INVASION USA (Book 2) - The Battle For New York

by T I WADE

  His four aircraft would be escorted to Omsk in southern Siberia— Russia’s second-largest city 1,400 miles southeast of Moscow and 2,200 miles from Beijing. Here, the three Russian fighters would be at their furthest range and the American aircraft could land and refuel at a Russian Air Force base there. He had told the group that if his aircraft could use that same base as a stop between China and Russia, he could install a radio beacon there for future trips.

  They laughed and told him that Russia had a lot of old working electrical devices of all types. Nothing was ever thrown away in Russia, and all Russian aircraft already had a full system of radio beacons and their frequencies went all the way in and out of Russia in all directions. All that was needed were the several military AM radio frequencies and as long as all aircraft were entering Russia on peaceful missions, they now had the “Right” to fly through or into any major city any time they wanted. He was told to tell the Chinese that they would be offered the same opportunities.

  Everyone shook hands with General Allen, The most senior man telling him the President of the United States was welcome to visit at any time, by special order from the Prime Minister of Russia himself. The three satellite phones were also welcomed and would be used wisely since they did not have a satellite communication system anymore either.

  The benefits of flying with an escort, as well as the new radio beacon frequencies coming out of the military base in Omsk, gave all the crew, except the eight fresh pilots flying the aircraft, four hours of hard-earned sleep. Even the responsibility of monitoring the only satellite phone on board was given to them and General Allen slept as well as the other crew members until touchdown in a snowy Omsk four hours and twenty minutes later.

  The nasty weather was also heading south and the general was escorted out of Russian airspace several hours later, saying goodbye to their escort who reported back that they had orders to wait for the American’s return to Omsk. The freshly refueled C-130s headed on a direct course to the base in Osan, 2,800 miles east of them.

  His current Ghost Rider pilot told the general that the phone had rung twice while he was sleeping and a Chinese voice had tried to communicate. The pilot had done what everybody had been told to do when answering a call—listen for the Allen Key password from the caller before uttering any communication. The general checked in with Carlos and found out that his phone had also rung once from this unknown caller, and the general told Carlos to get someone to call up all the numbers on the American list and remind the ones answering the phones to keep quiet until the password was given.

  Carlos relayed the information to the general that Mother Goose was inbound to Osan, heading over the northern route, and that her estimated time of arrival was six hours and forty-five minutes. They had hit bad weather and were having to make a 30-minute detour flight around a large storm. It was beginning to blanket most of Russia, and the general should expect to have the same problem in three or four hours. Osan was still open and should continue to be long enough to get both flights in and then out to Shanghai.

  “How many people did we get aboard, Carlos?” General Allen asked.

  “Twelve pilots, Pete,” Carlos replied. “There isn’t a non-pilot aboard except for the ten cowboys from Lejeune. In total, we have 22 people on the flight manifest with full fuel and parachute gear for 30. You will have to pick up more men on your next stop to use all the silk. I’m sure you can find one or two of them who are able to jump, or fly at their next stop.”

  General Allen agreed, saying there should be enough to choose from in Osan, and he wanted the flight’s phone number so that he could talk. He immediately called Mother Goose and found them flying in pretty lousy weather, but now actually thinking they had a decent tailwind and that they could get back on schedule.

  The flight commander, a sleepy Major Joe Patterson who was a multi-use pilot himself, told him that they were supposed to check in with Carlos in an hour. Ghost Rider was still working on the several radio frequencies they had received from the Russian military. These radio frequencies were expected to work well into China. Pete Allen gave all the Russian beacon frequencies to the pilots of the tanker, and after several minutes Patterson told him that they had new fixes on three very faint radio beacons—enough to plot their exact position by intersecting the three beacon locations to their aircraft’s position. They came back, thanking him and telling him that they did have a tailwind, were 110 miles off course but 160 miles closer to Osan than they thought, and that they could make it in with 40 minutes of fuel to spare.

  General Allen called Carlos back. “Carlos, did you know that you could be out of a job as the world’s only air traffic controller pretty soon?” he laughed into the phone.

  “Thank God for that!” Carlos replied. “Being out of a job will give me a chance to fly instead of watch the world’s weather for you all.”

  All the flight personnel who were not flying managed to get another four hours more sleep before the bad weather and turbulence made it almost impossible. The general was pretty refreshed after seven good hours, however, and decided to shave, with a bowl and a bottle of water serving as his shaving equipment.

  The C-130s were strong aircraft, and the elements battering the aircraft outside were not much of a concern. The luxury of very faint radio beacons still obtainable at 29,000 feet were also helping all the aircraft stay on course, and three hours after the general shaved, they landed at Osan in snowy conditions on a freshly cleared white runway—one hour after Mother Goose had arrived direct from McGuire AFB. It was the morning of the ninth day—cold, blustery, and snowy.

  All of the men on the mission who had done nothing but sleep in some cozy bit of space on the airplane were rested and ready for action. Major Patterson had already rounded up another ten experienced C-17 and Stratotanker pilots at Osan, and 30 men were going over the parachute gear, preparing it for use and familiarizing themselves with the best the Marines had. One of the flown in radio beacons was already being set up close to the southern end of Osan’s longest runway, and would be operational by take-off.

  General Allen immediately held a meeting with all soldiers, pilots, and crew.

  “Ok, guys, I want to hear your plan,” said the general, “but first I want Mother Goose to head up to Misawa in Japan ASAP and get the second radio beacon operational. I will personally deliver the third one to Beijing once our operation at Shanghai Pudong International Airport is over.

  “OK! I want the 30 parachutes dropped in low by Blue Moon and Easy Girl, with fifteen men per aircraft plus a pallet of arms. They will go in just before dawn, and the final decision on your landing site is perfect. The open land between the ocean and the west side of the airport should be far enough away for the snow to blanket any aircraft sounds.

  “Captain Wong? Well done at JFK. This one is going to be just as easy, as long as we don’t end up with troops blocking the runways with trucks, or whatever they have that can stop the Air China aircraft from taking off. We cannot win a war against the larger numbers of troops they must have stationed there, but remember complete surprise is on our side. Now, tell me exactly how you did it at JFK, and what is your plan for getting into the aircraft here?”

  Major Patterson and Captain Wong spent an hour telling General Allen what had happened at JFK, as well as the plan they had formulated on their flight over the North Pole at 31,000 feet. It was very risky, but the element of surprise and the way the Chinese engineers and soldiers had reacted to hearing of the Supreme Commander’s surprise visit, it certainly could be done again. Hopefully, nobody knew where the Supreme Commander was at the moment, but it didn’t matter, and to the men they were going to encounter, he was most probably God!

  Mother Goose left two hours later, refueled, and headed on her way to Japan, then over to Hawaii, and back to McGuire. She had done her job. Now it was up to the men she had brought in to increase the size of the U.S. Air Force, commercially.

  The snow came and went, winds moving it aroun
d, and toward nightfall it began to fall in earnest. The bulldozers worked to keep the runway clear. Only an inch or two had fallen when Blue Moon, Easy Girl, and the second HC-130 tanker were fully fueled and the two gunships, each carrying 15 men each took off two hours before dawn.

  The flight was 90 minutes into Shanghai, and the general would only take off in Ghost Rider once the men were on the ground. He needed to conserve fuel. He wouldn’t have the backup of a tanker anymore, and Beijing was a straight flight line this time with the aid of the Russian radio beacons.

  This time, the satellite phones would be the main communication tool—smaller and lighter than radios—and the men were dressed in the same clothing taken off the termination squads in New York.

  Both gunships were able to guide themselves into the area accurately with their infrared scanners. Mrs. Wang had been transferred into Blue Moon and once the men were down, they were to refuel from the tanker and all head into Omsk, 2,850 miles away.

  From Omsk, they would fly into Moscow and deliver the three promised cell phones, and then head for Turkey, which was the meeting point for all the U.S. aircraft heading back to the States. General Allen would be the last in, once he had delivered the radio beacon into Beijing, refueled, and then flown into Omsk for more fuel. He would also then head south into Turkey.

  The pilots reported reasonable snowfall over the area and it didn’t take them long to find the mapped out LZ (landing zone) several hundred yards southwest of the airport. Snow wasn’t falling and the clouds were scattered. The dark of night just before dawn was not a problem for the scanners aboard the gunship. Both aircrafts’ speed was slowed as much as possible to reduce engine noise. The pilots reduced altitude down to 900 feet and the jumpers only had seconds before they landed.

  All Marines were experienced at this and they had gone over the drills several times with the less-experienced pilots—teaching them low-level static-line parachute tactics. The tanker stayed aloft at 20,000 feet. She couldn’t help in any way, and she waited patiently for the two gunships to rejoin her. The rear door of the AC-130s opened, and the jump lights turned from red to green. Fifteen men ran out the back two at a time on each side of both aircraft in three second intervals. Their parachute’s ripcords were pulled by the static lines inside the aircraft as they jumped. The last man ran out on one side and seconds later a large case of carefully packed AK-47s and ammunition was pushed out on the other side of the both aircraft by two men. Its larger parachute’s ripcord was also pulled as it left the aircraft.

  The two aircraft immediately banked right and glided out to sea as silently as possible and gently gained altitude to meet up with the tanker. Together they turned far out to sea to the east of Shanghai into a northwesterly direction and got on course for Omsk.

  Several minutes later, the first group gathered their parachute gear and joined up reporting to Major Patterson. Everybody was okay, despite one slightly sprained ankle, and the second group headed by Captains Wong and Chong arrived several minutes later with no injuries to report.

  Patterson’s men searched for, found, and unpacked the slightly banged up pallets of equipment. Their pallet was a hundred yards away and stuck inside a now roofless and broken chicken coop, and after a little trouble, two of the men handed out the arms and ammunition to the rest of their squad. They wrapped their 15 parachutes onto the now empty pallet with a timer and explosive device that would go off in three hours time, hopefully destroying all evidence, as well as a dozen or so unfortunate chickens, if they didn’t go out to peck around the field before the explosion went off. They then re-joined the other group and Major Patterson phoned General Allen, telling him that they were on the ground, and no injuries.

  Already, and from this distance, they could see a dozen or more aircraft standing in a long line facing outwards away from the well-lit air terminal and facing the runway and outer fence that rested between them and the aircraft.

  If all the aircraft had been parked head-in at the terminals with the walkways attached, it could have presented a problem. It would have been difficult to get them moved back from the gates and onto the runway for take-off. They couldn’t see all the aircraft, because a short snow squall blotted out the terminal halfway down, but that was fine—they had seen as much as they wanted.

  The first terminal facing the west at Shanghai International was extremely long, and older satellite photos studied in the aircraft on the way over had shown that around 24 aircraft could be parked at the west-side gates.

  A couple of men cut holes in the high fence surrounding the airport, noticing that several lights were on in and around the buildings, as well as the aircraft control tower. There were no guards to be seen. They certainly weren’t expecting any form of attack.

  Once inside, they kept to the perimeter of the fence, carefully moving in the blackness around the south end of the runway. It took the group 20 minutes to get closer to the aircraft. By that time, the faint dawn light was beginning to show more and more of the airport stretching out in front of them.

  Major Patterson and all the men were dressed in the same confiscated Chinese clothing from JFK. The team moved slowly and carefully toward the main apron of the airport. Once they arrived in the first lit up area, Major Patterson was ready for his mission and blatantly walked out to the middle of the lit apron with Captain Chong to make sure that they would be seen, and started looking at the first airplane.

  Captain Wong ran to the tower and climbed the stairs as fast as he could with two shorter Marines as bodyguards, their faces totally hidden behind veils. He reached the airport’s command center or tower and found it unguarded with the door unlocked. He walked in and started shouting orders in Chinese, pointing down at the tiny figure of the Supreme Commander just barely visible checking aircraft.

  “The Supreme Commander has arrived to do an inspection of the airfield,” ordered Captain Wong in Mandarin as the men sat straight up, suddenly at attention. While he shouted, he looked outside the tower and counted fifteen 747s facing outward toward the runway. Past the end of the line and in a half-closed aircraft repair hangar he could just make out the same transporter he had seen at JFK two days earlier. It must have refueled somewhere on its return journey because she certainly didn’t have the range to get from New York to Shanghai nonstop like the passenger version.

  “The Supreme Commander has been given an army of elite troops from the government in Beijing as a gift, and needs 12 aircraft to collect them. Are those aircraft refueled and ready to fly? Where are the pilots?” he shouted at the man who looked to be most senior.

  “The aircraft are fueled and ready to fly. I will wake the pilots immediately. They are in their quarters, Comrade,” the man replied, stammering nervously.

  “General Wong to you! I am the Supreme Commander’s bodyguard commander. Is there an alarm to warn the soldiers about aircraft movements?” the captain demanded.

  “The soldiers are controlled from the security detachment on the floor below. I can send a man to tell them that the Supreme Commander is giving orders to move aircraft,” the man replied, still standing at attention.

  “Do that immediately!” ordered Captain Wong. “The aircraft will be flying into Beijing and will return in 12 hours. I need space and quarters for another 5,000 men. Tell the commander of the soldiers to find them space to sleep until we leave for America, understood?”

  “Yes sir!” The man stuttered and shouted orders to one of the five men in the tower. The man bowed and ran off.

  “Does the front line of aircraft have mobile stairs so that the Supreme Commander can inspect the aircraft?” was Captain’s Wong’s next question.

  “We only have three flights of mobile stairs, and I can get them out there from below the tower, General,“ the nervous man answered. Captain Wong nodded, noticing that the American squad of men was in now formation behind the first aircraft. The man in charge of the tower immediately picked up a microphone and spoke to who Captain Wong assumed was th
e ground crew.

  “The Supreme Commander doesn’t want any troops out there. He has his own elite troops under my command. The pilots have three minutes to get dressed. He wants 11 aircraft to transport the troops. Is the transporter loaded and ready to go?”

  “Yes, sir,” the man replied. “It is ready for its flight to America and fully loaded. It is being kept warm inside so that the parts do not freeze.”

  “Good, because that is what the Supreme Commander is giving our Chinese government minions in Beijing for the men. We will need to get it reloaded once it returns in three days time,” added the Captain.

  “But there are no more parts here at the airport,” replied the tower controller.

  “We have a new load coming in from Nanjing,” replied Captain Wang in a sarcastic tone. He watched as three sets of stairs were being pushed hard and by hand out to the first three 747s, and he then noticed five Air Bus 380s connected to the terminal at specially built gates. “Are the European aircraft ready to go?” he asked.

  “No sir, they are still having their seats removed and are not yet refueled.”

  “The Supreme Commander wants that work completed by the time he gets back from Beijing, in case he must go back. Wake up your workforce and get all those aircraft ready. The aircraft we are taking tonight will be arriving back here and I’ll need a welcoming committee ready when the Commander returns from Beijing. I’m flying with him and so are my elite troops. I will go down and wait for the pilots. Understood?” the man nodded, and Captain Wong and his two heavily armed guards ran back down the stairs, making as much noise as possible. On the floor below was an Army colonel by the looks of him, and he saluted Captain Wong as the three men nodded at him and continued down the stairs. He looked rather confused.

  Three of the first in line beautiful Air China Boeing 747-400ER’s forward doors were already open, and pilots could be seen through the cockpit windows going through pre-flight checks as the aircraft doors were already being closed.