Invasion USA 3 - The Battle for Survival

by T I WADE

  The next attack, the largest so far, erupted from all three sides at the same time. Thirty minutes of heavy bombardment on the firing positions deep inside the camp got the invading troops to the outer perimeter’s dug-in areas, where the men would be protected. Both areas, inside and outside the razor wire, were now virtually cut up and flat and strewn with bodies.

  For the first time heavy fire was returned by artillery stationed somewhere behind the Mexican camp and Mexican soldiers could be seen scurrying for more protected places on the northern side of the camp.

  Manuel shouted in his radio to cease fire and a silence hung over his troops, much like the dense smoke slowly rolling several feet over his position in a southerly direction.

  He radioed Pedro to find out where he was. He responded that he and his men were safe in the trenches of the camp’s western boundary. Alberto suggested a last and short bombardment and a rush with the rest of their men, en mass, to scare the Mexicans into retreat. Manuel agreed and the necessary orders were radioed to the section commanders.

  As the Mexican tanks and armored vehicles trundled forward from the rear to try and displace the enemy in their dugouts, Manuel allowed his men in charge of the Chinese ground-to-air shoulder missile launchers, to fire off a volley to intercept the armored vehicles. At the same time, Alberto shouted charge over the radio and the rest of the men who were held in reserve erupted over the dunes and towards all three sides. That was when the first jet came screaming in from the north with cannons flaming and dozens of men fell in straight lines.

  “Men with the Chinese ground-to-air missiles, fire at the incoming aircraft from the north!” screamed Manuel over the radio as the first aircraft passed low overhead, nearly deafening him. A second very modern jet was seconds behind and he saw three of the Chinese captured heat-seeking missiles rise quickly up to the second aircraft which exploded as the first of its cannon rounds tore into his advancing men. “There is a third one after that one, get it!” shouted Manuel as he saw the minute black spot of a third incoming jet.

  This pilot had seen the sudden demise of his fellow pilot and began to turn away as two more missiles were fired and screamed away in his direction. He went vertical and his afterburner lit up as he tried to out-fly the incoming missiles. They followed him and they all disappeared into the blue sky.

  Manuel shouted over his radio for spotters to look for more incoming aircraft and looked again at the camp half a mile in front of him. Things had changed during the minute he had concentrated on the air attack. A Mexican tank was in flames as were a couple of armored vehicles. His men had reached the outer perimeter and the first wave of men was running into the inner-perimeter dugouts and trenches.

  He looked up hoping to see an explosion from the third aircraft, but there was none, he must have outrun the missiles.

  The first aircraft had also disappeared and he wondered where the Mexican Air Force got such modern jet-fighters, and how many they had.

  It had taken two hours, but the Mexican army was heading further and further north, and there weren’t many moving troops left in the camp apart from maybe a few in the northern trenches. It would not have been necessary for the Mexican commandant to dig in on his northern border if he had armor to protect him.

  The firing slowly died down as Manuel got into his jeep and headed towards the southern boundary where his men were in control. He had ordered all of his transport vehicles to stay hidden under netting until told to move forward.

  One by one the Mexican soldiers fired their last rounds and disappeared over the ridges to the north. Manuel wanted to hound them and he knew that an ambush of sorts would be getting ready for his advancing troops. The land around the camp was quite flat and he decided to divide his men.

  Alberto could take an army and head overland as far as he could go and then rejoin the 190 highway when he needed to. Pedro could take a third of the men and head after the retreating Mexican army.

  Manuel gave both his brothers strict orders not to deploy all their men in one place, but go slowly and have flanking troops a mile or more on either side of them to rush in behind any ambush. He would stay behind and see if the aircraft returned and collect any vehicles or arms. There must be thousands of rifles and machine guns still in the camp. As his brothers headed out in different directions, Manuel shouted to them to stay within radio range, around forty to fifty miles apart, no more.

  For the rest of the day his troops counted close to 2,700 of his men dead or wounded in and around the southern borders of the camp. Several were badly wounded and these he had shot, his army had no medical personnel. His men knew this; they were ordered to shoot him if he was of no use, and one of his brothers would take over.

  The losses reduced his numbers and he worried about this more than anything. Happily, they counted over 8,000 Mexican dead or wounded and the wounded were also given an end to their misery. Each man still had some sort of weapon with ammunition and these stocks filled four empty troop transporters. Over thirty machine-gun placements were counted in the camp with twenty of the guns in perfect order, and wooden boxes full of ammo everywhere.

  Several jeeps had flat or bent tires and these were quickly replaced from Manuel’s spares. They all had bullet holes here and there, but beauty was not important; if it ran it was useful. Three fuel tankers were intact behind broken trucks and they were quickly placed behind the transporters full of weapons.

  Manuel then checked the crash area of the fallen aircraft. It was a mass of still-burning pieces, but he did notice a Chinese emblem on part of the tail, still intact.

  “A Chinese aircraft taken down by Chinese missiles,” he stated smiling to his second-in-command. “Those brave pilots didn’t hang around long, but they’ll be back. How many of those ground-to-air missiles do we have here and with my brothers, Luis?”

  “We have sixteen missiles, Señor Calderón. Alberto has a dozen and I think Pedro has the same. We each have two missile launchers; two others were destroyed in the battle.”

  “We need aircraft spotters at either end of our convoy with one of those launchers close by.”

  “Si, Señor,” Luis replied.

  They finally finished collecting anything of value as nightfall closed in around them. It was a pretty good tally. Hundreds of Mexican rifles, three full fuel tankers, nine jeeps with holes, but in reasonable condition, two troop transporters with their tires replaced, and a 100-mm howitzer artillery piece and a truck full of 100-mm rounds that were found untouched and in perfect working order. Also twenty machine guns and another truck full of ammo and the odd RPG and mortar also had been found undamaged. He had several, modern Chinese artillery pieces now behind vehicles he hadn’t even used in the battle, but he still kept everything, even guns sixty years old.

  Manuel radioed Alberto; he was still in range and about thirty miles north. He was finding the going slow but felt safer off the main asphalt. Pedro was nearly fifty miles north, on the edge of the retreating Mexicans and had several skirmishes with them during the afternoon. His radio contact was getting bad and Manuel told him to stop until he caught up. Pedro was sure the Mexicans wouldn’t stop knowing that advancing troops were on their tail.

  Two hours before dawn Manuel’s tired soldiers caught up with Pedro. Many, used to the non-stop movement, had caught a couple of hours of sleep in the slow-moving vehicles. He needed to refuel, and an hour before dawn Alberto radioed that he was coming in because there were several large mountains in front of him, and it was a waste of time to travel off-road.

  An ambush was possible and Pedro’s men, who had managed to get a little sleep, moved out to the rocks and hills around the road while Manuel’s men refueled.

  “I hear a spotter aircraft,” stated Luis as the last of the vehicles were filled an hour after dawn. “It is coming in from our north and I think along the road.”

  “Good,” replied Manuel. “Get the launchers and missiles ready. I’m sure they will see us and we will be visited by thos
e Chinese jets again. We can kill two aircraft at one time, the spotter aircraft and whoever it wants to invite to the fight.

  As the aircraft flew over at a couple of thousand feet it saw the main army on the road in full sight. Alberto was still five miles out in an easterly direction and he had been told not to put up any dust to show his presence. He was crawling along at ten miles an hour and had been warned to ready his missiles in case they had visitors. Manuel watched as the small aircraft veered away to its right to get out of harm’s way. Its pilot must have heard about the missile attack.

  Manuel gave the aircraft a minute to fly west of them and told a launcher to aim and fire a heat-seeker. He did and within twenty seconds the little Cessna was an exploding fireball in the sky. The poor aircraft had no chance to escape the speed of the missile nor did the pilot ever know that he was toast.

  “I hear a jet approaching,” stated Alberto several seconds later. “No, there are two and they are about three miles to the north of us. Shall I try a missile?”

  “Yes,” replied Manuel “just one, and when you have it visual Alberto, we will fire a couple from here.” Manuel could now hear jet engines approaching and a sudden scream as the pilots must have seen a missile launch on their radars.

  “I can see one turning!” shouted a soldier further down the convoy.

  “Aim and fire,” ordered Manuel.

  “I can see one as well,” shouted another over the radio.

  “Aim and fire,” added Manuel calmly.

  Suddenly the second jet was seen low and on the western horizon trying to attack from the opposite direction where the spotter plane was a fireball on the ground.

  “Enemy aircraft on the western horizon!” shouted Manuel into his radio. “All other launchers fire when you see it.” Immediately two missiles went up from different areas and again the jet could be seen suddenly aiming vertically and heading up, its afterburner shock of noise hitting the men a few seconds later.

  “We got the first one!” shouted Alberto into his radio. “I saw an explosion very high above us and it must be the enemy aircraft.”

  “I want proof before you leave the area,” ordered Manuel. Pedro get you men heading north again, I’ll look out for the other pilot. Go slowly and carefully and we will catch up to you once Alberto joins us.”

  For two more weeks, the cartel played cat and mouse with the ever retreating Mexican army. Twice they saw spotter planes and twice they blew them out of the sky. It was slow going as they by-passed Mexico City and headed north. They fought through Querétaro and San Luis Potosi before reaching Zacatecas.

  Here, they were met by friends. The Sanchez Cartel, with 5,000 men, was waiting for them. They were old friends and the new members suggested that they head for Saltillo where another Sanchez Cartel family of 2,000 was waiting, and then Monterrey where the largest cartel, the Cortez Cartel with a force of over 12,000, was waiting.

  With such numbers and the Mexican army still retreating up the old road, a surprise directional change would buy them peace for a few days. Manuel and his army arrived in Monterrey on May 2nd. They were a month late and it was getting hot.

  Chapter 20

  Mo Wang’s New Baby

  Preston was excited. He loved flying and, apart from Martie and the farm, flying and electronics were all he was really interested in, at least until this year. Now there were the kids—Little Beth and Clint, dogs—Oliver and Puppy, and even the introverted cat Smokey, who made appearances once a day, usually at dinner. There were constantly people at the farm and on the airfield, and he had very little down time. Now he was to learn to fly a Gunship, the aircraft he most respected.

  The day after the opening of the Officers Mess and the departure of many of the people back to their tasks of saving the country, the United States Air Force got down to doing what it does best: teaching people to fly.

  The day was April 3rd at 06:30 hours when a C-130 full of technicians, aircraft mechanics, and the commander of Seymour Johnson squawked over the radios wanting landing confirmation for the new runway.

  The farm, still having a sort of civilian vacation-type mentality, was all still asleep. Even the First Family, staying on for a week, was not out of bed yet. Luckily for Preston, the Air Force personnel were up and had a radio in the guardroom, one of the new hangars. The man on duty gave all the relevant information and told the C-130 to come in quietly, the air field was still asleep. He heard laughter from Colonel Mondale over the radio and carefully explained to his base commander that the President and Chief of Staff were still on the field and presumably still asleep.

  Acknowledgements were returned by the incoming flight and it came in on a whisper, its engines as silent as possible.

  Oliver and Puppy were checking out the airfield perimeter and two men were walking the southern perimeter as the 130 flew low overhead to land. The colonel flying the aircraft thought he saw the President of the United States and a person who looked much like his Chief of Staff looking directly up at him as they came in a hundred feet over the south property fence.

  “Good morning, Colonel Mondale,” General Patterson said, walking up to the colonel outside the new, large hangar several minutes later. “I believe you have already met the President?”

  “Yes, sir. Good morning, Mr. President,” the colonel replied saluting. “I was hoping to get Preston and Martie out of bed earlier than usual, but was warned about you gentlemen still being on the premises. I had been thinking of buzzing the farmhouse to get my new recruits out and onto the parade square,” he added smiling at the men in front of him.

  “Now, now colonel, you know it’s against Air Force Flight Regulations to buzz the tower…but, I suppose a farmhouse isn’t in the actual regulations so I’ll let your remark slide this time,” returned the general with a smirk on his face. “I do think this civilian establishment should get closer to military time and efficiency, so get the men to raise the dead and let’s get our flying lessons started. Colonel, you need to add two new recruits to your roster, Detective Will Smart from Lancaster, California, who is flying into this field a little later on the redeye from Edwards, and the President, who would like to get started with his first hour. I would recommend bringing in two more Cessna 150s or 172s from our civilian lineup for our new recruits to begin on. I believe Preston commandeered two small Cessna aircraft from RDU in January and they are either with you or at Pope Field.”

  “They are at Pope, sir, and I’ll get them in here within the hour with the other 172 I’m having flown in,” the colonel replied, pretty startled about his new recruit.

  Preston’s suggestion of a church on the field had met with a positive response from Colonel Mondale at the Andrews meeting two days earlier. Seymour Johnson just happened to have a mobile church building designed to be erected on a frontline base and Joe, who had arrived, suggested that the Air Force bring it in and he and his sons could add a few more permanent touches here and there.

  Joe also reminded General Patterson at the meeting the day before, that he and David had already put their names forward for flying lessons, and his sons could take over the modifications of the church once it arrived. General Patterson hadn’t forgotten and told Joe, and David, who already had hundreds of flying hours in an Israeli flight logbook, that their names were already logged.

  By ten that morning the field was getting busy. Will Smart arrived on the second C-130 from Edwards. Maggie and the children were happy to see that Will seemed to step off the rear of the aircraft without the psychological problems he had faced a couple of months earlier. A third and fourth C-130 came in as the trainee pilots were congregating on the apron in front of Preston’s old hangar; there was much chatting and laughter about who was learning to fly which aircraft.

  Jennifer arrived in another Super Tweet, from a base in Kansas, flying in from the south. She had left for Edwards the previous evening with a 130 and returned with the second two-seat Tweet for the girls’ flight training at Preston’s farm.
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  The California C-130 was flying back to Onizuka Air Force Station in Sunnyvale, close to Silicon Valley, with Lee’s wife and daughter and Buck.

  Mo Wang, Beatrice, Marie and the girls had been invited to visit the Roebels wine Farm in Napa for the next week or two—Marie and Beatrice decided it would be much more fun to drink good Napa wine than watch aircraft landing and taking off all day—and accepted the offer to fly out on the 130; Michael would pick them up after he dropped Lee off at Onizuka.

  Michael Roebels and Lee Wang had taken off in the Beechcraft at 07:00 hours, several minutes after the first 10 flights arrived. The Beechcraft, needing more time to fly to the West Coast, would stop twice to refuel, and would be six or more hours behind the C-130 into Onizuka.

  By eleven the airfield’s control tower was hard at work directing landings and takeoffs on the new runway. The Cessna-beginners were in flight school in one of the hangars for the first day; the four new jet girls were on their first phase of training and, since all could fly, they would be doing nothing more than landings and takeoffs in the two two-seat jets with Sally, and Jennifer who had trained on Tweets in 2010 but had preferred to continue flying the C-130s.

  In between the Tweets were two AC-130 Gunships doing the same thing, landings and takeoffs, with Carlos and Preston sweating to learn to fly such large and powerful aircraft.

  The old runway wouldn’t have been long enough for training and Preston not only enjoyed the extra footage, but needed every inch of it to get his massive beast on and off without stopping.

  By twelve, more aircraft were arriving and slowing the pattern; two more C-130s from Pope Seymour Johnson brought in the mobile church building panels and two more HC-130 Tankers were full of soon-to-be-needed aviation fuels.

  For the next two weeks the airfield worked hard; the days slowly grew warmer as the pilots learned to fly their aircraft.