by James Rosone
The room was deadly silent as the reality of the situation sunk in. The mayor was the first to speak. “We need to find out where those vehicles are going. We also need to get the police assembled to respond to this threat. Agent Quick, are there any government troops or forces in the area that can assist us?”
The DHS Agent instinctively grabbed his phone to try to place a call and quickly realized that the phone systems were still down. “Sir, it would appear the phone system is not in operation. I’m not sure we can let anyone know what is going on right now.”
Mayor Perez felt that the agent had not adequately answered his question so he asked again. “Agent, are there any government forces in the area that can help us right now?” His voice grew louder and more agitated as he spoke.
Agent Quick looked up at the mayor as if this was the first time he had heard the question. “Um, yes sir, there are troops in the area,” he replied. Turning to Officer Jayko, Quick continued, “If one of your officers can get a message to the base commander at the LA Barracks, he can alert the Air Force base there. They can send an emergency message via the UHF radios to other military bases in the area. We also have some Marines and Navy Seabees at Port Hueneme and Point Magu, near Ventura,” Quick explained, regaining his composure.
Mayor Perez seized on this glimpse of hope. “Officer Jayko, get a message to the Police Command Center to send a messenger over to the base and request assistance. Also, ask if they can send any forces to the mayor’s office while we try to coordinate some sort of defense,” he directed.
“Yes, Sir,” he replied. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said as he began talking to his counterparts in the police through his radio earpiece, turning his body to the side to concentrate on the conversation.
While Officer Jayko was talking, Jose paused for just a few seconds, wading through the sea of thousands of conflicting thoughts. Suddenly, an idea came to him, and he signaled to get Jayko’s attention. “We also need to send an emergency message throughout the city, telling people to stay indoors,” he ordered.
“Copy that,” Officer Jayko responded, then continued talking on the radio.
When he had completed his exchange, he turned back towards the mayor. “Sir, I was able to speak with the police chief; he said they are calling in every available officer they have and are sending them to City Hall and try to organize some sort of defense.”
As the mayor and the various law enforcement officials in the city scrambled to organize some sort of defense of the city, the Japanese and Chinese soldiers and their armored convoy continued to head towards City Hall, shooting and killing anyone that got in their way.
Bird or Plane?
24 December 2041
Catalina Island, California
After the destruction of the Seventh Fleet at Pearl Harbor and Japan, the U.S. Navy was concerned that the PLAN might be able to move ships close to the West Coast and attack the naval facilities and critical infrastructure along the shoreline. They identified thirty positions where anti-ship railguns systems could be built to deter any coastal approach by the PLAN; they could also be used to shoot down any incoming cruise missiles. Battery Twenty-Six on Catalina Island was part of this series of railguns emplaced around the various approaches to Los Angeles.
The sailors at Battery Twenty-Six were busily manning their positions, like any other day. Seaman Paul Rodgers was coming on his shift, relieving the night guard, when he suddenly heard some loud explosions in the distance.
“What was that?” exclaimed Seaman Arturo Gomez, the night guard.
“I don’t know…let’s find out,” Rodgers replied. The two men scanned the coast around them for signs of any kind of smoke or unusual action.
Gomez finally asserted, “It must be coming from L.A. There is no sign of activity here on Catalina Island.”
Rodgers moved his head like a dog listening to a strange noise, then interjected, “Hey, do you hear that? It sounds like helicopters.”
The two men put their hands above their eyes to block the sun and see if they could try to catch a glimpse of where the sound was coming from. In the distance, there were indeed a few choppers on the horizon.
“Is that a Japanese flag?” Gomez asked. “That seems a bit odd. Why would they be out here?”
“Hey--they just turned to head towards our facility,” Rodgers stammered, confusion in his voice.
“What the--Rodgers, they are coming in for an attack run!” He slapped the warning alarm button on the wall next to him in the guard tower, and they both grabbed their weapons. Seconds later, the tower was completely ripped apart by the nose gun of the incoming helicopter. As the chopper continued on, it launched a few missiles at the railguns.
In less than a minute, the two helicopters moved further down the island to the next gun position. In mere moments, they had succeeded in destroying the two anti-ship railguns at their fortified position. As they moved to attack the next railgun site on the island, the crew was prepared for an incoming attack. One of the sailors reacted quickly, and fired off one of the shoulder-mounted surface-to-air-missiles. The projectile whistled violently into the air, hitting one of the Japanese helicopters just as the gunner onboard fired one of his own missiles. The other JDF helicopter launched three missiles at the Americans and then quickly ducked behind a bend in the terrain, preventing the sailors from counter-attacking. With the cat out of the bag, it was going to be a lot harder taking out the remaining gun positions.
Within an hour of the first attack, five other groups of attack helicopters had destroyed their targets, reducing the number of anti-ship railgun positions along the coast from thirty to just six (only sacrificing seven helicopters for their efforts). Those six railgun sites would be targeted by a small contingent of PLA Special Forces, which had been offloaded at the Port of LA. The JDF needed to destroy all the gun batteries before fleets and transports started their seaborne approach to LA and San Diego. The next twelve hours were going to be critical to the success of the seaborne invasion.
This Is a Test
24 December 2041
Los Angeles, California
NBC Broadcasting Office
The Los Angeles police department was the first to arrive at the scene. As they were unsure of what they would meet there, they decided to send in a SWAT team in full tactical gear. The receptionist at the desk, a man in his mid-twenties with spiked hair and trendy clothing, had possibly never seen a gun except on TV; he screamed like a four-year-old girl when they entered the building. One of the SWAT guys put his finger to his lips as if to say. “Shhh,” and then walked over to him.
“Sir, have any soldiers entered the building before us?” asked the officer.
The man fanned himself for a second, then stammered, “Uh, uh, no. You guys are the only ones with guns here.”
“Ok, look, we advise you to evacuate the building as quickly and as orderly as possible. Please put your protocol in effect for a fire or a bomb threat so that everyone will leave with the least amount of panic. Advise everyone to take back streets and not freeways and find a safe spot to shelter in place. They might need to stay indoors for a few days.”
The man was now sweating profusely. He grabbed a swig from a bottle of water. “What in the world is going on?” he screeched.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I honestly don’t have time to explain. I need to know which floor the Emergency Alert System broadcasts from.”
“Uh, uh, the fifth floor.”
“Thank you,” he replied. The officer waved over a couple of security guards to loop them in on evacuating the building, and then he joined his colleagues, who had already hopped the turnstiles for security badge entrance. They knew that during a fire or bomb threat protocol, everyone would be headed down the stairs, so they all piled into two elevators and headed up to the 5th Floor.
As the elevators continued upwards, they could hear the speaker overhead forcefully announce, “Attention! There has been a bomb threat. Please proceed to the
stairs and exit as orderly as possible. You are advised to proceed by back roads to the nearest safe location and shelter in place. This is not a drill!”
One of the guys in the elevator chuckled, “That must have been one of the security guards, because I don’t think that dude at the front desk could have managed that.”
They all laughed for a second. Then the elevator beeped for the fifth floor, and they all went right back to game face.
The doors were opening slowly for some reason. They could hear two men arguing. “There is no way this is real. It is never real! I’m taking the elevator.”
“I’m telling you, I’ve been here fifteen years and I’ve never heard them announce it that way--”
At the sight of the SWAT team, both men looked at each other and quickly spoke at the same time, “Let’s take the stairs.” They were gone before you could blink.
The officers made their way down the hall. One young woman, who had been carrying a very large armful of scripts, panicked when she saw the SWAT team headed towards her and created a paper waterfall all over the floor. She turned and ran.
The SWAT team continued advancing, and finally located the room marked “Emergency Alert System.”
Several team members stationed themselves by the door, grabbing desks and other furniture to give them some cover if needed. A few more SWAT members picked strategic places along the hall to defend their position. Only three of them went inside.
“Ok, Rita, where’s those instructions?” asked Ben, one of her colleagues.
Pulling papers out of her pocket, Rita replied, “I’ve got it right here.”
The three of them started to get to work changing settings on the various equipment. A knob here, a switch there—a few minutes later, everything was ready. They started to record their message.
“This is not a test. Los Angeles is under attack by foreign armies. Go indoors and stay inside until further notice--”
Gun shots were fired down the hall. They paused the recording and grabbed their guns.
“We’ve got hostiles!” shouted one of the guys outside. “They keep coming! Get ready for a party!”
Rita and her two colleagues took cover behind a desk. The noises outside got louder and louder. First there was a crescendo of flying bullets. Then someone from the SWAT team must have thrown a grenade, because there was a very loud explosion down the hall. Then there was a very loud hissing sound. Rita got as low as she could to peer underneath the legs of the desk. A large cloud of smoke was crawling along the floor toward her.
“Cover your mouths!” she cried.
As the gas continued to advance into the recording studio, all three of them suddenly started coughing and sneezing. Everything burned. “My eyes!” yelled Ben, wiping frantically at tears streaming down his face.
All the other noises suddenly stopped, and what was left was a chorus of coughing and groans of agony. A team of Japanese soldiers with gas masks walked into the room, completely unaffected by the tear gas in the air. The SWAT team members were too incapacitated to fight back, so they lifted their hands in surrender. The JDF zip-tied their arms behind their back and moved them downstairs--they were prisoners of war now. The soldiers broke the windows open and waited for the smoke to dissipate. They had their own message to record.
Convergence
24 December 2041
Pacific Ocean, 200 miles East of the Japanese Fleet in Hawaii
The Japanese were anxiously awaiting the arrival of Major Cruse’s group, Angels’ Flight, made up of F-41 Archangels. They could have a fighting chance against them, but it would all depend on the Americans playing into their little ruse. Most stealth fighter planes do not engage their radar, because doing so would make them visible to other planes in the area; instead, they usually utilize the services of Navy ships with high-powered radar or dedicated planes that fly above to send verbal messages to them when an enemy is spotted (commonly referred to as AWACs). The JDF needed the Americans to believe that they would be functioning as their AWACs in order to get them to share their GPS locations and make them an easy target.
Katoshi Abe, one of the JDF radar officers, established connection with Major Cruse in an effort to finalize this plan. “Angels’ Flight, this is Aries Five. We are going to be your airborne radar and controller. Please acknowledge.”
“Aries Five, this is Major Cruse, Angels’ Flight. We acknowledge; can you please send us a view of the region?” Without their radar on, Major Cruse and his flight really had no idea of what was in the area.
The AWAC operator send them a datalink showing a large group of PLAN aircraft starting to assemble over their fleet, probably preparing to attack the JDF fleet again. It looked like a squadron of F35s from the JDF fleet were assembling to help the Americans engage them as well.
“Angels’ Flight, you are directed to link up with the F35s and provide air support and missile defense for the fleet. Please acknowledge,” said the Japanese radar operator.
“I acknowledge. Angels’ Flight moving to join the fleet defense; please keep us updated with radar images.” Major Cruse wanted to ensure they had a steady datalink of what the AWACs were seeing in real-time. As they moved closer to the Japanese fleet, they could see a lot of dark smoke coming from the fleet location. Without having any reason to be suspicious at this point, Major Cruse assumed that the smoke was from battle damage the fleet had suffered (instead, the JDF fleet was busy generating black smoke in order to make it appear that they had been damaged).
Cruse addressed his flight, knowing that his enthusiastic fighter jocks were itching for a fight. “All right, listen up guys, we are going to provide missile defense for the fleet down there; you can see they already took a lot of hits, so let’s do our best to make sure they don’t take any more. Also, if you can get a shot off at any of the PLAN aircraft that get in range, take it. Let’s move Angels, and make these guys pay.”
As they moved into position, Major Cruse saw F35s moving forward; he assumed they were there to engage the PLAN aircraft as they maneuvered to their own positions. Unknown to him, as they continued forward, another flight of F35s took off from the carrier below and maneuvered behind them. Suddenly, without warning, the F35s fired multiple missiles at them. Within milliseconds, several of the ships below them launched rockets at them as well.
Major Cruse’s missile alarms were jarringly loud, jolting him into a reality that he never imagined. The electronic countermeasures on his F41 turned on automatically and performed minor technological miracles to try and jam the enemy missiles. When Cruse regained his senses, he frantically radioed his flight, “Angel Flight, this was a trap! Try to get away and fly back to the rally point two-hundred miles away!”
As Major Cruse began to engage his EmDrive, his aircraft shook ferociously; he had been hit by one of the F35’s machine guns. He turned his aircraft hard and went to maximum speed just as several missiles whistled past his aircraft. He activated his rear-view camera so that he could look at the scene behind him as he flew away; he almost immediately regretted this decision because he witnessed three of his fighter pilots murdered in the blazing flames created by the missile swarms. Another one of the Archangels took several hits and began to smoke badly as it spiraled down to the sea; fortunately, he did see the pilot eject, and the chute opened. However, if he were not killed by the Japanese, he would become a prisoner of war, which was not a fate he wished upon anyone. Only one other F41 was able to escape the fray and join him at the rally point. Stunned, they immediately terminated their links with the JDF fleet and AWACs.
“What the blazes just happened, Cruiser? They just blew our guys right out of the air!” exclaimed Flapjack, the only other pilot to escape.
“I have no idea--I think my aircraft is hit, but I’m not showing any warning signs. Do you see any damage?” asked Major Cruse, concerned that his aircraft might not make it back home.
Scanning Major Cruse’s aircraft, Flapjack replied, “I see a couple of bullet hole
s along the wing, but it does not look like they hit anything critical. I’d suggest that you not go hypersonic right now though, just in case it might rip the wing off.”
Cruiser signed in relief.
“Can we go back and engage those guys? We can easily take out a lot of those JDF fighters.”
Major Cruse took a second to think through his response. “No, we need to head back to base and quick. Without an AWACs, we have to light up our radars to see them. The last thing I want to do is let the PLAN and JDF know our location again. Our advantage has always been our speed and ability to go unseen.”
Major Cruse was still a little stunned and shaken by what had just transpired, and it occurred to him that he could have died. That was the closest he had ever come to being blown up or shot down, and it really rattled him. For a moment, he was lost in his thoughts before he could focus on the task at hand. A world passed by in a moment before he resumed giving out orders. “We need to get a message back to headquarters of what just happened. They need to know that the JDF fleet is hostile, that we lost four F41s, and we are now returning back to the base.”
“Major, if they can get an AWAC up over California, I could stay airborne and try to reengage them,” replied Flapjack, eager for revenge.
“No Captain,” replied Cruse. “I won’t allow you to go back on your own…that would be a suicide mission. We’ve lost enough men today.”
Don’t Shoot the Messenger
24 December 2041
Los Angeles, California
L.A. Barracks
The base at L.A. Barracks was quite small; over the last few decades it had been cut down until it became a research station that held only about 350 men and women. Despite its small capacity, this little gated community unknowingly shined as the only real beacon of hope in rallying a military response to the invasion.
