first job is to get the airport’s fuel tanks back online and get road transport from our termination squads into La Guardia and Newark Airports. There, they will get the two airports ready for our arrival.”

“After the airports are operational, they will move into New York harbor and work on getting the large harbor cranes around the New York Global Terminal operational so we can unload the five container ships when they arrive. A second Boeing 747 aircraft is full of the needed electrical parts to get the American machinery working again. This aircraft, a 747 transporter, does not have the extended range of the first aircraft and is currently in a secret location much closer to New York than the others and will join the first aircraft once it gets into U.S. airspace. The 747 transporter will operate in and out from that secret location. The transporter will also have four large generators on board to help with fuel delivery, and the aircraft has been modified to unload itself without ground assistance. Our termination squads have been given orders to get enough vehicles for the transportation of these 300 men around the three airports and harbor areas, which hopefully have little or no damage. Both 747s will be emptied and refueled as quickly as possible, and then return to their bases. Any questions so far?”

There were none.

“Twenty-four hours before our arrival, our entire fleet of 35 commercial aircraft will fly 20,000 Red Army troops into New York. These troops are to take control of the airports, the entire area between the three airports and then the harbor area to protect our entrance from any American forces still hiding in the New York area. Our flotilla of five naval and five container ships will reach and grandly enter New York Harbor. Gentlemen, great news, we will be sailing through the Panama Canal, which has been captured and is currently fully operational and guarded by our forces. Again, any questions?”

Again, there were none.

“One week after we have captured New York, our second armada of five container ships will leave Shanghai Harbor and take seven days to sail to Los Angeles. Before they arrive, the same engineers will be flown across America from New York to Los Angeles to set up the airports and harbor area there. Everything is working according to plan, and we have ten days to take control of the East Coast before our invasion of the West Coast begins. We will reside on our new aircraft carrier, and she will be protected by our two attack cruisers and two destroyers. We will not be backed up by submarines, as had been planned. Unfortunately, our own government purchased the submarine satellite-communications electronic parts we produced for the rest of the world without our knowledge, and the entire Chinese fleet of submarines is now useless. They, unfortunately, were too stupid to listen to our warnings. We have tested our six warships, our fleet of ten container ships, the 30 747s, and the five Airbuses, and they are all fully operational.” He sat down.

After the meeting ended, Comrade Wang was in the communications room trying to raise his new squad leader in North Carolina. He had already spoken to the commander of the 50 termination squads currently in Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas, and they were getting ready to move east. He could not get hold of the new man, and his sixth sense was eating at him as the engineer was finally successful and got a very bad connection.

“Is that you, Bo Lee Tang?” the engineer called over the radio telephone in front of him.

“I can’t hear you well, we have a bad connection. This is Bo Lee Tang,” said the faint voice on the other side. “We are burying our comrades.”

“Tell him to hurry up and get to the Raleigh airport,” Comrade Wang told the engineer in front of him. “Tell him he has Comrade Deng’s 50 squads coming in. They should be there in two days.” The message was relayed.

“We need many squads?” asked the man at the other end.

“Fifty squads are coming, and Comrade Deng will take command when he gets there, Bo Lee Tang,” stated Comrade Wang, taking over the microphone from the engineer. “Once Comrade Deng has destroyed the Raleigh airport, you are all to go north. I have told Deng that he will take you with him. You need to be at the airport and harbor area within one week to prepare for our arrival.”

“At which harbor do you want my men? I can’t hear you well. What happens if I don’t see Comrade Deng?” the voice asked.

“Something is not right, Bo Lee Tang. You should know the operation,” Wang said, worried.

“My dead commander did not tell us anything,” was the reply. “We left the north, came south, he did not tell us anything, and now I am commander.”

Comrade Wang was worried. He could understand a need-to-know basis and he racked his brains to remember what the men in the termination squads were actually told. It was quite normal that the men knew very little and he now needed to check to see if he was talking to the man he knew—after all, he had recruited him all those years ago. In those days Bo Lee Tang was a good boxer and Mo Wang had won a good amount of money on his achievements in Shanghai.

“Bo Lee Tang, what do you have on your shoulder?” asked Wang.

“A tattoo” was the reply.

“What is the tattoo?’ Wang asked.

“You know, Comrade. A bottle of Jack Daniel’s. You often must have seen it when I was boxing in Shanghai.”

“Of course, Comrade Bo. I needed to check because your voice is not the voice I remember,” continued Mo Wang.

“I have a small injury to my face and a bandage on my face. I have a small piece of metal in my cheek, have lost a little blood, and I can’t talk too good.” The telephone crackled back at Wang. This seemed to satisfy most of his worries. Of course! Bo could have been injured.

“Your orders, Bo Lee, are to destroy the Raleigh airport with Deng. Then go north to your original position. We have engineers and troops flying in on two aircraft tomorrow night to reconstruct the three airports and harbor before our aircraft and ship arrivals. You are to report to our troops at the biggest airport. You need to be there in one week. It will be under our control. I will be there several days after you arrive, and I will communicate to you and Deng once you get to New York, not before. Good Luck!” said Wang, still feeling in his hollow and empty stomach that something was wrong.

*****