Winter Kill 2 - China Invades Australia

by Gene Skellig

  The four HMVWs, two LAV-3s and three M939 6x6 5-ton trucks vehicles in the convoy of traitors departed town heading north on Highway 80 for a very short drive to the Pier County area just as Owen MacInnes led his two-vehicle convoy to the north east. For the five friends, it would be a harrowing thousand mile journey to Altoona, Pennsylvania. A journey which only three of them would survive.

  It took them six weeks to get to within striking range of the Pennsylvania state line. As food supplies ran out, and the situation became more and more desperate for survivors in the Ohio area, the situation on the roads became more and more desperate, particularly so in the area just south of Akron.

  Their strategy of negotiating safe passage from one community to the next by finding out the names of the biggest players in each successive town. In many cases an invitation was coordinated over amateur radio networks, which made it possible to leap-frog from one town to the next without too much difficulty.

  But in recent days the areas under control of one faction or another seemed to have become more unstable, and much smaller. It was as if the world was shrinking, to the point that people had given up on rebuilding their nation. Perhaps it was the plummeting temperature and the novel arrival of snow in August, but people suddenly had reached a new level of desperation; they had become totally consumed with the struggle to survive.

  The toll the travelers had to pay, even when their arrival at each successive road-block had been coordinated in advance in some way, had depleted their supplies to the point that all they had left was a few MREs, barely enough fuel to reach Altoona, and because they had not had to fight their way through anything thus far, they still had most of their ammunition.

  Then things began to change for the worse. They noticed it when they left a bad situation in Petersburg, Ohio, where they had overstayed their welcome and been told to leave or face total forfeiture. It had been something of an armed stand-off, and ended well only because Beth had appealed to the local ring-leader’s reputation for being in solid control of his men, that they had been allowed to go on at all. It had also cost them their silver coins. At least the gang in control of Petersburg had told them where to expect to find the next roadblock, at the exit off the Pennsylvania Turnpike nearest Ellwood City.

  “Let’s face it, we’re going to have to fight our way through the next few road-blocks,” said Randy.

  “Can’t we just go around?” asked Catherine.

  “If we had the time to scout, and the fuel, but we don’t. We have just about enough to make it the fifty miles to Butler, but that’s all.”

  “What if we abandon the Range Rover?”

  “That won’t help us. It’s a diesel, and the ‘plow’ runs gasoline,” said Ian.

  “Then we are just going to have to ambush the next ambush. At least if we do that, and get the drop on them, we may be able to score enough fuel to carry on the rest of the way to Altoona,” said Randy.

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Maybe we should try to sell the ammo, to buy our way through the next roadblock?”

  “Beth, if we do that, we’ll have nothing left, and we’ll look weak. Nobody sells their ammo. It’s like a shark sensing blood in the water, they’ll eat us alive,” said Owen.

  “But we’re still what, a hundred and fifty miles from Altoona? There’s going to be dozens more road-blocks in that distance. We’ll never be able to make it through so many with nothing to barter with,” Catherine said. “Maybe we should approach one of those farms, offer him everything we’ve got for some time to lay low and keep trying to get in contact with my dad on the radio. Maybe Dad can send someone out from his end, and then we would not have so far to go. Or maybe we should get off the roads altogether, and hike through the farmland and forests, be really careful and travel light over land?”

  “That would be as dangerous as the roads, Catty. At least with the vehicles we have some protection. Out in the open the first we would know of any danger would be one of us getting shot by a high-powered hunting rifle in the hands of some farmer. Besides, so much of the land is flooded, and what’s not soggy wet is covered with six inches of snow. We just don’t have the equipment to travel overland in this mess,” said Ian, looking out at the dismal wet snow falling on the slushy highway.

  After discussing it at the abandoned rest area they had pulled in to while they talked, their two vehicles facing in opposite direction for security, they agreed to continue along the highway until they reached the Pennsylvania Turnpike and try to negotiate their way through the expected road-block at the Ellwood City exit.

  It had not gone well. The road-block was not locals at all, but a group of desperate refugees from the burned-out suburbs of Pittsburgh who had been halted in their own quest northwards into the countryside and out of the squalid conditions of the FEMA refugee camps around the radioactive wasteland Pittsburg had become. With no food supplies of their own, the group had most likely turned to cannibalism, or had sustained themselves by taking everything from any unfortunate travelers who had come upon their small territory on the freeway off-ramp.

  When Randy saw the murderous look in the eyes of the men at the road-block, he had given the signal to open up on them. Randy and Owen began firing first, while Beth and Ian drove the vehicles and Catherine added some wildly inaccurate shots from her side of the second vehicle. Changing out the clips from her handgun one after another, Catherine was really pouring it on, putting rounds down-range like a soldier. Her father, General Upton, would have been proud.

  In the end the gunfight tapered out as the people manning the ambush had taken heavy losses and took cover from the seemingly unending fire coming from the well-armed little group.

  Once the firing from the road-block had ended, Randy put his foot down, accelerating the Ford to thirty miles per hour before lowering lowered the snow-plow to just a fraction of an inch above the road surface. It actually worked exactly as the manufacturer had intended, clearing a path of snow from the road and curling it aside like well-spread cake icing.

  And then the impact. Randy, Ian and Beth were jolted by the impact as the Ford’s snow plow blade tore through the much lighter vehicles and junk that made up the road block. Suddenly the way ahead was clear. The Ford continued down the off-ramp onto Ellwood City road. The ride had been much smoother for Owen and Catherine following in the Range Rover, but they had taken some parting shots from the ambush party, and Catherine had been hit in the neck.

  A few miles farther along, when Randy found a safe area for the two vehicles to park, they did what they could to stop Beth’s bleeding, but it was clear that she needed immediate medical attention.

  And then they saw the damnedest thing. A police cruiser, with its lights flashing, approached from the north. Desperate to get help for his wife, Owen got out of the Rover with his hands raised, and approached the cruiser, ready to take a bullet in the off chance that the men in the police cruiser would help.

  They did.

  The men in the state police interceptor had been watching the cannibals at the road block for days, trying to determine whether or not today would be the right day to clear them out once and for all, when suddenly the battle between Owen’s group and the cannibals at the Turnpike had taken place.

  After verifying that Owen’s group did indeed have enough food and supplies to prove that they themselves had not fallen into cannibalism, which appeared to be the greatest concern for the authorities in Ellwood City, the locals took the weary travelers into town and gave Catherine the medical treatment that she needed. While they did demand a modest payment – 500 rounds of 5.56mm ammunition – they gave Owen’s group enough fuel for the Ford in exchange for the Range Rover.

  Five days later, with Catherine in much better condition, the group resumed the trek, with safe passage provided by the Sheriff, at least as far as Butler, where safe passage had been arranged by the Ellwood City authorities. Butler was not quite as generous, taking the group’s UHF radio and nearly all of the
remaining ammunition – over 1,000 rounds of 5.56mm – leaving them with just six clips for the two AR15s and a few clips for the handguns. However, the militia in control of Butler helped Owen’s group as far as the hamlet of Cadogen, and safe crossing of the Allegheny River into Ford City,

  At this point, just seventy miles from Altoona, and safety, the group ran out of luck entirely. Hoping to make the final stretch to Altoona on the back-roads of the Crooked Creek area, they came across a well-entrenched group of locals in some place called Shelocta, and were hemmed in with a semi-trailer having been pulled across their exit.

  Shit, here we go again, thought Randy, remembering a similar tactic when he had been ambushed on his own before linking up with Owen’s group. They had tried to ram the road-block, but it had been too well fortified, with railway steel driving into the ground. The snow-plow had been torn off of the Ford, and the vehicle came to rest high-centered on the wreckage.

  Owen and Randy got out to fight on foot, working well together as they advanced like two special forces soldiers moving in on the men manning the road-block. They would have made it, too, had it not been for a tangle of barbed wire that lay under the six inches of snow, tripping Randy. When Owen had tried to help Randy up, both men were shot, in rapid succession, by the locals. It all happened in a matter of a few intense seconds.

  It was only when the women and Ian surrendered that the truth of the disaster had become known. Owen and Randy did not have to die at all. Had they tried to negotiate one more time, rather than try to push through with brute force, they would have learned that the locals had been pestered repeatedly by a group out of Altoona to keep an eye out for Catherine MacInnes and her group, which the General had heard was trying to each him through the amateur radio network. Safe passage had been agreed upon, for the rest of the way to Altoona.

  Catherine was inconsolable with grief at the loss of her husband, as was General Upton at the loss of the son-in-law he truly only came to appreciate after his death.

  That Catherine was pregnant with Owen’s son was little compensation for the tragic, pointless loss. Safe within her father’s well-organized group at the ranch in Altoona, Catherine got over her grief faster than her father, frequently thinking of Owen with pride: he got me home; he saved baby and me, while the old General could only think of Owen in terms of the good son I could have had.

  1 1

  ART OF TOTAL WAR

  After Thorne and Blakely had presented General Adams and Colonel Ferebee with the concept of operations for the Mount Isa operation they turned their attention to more pressing matters. Whether the daring Mount Isa plan would ever be put into motion would be up to the J5 planning staff of the CJOC, and would take weeks, if not months, to put into place. It all depended on the speed of advance of the enemy and what could be learned of their operational practices. Having conceived the plan, and having put Adams and Ferebee onto some of the men to assist with the operational planning process, Captain Thorne and Major Blakely were free to carry on with their duties.

  Without wasting any more time in the CJOC, Captain Thorne and a group of men from 1st Commando Company of the Australian Special Ops Command, 1st Cdo Coy, Australian Special Ops Comd, were about to set out on a more immediate mission. They were joined by Lieutenant Colonel Weir, the US Army Ranger on exchange with Australian Special Forces Command, Major Blakely, the USMC Liaison Officer along with and a fire team and some communications specialists from the MAGTFA, and a platoon-sized force of Australian soldiers from 1 Division who had volunteered to go along.

  In the hours after the Marines and Australians had assembled at the rendezvous point not much information had come out of Sydney. But Captain Thorne had learned that his headquarters in the Randwick neighborhood was most certainly destroyed, being a mere two kilometers from downtown Sydney’s ground zero. He had been given a direct order from the highest ranking officer he could track down in Special Ops Comd, a Major Smedley, in Adelaide. His orders were to gather any Special Ops personnel as they might encounter and operate independently or in cooperation with the Marines and with RAA’s Forces Command at Captain Thorne’s sole discretion.

  They were to move with haste and operate within enemy occupied territories in Queensland, with a view toward gathering intelligence on the enemy command and control, rear elements, and communications capabilities. While they were directed to avoid becoming bogged down in risky engagements, they were also encouraged to neutralize, interdict, dislocate and otherwise take advantage of any serendipitous opportunity to degrade the enemy’s strategic centres of gravity and operational decisive points. Skirmishes at the tactical level, even to save lives, were considered pointless and ultimately would expend what little capability Spec Ops Comd had left.

  Thorne understood what this meant, and made sure that his men did as well. It meant that morality was out the window – as were the rules of war. Some of the nasty, insurgency warfare tactics he had discussed with the American Ranger, Lieutenant Colonel Weir, no longer seemed repugnant. We’ll have to be fast and light; cruel and creative, Thorne thought, and we will have to turn our backs on whatever horrible fate our citizens are experiencing - make ourselves into something fierce and terrible that will gradually get under the skins of the enemy soldiers. We’ll become a nightmare to them, as long as we don’t get sucked into becoming attritted and used up before this campaign of terror of ours begins to produce results.

  The task of slowing or turning back the PLA’s inland advance, or of ultimately throwing them into the Coral Sea, was left to the US Marines of the MAGTFA, the Australian Army, and, God willing, the vast numbers of potential reinforcements promised by the Indian Army, if they can get here before it’s too late.

  As the men saw to filling their rucksacks with as much ammunition, rations, water and other essential gear as they could get their hands on, they looked rushed and perhaps overly eager to depart, to take the fight to the enemy. The only exceptions were Captain Thorne and the dozen or so men from 1 Cdo, and the Ranger, Lieutenant Colonel Weir, Major Blakely and most of the Marines, all of whom had recent combat experience in Syria. The difference between the Special Ops types and the regular Australian Army soldiers was stark, to say the least.

  It was clear that the sixty men who had been thrown together for the mission did not have the comfortable camaraderie and fellowship that soldiers normally have when they live and fight together. The Australians were all from different units, and had reported in to whatever reserve armory, police detachment or military checkpoint they could find when they had realized that their nation was under attack. In many cases, they had turned up in civilian clothing because they had been on vacation or on leave of some sort. However, most of the men who were part of the Australian Army’s Special Ops Command, SOCOMD, had their basic kit – less ammunition and special weapons – with them in the boot of their cars at all times.

  Quick to find a way to seek each other out despite the decapitation of their command and control, many of them had used the School of the Air network to make contact with the CJOC in Katherine. Where their location was simply too far away for them to participate in the current mission, they had been encouraged to contribute to force generation in their local areas until called for by the CJOC. Others, who saw themselves as more fortunate, albeit more likely to die soon, had been handed off to Captain Thorne’s group. So the mission assigned to him by Major Smedly out of Adelaide came with the implied task to gather these men, to force generate as many SOCOMD personnel as he could in the Northern Territory sector, and to get on the move before the front lines became more well defined and therefore less porous. Of the sixty men assembled so far, just under half were Special Ops trained. The rest were volunteers from the regular Army units of Formation Command, mostly drawn from 3rd Brigade, Darwin.

  The resulting ad-hoc unit had considerable talent but was not operating with the quiet precision that special forces soldiers typically demonstrated, Thorne had observed. But that would disappea
r quick enough once the regular army soldiers from 3rd Brigade relaxed a bit and stopped looking at the Special Ops personnel and Marines as if they were mutants.

  For their part, the commandos and Marines were happy to have some reinforcements, despite the regular soldiers’ lack of special training. Battle will sort them out, thought the Captain, as one of his men spoke up.

  “Oiy, Thornie, when are we going to get the fuck out of here? What are we waiting for?”

  “Vehicles, Mate. We can’t go in those big fat Loggie trucks. The Pandas will see us coming for several kilometers, or hear us, more likely.”

  As he spoke, he saw the dust being kicked up on the dirt road from the west.

  “Great, here they come,” Thorne said. “Oiy, one of you lot, go fetch Colonel Weir! Tell him we’re leaving in ten minutes.”

  “I’m on it, Captain,” said one of the soldiers, jumping up and rushing off to find the American Ranger, glad to finally be heading off.

  Two years before, as an instructor at the Ranger Training Brigade at Fort Benning, Georgia, the then Major Weir was an expert in Army and land forces doctrine in general, and had only recently cultivated an interest in the order of battle, tactics techniques and procedures of the People’s Liberation Army. The growing military rivalry between the United States and China that had made him realize that it was his duty to get to know as much as possible about the Chinese military, to know the enemy as it were.

  This view was reinforced when his commanding officer had shown him photographs taken of Weir himself, along with all of the senior officers of the Ranger Training Brigade, and the Brigade’s facilities, depots, engineering works, warehouse, parade ground and the various support buildings associated with the RTB.

  The photographs had been found in the hard drive of a laptop which the police had seized from a motorist they had detained one evening. A citizen had noticed the out-of-place vehicle at the end of a dead-end road that overlooked the main gate of RTB and had reported it to the police.