Текст книги "The Battle for New York"

Автор книги: T. I. Wade

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

Chapter 15

The Beginning of the End

Over a period of days, and with another few inches of snow and negative temperatures, the three New York airports were made ready for arrivals and departures. The C-130s worked nonstop out of McGuire, Andrews, Seymour Johnson, and Pope Field, bringing in troops, supplies, electrical equipment, and necessary food for the ever-growing number of civilians collecting food each day around the airport’s outer-perimeter fences.

Six radio-transmitting beacons had been modified so far, transported and activated. Three of the beacons were now working at JFK, La Guardia and Newark. The next three were slightly south at McGuire, Andrews, and Seymour Johnson, and the seventh radio beacon was being installed at Preston’s airfield.

The single large incoming Air China 747 was the first to have modern directional technology available again– descending from 37,000 feet and using the frequencies located on the radios from as far as 900 miles out over the North Atlantic. She landed back at JFK 24 hours after leaving on her first flight for Incirlik Air Force Base to pick up American soldiers. The 747 landed with 650 tired and dirty American soldiers aboard.

They were immediately moved into one of the three modified JFK terminals ready with beds to house 1,000 troops per terminal. The turnaround on the jumbo jet took six hours; she was refueled, prepared, and left empty for her second trip—this time nonstop into Baghdad over 3,600 miles away. She could complete a return trip in a 24-hour window and could refuel in Germany if there was no fuel available in Iraq, or make the entire trip without refueling at all.

Beds, bedding, generators, porta-potties, rations, and clothing were being flown into the three New York airports on a 24-hour basis with every aircraft not assigned to food distribution. Unfortunately, the rations would not be enough to feed the rapidly growing civilian population around the fences as well as the military soldiers, but the transporter piloted by Captain Wong and an extremely tired crew arrived at McGuire on the ninth day; it was off-loaded, refueled, and reloaded with 100,000 meals. The aircraft, with a fresh crew on board, was flown the short distance into JFK. The 747 transporter could lift as much as all the C-130s together and the 130s were rediverted into other bases once the food supplies became low at McGuire.

Nobody knew the exact date of the attack on New York Harbor– Zedong Electronics hadn’t made it official yet—but Carlos and his 30-year old computer could see any attacking sea force as soon as the ships came into view. The Chinese satellites were much higher up. They did not have telephoto or zoom camera lenses and he tried as hard as he could but he could not see any ships on the screens from their far more modern digital download footage. The view from Navistar P was far better, and he believed that he could see a large ship sail into the 175-mile view around the United States.

Carlos had brought the satellite 100 miles lower over the United States to get a better view, and he tried hard to see the incoming 747, but it was still too small for such an old screen. None of the American aircraft used their transponders in case they could still be seen from wherever the Zedong Electronics personnel were viewing the screens. He did not know that the blowing up of the building in Nanjing had made the enemy virtually blind. Nobody on that side had thought to upgrade any of the satellite receiving equipment on the ships and the pictures they were seeing were about the same quality Carlos was viewing.

The Chinese electricians had always expected to have a direct HD-feed in from headquarters, but now they relied on the lesser quality equipment aboard the naval ships by pointing their dishes at the nearest satellite location. They had also lost control of the three satellites. Lee Wang and Carlos now controlled them after cracking the communication codes imbedded in them.

Once the main communication from the Headquarters buildings had been terminated as a result of General Allen’s bombardment, the three-satellite system in space had asked for continued control directions. And, after two days of work, Carlos and Lee had finally cracked the codes to take over control of the satellites.

New York Harbor hadn’t been repaired yet. The 200 engineers were still working on getting the airports ready, but there was a growing operation to the south. Dozens of old bulldozers from all the naval bases between Norfolk, Virginia and New York were beginning to clear the scrap metal of broken trucks and cars off I-95.

General Allen had met with Vice Admiral Rogers twice since the beginning of the year, and just before the general’s trip around the world. The vice admiral, a little embarrassed about how few ships the U.S. Navy could get operational, had offered up his Navy Seals and any naval motorized vehicles he could get mobile. The Norfolk Naval Station started work immediately, and had already cleared 20 miles of the northbound strip of I-95 highway beginning on the southern Virginia border. He had also communicated with several of the Naval bases further north, and a dozen northbound clearance operations started on the 8th day of the year to open the vehicle supply route from the south.

This was going to help the convoys like Colonel Grady, now leaving Fort Bragg and stopping next in Apex, North Carolina. Preston was in for a shock—he had a couple of visitors coming to visit.

*****

The President of the United States was helping out as much as he was allowed to by his bodyguards in the business of distributing food in the neighboring states. The only aircraft he was allowed to catch a ride in was Lady Dandy, currently on her third flight into a small town of 2,000 people just across the North Carolina border in Tennessee.

All six of the aircraft had worked hard for the last two days—Lady Dandy, Sally’s Pilatus, the FedEx Cargomaster, the 210, and the two Cessna 172s—and it was on the evening of the ninth day when everybody met up again at Preston’s airport.

They all flew in just before dusk after each completing three flights out of Pope and Seymour Johnson. That day alone, over 2,900 more people had been delivered a two-week supply of food, and it was time for a cold Yuengling for everybody. Cold brown bottles were being popped everywhere. Even the president had a couple in his hand, one for him and one for his tired wife, when Preston got a radio call from the guard at his gate. A Colonel Grady from Alabama was there at the gate wanting to visit, and hundreds of military vehicles were waiting in a line for miles down the road behind him.

“Let him in,” replied Preston. “Nobody is flying in tonight. I’ll disconnect the lights. Tell them to drive in and park next to each other along the length of the runway. It will be easy for them to get out in the morning.”

One-by-one, the large trucks towing the howitzers drove in and were directed by Air Force soldiers. They drove along the runway towards the south end, turned in, and parked across the width of the tarmac.

It took 30 minutes, but finally the whole length of the 2,700 foot runway was full of hundreds of vehicles facing the house and hangar. It was a powerful sight in the setting sun.

The aircraft in the hangar were being pulled outside with the tractor so that as many of the 800 plus men who had arrived could sleep on their field mattresses on the cement in the warmer building. It wasn’t summer, or even spring yet! The doors had been opened several times that day, but 50 degrees was better than the 30-degree temperature outside, the beer was reasonably cold, and the hangar would soon heat up with all the bodies arriving.

The three dozen porta-potties were still at the airfield and would now come in handy. They were in a line behind the old red barn, now full to the brim with ammo and other military supplies ready for any more attacks. Many of the Air Force troops had already shipped out with the C-130s to several locations, and there was now only the minimum guard of 30 soldiers and Captain Pierce protecting the farm.

Colonel Grady came over to shake Preston’s hand and got the shock of his life when the U.S. President and his whole family came out of the hangar to wonder at the massive amount of Army vehicles, which had just arrived.

“Is he…… the real…..?” Colonel Grady asked, his hand frozen in Preston’s and his mouth open as the president walked up to the growing group of men as if he owned the place.

“Attention!” shouted the colonel, and every single man who was moving stood to attention and saluted in the direction of the president.

“At ease, gentlemen,” the president shouted, smiling as he and the First Family came over to greet the colonel. “It’s good to see that the U.S. Army still has some fire power,” the president said to the colonel, shaking his hand.

“It’s not much yet, Mr. President, sir, but we are growing in size with every army barracks we visit. Your official letter sure helps the commanders get their act together,” he drawled in his very southern accent. “This is just the vanguard of our total forces. I didn’t want to wait for the colonel at Bragg. He’s 24 hours behind us and I left 400 men to help him prepare for travel. He has the same amount of these older troop carriers we have here. We have also cleared the road up to here from Fayetteville, and he’ll catch up with us once he gets on I-95.”

“Good news, Colonel,” said Preston. “The Navy had dozens of bulldozers on the northbound side of I-95 and they are clearing a lot of highway miles per day. You are going to have to use your bulldozers to clear up to the North Carolina-Virginia border and then it should be plain driving from there. They have squads all the way north to New York. Over a dozen naval stations are clearing a path for you.”

“That will help us get there a little quicker. I thought the Navy used boats, not bulldozers,” laughed the colonel. “Preston, we all have MREs with us and the men can sleep next to the vehicles tonight.”

“How many do you have here tonight, Colonel?” Preston asked.

“Just over 800 men,” Colonel Grady replied.

“If you set up your guard positions,” continued Preston, “I’m sure most of the men can sleep in the warmer hangar tonight. There should be enough room if they bed down in lines and the best part is that we have enough beer to go around—at least two beers per man, as long as you allow them to have a couple of drinks, Colonel.”

“I’m sure the men will appreciate that, Preston, Mr. President, but we don’t want to take all your stocks,” Colonel Grady replied.

“We already had enough here and then the Air Force brought in a pallet of beers. Actually, you guys are drinking on the hospitality of the U.S. Air Force tonight, Colonel,” replied Preston.

“Well, if that’s the case, I’m sure my men could easily stomach a few Air Force beers.”

“What do we have here, Colonel Grady?” the president asked, looking over the long line of vehicles and still holding his first beer in his hand.

“Oh yes! Mr. President let me give you a tour. Let us walk.”

The colonel ordered the men to form up and continued talking to the president while his soldiers got into formation in front of their vehicles. “Preston, we have grown since you and I first met in Alabama two days ago. This group is the vanguard, or the lead group. You told me to get up there as fast as possible and that’s why we are here. We now have 22 155mm howitzers and 28 105mm howitzers, all pulled by those trucks at the southern end of the runway.” The colonel showed the walking group the first 50 large trucks with the large howitzers towed behind them. They had now been joined by everybody on the farm, including Joe and David, who had heard the racket.

Introductions were again made, and the colonel continued walking down the long line with men in formation saluting the president as he came up to each group of men. The First Family was excited to meet as many of the troops as they could, and Preston was handed the president’s beer so that he could give a return salute to the troops.

“Colonel Smith at Bragg is getting another six 155mm howitzers behind six of his trucks—all museum pieces and as bad as mine– and he has two old M-103 heavy tanks still on their original tractor trailers. They are beauties, Mr. President. They have the bigger 120mm guns with armor-piercing projectiles. Seventy of their projectiles are armor-piercing, and he also has two operational older M1 Abrams with the smaller 105mm guns. Unfortunately, their tractor trailers don’t work and the Abrams are going to have to get up there under their own steam. So far, we have a total of 189 troop carriers, nine fuel tankers, and 15 old jeeps, of which eight are Mutts. The Mutts have TOW missiles, anti-tank and armor penetration to about five or more inches with ‘normal’ armor. ‘Hardened armor’ is another matter, but the TOWs don’t mind if they hit tanks or ships– they will just go where they are aimed. Then we have 27 old trucks, of which several used to be garbage trucks and are now carrying ammunition. Then we have 15 ammunition-filled trucks pulling large 88mm mortars, one rocket launcher vehicle (post Vietnam-war), and a hospital tractor trailer.

“That’s 230 trucks standing in front of you, and another 120 getting mobile. There are another 2,200 men ready to move in from Fort Bragg, but they are still searching for enough vehicles to transport them. The Fort Bragg commander is filling another five 10-ton dump trucks with all types of guns, ammo, mortars, flares, and all sorts of nasty surprises for anybody wanting to attack us. He has another couple of fuel tankers he will need refueling bases along I-95 every 100 highway miles or so. Mr. President, we have built a small army, and we have enough firepower to sink anything that gets within three miles of the U.S. shoreline.”

“I believe you, Colonel,” laughed the president, impressed at the 30-year old vintage trucks with the extremely modern-looking soldiers standing in front of them. The picture just didn’t look right, but at this stage who cared.

The night grew cold, but the hangar was warm. Much of the snacks from Preston’s large stocks had already been handed out to the soldiers—chocolate bars, packs of jerky, several bags of peanuts and potato chips, as well as 200 cases of all types of beer, much from the gas station’s supplies Joe had bought. A line was formed, and each soldier received three cold beers each, enough to have a party.

*****

Mo Wang was still baffled as to why the plan was not going according to what the Politburo had expected. The chairman, he had realized, had been blinded by his own sense of power and that he could not handle a disruption in his power breakdown. Mo was quite shocked that the man who had designed this master plan could not accept that things could, or would go wrong. Mo knew little about the unwinding of the master plan, but he tried to work out the possibilities.

First, the termination squads in North Carolina disappeared. The same little airport which seemed to be in the middle of the turmoil was attacked for the second time, and 200 of his best troops suddenly stopped communicating with their satellite phones. Then, this voice is heard, this voice of Lee Wang who says he is Bo Lee Tang from the past, which leads him into a false sense of security. Then the Headquarters Building in Nanjing is bombed, with aircraft coming out of nowhere.

Mo thought about the situation for a long time, but could not piece the little airport in North Carolina together with the bombing in Nanjing. There was no way a little airplane out of a little airport in America could suddenly fly across the world and accurately bomb a building several thousand miles away, with no method of communication and no directional satellites to lead it precisely into an attack. Then it hit him hard!

“Somehow they were using Zedong Electronics’ satellite system to direct some special type of aircraft across the planet. That’s why nobody speaks to me,” he suddenly realized. “They are using code to speak on our captured satellite phones to each other. Lee Wang pops up from nowhere, the squad sent in has not terminated him, and he joined forces with somebody who can fly aircraft across the world.” It was the only explanation Mo Wang could come up with.

“Somehow how they have cut into the continuous feed coming from the three satellites ….” and then the big one hit him. “If they are seeing everything the satellites can see, they could be tracking our ships and our attack force. They know we are coming and they will be ready for us with a far bigger force than we expect!”

For the rest of the day and well into the night on the second full day aboard the aircraft carrier he pondered the situation and what he could do about it. He slowly pieced together parts of what had actually happened, in the same way Carlos and Lee Wang had done days earlier. Mo managed to get through to 15 of the termination squads, now in convoy and still on their way across America from the West Coast. He warned them about a possible surprise attack against them, and that they should be careful when they entered New York. He wanted them to get into position and survey the airports, reporting back to him what they found at the three airports, and then check out the harbor.

It was now dawn on the third day aboard the aircraft carrier, and the convoy was in the middle of the Pacific—1,000 miles from China and halfway to reaching the Panama Canal where resupply ships were waiting to refuel and restock the ships and men on board. From there, they would set sail for the final part of the journey into New York Harbor, now only 11 days away. Something had to be done, and he bravely went up on deck as the sun climbed into the empty horizon. There was nothing visible apart from the ships around them sailing at 18 knots, and he knew what he had to do.

The sun was fully over the horizon 20 minutes later when he went in search of the chairman’s rooms. He had wanted to view the sun rise, an hour ahead of Shanghai, since it could be his last.

He knocked and was surprised to find the chairman dressed and having a breakfast of tea, noodles, and strips of fried pork.

“Come in, Wang, I’ll get some breakfast and tea ordered for you,” the chairman stated when he saw who was at the door. “It looks like you have been up all night.”

“Yes, Comrade Chairman. I have been trying to work out what has happened around the world in the last couple of days,” Wang replied bowing and entering the large set of rooms behind the portly chairman.

“Well, I suppose I’d better hear your results of a full night of thinking,” the chairman replied, showing Wang a chair at the table and ordering his man-servant to get breakfast for his guest. “It is so nice to get up one hour earlier, thinking that one is refreshed and fully awake while others in Shanghai are still asleep or trying to get the drowsiness out of their systems.”

Over breakfast, Mo Wang told the chairman his worst fears, everything he believed could have happened in America– Lee Wang, the satellite phones, the satellites they had lost control of, which he believed were now controlled by the Americans. He had been speaking for 20 minutes when the chairman’s own satellite phone rang. He picked it up off the dining table and answered it.

He listened for several seconds and then Wang saw the chairman’s face go red as he replied angrily into the phone. “What do you mean that I should have a nice flight into Beijing, Colonel Wee? Have you lost your marbles or something? I’m not at Pudong Airport. I’m here on our aircraft carrier 1,000 miles away from Shanghai. What do you mean that a man like me is dressed and entering an aircraft! That’s not me! That’s an imposter! Send out the guard and stop any aircraft from taking off. Go upstairs to the control tower and find out who the men are that spoke to the traffic controllers! Do it now, Colonel Wee, or you will be reverted to a private, you stupid man!” he shouted into the phone. “Somebody is trying to steal our aircraft in Shanghai,” the chairman stated to Wang. “Do you hear that? Imbeciles are trying to steal our troop aircraft!”

“It must be the same Americans who have been causing our problems,” answered Mo Wang. “I have all the termination squads heading for New York to find out the truth at the Kennedy Airport, what happened there, and what happened to our passenger aircraft that supposedly went down with engine failure.”

“You and those damn Americans!” replied the chairman angrily. “Those stupid Americans are not worth worrying about. They have always been the most stupid people on this planet and I promise you, Comrade Wang, they are not clever enough to beat an attack from me, which has been thirty years in the making. They couldn’t even win their wars in Vietnam, Iraq, Somalia, or Afghanistan, and how many more! They have actually never won a war, unless you consider their Civil War a war. Wang, I’m sick of your stories about Americans. America is the most useless nation I have ever known! They always push their beliefs and views into every other country’s daily life and blend reality with their Hollywood-film rubbish. America, its politics, and its people are nothing more than a massive wave of insecurity, totally destroying themselves with fake beliefs and their fake lives of plenty. I’m doing the survivors of America a favor by taking them over. First, I’m going to turn every American into a hard working slave—a slave who will wish for nothing more than to have died when we turned out their lights.”

The chairman stopped. He was trying to catch his breath. His anger was getting away from him and he sat down and wiped his brow. “Nothing in my whole life has ever gone wrong. Why would it go wrong now?” he thought.

“I bet that when Colonel Wee returns, he will tell me who the real antagonists against Zedong Electronics are and that they are going to pay for their atrocities against me and my powerful new order. Believe me, Comrade Wang, they are going to pay.”

The phone rang again, and the chairman answered, listening for several seconds. Wang heard an explosion come from the phone’s speaker and a voice shouting at the other end—something about the men being Chinese infiltrators. They had spoken fluent Chinese and he had even seen the eyes of two of them as they passed him going down the stairs, and that aircraft with propellers were attacking the airport while the big jets were taking off. Suddenly, there was a high-pitched scream and another very loud explosion and the phone must have gone dead in the chairman’s hand. He threw it hard against the wall and it broke into several pieces.

Wearily, the chairman sat down, poured himself and Comrade Wang a fresh cup of tea, and shouted several orders to the two guards standing in the room. They disappeared and returned several minutes later carrying a red consul– a new one this time, with four bright red buttons under locked glass, much like the last and fifth button he had pushed a couple of days earlier on the first consul which still stood on the table.

Breakfast was important, and the chairman spent the next couple of minutes enjoying his breakfast before he spoke another word. Comrade Wang could only sit there, uncomfortable, and eat his own breakfast. A man must be allowed to think.

“You see, Comrade Wang….” the chairman continued as he finished his meal. Wang could see that the phone call had taken away his energy. “You see, Wang, the Americans are too stupid to be a force against us. It was Chinese infiltrators, not Americans. I have always been prepared for attacks against us and knew in my heart that our Chinese government would be the ones to let us down. I am prepared for every occasion.”

“Chinese attackers?” asked Mo Wang in shock.

“Yes, Wang, the only nation as intelligent as Zedong Electronics…. and a nation about to die,” the chairman replied, looking at the man as if he were stupid.

The chairman shouted for a new phone and continued speaking while one was found in another room. “Everything is preparation for people trying to stop me. I’ve spent 30 years and much money making sure that my plan doesn’t fail. I’m now going to tell the rest of our aircraft to take off out of Shanghai. Our position there is compromised and I have always had a backup airport ready for this, you know, you have often been there—Harbin Airport in one of the most northern cities in China. I really wanted a second base in the city of Sanya, further south of Shanghai and our most southern city, but any flight directly into New York from Sanya Airport was too far, even for our most advanced 747 and even the Airbus aircraft. So I chose Harbin in our north western territory—very cold in winter but closer to America and far away from Beijing, Guangzhou, Hong Kong and Taipei in Taiwan, where in a few hours they are going to feel my wrath. From our new airport, flying time to New York is shorter by two hours for our troops. We only need one flight of troops, because I honestly believe we don’t need any more. They will fly from Harbin to New York 24 hours before we arrive. Comrade Wang, I bet you my life that we will see no Americans in New York other than women and children begging for food and ready to become Chinese citizens to get a free meal.”

It only took minutes for the men to find a new phone, and it arrived quickly. The chairman made just one call. It was back to the airport, and he talked with someone new. He gave orders for all remaining aircraft to take off immediately, as full of the most elite troops available, and leave everyone else behind. He got angry when he was told that he had only 20 aircraft left. The Chinese pilots had stolen 12, three had been blown up, and the transporter was one of the missing aircraft. It had already been 30 minutes since the attack had begun, and he told his contact at the airport, somebody Wang didn’t know, that they had three hours to get the aircraft onto the ground in Harbin, otherwise their aircraft could fall out of the sky. “Exactly three hours!” he stated into the phone, looking at his watch and explaining to the man on the other end that they had 30 minutes to get out of Shanghai because flying time to Harbin was two hours and that the deadline gave them 30 more minutes to get back on the ground.

“I want three hours of time so that those thieves can fly those stolen aircraft into Beijing,” he stated to Wang as he put the phone down. “They are certainly going to get a shock.”

Wang thought he knew what was about to happen, and he felt sick. He felt sick because he had spent his life helping this mad man, this crazy communist, as crazy as his father before him. The Chunqiao family had spent their lives trying to destroy everything others had tried to build. His father had tried to destroy the world Mao Zee Tung had built 40 years earlier. Now this man, the son of Chunqiao, was doing his best to destroy the world—not only the whole world, but all of Chinese history, thousands of years of advanced history—a nation that had always been in the forefront of progress.

He felt sick inside, but still smiled at the man and begged to leave. With a motion from his right arm, the chairman dismissed Wang. He had already forgotten about the story Wang had told him and from now on he would only listen to his own ideas. He had never understood why he had to listen to anybody else. “Comrade Wang, what a waste of time,” Chairman Chunqiao thought to himself as Wang walked out of the room and back up on deck. Comrade Wang did not feel well.

*****

General Allen felt worried for the first time. He had achieved his main plan of not deserting the deployed American troops, especially on the front lines in the Middle East. There was not much more he could do for the civilians back home. Preston and his team would sort and help as many of the remaining population as possible.

General Pete Allen was a military man—a person who understood war and combat—not feeding millions of starving people. To date, he had achieved much and was satisfied with his team’s accomplishments. They had taken the attack to the enemy. Thanks to Carlos and Lee Wang, the United States had communications with many parts of the world, and the Russian and Chinese governments now knew that it wasn’t America that had carried out this ghastly deed.

Pete Allen also realized that the world, totally dependent on its desperate need for all types of electronics to run, was literally on its knees, and millions more were going to die long before modern civilization got back on its feet. The whole of the world’s civilization had been pushed back to before the Industrial Age—more than a hundred years earlier.

It was going to take time, probably decades, before all the First World countries became First World countries again. All the First World countries were now Third World countries, and he realized that all the poor people in Third World countries, and who had existed last year, depending on free food supplies from other countries, would now die or at least drop their population numbers to those few who could survive this catastrophe—not many, but maybe enough to survive as a nation, or a nationality.

Zedong Electronics had certainly done a number on the world, certainly turning civilization back and maybe it was a good thing. Maybe it was a good thing to learn from, maybe to re-write society so that it didn’t depend on the stupid ideas of war and greed and electronic trinkets that had been plaguing civilization as a whole.

He had one more stop in Beijing to hand over the cell phones for American and international communications with China. He would refuel there and, as a captain leaving a sinking ship, his would be the last of the flying aircraft to land in Turkey. There he would gather every aircraft and all the military personnel he could and get them to New York to repel Zedong Electronics’ first and only attack on the United States. Once this attack was thwarted, he reckoned that they would run out of steam and be unable to launch another one. If they believed that America was such an easy push over in terms of invasion, then they would be in for a shock. That could also mean that maybe their top brass were on board the ships or aircraft coming in and it would be necessary to destroy every uninvited guest trying to put their feet onto American soil. He remembered the area around the entrance to New York, and for the next two hours as they flew onto Beijing, he designed a plan of defense around New York Harbor.