Текст книги "The Battle for New York"

Автор книги: T. I. Wade

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First Sergeant Perry nodded. “Yes, sir,” he replied eagerly.

“Captain Mallory, good to have you with us. You will take over command of the civilian food supplies once the fight is over and Preston gives you all the non-fighting aircraft. It looks like you will have the FedEx Cargomaster, a 210, and two 172s to work with. I’ve thought about this for a few hours, and I suggest that you take supplies into a local rural airport, find someone to take control of that airport, or use Air Force troops if you think it necessary to guard the position of the supply—a machine gun post with sandbags, if necessary. I will let you have one C-130 to ferry in pallets of food and troops as soon as I can. I suggest you search out the pilots in and around that airfield and get the local pilots to distribute the food further—maybe into even smaller, more rural airfields. I’m going to borrow your tanker, Preston, and fly into Hill after we are finished here. I will take off in the first C-130 that gets here and meet up with Ghost Rider and the other tanker from Dover, send yours back to McGuire and then, Preston, you will take over command of this area until further notice. I want Captain Watkins and Powers to work for me for the next 24 hours moving troops out of Seymour Johnson and Pope into McGuire.” Again he walked back to the radio. “Jennifer, this is Pete, do you copy?”

“Jennifer here, just off-loading.”

“Is the boss there?” continued the general.

“Boss here, Pete,” answered the base commander at Seymour Johnson.

“How many battle-experienced guys can you find me?”

“You’ve taken a company already. I reckon I can give you another 300. They could be kitted out by midnight.”

“Roger that. Get them ready,” continued the general. “I need Jennifer to refuel and bring a company of 100 men back here ASAP. I need to get to Hill. Get a jeep, or some transport over to Pope’s place. I know they have tons more men. Tell the boss there what we’re up to. I need maximum fighting numbers ASAP. I need to get as many as possible up to Mr. McGuire’s place in the next 24 hours.”

“How many are you looking for?” the base commander came back.

“I need 180 for a party here and then as many as we can carry in over seven days with four of our big girls working 24/7. I think about 10,000 will do. Go and visit with our Marine buddies at Le Lejeune and get numbers. Billy Johnson will be in charge. He must be in radio contact with you by tomorrow. Also, get two sets of crew aboard each 130. I want nonstop action for a week. Out.” The general went back to the front of the room and thought before he spoke.

“Okay. My plan of action is this: I’m leaving for China tonight,” he explained. “I’m taking Mother Goose and Ghost Rider. Mother Goose will refuel Ghost Rider over the Bering Strait from Anchorage into northern Japan. Carlos, will the phone you have for me work?”

“You and I will be able to talk as well as if you were on your old cell phone,” replied Carlos. “If you activate your transponder for three minutes, I believe I can view it through their system and patch it into our system. It will take Lee and me all night to work on our satellite, but I think it will work. Remember, the enemy in Nanjing will see you as much as we can, but they will scratch their heads trying to figure out what type of aircraft is flying in the middle of nowhere for three minutes at a time. I think you should turn on your transponder only once or twice. I have a repaired cell phone for General Johnson and a fourth one will be repaired by morning. I will give you all the direct numbers. Who shall I give the fourth one to?”

“I want to take all you have,” answered the general. “I am going to need at least six working units to distribute around the world. Carlos, can you fix your own and make it work? Buck said you could. That will give me three and yours could be your base’s communications from now on when I need to talk to you.” The general turned back to the group.

“Let me continue. My mission is to flatten their headquarters. Then I’m going into Beijing. If they respond with fighters and shoot us down, I will disappear from view. But I believe I will be able to use my transponder once the Zedong Electronics building or headquarters is history because that should cancel out their global communications worldwide.

“I want to see if I can talk to the leader of China—hopefully by radio before I go in. I must make sure that they are in the same position as we are. Then, and with help from their airports and fuel, I want to get to Moscow. If the Chinese are friendly, they will help me. I want to do the same in Moscow, and I will carry all their military radio frequencies with me on board. If I survive through Russia and they are friendly, I want to stop at our base in Turkey. From there I can see what condition our troops are in and where they are situated. From Turkey, I’m heading to Baghdad and then into Ramstein to see if our European troops are okay. From Ramstein, I’m heading over to our base in the Azores and with a bit of luck will get back into McGuire before I miss the Super Bowl.”

“I’ve worked it out that a week’s nonstop flying will get me around the world and I hope that you guys are not communists by the time I get back. Mother Goose can get fuel out of a rock and we will have transponders on and communications to keep me informed throughout the journey.

“Everyone, I want it known to all active personnel, that if the insurgents arrive in this country on civilian aircraft, I want every jet they fly in on commandeered without damage. Those jets can be turned around in hours and we have dozens of out-of-work Stratotanker and Galaxy pilots at McGuire that can fly these birds into Turkey, Korea, Iraq, and hopefully Kabul to get our troops out—800 per aircraft. I’m hoping we can get them safely back on U.S. soil, or at the least, into Europe and then shipped back to the United States. The attackers can only come in on big aircraft and big ships. We know that some aircraft are incoming from somewhere tomorrow. My plan is to have our attack forces closer to New York’s JFK, but where?” he thought.

“Teterboro Airport in New Jersey,” suggested both Buck and Mike Mallory, who both knew New York well.

“Of course,” nodded the general. “Thanks guys. What are the distances?” Buck nodded to the Southwest captain to continue.

“La Guardia is the closest, about 12 miles. I’d say Newark is about the same but to the south, and JFK is the furthest at about 20 miles.”

“Let’s set up our main base of attack there, then. I want at least 10,000 men in the area within two weeks, which, we understand is when their big attack will commence. Many soldiers can walk in from McGuire if necessary. It would only take them a day, but we must do it undercover. I don’t want them to get wind of our movements. I’ll try and get relayed from Andrews into McGuire when I leave here and give Billy Johnson his orders.”

The general looked back over at the communications team. “Carlos, work on scrambling their communications, and get Lee Wang’s help to figure out their plan of action. I’m going to assume any electronic parts will be coming in with their engineers to repair the airports and harbors, and our own Air Force engineers can wear their clothes if necessary, even go undercover and complete the Chinese mission. I believe that we must keep control of our three airports, have troops in the surrounding terminals, and be ready for the big one. If they want to repair the harbor cranes, then they are bringing in troops by sea.

“On my way out of here, I will send a plane into Norfolk and tell Vice Admiral Rogers to get whatever he has floating up to New York harbor, stay in the Long Island Sound, and prepare for an attack. Questions?” There were none.

“Ok, recap. Captain Mallory, John, Pam, Barbara, Maggie and Will Smart—commandeer whatever you need to start supplying the local population with food after the attack. I’ll get you a C-130 down here as soon as I can. Remember, Lady Dandy can carry some weight. Move outwards as fast as you can and send word to civilians in the surrounding states. Go as far north as those farmers you met in Maryland and then work across. I’ll leave the planning up to you.”

“Preston, Carlos, Martie, Buck, and Lee—you are all heading up to McGuire once the fight here is finished. We need your firepower. Lee, does your wife know the building in Nanjing?”

“Yes, very well,” Lee replied.

“Will she be able to show it to me from the air, maybe at night?” The general rephrased his question.

“If the lights of Nanjing are on, then she can point out the building by looking for the bridge across the river.”

“Good. Lee, I‘m sorry to tell you this, but I must take her with me. Carlos needs you here. At least as the military always promises, she will see the world and arrive back safely, I hope, in one week.”

“I will tell her to go and prepare for a long journey,” Lee replied and headed over to the house.

“Mr. President, I think McGuire Air Force Base, or down here at Preston’s airstrip will be your best places to work,” the general advised.

“I would like to stay here,” replied the president, “as long as I’m free to go out on flights and help with logistics. I would like my family brought down as well, if you don’t mind, general.”

“I can get them over to Andrews and then down here on one of the 130s coming south,” replied General Allen. “It might take a day or two.”

“Good luck everybody! Stay in radio contact with no transponder usage unless you want them to see it. I’ll sort out their headquarters and, Preston, I will tell General Billy Johnson that as far as I’m concerned each one of you is a general in the Air Force, same as him, and that he must listen to you and your plans until I get back. Carlos, keep me posted. I’m out of here.” Pete saluted the president, smiled at the team in front of them as they heard incoming aircraft engines, and walked out of the hangar to see where Mrs. Wang was.

Chapter 7

JFK – New York

The snow was done. It finally disappeared off the New England coast and the sun rose at dawn on the sixth day and stayed like that—icy cold but sunny. The sun could not warm the frozen air, which in some very northern places was as low as minus 40, but it did lift the temperature several degrees. Cities were quiet, their streets under several feet of snow. The central United States was the worst hit—some towns nearly buried up to their rain gutters. Most of Canada was a frozen blanket of snow, and the only places where any movement could be seen were along the warmer West Coast. The only movement in the northern United States was ravens, crows and small animals scurrying about without any human interference and digging for any meat that was not yet frozen solid.

New York was a barren land of white, with frozen skyscrapers heavily laden with snow. The streets had banks of snow-blown snow as high as second story windows, in some areas, and there was little or no movement. There was movement at JFK on the morning of the sixth day, however, and there had been for several hours.

Nine hours earlier, and just before midnight on January 5th, four US helicopters had come in low over the icy waters of the Atlantic and in nearly white-out conditions, they carefully touched down on the roof of the nearest terminal building to Runway 31 Left—the longest runway at JFK.

They had unloaded men and gear and taken off immediately, hugging the ground and disappearing out to sea the way they had come in, over Rockaway Community Park, frozen under three feet of snow. They returned three more times, every two hours until a very late dawn slowly breathed light into the dispersing storm clouds, and for the fourth and last time the helicopters dipped down close to the ground and with a strong tail wind dove out to sea to be lost from sight over the dark grey waters of the Atlantic.

By then, the storm was gone and the sun’s rays began to light up the sky. A total of 180 Special Forces soldiers from Andrews, via McGuire had landed on the terminal roof. In total, they had four shoulder-rocket launchers with a dozen rounds for each, four heavy machine guns, cases of grenades, and hundreds of rounds of ammunition, and they now owned the desolate airport terminal. The men had quickly found entry into the terminal via a walkway entrance. The inside of the terminal was as cold as the outside, just without the wind chill, and they took out maps and searched for places to hide.

Their orders were to lay low, expect activity, and monitor it. They had four radios between them, which gave them radio communications into McGuire which now had direct communication by cell phone to General Allen, who was now in Tacoma, Washington.

One group of men planned to have ringside seats for Runway 31 Left, and took up residence in a small stranded commuter jet, parked right next to the runway. They had an excellent view of the surrounding area. With 40 seats, a toilet in the back, the windows drawn, and a couple of small gas heaters warming up the inside, it became a home away from home for 30 of the troops. They locked the aircraft’s doors and made sure that there was no light peeking out from inside, opened the flight attendant areas to access food, checked their own rations, and waited.

A second aircraft, a slightly larger McDonald Douglas M-90 commercial airliner parked at the closest gate overlooking the runway, became home for another 40 troops. With two toilets and a fully readied snack service waiting for passengers who would never arrive, the men closed it down, took watches, heated the interior of the aircraft, locked the doors, and waited.

Another 60 troops got the cold terminal closest to the Van Wyck Expressway—the direction in which the visitors were expected to arrive.

An empty Boeing 777 stood right in the middle of the taxiway. It had been turning out of the terminal to reach the taxiway when its engines and electronics must have shut down. A single ladder was standing by the front door to the aircraft, and when troops walked up it and tried to open the door, the door easily opened. Inside, the aircraft was empty, and looked like the passengers had left in a disciplined exit. All hand luggage was gone and the overhead bins empty and open. The aircraft was in a perfect place to view the surrounding area, especially from the cockpit, had several toilets, lots of snacks and drinks, and the window blinds were already drawn.

The inside warmed up and an interesting “inflight meal” was served.

The last group wasn’t so lucky and took turns nearly freezing to death on the roof of the terminal for an hour at a time, after finding a storage room close to a restaurant and a bar where they could warm up between shifts. They closed down the area so that they wouldn’t be seen if someone walked through the terminal, and radioed in to report that they were in position.

It didn’t take long for the visitors to arrive. The cold in-flight meal was just about over in the Boeing 777 when the lookout in the cockpit stated that he saw several vehicles approaching—a couple of old Suburban’s behind an even older Ford 4x4 truck working hard to get down the Van Wyck Expressway. The truck had to be pushed and manhandled until it finally got down the exit ramp closest to the terminals. The invaders cut a hole in a hedge, then the high security fence, and drove through the holes onto the aircraft area.

“We have visitors,” the radio from the 777 quietly sent the message. “Seven vehicles and about two dozen armed men have gotten out and are waiting for something. They are Chinese or Asian, mean-looking critters, have carbines and a couple of shoulder launchers. I can see three shoulder launchers. Over.”

“Keep them visual,” an order was whispered into the radio from Air Force Major Joe Patterson, the commander of the group in the terminal.

“I see some bulldozers coming into view from the airport warehouse area. There are three I can see at the moment. One is beginning to clear the expressway and the other two are heading out towards the runway clearing the area in front of the men. It looks like they are preparing for aircraft to arrive. It will take the Charlies most of the day and tonight to clear that runway out there,” reported a Lieutenant in the 777.

For three hours they watched as the bulldozers cleared an area right next to them. A couple of men were opening the fuel openings in the apron cement right next to the 777. An electrical generator on wheels was being pulled into sight behind one of the trucks and they could hear the motor starting up and then shutting down. It was a big one—the type of generator used to pump fuel into large aircraft. It had “Air China” written all over it. Pipes and connections were offloaded from a fuel truck and stacked neatly by the building out of the way. The third bulldozer slowly came back into view followed by a dozen other vehicles, mostly an assortment of 30-year old trucks and cars. One white Cadillac had what looked like red blood down the side of it. The road was now passable and the radio squawked on.

“How many men are out there?” the Major asked.

“I see about 30 so far,” answered the Lieutenant in the 777. “The new vehicles are being parked in a line and three or four more coming into view. Each is been driven by one man. A fourth bulldozer has come into view pulling a second “Air China” generator and the man is being given orders. It looks like he is being told to start clearing a second parking area. The first area is complete by the looks of it as a road is now being made out to the runway itself. The finished clearing could fit a large 747.”

“Roger that. It looks like you guys have the front row seats. We are going to move to the closest terminal next to you guys and will let you know when we are ready. The incoming aircraft are going to have to use stairs if they are parking over there. I want to see if we can find some more and bring them forward so that they leave yours alone. Check out a bottom exit to your aircraft in case they move your stairs and don’t drink the first-class liquor, boys,” the major said with a smile on his face. “Pack it up and we’ll take it back to base. We must not be seen until we have their aircraft in the hands of our pilots, who are waiting here with me. Their incoming pilots might want to freshen up, powder their noses and use these bathrooms, and we will take them out in here. We are going to collect their clothes. Hopefully our guys are short enough to fit into their clothing.”

“The way they are clearing all that snow, we will have enough packed snow to use for defensive positions. They are obviously not considering that anyone will attack them and are walking around as if they own the place. I’m sure they won’t miss a couple of their guys. And remember men, the brass reckons the aircraft are not due in until dawn tomorrow morning. Out.”

Over the rest of the day, the major worked out what the visitors would do if they had access to the terminal. First, he made sure the door was ready to be opened, and then he studied the closest store, a clothing store full of warm clothing.

“Yes,” he thought to himself. “The pilots going back won’t resist getting a few presents for themselves and their girlfriends,” and he formed a plan of action and broke the lock of the door. There was no electricity, and the concourse was dark, but they would come in here for warmth. He saw the bar on the other side. He broke that lock, too, opened the steel mesh doors on top of the counter, and then arranged cases of beer in a pile so that they couldn’t miss them—what man could resist a mountain of cold beers ready for them? He opened a couple of cases and put six cold bottles on the table and poured three down a sink to make it look like somebody had already been there when the airport closed down. He lay one on its side and let one break on the floor.

The action on the runway went on and on throughout the day. It was one of the longest civilian runways in the United States. They only had three bulldozers working on the runway itself and the snow was a couple of feet deep. It took each dozer about an hour to clear a narrow line from one end of the runway to the other.

Another old truck came out and men started throwing salt onto the parking areas. They even got an aircraft weather-spray truck pulled in close by the fourth dozer. It didn’t work, but they were obviously expecting whoever was coming in by air to have everything they needed, and they might need a spray down before take-off if bad weather came in again.

Night fell and the lights on the bulldozers showed that they were still working out there. They were halfway done, and it was going to be a very cold night. The salt truck had gone out several times and they had done a good job. One of the major’s men in white snow gear had sneaked out to inspect the runway. It was quite dry and they had about three hours of work left to go.

The major had allowed many of his men to sleep part of the day, and he had talked with two of his Chinese-American Air Force pilots who spoke fluent Mandarin, and together they had worked out a plan. Quite a few of the Chinese had come into the terminal a couple of hours earlier and helped themselves to food and the beer placed for them. The major and his guys had gone on high alert when they heard voices in the terminal for the first time. They were over 100 feet away from the door and a couple of soldiers had crawled down the dark terminal floor and found two men sitting at the main table of the bar drinking cold bottles of beer.

They hadn’t finished their brews before their necks were broken and they were dragged back to the storage area where Major Patterson and his team of pilots were holed up.

An hour later, six more men came in looking for the other two, whispering their names, an interpreter told the major. Two came down to the dark area where the troops were waiting. One American soldier made a grunt on the opposite side of the concourse and the two flashlights held by the Chinese men quickly swung around towards the sound. That was their last move before being terminated from behind by strong hands. The other four had found the beer, the demise of many men, and bottles were opened.

It wasn’t long, however, before the first two were missed. The crew in the store shouted for them, and one of the Chinese-American pilots impersonated them with a cloth over his face to hide his voice, and told them that they had found some good chocolate and American candy. One of the four men, carrying a shoulder missile launcher, swaggered over to the dark area of the concourse shouting that beer was better than chocolate and then he, too, went eerily quiet.

It took several more minutes, but the last three went the same way as the rest, sitting around the darkened terminal with flashlights and the moon, their only source of light. The eight dead men were relieved of their clothing and it was given to the shortest soldiers in the group. The two Chinese-American pilots were now as mean looking as the guys outside.

Going through the pockets and jackets, they had found two satellite phones as well as lots of small things, and now they had communications with the outside world. The major had been told to update the general whenever a phone became available, so he called the general and was connected just like he would have been on his regular cell phone a few weeks earlier. There was no answer on the other side until the major stated “Allen Key” into the phone.

“Name and location?” General Allen requested into the phone curtly.

“Patterson. Juliet, Foxtrot, Kilo,” Major Patterson replied.

“Well done, Patterson. I assume you have terminated some visitors to get this?” the general asked, now well on his way to Elmendorf Air Force Base in Alaska.

“Roger that, Allen Key.”

“Give me a quick sitrep (Situation Report) Mr. Patterson,” the general continued.

“We have 180 friendlies in four separate locations. We were visited by 40 guests in trucks a little earlier, now down to 32. We have two new cell phones and hope to have several more by tonight. So far today, two areas cleared by four bulldozers. Area 31-Lima (left) is about 120 minutes from being totally cleared. Salt is being laid. I have a plan in place. Two friendly Charlie-American pilots are ready and prepared to get into any arriving empty birds and take them to Mr. McGuire. Then we bring in reinforcements and terminate uprising ASAP. We have one friendly Charlie ready on cell phone to tell any aircraft that everything is okay. Any suggestions? Over.” The major gave his brief report into the cell phone as more visitors suddenly entered the terminal shouting for their friends.

“I have a situation. Our next cell phone has just entered the building. Out.” And he hung up on the general.

Four more cold Chinese men found the beer and were momentarily distracted. It took several minutes for them to drink one and open another. Another group of eight joined them, and then another four men came in out of the cold. Two more cases were ripped open and bottles hissed as their tops were twisted.

“Bring six men with silencers forward and place them in positions where they can take them out if need be,” the major ordered his first sergeant in a whisper. He also had an automatic pistol with a silencer and he watched through its night sights as six men crept forward and got into position on the floor in a line where they could hit the men without breaking the large windows around the concourse.

Suddenly the satellite phone rang in his hand. “Shit!” he whispered, trying to find and hit the kill button to turn it off. The men drinking beer immediately shouted to see whose phone it was. Major Patterson immediately whispered to the Chinese-American pilot next to him to answer as if he was drunk. The man did as he was told and several men laughed and hooted from the bar area. He swore, telling them to leave him alone, and told the “person” on the phone to call him later when he woke up, which prompted raucous laughter from the bar crowd.

Three men, laughing, came to find him, and were quickly laid to rest without bullets. One made a grunt as his neck was broken and the men in the bar suddenly went silent. The major prodded the other Chinese pilot and told them to shout at each other and make drunken laughter. They did a good enough job that another two came over to see what all the fun was about. They also didn’t make the party, and this time the two Chinese-American pilots got really rowdy. They started getting angry at each other and swore in rapid Mandarin to each other about being left to sleep. This time the rest at the bar went silent, one drew a pistol, and they all came forward flashing their flashlights into the darkness.

This time, their clothing couldn’t be saved, as the major shot first and the six silencers followed suit firing several shots and killing all ten men without a sound, and with no broken windows. Immediately, the major told the troops behind him to drag the bodies back, far down the concourse, out of the way, clean up any blood, make sure the prisoners were dead and strip any clothing off that did not have blood on it. This was completed in seconds with the men still wearing night goggles.

Major Patterson immediately sent two men to cover the door to the outside to watch for any more Chinese and he sent another two men to set up the bar tables again with fresh bottles, just in case.

Within three minutes the concourse was quiet, with the bar area looking like a lot of drinking had occurred, and with the odd jacket and hat lying around.

“Allen Key,” he spoke into another, new phone and waited for a response from the general.

“Busy night Patterson?” the general asked.

“Busy bar night Allen Key, just like any Friday night. All these guys are drinking and we now have 24 of them hidden in the broom closet, all as dead as Do-Dos. They are down to the five guys on the dozers and seven others somewhere playing in the salt pit. We have clothing for 14 and six fancy phones.”

“Don’t answer any cell phone unprepared,” cautioned General Allen. “If the red number comes up when your phone rings, that’s a no-no for at least two more days. You will see the number on the phone. Turn off all phones, and if the red number crops up and if you need to say hi to Uncle Charlie, use a guy who can talk the lingo. Get my drift?”

“Roger that, Allen Key.”

“And this is your number from now on, Patterson. Let me know how your plans go tomorrow. Tell me immediately what comes in. You will have to play this drama out on the spur of the moment. Hopefully I can hand you an Oscar when we meet. Mr. McGuire will have the four choppers full and three big 130 mama’s ready to take off by dawn. As soon as you have pilots aboard the aircraft and they are about to take-off, tell me and Mr. McGuire and he will release the hounds into the attack. They will take 20 minutes to get there and will be below 500 feet to stay out of any aircraft radar contact. That’s 300 guys and what you have there to terminate the guests. Call me when you are about to attack—a buddy of mine believes that he can jam all their communications for awhile. Well done, Patterson, and good luck. Your plan sounds positive, and we want those big aircraft undamaged. Out.”

Major Patterson got back on the radio to all his men and explained the plan to them.

“Team Four,” he stated to the 40 men based in one of the outside aircraft, the M-90. “Go through your exit in the bottom of your aircraft and find the salt pit. There are seven or more Charlies working with a truck. Try and take them out without bloodshed. We need their clothes and cell phones. I say again, we need undamaged cell phones and clothing. Use silencers.”

“Roger that. On our way,” the commander of Team Four replied.

“Team Two in the commuter jet,” Patterson continued. “I believe they will park the dozers close to the area where they want the aircraft to land and refuel. It looks like two aircraft will be incoming. Once the dozers are back from the runway, take the drivers out and we should be clear of bad boys until the next lot comes in.”