by James Rosone
The rest of people in the restaurant erupted in cheers and applause. They all clinked their beer glasses together.
“Congratulations!” several of them shouted.
Several of them came by to give him a pat on the back and wish the young man well on his upcoming journey. Sheriff Grant’s son had the backing of the entire town, and he knew it.
The community of Lima, Ohio, had really come together after the vicious attack on the General Dynamics Land Factory the year before. The tragedy had struck a chord with everyone there, and no one had been left unaffected; over five hundred people had been killed, and it had taken more than two days to put out the fires from the refinery. Despite all that had happened, everyone had rallied together to support each other in their time of need. They’d even managed to get the plant operational again, and it was successfully churning out main battle tanks off the assembly line just three weeks after the fateful day.
Chapter 15
Deception
Taiwan International Airport
Camp Victory Base Complex
General John Bennet rubbed his temples; he felt another migraine coming on. A jackhammer seemed to be pounding away inside his skull, and each sound seemed amplified, bone-jarring, even. The light overhead burned its way into his head and his vision blurred. He knew he had been pushing his body too much, that he needed to take a break, but men were dying every second of the war.
“If they have to push through their infirmities, then, by God, so will I,” he thought. “They’re counting on me.”
Major General Tony Hyrczyk walked into the general’s office, a Rip It energy drink in one hand, and a couple of pills for the general in the other. Placing the medication and energy drink on the desk next to Bennet, he whispered, “I could tell you’re having another one of those migraines, so I brought you the usual cocktail.”
Bennet looked up at his friend, smiled weakly and nodded. Without hesitation, he grabbed the pills, tossing them down his throat as he popped the top of the energy drink and proceeded to wash them down. Within moments of the sudden rush of caffeine and sugar to his system, his headache had already subsided enough for him to continue on.
“So, what’s the word? Has the PLA taken the bait yet?” Bennet inquired.
“Hook, line, and sinker. It’s working just as you predicted it would,” Hyrczyk replied with a broad smile on his face.
Bennet stood. “I knew this plan would work,” he said, almost managing a smile of his own. “OK, let’s go tell the others of the change in plans. It’s time we got the rest of the team up to speed on our little ruse.”
The two of them left his office and headed down the hall to the operations room, where he found the rest of the Allied generals and military commanders already waiting for him.
General Bennet saw the apprehensive looks on the faces of the military commanders who stood around the briefing table, and he knew exactly why they all looked as they did. Everyone had grown impatient with keeping all their forces in a holding pattern off the Korean coast. He’d already heard someone mutter something about the airborne divisions being held in Taiwan too long.
Lieutenant General Sir Simon Carter of the British contingent was the first to voice his opinion. “General Bennet, I have some serious concerns about launching this invasion. Our forces have been marshaled too close to Qingdao for too long. My own intelligence and reconnaissance groups believe the PLA is more than alert to our plans of invading and securing the ports there. Are we still going to go through with it?” he asked.
“If everyone will please take their seats, we’ll provide you all with an update on Operation Olympus,” Major General Hyrczyk announced.
The generals and admirals dutifully sat down. General Bennet looked at the men and women before him: generals and admirals from Germany, France, Japan, Australia, Poland and Israel. These military leaders represented more than three hundred and forty thousand Allied soldiers, sailors, Marines and airmen that would embark upon the what everyone hoped would be the final major campaign to end the war.
“The invasion of Qingdao…has been an elaborate ruse,” Bennet explained. He waited calmly for the reactions before him. Some were clearly shocked; others appeared angry. A few shook their heads. A couple of them let out a soft snicker, seeming to understand that something else, something bigger, was about to happen.
General Bennet held up his hand. “Before any of you launch your complaints or hurl questions at me, let me explain to you what has taken place. Since the start of the year, we’ve been building a deception campaign to trick the PLA into believing we were going to launch a massive ground invasion at Qingdao. It’s the most logical location for us to invade from the sea as it has several deepwater port facilities and it would give our forces a straight shot at Beijing. Couple that with our offensive operations in northern China, and we’ve been able to make the PLA believe our entire offensive was going to focus on capturing their capital.
“When we invaded Guangdong Province, we kept the other Allies out of that invasion because we wanted to continue the deception that we were still planning on invading Qingdao. That invasion of Guangdong Province has also forced the PLA to send multiple divisions away from Shanghai to stop us from ripping the industrial heartland of southern China apart. Which is perfect, because our real objective is to capture Shanghai and the surrounding area.”
Someone let out a low whistle. General Hyrczyk brought up the real invasion plans on the computer monitors.
Lieutenant General Alfred Guderian, Commander of the German Expeditionary Forces, spoke up. “The Chinese Air Force recently deployed their new advanced unmanned fighter drone. Wasn’t the reason that you Americans attacked Guangdong Province so that you could go after the facilities producing these fighters?” he asked with a quizzical look on his face.
“That is partially correct,” Bennet answered. “The GDP of Guangdong Province is roughly $1.42 trillion US dollars, which means the province contributes approximately 12% of the country’s gross domestic product. However, in terms of military production, the province is responsible for more than 70% of their entire aerospace industry. When Shenyang was destroyed during the first day of the Korean War, the majority of the PLA’s aerospace industry was wiped out, so they expanded the aerospace footprint in Guangdong Province, which is why so much of the industry is concentrated there now.
“So, yes—we did target the province because of their new UAV fighter. However, our attack there was not limited to disrupting that one specific war fighting element. In addition to the increase in aerospace production, a disproportionate amount of the Chinese small-arms munitions is produced in the Guangdong region. The Pentagon planners believed that if we could target key sectors of their military industrial sector, we could begin to create a massive shortage in their war production and potentially end the war sooner,” Bennet explained.
“This makes logical sense, but why shift our focus away from Beijing to focus on Shanghai?” quizzed Brigadier General Sami Barak, the lone Israeli general commanding the Israeli contingent.
General Bennet leaned forward in his chair and made eye contact with General Barak. “Money,” he answered. “Our attack in Guangdong is going to rip their manufacturing heart out, and Shanghai is going to rip their bank away. Without a military manufacturing base to produce the weapons of war, and without a financial sector to support the war, the PLA will have to agree to our terms of surrender.”
Suddenly it all made sense to the generals at the table. The Allies didn’t need to capture Beijing or even large swaths of China. They only needed to take away their ability to make money and produce the weapons needed to wage war. With those two components gone, the PLA would implode in on itself.
“In two weeks, gentlemen, we’ll launch Operation Olympus and end this bloody war,” Bennet said. He signaled for the new orders to be handed out.
Chapter 16
Operation Olympus
Shanghai, China
Pudong International Airport
“Take that machine gun out now!” shouted Sergeant First Class Conrad Price. One of his squad leaders leveled his M240G at the PLA soldiers and let loose a long burst of automatic fire as he stitched up the location they were hiding behind.
Zip, zap, zip, zap. Crack…BOOM.
Gunfire and explosions were still ravaging parts of the Pudong Airport perimeter, and the Ranger companies struggled to secure the area.
“Sergeant Price, we need to get this perimeter pushed out to Airport Avenue Road!” yelled Captain Martinez. “The 82nd is starting to arrive, which means the heavy transports are hot on their heels. Get that parking garage secured!” He waved to the dozens upon dozens of parachutes opening up in long lines across the runways of the major airport.
Turning to his soldiers, Price yelled, “Second Squad, let’s move! Third Squad, lay covering fire!”
Lifting his own rifle to his shoulder, Price took aim at a three-story parking garage maybe 200 meters away and fired off several shots at the PLA soldiers firing at them.
Pop, pop, pop.
Green tracers suddenly flew right at him. He sprinted the ten-meter distance to jump behind an airport utility truck.
Crunch, crack, ding, ding.
Bullets slapped into the metal frame of the vehicle. Price did his best to stay hidden until the gunner moved on to another target. Looking back briefly, he saw strings of green tracers flying out toward the paratroopers who were now covering the horizon in parachutes.
Shifting on his back leg, Price popped his head above the back of the utility truck long enough to see the PLA machine gunner fire another string of rounds at a couple of his other soldiers who were bounding forward from vehicle to vehicle as they steadily got closer. Seeing that the gunner was occupied, Price took this moment to run the forty meters of open ground in front of him to a drainage ditch in front of a side road that led to the parking garage.
Several of his soldiers followed him forward, running with all their gear on like they were trying out for the US Olympic team.
“Ten more meters and we’re there,” he thought. A giant green light flew right for his head.
Snap, snap, snap.
Price nearly tumbled end over end as his body did some sort of acrobatic diving, twisting move into the drainage ditch in a herculean effort to avoid the bullets whipping past his skull. He could feel the heat of the bullets, the air pressure changes with each metal object flying past him. That he didn’t get completely torn apart by them was a complete miracle.
As he struggled to right his body in the ditch, dirt and grass rained down on him and the three soldiers that had made it into the ditch with him. Looking back, he saw one of his soldiers lying on his back, both of his hands pressed tightly against his throat as his legs thrashed around, blood squirting through his fingers with each pulse. In seconds, the soldier stopped moving and his body went limp. Another soldier lay on the grass a few feet away, facedown and clearly dead; blood pooled all around him.
“We’re too exposed out here. We have to get to the base of the parking garage,” Price thought.
Enemy tracer fire shifted from their position to one of his other squads, allowing Price and his two other soldiers to poke their heads above the ditch to see in front of them.
“I think I can hit that position with my 203, Sergeant!” yelled one of the specialists with him. Price glanced down and saw the M203 grenade launcher the soldier had attached to the bottom of his M4.
Price nodded to the soldier. He and the other sergeant with them fired at the PLA soldiers on the third floor of the garage.
Thump…boom.
Thump…BOOM!
“Now! Let’s go, go, go!” yelled Price. He launched himself forward out of the ditch to cross the last thirty meters to the base of the parking garage.
It took them less than a minute to race across the open ground, and they found themselves outside the reach of the enemy soldiers above them. As Price scanned the field behind them, he saw Third Squad was still at their starting location, continuing to lay down covering fire on the enemy positions. One of the fire teams from Second Squad was nearly to them, while First Squad was pinned down halfway between them and the parking garage.
“We need to make our way up the garage and clear it out,” Price said to the two soldiers still with him. They both nodded and the three of them entered the multistory parking garage.
Steadily, they made their way to the stairwell in the south corner of the garage. As they cleared the stairwell, they systematically moved their way up from the ground floor to the second floor. Pausing for a second at the second-floor door, Price could still hear shooting, but it didn’t sound like it was originating from that floor.
They continued up to the third floor. While one Ranger aimed his rifle ahead to the landing, his two buddies moved forward; then the next guy would keep his rifle aimed at the next level while they repeated the process, methodically clearing the stairwell until they reached the top platform and the final door.
Price dropped his magazine and examined it. “Eight rounds left,” he said to himself. He placed the magazine in his drop bag and grabbed a fresh thirty-round mag, slapping it in place.
His other two soldiers took the cue and did the same thing. Then Price reached down and slowly turned the door handle, almost holding his breath as he did it. The other soldiers had expressions on their faces that registered both fear and adrenaline-fueled anger. None of them were sure what was waiting for them on the opposite side of the door.
As he pulled slowly on the doorknob, Price saw a string of cars parked against the outer and inner walls of the parking garage. Toward the far side of the garage, he saw a smoking ruin of a car and a couple of dead bodies.
“That’s what our grenade launcher just hit,” realized Sergeant Price.
Suddenly, they heard the ratatat of a heavy machine gun opening fire, along with several voices shouting in Chinese. A couple of AK-74s joined the chorus of death blasting out to the rest of their platoon mates. Price reached down and grabbed a hand grenade off his IBA and signaled for the others to do so as well. The three of them each now had a grenade in one hand and their rifles in the other. On the count of three, he was going to pull the door all the way open and they would toss their grenades at the remaining PLA soldiers, wait for them to go off, and then charge toward them and finish them off.
“One…two…three…”
Boom, boom, BOOM!
“Now!” Price shouted as he raised his rifle to his shoulder, advancing toward the enemy. He pulled the trigger in single-shot mode, one shot after another. One of the stunned Chinese soldiers who had fallen over from the blast reached for his sidearm just as Price rounded the corner on him, leveling his rifle and pulling the trigger three times—two shots to the chest, and one to the head. Seeing that these PLA soldiers were wearing body armor, it was a good thing he had gone for the headshot.
“Clear!” yelled the specialist who had the grenade launcher.
“Clear!” yelled his other sergeant right before he fired a single shot. “OK, clear now,” he clarified as he walked around a shot-up Mercedes-Benz.
“All clear,” echoed Price as he pulled a purple smoke grenade from his IBA. He pulled the pin and tossed it further down the row of cars away from them. He wanted to signal the rest of the platoon that they had taken out the enemy position, so they wouldn’t accidentally shoot them.
A crackle came over the radio, intermixed with static. “Price, is that your smoke?” called Captain Martinez.
“What color do you see?” he quickly replied. They kicked away the weapons from bodies of the dead enemy soldiers.
“Purple.”
“That’s us. It’s all clear,” Price answered. “Send the rest of the platoon over. We can set up our machine guns on the opposite side as we continue to push the perimeter out. We should use this structure as a stronghold, just like the PLA did to us.”
A few minutes late
r, the other squads of their platoon began to filter into the garage. One of the squads set up on the ground floor, pushing some of the cars to block the various entrances to the garage, acting as barricades. A different squad set up a machine-gun position in each of the corners of the west side of the garage as well as one facing the north side. The next squad did the same on the third floor while their lone sniper team found a way up to the roof to set up their perch.
With their position firmly established, the other platoons of their company advanced past them to their right and left flanks, securing the final perimeter positions. They’d stay put now until the 82nd Airborne bubbas got themselves organized and relieved them. Once that happened, they’d head back to the center of the airport and await their next assignment.
*******
40 Kilometers South of Pudong Airport
Yangshan Free Trade Harbor
The C-130 cargo plane had finally lined up for the approach to the drop zone, and as far as Staff Sergeant Moshe Dayan was concerned, it was not a moment too soon. His butt was starting to go numb with all of his gear on, and his parachute rigging was cutting into the circulation of his legs, crotch and hips. They’d been in the cargo plane now for two and a half hours as they droned on toward the Chinese coast to participate in what would probably be hailed as the largest airborne invasion in human history, or at least since World War II.
Paratroopers from America, Britain, France, Italy, Germany, Poland, Japan and Israel were going to carry out a series of jumps around the Shanghai area, capturing several airports, key bridges and ports as the Allies sought to end the largest war in history. As an Israeli paratrooper, it felt incredibly strange to be partnered up with so many Allied nations to parachute into China; Israel had never participated in any sort of large-scale military action this far from their own country. It was also a stark contrast from the inordinate number of training scenarios and exercises the Israeli Defense Force had put them through during his six years of service thus far.
