Текст книги "The Battle for New York"

Автор книги: T. I. Wade

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

He was 30 minutes out of Beijing when he called Colonel Patterson who was on his way to Elmendorf in Alaska. The large group of 747s were currently cruising at 38,000 feet, 1,500 miles west of Shanghai, and would be leaving Chinese air space in just over an hour, heading north of Pakistan and into Turkey. They were on a fast cruise and were five hours away from the Incirlik Air Force Base in Turkey.

General Allen spent the next 20 minutes talking to Patterson and outlining the plan of defense he wanted set up as soon as Colonel Patterson arrived back in New York. The colonel was ordered to take the first C-130 out of McGuire and set up the defense plan in New York Harbor so that men and arms were moving before General Allen got back in an estimated two days. The general wanted to head into Baghdad and Kabul and organize the troop extractions himself. He wanted to find all the Special Forces—Seal Team Six was out there somewhere—and he wanted them in New York ASAP. He wanted every aircraft full to the brim with troops out of Turkey, clearing the base and country of all active American personnel and, in one sweep, fly them into the three New York airports.

They would deposit their cargos and then return straight back to Baghdad on alternate days to do the same until Iraq was totally clear of troops. On the other days, the fleet would fly into Kabul and transfer all U.S. military and civilian personnel out of Afghanistan.

Then General Allen spent ten minutes describing the best way to defend New York Harbor against an air or naval attack. He had detailed such a plan decades earlier when he was a major in the Air Force. The then Major Allen had been given the task of defending New York as a scenario against a possible attack from Cuba around The Bay of Pigs timeframe.

He had just finished explaining his plan to Patterson when the pilot told the general they were five minutes out and the weather was clear and the sun bright but cold.

The landing was normal. The same runway had been cleared and the pilot had actually communicated on the radio with the airport tower ten minutes before they arrived over the vast city.

Chapter 16

The Lull before the Storm

The Chinese radio controller in Beijing stated in bad English that government officials were being driven to the airport and that they would be another half an hour. Before the lonely Ghost Rider landed, General Allen called the other aircraft to check on their progress while his crew got ready. The temperature outside was well below freezing, but the sunlight was nice to see as he looked through the cockpit windows.

Blue Moon, Lazy Girl, and the tanker were three hours out of Omsk and about to enter Mongolia. All the Russian and restored U.S. radio beacons were working well and they were on track. The transporter was well on her way and about to enter Alaskan air space.

Now he had to have this meeting and then get back to what he wanted to do—move the troops back home.

It was nearly 30 minutes before the same three limousines arrived, flags flying. They were escorted by military jeeps in front and behind the cavalcade. The same three men got out, each with an interpreter, and they gathered in a group around the middle vehicle. Pete Allen walked up to them and gave each man a satellite phone. He also gave them the numbers of the phone, explained that the red number on each phone would dial the enemy, and gave them a short list of only five other phone numbers—the U.S. President’s, his, and the three numbers on their way to the Russian government.

The Chinese delegation thanked the general, got into their cars, and much to his relief, drove off in the same way they had come in. Once again, he was left alone at the international airport, which was desolate and empty except for a few newspapers and candy wrappers rolling by in the wind.

Refueling took another ten minutes, and the crew made sure that the tanks were as full as possible, since the next stretch to Omsk was only 50 miles shorter than Ghost Rider’s longest fuel range before she had to switch to reserve tanks, and those only gave her another 45 minutes of flight. It was going to be tight.

He looked around and went for a short walk while the crew got everything stashed away. He realized for the first time that all of the airport terminal slots were actually full of aircraft, whereas at the U.S. airports they had been mostly empty. He looked around a little closer and realized that there were hundreds of aircraft—mostly Chinese airlines at the terminals. From where he stood, he could see well over 70 aircraft and he realized why the 747s in Shanghai had been parked in a line and easily stolen. There were hundreds of aircraft everywhere.

They hadn’t lost hundreds of aircraft in the air. The Chinese aircraft were all on the ground when the lights went out. They must have been warned by Zedong Electronics. Pete suddenly felt like he was in a trap. He immediately walked over to the nearest aircraft—the older 747 with China Airlines on its tail he had entered on his last visit. It was as dead and empty as the last time he’d been in it. He just wanted to make sure, and this time he checked all the electronic switches he could in the cockpit. It would never fly again.

He checked the galleys where the cabin attendants made drinks and food and discovered that the smell wasn’t good. There were meals rotting in the galleys—meals that had been ready for passengers when they boarded. That foxed him. It looked like the aircraft had been grounded just in case there were bad parts on them, which there were, but the aircraft had been made ready for flight once it had been grounded, which meant that somebody was expecting to fly it again once the emergency was over.

That somebody had not told these airlines the complete story, or the Chinese government had been lied to, expecting their aircraft to return to the skies once the emergency was over. The galley was full of miniatures of whiskey—good whiskey—and he opened one, reckoning that he deserved a drink, knocked one down, and helped himself to several more before he went to check the next aircraft.

The second plane, also an older 747, was in the same condition, and he realized that the Chinese government was totally in the dark about what was happening, just like America, and he hadn’t meant it to be a pun. He suddenly felt cold shivers down his spine, knocked back a second whiskey, got out of the aircraft fast, and ran over to Ghost Rider which was ready with her first engine already winding up.

General Allen immediately got on the phone to Carlos, who he woke up, and told him that China had nothing to do with the shutdown of the world, that they were in the same position, and that his second trip here had been to deliver the phones and make sure that it was Zedong Electronics and Zedong Electronics alone that was trying to take over the world.

He continued talking to Carlos throughout take-off, and they climbed into the beautiful dawn sky. He opened his third whiskey, trying to sort out the heaviness in his stomach, gulped it down, and felt its warmth travel through him. He said goodbye to his friend, who was only half awake at McGuire and sat back—the alcohol was starting to take effect.

Ghost Rider, completely full of fuel, climbed through 10,000 feet and headed towards her next stop. The pilot switched over to autopilot, Pete was asleep a couple of minutes later. Neither he, nor the radar screen, would have been fast enough to see, or monitor, the Pakistani-made, Zedong Electronics Shaheen (White Falcon) III ballistic missile 100,000 feet above them, already in a vertical dive at Mach 3 straight towards Tiananmen Square in the center of Beijing. Its powerful nuclear warhead exploded several seconds later at 1,000 feet above ground five miles away, exactly over where the famous hero of Tiananmen Square had stood in front of a tank many years earlier.

Air Force General Pete Allen never felt a thing.

*****

The members of the Politburo were not present when Comrade Mo Wang entered the board room on the aircraft carrier. He had been summoned by the chairman a couple of hours after he had left the stateroom earlier that morning.

“Comrade Wang, sit down. I wanted company on this important day, the day I mark our dynasty on the map by taking the life of another dynasty so that we may flourish. This is my choice as Chairman of the New World, and I make this unfortunate decision alone so that I may bear the blame if it is the wrong one.”

Wang noticed that he, the chairman, and the chairman’s two guards were the only people in the room. The new console with the four red buttons he had seen earlier was on the table and the chairman’s fingers were playing with them.

“These buttons cost me a fortune with Pakistan. Wang, do you know what these buttons are?” he asked the man sitting at the other end of the boardroom table.

“I will assume that they are buttons of mass destruction, Comrade Chairman,” Comrade Wang replied, knowing that at the very least these were not buttons of peace. For a split second, he looked directly at the chairman, who had not an ounce of emotion on his face and was looking intently at Wang. It was at that moment that Wang wanted to kill him—he wanted to destroy this madman who considered himself the first ruler of the New World Dynasty.

“Guards, make sure Comrade Wang does not move from his seat. I think he wants to harm me.” The guards moved towards Comrade Wang, weapons at the ready. “Cousin Mo Jo Wang, I dedicate this first rocket to all the Chinese dynasties that came before mine. May they live in eternal peace,” and he pressed the first button. “The missile silos were built in my secret headquarters in Harbin, where all the aircraft have flown to,” he added. The chairman then pressed the second button and then the third.

“May I ask what terror you have now unleashed on the world, Comrade Chairman?” asked Wang, knowing that he didn’t really want to know.

“Of course, Comrade Wang. The first is a nuclear warhead on a Pakistani missile, one of four I purchased a couple of years ago with the promise that I wouldn’t shut their country down when the time came.”

“But you did shut them down, Comrade Chairman,” interrupted Wang.

“Correct,” replied the chairman. “But I didn’t shut them down when I shut down America. And I never told them how much time I would give them. I thought that one extra day per rocket was a good deal for both sides. The first missile will wipe out all of Beijing, and the surrounding area for at least 100 miles around Tiananmen Square. The second missile will completely wipe out our arch enemy Taiwan, and the third is going in between Hong Kong and our third largest city of Guangzhou, where our family has had many enemies for the last century. The fourth missile is for Shanghai and it will not be used until we have all our troops out of Shanghai. I’m transferring all our troops into Harbin as of later today. Within 15 minutes, those first three areas will be totally destroyed.”

“But you just sentenced 50 million people to death!” replied Wang, now shocked to the core.

“Yes, people who have turned against me and my dynasty. People who would not take orders from me, but now will come and kiss my feet for mercy. Many of them were going to die from the cold and lack of food in the coming weeks anyway. All I’ve done is end their misery earlier. It is also just a small part of our Great China, and the greatest people of China are the farmers and landowners who will begin to feed our people in the spring when the growing season comes. And Wang, 50 million people is a small number of people compared to our overall plan and the numbers that have already died in North America, Europe, and Russia. I don’t really need more than a billion people serving me and my Politburo and the fewer people there are on earth, the less chance I have of them rising up against me in the century to come.”

“When will all this killing of innocent people end?” asked Wang, sick to his stomach.

“When I say it does!” the chairman shouted. “When I rule America and the rest of the World! And, when the world lives in accordance to the regime The Group of Four wanted in China a half century ago in accordance with my father’s wishes. That’s when, Wang. Now go away and start preparing for the attack on America. We have ten days to get everything ready.”

They were too far away to see or hear the explosions, but ocean swells larger than normal brushed against the ships several hours later. Wang did not know what to do. He was powerless to try anything brash, and he looked down at the water trying to figure out how everybody had been so enthusiastic at the beginning, and whether all in the Politburo would still be as enthusiastic as they were in the beginning if they had witnessed what he had just witnessed. Humans were obviously not as civilized as they thought they were, and if death and destruction was the only thing consuming mankind, then this world was not fit for humans to survive.

*****

Carlos, wakened by the general, was watching his simple screen half awake when he heard electronic chatter coming in from the satellite feed. Something was going on. The satellites were directing something. They seemed to have a new line of input data coming from this new location and he was powerless to do anything. He looked at the information coming in. The three satellites were directing more than one object out of North China, and suddenly he knew what they were.

“Oh, my God!” he said to Sally, still in bed sleeping. She came to life sleepily. “What is it, Carlos?” she asked, watching as his face went white in front of the screen.

“I think the satellites are directing in missiles,” he replied. “Where?” she asked, sitting up and suddenly wide awake.

“They could be anywhere. I can’t see them, and the only thing I can see is the transponders from the 130s going into Russia and General Allen’s leaving Beijing.”

Oh, my God!” he said again, and this time Sally wrapped the blanket around her went to stand next to Carlos. His face lit up slightly several minutes later as the screen showed a brilliant blast of light larger than the size of a pinhead. “Some sort of missile has detonated in Beijing, right on top of Ghost Rider. It must be a nuclear warhead with a light that strong!”

“Somebody is blowing up Beijing with a nuclear bomb?” asked Sally.

“Not just one,” replied Carlos, the satellite feed shows multiple missiles. “They could be coming straight here for all we know, if they are intercontinental or ICBMs.”

“The general was in Beijing?” asked Sally.

“Yes, he had just taken off from there. He would have been less than 20 miles from the blast. Enough to disintegrate Ghost Rider, and the shock wave would have turned Ghost Rider into confetti.”

“Ghost Rider… General Allen… is gone?” she asked.

“Looks like it,” Carlos replied. “Try and call his number. Oh! There’s a second blast, right on top of Taipei in Taiwan. Somebody is bombing China, Sally. And there’s a third one, just north of Hong Kong. That’s three nuclear explosions in three minutes!”

Sally phoned the general’s number and all she got was a busy signal. She tried again and again, until after the fifth time, she stopped and put the phone down. Carlos picked up the phone and called the President of the United States, who was still asleep down at Preston’s farm.

“Did you see where the missiles came from?” was the first question the president asked Carlos.

“I could tell by the feed that the missiles had come out of north China. It will take me a day or so to get the exact longitude and latitude from the directional computations that have been recording on the computer. We set that up yesterday. If it’s in code, Lee might be able to decipher it. If he can’t, then the closest I can tell will be within a couple hundred miles. There’s nothing much up there in Northwestern China apart from a few small cities, but we could set up a secondary code telling the computer to deactivate the directional information from its original source as soon as it begins and we might be able to neutralize any more missiles.”

“So what you are saying is that Zedong Electronics, or somebody else in China, is sending nuclear missiles into other areas of their own country?” asked the president.

“Yes, Sir,” Carlos replied.

“And they could have dozens more?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Can we direct our nuclear missiles into this area using the same system they are using?” was the president’s next question.

“Not yet, Sir,” replied Carlos, still stunned at what he had just witnessed—and potentially the beginning of the world’s first nuclear war. He asked Sally to get dressed and fetch Lee from the house he was using on base at McGuire using the jeep given to them. “I will need to write a program, Mr. President. It could take up to a week, and even if Lee and I achieve that, it won’t do any good if we don’t know the approximate location of the missile silos, plus they could have different silos in other areas. We only have half a dozen missiles in our armory.”

The president asked Carlos to keep him posted on any new developments and told Carlos to fetch him and the First Family. He wanted to move to McGuire. Lee arrived several minutes later and nodded when Carlos brought him up-to-date. He was saddened by the possible death of General Allen and asked Carlos if his wife was also on the aircraft. Nobody knew, and it took Carlos two phone calls to find out that Mrs. Wang was in Russian air apace and about to land in Omsk. He was comforted by the fact that Ghost Rider was the only fatality.

“The general must have known that something was about to happen,” said Carlos to Lee and Sally. “Pete always had a good sixth sense and I feel really sad for the loss this country is going to feel—Pete’s friends and so many respected colleagues—when they hear about his death. The country must not forget him. General Allen has almost single-handedly beaten back a massive attack against the world and the United States of America that was 30 years in the making by clever and educated opponents, by out-thinking the opposition, and we still need the general’s luck for the next couple of weeks.”

An hour later, Carlos and Lee were working on new code to send up to the Chinese satellites when Carlos’s satellite phone rang. As everyone usually did, he answered and waited for the caller to say Allen Key. This time, the caller didn’t say the code words, but asked in English to speak to Lee Wang. Carlos put his hand over the receiver.

“Lee, what sounds like a Chinese man wants to speak to you,” Carlos whispered. Lee froze and looked at Carlos for advice. There was no Chinese person who knew where he was and he shrugged his shoulders and said nothing.

“My name is Mo Wang,” said the voice on the other side. “I am an old friend of Lee Wang and I need to speak with him. My number is….” and he gave his number and hung up.

“What should we do?” Lee asked Carlos after hearing what the man had said. “He is the man—you know the one who recruited me and then tried to kill me and my family. He is an old friend, but I won’t ever trust him again.”

“Well, maybe he wants to discuss the upcoming attack and we could find out some information if we play our cards right,” replied Carlos. “Even though they have nuclear weapons, they don’t know that we have some and, like a game of chess, we could overplay our game and tell him we are ready to blow up the rest of their world. It will shock them to hear about our made-up strengths, and maybe they will all go home and dig holes to bury themselves in.”

“You mean bluff them into not attacking us?” asked Lee Wang.

“Why not? We have lost our commander, our queen in chess, and I don’t think we have much more to lose right now. Our element of surprise is running out, I reckon, and I know it’s a secret right now, but its time I told you that we also have nuclear weapons and the president wants you and me to set up an attack similar to what they have done in China. Maybe it’s necessary to attack them with nuclear warheads, but I personally don’t want the war to go that far.”

It took another several minutes before Carlos phoned the number back and immediately heard the same person’s voice on the other end. “Good morning, Mr. Mo Wang,” Carlos spoke into the phone. “My name is Carlos Rodriquez. My uncle is the Colombian Ambassador to the United States and you called me on my phone. I am putting my phone onto speaker phone.”

“You mean one of our phones, Mr. Rodriquez,” the person on the other end replied in perfect English.

“No, actually this has always been my own personnel phone since I purchased it a year ago. I don’t believe this phone ever belonged to you, or your organization, Mr. Wang. Maybe the new parts did, which I had to pirate from one of the phones we captured when your troops attacked ours last week.”

“So, you are in North Carolina, Mr. Rodriquez?” Mo Wang asked.

“No, I’m not, but I was there when we completely wiped out your men, Mr. Wang. And I believe we will do so again and again until you and your company is dead—in about ten days, I believe?” He heard the sound of a grunt of shock on the other side.

“You know where we are?” asked Wang, not believing what he was hearing.

“Of course we do, Mr. Wang. We have our own dozen satellites monitoring your movements right now,” Carlos embellished the truth a bit. “We destroyed your headquarters, most if not all of your troops here on the ground, and we are about to destroy what you have left. Oh, and thank you for your aircraft. They are going to really help us get all our troops back home to await your arrival.”

“You stole our aircraft?” asked Mo Wang, trying to fathom that he had actually been correct all along. “And Lee Wang has helped you find out about us?”

“Yes, we stole your aircraft in preparation for the aircraft you destroyed. And yes, to your second question. Mr. Wang works for me now and his wife is currently in Russia giving their government some of your captured satellite phones and telling the authorities there who is to blame for the destruction of their country. They are free to use our satellites and send over as many nuclear missiles as they wish to destroy your country, as we are about to, and I believe as your group has already started to do a couple of hours ago. It’s going to be a big turkey shoot over there. By the way, Mr. Wang, we asked the Russians not to destroy you. We want that pleasure for ourselves. I just don’t understand why you are destroying your own country.”

“You know about the missile attacks?” Mo Wang then asked, knowing that his chances of a long and fruitful life were now mostly likely in the hands of the Americans, rather than those of the chairman.

“Our satellite feed showed Beijing, Taiwan, and Hong Kong being destroyed by your own missiles coming out of northwestern China—not the United States or Russia—so don’t try and bullshit me, Wang. Your headquarters were destroyed, your satellites can be erased at any time, and if you think you can attack us with your modern weapons with no satellites to guide them, you are very much mistaken. Mr. Wang, we can take you out at a push of a button. If we had known that your organization had nuclear missiles, we would have taken out your three little satellites sooner. A small mistake on our part that cost over 40 million lives, unfortunately– innocent Chinese lives.”

“I am not in control of what is happening,” replied Wang. “The chairman is giving the orders.”

“Should I know his name?” asked Carlos. “Is he important enough for me to know his name? Don’t tell me it is Mao Zee Tung? I won’t believe you, Mr. Wang.”

“His name is Chairman Wang Chunqiao, son of Comrade Chunqiao from the Zedong days of ‘The Group of Four’. Chairman Chunqiao is President and CEO of Zedong Electronics, and my boss,” replied Wang, now not knowing what to do.

“I’m sorry, but his name doesn’t ring a bell. I suggest you hand him your phone when we are finished and tell him to call me when he’s ready to be terminated,” Carlos was having way too much fun. “By the way, this conversation is being recorded and will be sent to the President of the United States, who will decide when to end your attack once and for all,” Carlos continued, winking at Lee. He now had control of the man at the other end, if he didn’t hang up. “Or, we could play back this recording to your Comrade Chairman when we meet with him in a few days. We are ready and looking forward to the introduction. We have been moving hundreds of thousands of troops into your arrival area for days now.”

“What can I do to help you get rid of this madman?” asked Mo Wang, honestly.

“Not much,” replied Carlos, smiling for the first time that day. “Your friend Lee Wang is sitting right next to me and he said not to trust you.”

Suddenly the communication turned into rapid Chinese, Mo Wang talking excitedly to Lee Wang since he realized the phone was on speaker phone.

“I’m very sorry Mr. Mo Wang, but I don’t speak Chinese anymore,” replied Lee sincerely. “I’m an American citizen and you have attacked my country. Not only that, but you tried to kill my family. I am looking forward to being there when the president, a very nice man actually and far better than you and your organization, will press the button to end your life. If you wish to speak with me, you had better continue in English—my Chinese is very bad.”

“Mo Wang, call off your hit squads,” added Carlos angrily. “We are ready for them in New York, Washington, Los Angeles and every city you care to mention. Tell them to disappear and never be heard from or seen again. Tell your chairman that we are ready for him. My buddies are excited about getting into battle with their aircraft, tanks, guns, submarines, ships, helicopters, and believe you me, Mr. Wang, they all itching to get into the action first. Just send the 20 remaining aircraft you have over to us. We want to get our troops back and if not for those aircraft, you would all be dead by now. Oh! By the way, I look forward to meeting you personally in a few days. Look for me. I’ll be one of hundreds of flying fighters, and when we meet, you will hang by the neck until dead, right next to your chairman. Bon voyage, Mr. Wang!” and he hung up.

Carlos put the phone down, his anger dissipating now. At least if the chairman were told of the conversation, or if he was actually listening in and it was a ploy, they wouldn’t be so certain of their survival.

“I don’t think you made Mr. Mo Wang very happy,” suggested Lee, smiling.

“I hope not,” replied Carlos.

*****

It was a fantastic sight, and it certainly raised the morale of everybody there, when on the 11th day, four fully laden 747s flew into each New York airport, disgorging 500 fully armed troops from each aircraft fresh in from Turkey with their gear.

Newark’s cleared runway was ready as the four jumbo jets lined up for their final approaches, coming in from Incirlik Air Force Base. Two thousand troops per airport was the goal General Allen had hoped would be realized. Now they had an even better chance of winning the war, and 11 more flights, or nearly 80,000 troops, could arrive before attack day.

The 747 transporter had arrived several hours earlier, flying in from Alaska. Her electrical component cargo had already been unloaded at McGuire, and she had been refueled to carry a full load of food into JFK.

Using the airport’s fuel generators as back-up and running with new parts, and the central fuel-pumping terminal using the largest airport generator and several smaller military ones all tied together, fuel was once again retrievable from the central aviation fuel location in New Jersey. Now, all three airports could fill the 12 thirsty jets with 64,000 gallons of fuel each and get them airborne with fresh crews five hours after landing. The transporter would need five hours just to be loaded with food and the refueling queue would be back in the air by the time she needed fuel—this time at JFK.

Two thousand new soldiers to feed per airport per day was a big deal, and all three of the airports had brought in cooks and field kitchens so that supplies of any fresh food could be served instead of MREs, at least until it was used up.

Colonel Patterson had received his new insignia, as had Major Wong who had flown the transporter most of the way from Elmendorf in Alaska, after getting some sleep during the 7-hour flight from Shanghai to Alaska. Patterson got a shock that his promotion had already been patched through to the base commander at McGuire, as well as orders from the general that he was to lead the attack in New York.

Everyone had heard about the death of General Allen. After the call to Mo Wang, Carlos had phoned all the numbers necessary to tell them the news about the general’s death. The president had ordered that the nuclear explosions in China be kept from everyone else for the time being.

The remaining incoming troops would be flown into Teterboro, now the busiest airport with C-130s and helicopters going in every few minutes. Once the transporter began airlifting into Teterboro, the C-130 transporters were to go out to the bases and move in troops and any vehicles or guns that could fit into their holds.

Here at Teterboro, General Allen had planned to house 60,000 troops within the first ten days, with the 747s bringing in 6,000 new troops per day. The other three airports were ramping up for another round of 2,000 troops during the second week, and then Newark was to be supplied with as many troops as possible who could walk into the harbor area around New York once they were airlifted into Newark, which was the closet airport to the harbor area.

The airports were up and running, and the 200 Chinese and 200 American engineers were being trucked into New York Harbor daily to repair all electrical cranes, machines or lines for whatever was needed. The Chinese electricians had a master plan and the American engineers just went along with it.