CHAPTER 76
The sun had been down for half the night. Keene and his new team had been on the road for six hours. The drive was a little over two hundred miles. But that was taking the interstate almost to the Canadian border before turning west. They couldn’t risk that. So the only option was to travel two-lane and county roads through the mountains. The drive that should’ve taken five hours was now taking seven.
They had been able to maintain contact with the forward base in Albany for only the first two hours. After that, they were out of range. And the mountains, though giving them a quiet approach to Massena, were wreaking havoc on communications. Not even the satellite phone would work. The last thing Keene had heard was the Chinese had advanced. And though he was confident in the US soldiers, he was well aware that they were hugely outnumbered. And they definitely didn’t have the artillery that the Chinese had on hand. It was going to come down to skill. And that gave him hope, knowing the US forces were the most efficiently trained military in the world.
Now that they had made it through the mountains, Highway 56 would take them into Massena. Keene noticed that the sat-phone was showing signal, so he tried to call in. He knew the moment Jennings answered, it wasn’t good.
“It’s chaos here. The Albany front is holding okay, but the southern front is getting overrun. Sykes sent everything we could spare that way. The idea was to give them as much air support as we could. But it’s bitten us in the rear end.”
Keene felt his stomach fall. “What’s happened?”
“Four Chinese cargo ships beached off the coast of Delaware twenty minutes ago. And we don’t know if they’re the only four. But they have infantry, WZ-10s, and artillery. Washington’s a sitting duck right now. And we can’t call back the air support from Benning and Parris Island, because it’s the only thing that may keep them from getting taken.”
Keene felt the bile rise in his throat. “They knew you would do that.”
“They know everything!” Jennings said. “We can’t make a move without them already having an answer to it.”
“They’ve been planning this for years. We’re having to operate out of reaction.” He tried to force down his anger. “I know we’ve said it’s off the table, but we may be forced to step it up.”
“There is no way that President Walker, or anyone else in this bunker, is going to authorize using that kind of force. We’re talking about American lives here. On our own soil! No way.”
Keene knew he was right. It just simply wasn’t acceptable to think of using any kind of weapon of mass destruction on American soil. And with the previous administration’s disarmament campaign, they no longer had the range to hit China itself, not that that would have been an option either. There were over a billion people in their country, and their government didn’t care about any of them. It would do no good to attack China when, it appeared, their entire military was here. This whole thing was getting worse by the second.
Just then, he heard something in the background. Jennings told him to hold on. He listened, straining to hear what was happening, but the surrounding noise was too much. He cupped the mouthpiece of the phone and told Ramirez to pull over. Ramirez let off the gas and pulled to the shoulder of the road.
“Jon, you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. What’s going on?” he said anxiously.
“Hang on,” Jennings said again. Then, to someone there in the command center, “Put that on the com!” Then, back on the phone, “Listen to this!”
Keene listened as Jennings held the phone out to pick up what the com was saying. A huge wave of relief swept over him, and he caught himself whispering, “Thank you, God.” And the weird thing was he actually meant it.
He pulled the phone away from his ear and put it on speaker. “Listen to this, guys.” He held the phone up for the men to hear. What came over the little speaker was the best thing Keene had ever heard.
“Mr. President, this is Eli Craig of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. I understand you’ve run into a little problem.”
“You could say that,” the president said.
“Well, I believe I can help you with that. I am currently two miles off the coast of your eastern seaboard. And I’ve brought a friend.”
“Mr. President, this is Bozwell Hamilton. I’ve been working with Jon Keene and President Grant. Who’s calling the shots?”
“Boz, this is Jennings. I’m here with the Joint Chiefs and Secretary Sykes. They’re running the op.”
“Okay,” Boz said. “We’ve got twenty ships with close to fifty thousand men, including pilots and aircraft. Where do you want us?”
Keene and the other men in the truck broke out in excitement. They exchanged high fives and let out a few cheers. Keene told the men he’d be right back and stepped out of the truck.
He walked along the shoulder of the road a few paces and sat down. For the first time in over a week, he felt some relief. The whole ordeal was so overwhelming that he just sat there with his head in his hands for a moment. He hadn’t even realized he was still holding the phone until he heard Jennings yelling for him.
“Jon!” Jennings said for the third time.
He snapped back to and put the phone to his ear. “I’m here.”
“Did you hear all of that?”
“Yeah, most of it. Enough.”
“Boz had already figured we’d be splitting the troops north and south. They’ve already sent their fleet in both directions. They’ll be at Parris Island in less than an hour. And they’re already coming ashore in Boston. They’ll be in Albany in less than two hours. That’s if we even need their infantry. They’ve got enough air support to possibly take out the Chinese completely.”
“What about DC?”
“Five ships, including two carriers. They’re coming in behind the cargo ships the Chinese beached. They should be able to overtake them in the next hour.”
Again, Keene felt a wave of relief. But it only lasted for a moment, as he was quickly reminded why he was here on the side of the road. Immediately he felt the urgency of what they needed to do. “Kevin, if DC’s safe, then—”
“Then you’ve got to hurry!” Jennings finished his thought. “Once they realized they’re beat, they’ll send it.”
“I’ll call you back.”
Keene put the phone away and started to run back to the truck. He stopped short and looked up into the night sky. “I think You and I still need to have a conversation about a few things,” he said, “but for now, I’ll just say thanks.”
He jumped in the truck and said, “Let’s move it! We’re under a major deadline now.”
“What’s the timeline?” Kirkpatrick asked from the backseat.
“That’s the problem,” Keene said. “We don’t know.”
“So, like, five minutes ago,” Foust said.
“Yeah. Or sooner!”
Ramirez pulled the gear lever and slammed on the gas. They were still fifteen miles from the city limits. Every second from this point forward was critical.
As they got closer, Keene told Ramirez to pass up the road they would eventually take and proceed toward the city. He wanted to at least get a quick look at what they were headed into. A quarter mile out Keene ordered Ramirez to kill the lights and stop. Keene pulled his field glasses up and scanned the area. The others followed suit. As they took in the scene, they all expressed their disgust at what they saw. The entire area had been leveled. It was obvious that the Chinese had intended to use the place and wanted no resistance whatsoever. Massena looked worse than any other city that had been hit. And the fact that it was a smaller town made the devastation all the more apparent. Ramirez turned the car around and went back the way they had come.
They had decided earlier that the best way into the airport was through the Racquette River, which ran along the southern border of the city and eventually right by the airfield. Ramirez turned off Highway 56 and onto County Road 40, which ran along the river. They decided that they would c
ome ashore on the banks where a road called Aviation Road intersected the main road that traveled along the river. Aviation Road, appropriately named, would lead them directly onto the airport grounds. From there they could recon the area and find the H-8 stealth bomber.
A quick survey of the perimeter as they came into town from the river showed the Chinese did, in fact, have several checkpoints set up around the main roads into the city from the south. And though Foust and Horn wanted to take them out, Keene wouldn’t allow it. He reminded them that the H-8 was the target and that they needed to go in quiet. They couldn’t take the chance of someone not reporting in during a regular check. It would only sound the alarm and announce their arrival. So they continued on, heads down and silent.
As they approached the bank of the river by Aviation Road, a patrol vehicle passed by. Keene held up a fist for the men to get down until the vehicle passed. A moment later, he gave the all-clear sign, and they continued forward. They stowed the inflatable under some fallen brush and climbed the bank. After a quick check to make sure no one was coming, they followed Aviation Road in, as it led them toward the airstrip.
A small group of buildings sat at the end of the road, mostly maintenance and a small hangar. A few vehicles and soldiers were milling about, but nothing they couldn’t deal with quickly. Across the field to the east was the main terminal. That’s where most of the action was happening, Keene could see through his field glasses.
It appeared that the Chinese had already gotten word their military was being pushed back. At least fifty or more men were scrambling back and forth around the terminal. The tarp that Jennings had said he’d seen in the satellite photo was clearly visible. Within seconds, Keene’s fears were confirmed. As the tarp was being cleared, the sight gave way to the huge aircraft it had been hiding. The H-8 sat glimmering under lights that had been set up all around it. As he watched, he saw a group of men exit the terminal pushing a huge cart. He was too far away to confirm what was on the cart, but he didn’t need to. He knew what it was. And it was minutes away from being loaded into the plane.
“Kirkpatrick, how long for them to load it?” he asked.
“Bomb that size, rigging it into the drop mechanism, thirty minutes tops,” Kirkpatrick answered.
That didn’t leave much time. But he had an idea. He took out the sat-phone. When Jennings answered he said, “What’s happening?”
“It’s good. Boz has really saved our behinds on this one. The Chinese are being pushed back hard right now. Most of their forces south have just retreated. They had a larger contingent coming in from Albany, so it’s taking longer, but we’ve got them on the run!”
“Good. How long would it take you to get an air strike on my location?” he asked.
“Hold on.”
Keene could hear him talking in the background. Finally Jennings came back on.
“Twenty minutes if I send them now.”
“Send them. I’ll have the target painted.”
“So it’s there?”
“Yeah, and they’re loading it now. Tell the flyboys no matter what happens, do not let that H-8 get in the air.”
“Don’t worry, I will.”
Keene hung up the phone and looked at the other five men. “Okay, here’s the plan….”
In less than a minute, Keene had laid out what everyone was going to do. Since Jenkins was the shooter, Keene wanted him in the best position. And that meant that they were going to have to advance on the small buildings up ahead. That position would give Jenkins a clear line of sight to the terminal and the entire field. And the shot range was right in his wheelhouse of eight hundred meters. Once Jenkins’s position was secured, Keene and the others would make their way across the field toward the terminal and the H-8. Foust would take up a position at the north end of the field and point the laser at the target for the air strike. They only had fifteen minutes left, but they needed to place charges on the building and blow it. Once Keene and the others made it to the terminal, it was game on. They didn’t have time for tactics. If they were engaged, they were to take out whomever they came across. Because it was already the middle of the night and everyone there seemed to be focused on the aircraft, Keene hoped they could get to the terminal with little to no interaction. The men checked their weapons and moved forward.
They noted six men as they approached the small cluster of buildings at the end of the road. Foust, Horn, and Ramirez took the first three, while Keene, Kirkpatrick, and Jenkins neutralized the others. Keene almost felt bad for the poor young men. They had no idea what had hit them, once again proving Keene’s assertion that the American soldier was the best-trained weapon on the planet. The whole process took less than a minute. They had seventeen left.
Keene and his team took off at a dead run toward the terminal. Halfway across the airfield, Foust broke off and headed north. The others continued moving at breakneck speed to the target. Three and a half minutes later, they approached the terminal.
They decided to come in from the back side, which would use up precious extra seconds, but they couldn’t just walk head-on into what was going on there. Keene held up his hand and checked his wrist mic. “Six, this is one. All clear?”
Jenkins came back immediately. “One, this is six. All clear.”
“Five, you set?”
Foust answered. “Five is up and set. Target is painted.”
Ten minutes to go.
Keene motioned for Ramirez, Horn, and Kirkpatrick to spread out. Each of them had a small shoulder bag filled with explosives. They were to try and set as many charges as they could. Keene wanted to help out the air strike by lighting up the sky for them before they even got there. There were a few foot-patrol soldiers on this side of the building, but it was still pretty much unattended. Keene nodded to the other men as they approached the building. The foot soldiers were taken out immediately with ease. Not a shot was fired. But the raucous inside seemed to be ramping up anyway. The men had just finished placing the explosives on the building’s perimeter when Keene felt his stomach twist. The H-8 was firing its engines.
Keene motioned for the other three men to move back to the field. They still had five minutes before the air strike would be there, and the H-8 was readying for takeoff.
“Six, this is one. We’re on the other side of the building. What’s happening?”
“Ah, looks like they’re loaded and ready to fly, one. What’s the call?”
Keene thought for a minute. “Can you take out the plane?”
“I can shoot at it,” Jenkins said. “But I don’t know the aircraft well enough to know if I can disable it or even damage it. But one thing’s for sure: if I take a shot, they’re going to know we’re here.”
“Roger that,” Keene said. “Hang on.”
Just then Foust came on the radio. “One, this is five. Contact made with air support. ETA, two minutes.”
“Roger that,” Keene said smiling. Then to the others, “Okay, boys, let’s light ‘em up! Once the building blows, take out anything that moves.”
Keene and the others stayed low in the grass and went around to the front side of the building. The air strike was coming any moment now, but the H-8 had already started to taxi out onto the runway.
“Six, can you take out the pilot?” Keene asked.
“I’ve got a three-quarters view,” Jenkins said. “He has to turn to make the taxiway though. I can hit him then.”
“Do it,” Keene said. Then, “When six takes the shot, blow the building. Five, you keep that target painted. I don’t care if the pilot is out or not. I want that H-8 grounded.”
“Affirmative,” Foust replied.
Keene watched as the huge bat-looking aircraft slowly made its final turn out onto the runway. Jenkins came on the radio. “And … in three, two, one …”
Keene watched as the stealth bomber suddenly jerked to the left and stopped. Then, slowly, it began to roll off to the side of the runway, into the grass. He lifted his wrist mic.
“Now!”
The small terminal never had a chance. The charges that Keene and his men had placed around the perimeter did more than their job. The entire place exploded in a giant fireball. Gunfire immediately followed as Chinese soldiers sprayed fire in every direction, not even knowing who or what they were shooting at. Keene and his men were being given perfect cover, as the flames from the building lit up the night sky around it, revealing the Chinese soldiers. It was, Keene thought, almost like target practice.
Every few seconds Keene would see someone else go down, like he’d been hit by an invisible linebacker. Jenkins. The sniper was now concentrating his fire on soldiers. Keene called for the men to pull back. The air strike was coming any second.
Just as he’d given the order, he heard the whistling, screaming through the sky. He turned to see the H-8, a hundred yards away, go up in a giant plume of smoke as two F-35 Lightning combat jets streaked by, five hundred feet above the deck. Foust had succeeded keeping the laser on the H-8. It was now nothing more than a smoldering heap of twisted metal.
As Keene and the men continued to advance on the terminal, Keene began to notice something. At the far end of the terminal, the only place they hadn’t bothered to set charges—the angle of the building made it non-essential, though Keene was rethinking that now—a group of men were loading into three SUVs that had been parked at that end of the parking lot. With the majority of the gunfire concentrated at the other end of the building, they were going pretty much unnoticed. Except for Keene. He noticed. And though they were fifty yards away, the men were being well lit by the flames from the far end of the building. Keene stopped short and focused his stare. He knew the man at the center of the group who was being hurried into the car. And he was about to get away. No way Keene could allow that.
The 13: Fall Page 30
