by James Rosone
“Tonight, we launch the next Falcon heavy rocket from Vandenberg Air Force Base. That rocket will be carrying ten Iridium4 satellites into high GEO, with five more of them being placed over North America and the other five over Europe. While the DS2000 set of satellites is designated purely for military purposes, the Iridium satellites are slated for commercial use. It’s not going to completely reestablish our civilian satellite infrastructure, but it’s a start.”
Admiral Meyers added, “Once we’ve made certain the PLA isn’t able to shoot these satellites down, we’ll begin a rapid deployment of new military and commercial satellites. Iridium and Mitsubishi have dozens of satellites ready to go at our launch facilities in California, Texas, Florida, and Virginia.”
“What’s in the next batch of satellites?” asked Tom McMillan.
Colonel Reyes answered, “A series of weather satellites, communications and GPS satellites. All total, SpaceX will be sending roughly 67 new satellites into orbit over the next ten days. It’s going to take some time, Mr. President, but we’ll get the world’s satellite infrastructure restored within a year. The new satellites are significantly better, more capable, and have a longer shelf life than the ones they’re replacing.”
The President relaxed a bit. “OK, gentlemen, you’ve satisfied my questions and alleviated some of my concerns. I suppose we’ll know over the next twenty-four hours if our assessment of the PLA’s ability to shoot them down was truly accurate. I hope we’re right, because these satellites aren’t cheap or quick to build. We can’t afford to lose them needlessly.”
President Foss then turned to Secretaries Castle and Landover. “I suppose since this part of the meeting is over,” he announced. “We should discuss the communique you both received.”
Colonel Reyes and a few other staffers took their cue and left the PEOC.
Turning to look at his advisors, President Foss asked, “So, what do we know about this General Yang? Is this offer something we should take seriously or rebuff?”
A few of the generals stirred in their seats, not sure what to say. Up to that point, they’d been executing the strategy of complete and utter destruction of the PLA and the communist government, and since the start of Project Enigma, they’d been exceptionally successful at it.
JP tackled the question first, which made sense to Foss; the CIA had developed a deep personality bio and profile of the mystery general. “General Yang is actually not as big of an unknown commodity as we’d first thought, Mr. President. As it turns out, Yang Yin grew up in the United States. His father owned a Chinese company that had a joint venture with a US firm, and Yang’s father moved his family to America to run the US side of the company when Yang was ten years old. He attended a prestigious private school, and when he turned eighteen, he was accepted into the Citadel as a foreign student. During his time at the Citadel, he excelled academically and physically. In the summer of his freshman year, he went through Army basic combat training at Fort Benning. Then he completed airborne school the next summer and Ranger school his final year at the Citadel. He was offered a commission in the Army upon graduation, but he turned it down when his father and family transferred back to China.
“His father’s company had a lot of contracts and connections within the Chinese defense industry, so he also had a lot of contacts within the PLA. His father used some of those connections and got his son accepted into the PLA as a captain. Yang was taken under the wing of several benefactors who helped to mentor and train him in the ways of the PLA ground forces as he also shared his insight into American military operations. During the next twenty-five years, his military career rose as his benefactors’ careers did. When the war started, he had risen to be the commander of the PLA southern theater of operations. His force led the invasion of Vietnam and the rest of Southeast Asia. Later, his forces led the invasion of Taiwan and the Philippines. He is by far their most capable military commander.”
Foss leaned forward. “This is good background information, but what does it mean?” he pressed. “Is this a legit offer to talk about ending the war, or is this just a stall tactic to take the pressure off them?”
“That’s a tough question to answer, Mr. President,” replied Secretary Landover. “It’s also hard to turn down a legitimate opportunity to talk face-to-face with the one man currently in charge of the Chinese military. I think our current strategy we’ve been pushing with President Hung inside the occupied territories has President Xi’s regime nervous, and rightly so. Our current polls show President Hung has been making significant ground in both acceptance and approval.”
Castle added, “I don’t like the idea of pausing our current military operations. We’ve been hammering the PLA and the civilian government hard. The introduction of the B-21 Raider has been a true game changer in our strategic bombing operations as well. We may only have the one bomber right now, but we’ve been using it with devastating effectiveness. Especially around the Beijing capital region as we hunt down the military and civilian leadership of the country.
“At the same time, I also know that if we aren’t able to come to some sort of terms with them, this war is going to drag on well into the spring or summer of next year. We may take Beijing in the next two or three months, but it’s going to be a bloody campaign. Probably more so than Shanghai, which is hard to comprehend. My opinion is that we should take the meeting but limit its duration. General Yang asked for seven days; I propose we counter with forty-eight hours.”
“I agree, Mr. President,” said Admiral Meyers. “We should take the meeting but reduce the timeframe. The PLA is clearly going to use any reprieve we give them to strengthen their positions, so let’s not give them any more time than is absolutely necessary.”
The other military chiefs around the table nodded.
Sensing that he had a consensus from his senior advisors and military leaders, the President consented to the meeting and a forty-eight-hour ceasefire. The ball was now in the Chinese court—they could accept the new terms, or until then, business would continue as usual.
*******
Fort Meade, Maryland
National Security Agency
Tyler Walden had a concerned look on his face as he read through the data of the Y’an UAV deployment schedules. Over the last week, their office had noticed some gaps developing in the Enigma program. Some sections of the UAVs were suddenly not providing the same level of information they had been. Gaps in coverage were starting to become more pronounced, and that meant only one thing—the PLA was on to them and was correcting the problem.
He turned around in his swivel chair, got up and headed for Kate’s office. After knocking on the door frame, he inquired, “You got a minute, Kate? I think we have a problem with Enigma.”
Kate paused typing on her keyboard and looked up at him. “A problem? What do you mean?” Her face contorted with an obvious distaste for the words that had just come out of her mouth.
Tyler came all the way into her office, closed the door, and then plopped himself down in the chair in front of her desk. “I’ve been monitoring the Y’an drones to see how many of them are still operational and to see if there are any major holes or gaps in coverage. As the PLA Air Force’s fighter presence and their air defense systems continue to fall apart, more of the Y’ans have been getting shot down by Allied fighters, which is both good and bad for us. Less drones mean a more limited window into their communications.
“The main issue is that over the last four days, we’ve seen a significant drop in data being transmitted by the UAVs. At first it was just a few dozen, then it became entire cities and parts of a province. I initially thought it was related to the Allies shooting down more of their UAVs; however, when I looked at the number of Y’ans operating in the area, I didn’t see a noticeable difference. I just saw that they were no longer transmitting data to us like before.”
“So you think they’re on to us?” Kate asked.
Tyler nodded. “I do. I think they’
ve figured out what we were doing and are bringing the drones down as fast as they can to swap out the affected component.”
“Crap,” Kate exclaimed. “If that’s the case, then we need to let the White House know. We need to work with State and get President Hung’s message pumped out across whatever Y’ans we still have access to before they’ve completely cut us out of the network.”
She immediately reached for her SIPR Tandberg. It rang a few times before Tom McMillan picked up. The image of his office came into view as he got up to close his office door. Turning to look at her and Tyler, he said, “I suppose it’s serious if you’re calling me on this thing.”
She nodded. She filled Tom in on what Tyler had just told her, then concluded, “If you guys still want to hit the PLA with President Hung’s social media messages, now’s the time. We’re probably going to lose our access within a week, maybe two tops.”
Tom let out an audible sigh but nodded. “OK,” he said stoically. “I’d hoped we’d be able to maintain this edge a little longer, but I guess we’ll have to go for it. Let me go brief the President and the Secretary of State. I’ll get back with you later.” Then he disconnected the call.
Kate turned to Tyler. “Get the team ready to disseminate the video, just like we rehearsed,” she ordered. “I have a feeling the PLA is going to cut the cord to the program entirely once this message goes live. Then they’ll know for sure we’re inside their system.”
Chapter 26
Battle for Lingyuan
Yutian, China
The hangar felt cold and damp, but at least there wasn’t any wind. “Hurry up and grab your gear!” shouted Staff Sergeant Jose Sanchez, the platoon sergeant. “When the helicopters show up, I want everyone to run out to our bird and get on. No lollygagging!”
Private Liam Miller turned to Corporal Webster. “Have you ever ridden in one of these new helicopters before?” he asked.
Webster shook his head. “No, this’ll be a first for me,” he admitted.
Specialist Nathan Ryle, who’d overheard their conversation, interjected, “I rode in one once. When I caught a ride back to the unit from the hospital. They’re super-fast.”
Since getting shot and returning to the unit, Nathan had lost the attitude problem he’d had at the start of their deployment and had finally started to fit in with the platoon. It was like his brush with death had suddenly given him a reason to live, and he found he’d have a better chance of surviving the war if he wasn’t such a jerk to the other guys in his unit. Maybe he was also grateful for how they’d helped save his life by risking death to get him to a medevac.
Captain Joel Garcia walked up to the group. “Listen up, guys!” he announced. “The helicopters will be arriving soon. When they do, we’re going to pile in. It’s about forty minutes to the target. Once on the ground, we’re to dig in and hold the area until the main body of the ROK 16th Mechanized Brigade and the 1/8 Cav arrive.” As he spoke, he continued to walk back and forth in front of the company, going over their objective for what must have been the tenth time that morning.
The captain paused for a second, surveying the men and women before him as they stood in loose formation, waiting for their ride. “I know I’ve said this all before,” said Garcia. “This is going to be a tough fight, men—but we’re going to end this war. Remember your training, listen to your officers and NCOs, and we’ll get through this. Golden Dragons, lead the way!” When he shouted the battalion motto, it forced everyone to shout it right back at him.
Once the captain turned to go talk to some of the battalion brass, Staff Sergeant Martinez snorted. “He must be auditioning for his next promotion,” he said in a hushed tone. Lieutenant Fallon chuckled at his comment.
The captain was a decent guy. When his company had found a way inside the mountain that formed the Jinzhou-Fuxin Line, the Allies had found their way to break through the PLA fortress. Martinez, Fallon and a handful of other soldiers in their platoon had been awarded Silver Stars for finding the entrance and emerging victorious in the fight that had ensued, but their captain had been awarded the Distinguished Service Cross. Ever since then, he seemed to feel that he was on the verge of being promoted to take over command of the battalion.
However, after that major battle, their brigade had been pulled from the line for a couple of months of R&R and occupation duty while replacement soldiers were filtered in to bring them back to 100% strength. With no major battles or combat losses, promotions within the brigade remained low, and he hadn’t gotten his major’s oakleaves.
A few minutes later, the soldiers of 2-14 Infantry heard the familiar rhythmic thumping sound of helicopter blades getting closer. Turning their attention to the open hangar doors, they spotted a squadron of the army’s newest aviation member, the Bell V-280 Valor. The tiltrotor helicopter flared its nose up slightly and then settled into a soft touchdown on the parking pad a hundred meters in front of the hangar.
“First Platoon, follow me!” shouted one of the lieutenants. This call was quickly followed by similar orders from the rest of the platoon leaders.
Corporal Shane Webster seemed to be geeking out a bit. “This helicopter is so cool looking!” he told whoever could hear him. “It’s like something from a sci-fi movie.”
The other soldiers chuckled. They were probably thinking the same thing, but they just kept it inside. In short order, they had all strapped themselves into the six-point harnesses. Moments later, the helicopter lifted off and went into its holding pattern, out of the way, so other helicopters could land and load up their human cargo as well. With a battalion-level insertion, the sky was practically a swarm of choppers.
In addition to the V-280s, a squadron of AH-64 Apache gunships were tagging along to help provide any immediate ground support the battalion may need. Ten minutes went by with them circling the airbase, and then the air armada turned as a group and headed for their objective.
*******
The flight to their objective was relatively uneventful. They avoided flying over most of the front lines, opting for a flight path that took them over more of the mountainous terrain to the north.
“If there wasn’t a war going on, this would be a beautiful helicopter ride,” thought Corporal Webster. Then he looked back around him and was reminded bluntly that this was not a scenic tour; the soldiers surrounding him were all fully weighed down with the tools of war, ready to unleash the awesome and terrifying military power strapped to their bodies.
“We’re approaching the target!” yelled one of the door gunners. From his tone, it was obvious that they weren’t sticking around any longer than absolutely necessary.
While they made their approach, the tiltrotor shifted its position to allow the helicopter to hover and land—airplane mode was no longer needed. When the nose of the Valor flared up, it bled off their airspeed immensely, enabling them to make a soft yet quick landing. Once on the ground, the crew chiefs and sergeant yelled at everyone, “Get out and move away from the helicopter!”
It took less than a minute for all the soldiers to get off the choppers and place some distance between themselves and their airborne chariots.
Zip, zip, crack, zip.
Bullets zinged right over their heads. Enemy soldiers nearby did their best to shoot down the helicopters before they could get away.
“Enemy soldiers, six o’clock, three hundred meters!” shouted one of the sergeants.
Ratatat, ratatat, ratatat.
Several of the M240G gunners opened fire on the small band of enemy soldiers.
Corporal Webster ran for cover next to a row of trees.
Snap, snap, crack.
Several bullets hit the tree trunk just as his body slammed against it. A single bullet zipped right past his head, close enough for him to hear the bee-like buzzing sound as it flew past him. He quickly brought his M4 to his shoulder and found the source of the gunfire. Several hundred meters below them was a small dirt trail, and from the looks of it, a squad of Chin
ese soldiers must have been patrolling there before their helicopters had suddenly showed up out of nowhere.
Taking aim at one of the soldiers, Webster squeezed off several rounds, forcing one of the enemy soldiers to duck behind a tree. In response, one of the PLA soldiers turned the PKM machine gun he was brandishing toward the section of trees Webster and his squad were using for cover. Rounds slapped the trees and brush around them as they ducked.
Before any of Webster’s men could return fire, one of the Apache gunships that had been escorting their rides opened up on the dirt trail with several antimaterial rockets. Showers of flame, shrapnel and dirt peppered the area. An eerie calm replaced what had been a chaotic scene seconds before. Everyone held their fire to see if the gunships had killed them all. When no one fired back, one of the officers yelled, “Hurry up and get your positions set up!”
The soldiers moved swiftly, as though they had suddenly awoken from a dream. They had no idea how long it would take for the enemy to find out where they were and send them another welcoming party, and they needed to do their best to prepare.
Five hours went by as Corporal Webster and his fellow soldiers worked on digging their fighting positions. They moved down the ridge a few hundred meters to the dirt trail where they’d first encountered the enemy soldiers. Since the underbrush had already been cleared there, that trail would make an excellent front edge of their lines; they’d have an open area in front of their firing positions while remaining tucked away just inside the tree line.
