These days, much of the world came to China for oil, and some of the trade was moved in Chinese bottoms. The Navy couldn’t use crude tankers, those vessels that hauled crude oil. It needed product tankers, those that carried refined petrochemicals. However, the nation’s oil barons had fiercely fought the Navy’s demand for commercial tankers. In the end, the oil barons, who were high in the Party hierarchy, had allowed a few of their product tankers to join the expedition, lending the Navy several of their largest. The Navy had added UNREP gear to them, defensive guns and military electronics.
Despite the size and strength of the Chinese Navy, it only had a few of its own fuelling ships or replenishment oilers as they were called. Initially, China had built a short-range coastal fleet. Only in the last decade had they truly attempted to form a blue-water navy. They hadn’t yet built-up the support ships necessary for maintaining a long-range war. One of the more critical lacks was enough replenishment oilers.
Several days ago, Admiral Ling had desperately defended his supercarriers from the ASBMs. It was almost as bitter a blow losing two product tankers as it would have been losing another carrier with its accompanying fighters and bombers. Too much of the invasion’s fuel requirements were afloat in several huge tankers. The loss of those tankers meant that the invasion’s reserves were lower than he liked. Already he’d sent word back to Admiral Qingshan of the Ruling Committee on the need for more tankers, for more fuel. Ling wanted to build-up larger stocks, larger reserves. Naval Minister Qingshan had told him that the Chairman had declined the request, saying the invasion fleet had quite enough fuel to achieve the task.
Ling had decided he would have more than enough reserves if he could get his hands on American fuel, particularly the big storage depots used for the luxury cruise-ships in Seward. Most of the Navy ships used diesel, as did the vast majority of the ground combat vehicles. Now the Vice-Admiral had botched his first attempt to grab Seward and its fuel. Couldn’t the man achieve the simplest tasks?
“Sir,” a communications captain said, looking up from his computer. “The Vice-Admiral would like to call off the assault on Seward for today. He wants assault helicopters and cargo-carriers sent over so he can coordinate a new assault tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.”
Admiral Ling glanced at Commodore Yen. “Why can’t the Vice-Admiral ever achieve his tasks with grace and efficiency?”
“I would remind you that he is the Chairman’s nephew,” the Commodore said in a low voice. “…perhaps it is ill-advised to so publicly admonish his valiant efforts today.”
“No doubt you speak the truth,” Ling said. He picked up his teacup and sipped the cooling liquid. He frowned. He wanted hot tea, not this tepid drink. Setting the cup back in its saucer, he thought to himself that assaults were like tea. You needed to drink them while they were hot. You needed to strike fast and do it well the first time. His frown deepened as he told Yen, “I want that fuel in Seward. I want to raise our reserves to higher levels.”
“Do you have a premonition, sir?” asked the Commodore.
Admiral Ling turned to the communications captain. “Explain to the Vice-Admiral that I expect his naval infantry to control the town and the fuel depot by nightfall.”
“As you wish, sir,” the captain said, lowly speaking into his communication device.
“Is that wise?” the Commodore whispered.
“We must be in Anchorage before the cold sets in,” Admiral Ling said.
“Is there any need for worry? We have time before the worst weather hits.”
“The glaciation has changed the weather patterns,” Ling said. “Bad weather begins a month earlier here, maybe even six weeks earlier than twenty years ago. This is a terrible time of the year to begin an invasion.”
“Sir,” Yen whispered, shaking his head.
Ling stared at the OBS. “I fear that more ill-fortune waits for us. Therefore, I desire Seward, its fuel and the rail-line to Anchorage. If we can split the American defense, one attack starting from Homer and another from Seward—”
“The Vice-Admiral will capture the town, sir.”
“He hasn’t yet.”
The Commodore leaned nearer. “Sir, for you own safe-keeping, I wish you would send the Vice-Admiral a congratulatory note on his hard fighting.”
“Do you call losing all your helicopters hard fighting?”
The Commodore glanced around before he whispered, “Our men hurt the enemy. You can congratulate the Vice-Admiral on that.”
“How did he achieve this miracle?” Ling asked. “By dropping his helicopters on them? No. I will congratulate the Vice-Admiral when he does something commendable. Until then, let him strive as we ordinary mortals have learned to do. Maybe in this way he can learn from his mistakes.”
Tall Commodore Yen with the VR monocle frowned at those words. “It is always wise to remember who his uncle is, sir.”
Admiral Ling could never forget. Why had they saddled him with the Vice-Admiral? The man was rash, given to impulses. In war of this sort, careful attention to detail won the day. Just how hard could it be to capture one of these small Alaskan ports?
ANCHORAGE, ALASKA
A National Guard captain named Jones stared at Stan Higgins. In regular life, Captain Jones ran a manure factory. He was balding, with red-veined eyes and missing the last three fingers of his left hand. He’d lost that in a compactor twelve years ago. Jones’s uniform was baggy and he slouched, but he was good at administration and belonged to General Sims’s staff. Sims was the C-in-C of Alaskan defense.
Stan and Jones were in the National Guard Armory, a huge garage with ten Abrams M1A2 tanks inside. Outside in the yard were Heavy Equipment Transporters, HETS. The tractor hauled the trailer, able to transport seventy tons worth of equipment. They’d been designed to haul the heavy M1A2 Abrams tank at sixty-two tons plus gas and shells. The HETS could also accommodate the four crewmen of the original M1 design.
Sitting at a table, Captain Jones lifted the screen of his laptop. With the touch-screen, he showed Stan the Kenai Peninsula, with Anchorage up in the middle top. The peninsula guarded Anchorage, with Cook Inlet to the west and Prince William Sound to the east and with the Gulf of Alaska filling in the south. The Kenai Peninsula looked like a triangle, with the base butted against Anchorage and the farthest tip pointed to the southwest. The Kenai Fjord National Park guarded most of the south of the peninsula with incredibly rugged terrain, with glaciers everywhere. Butted next to the Exit Glacier was the town and ice-free port of Seward.
“Their biggest warships moved in and pounded Seward by cannon,” Jones was saying. “After demolishing a good part of the town, the Chinese used hovertanks and fast-assault boats. Once ashore, they drove Ramos out of Seward.”
Stan knew Brigadier Hector Ramos. In the officer’s club, the man had given him two hundred dollars toward his dad’s bail. Ramos commanded the 1st Stryker Brigade Combat Team, known as ‘the Arctic Wolves.’ They were one of few U.S. Army brigades stationed in Alaska and ready for deployment.
It seemed Ramos has rushed down to Seward with only a battalion, nearly six hundred soldiers. The battalion used the Stryker armored infantry vehicle, which came in at a little over nineteen tons. It was heavier than a Humvee and lighter than a Bradley. A Stryker had eight wheels, and depending on the model, it had various armaments. The majority of Strykers boasted an M2 Browning .50 caliber machinegun, which could be remote-controlled by an operator in the armored vehicle. Other Strykers used an Mk19 40mm belt-fed automatic grenade launcher. Ramos even had a few Strykers with 105mm guns and others with TOW2 launchers. They could move along paved roads at sixty-five mph. Each had sensors that judged various types of terrain: snow, road, gravel, etc. The vehicles automatically changed the air pressure in all eight of their tires for maximum maneuvering capability.
Stryker speed had no doubt allowed Ramos to reach Seward in time to engage the Chinese. Whether the vehicles were heavy enough to fight toe-to-toe with the invade
rs—that was another matter.
Jones continued speaking. “After fighting the enemy, Ramos managed to extricate half his battalion from the town and blow the fuel depots there.” Jones sighed. “It’s a disaster in Seward, but at least Ramos has some of his troops left. That’s better than what happened at Homer. Ramos is giving the Chinese a bloodier fight than anyone else has so far. It hardly matters, however, as the Chinese pour soldiers into Seward. Several companies of Militia were rushed to the brigadier, as well as the rest of the Arctic Wolves, but he’s still outnumbered at least four to one. It will likely get worse, too.”
Captain Jones used the touch-screen, aiming the laptop at Stan. “Ramos has his problems, no doubt. But the emergency for us is west along the Number One Highway.”
Jones showed Stan the State Highway One or the Sterling Highway. From Anchorage, it went through Portage and turned southwest, passing through alpine-like mountains until it flattened out around Cooper Landing. The easier, flatter country was still a cold, snowy land abounding in moose, deer and bears and some of the best fishing in the State. The Highway went from Cooper Landing to Sterling, Soldotna, and then it moved almost straight south along the west Kenai coast, hitting Ninilchik, Anchor Point and ending in Homer.
“The Chinese have already taken Homer and Anchor Point,” Jones said. “Unfortunately, we weren’t able to mine Cook Inlet that far south. After landing in and around Homer, it has taken the Chinese a few days to shake out their formations and land enough supplies. We’ve used that time to rush men and material to Ninilchik. The Chinese are using artillery and drone-launched smart bombs on us there. It’s only a matter of time before they force us out of Ninilchik and continue their advance along the highway.” Jones pointed to the immediate west of Tustumena Lake. “General Sims wants a main line of defense here.”
“That seems risky,” said Stan. “With their hovertanks and landing craft, the Chinese can probably flank the position by landing on the coast north of the defense line.”
Captain Jones looked annoyed. “First, the bore tide in Cook Inlet gets much worse the farther north one goes. Second, even as we speak our Navy is slipping more mines into the inlet, extending the minefield’s range. That should keep the Chinese from taking their big ships north of the main defense line. If they try the hovertank, assault-boat tactic without heavy ship support, our aircraft should be able to hit them with missiles. Third and finally, I don’t remember asking your opinion, Captain.”
Stan glanced at Jones. They sat on metal fold-up chairs as they studied the laptop. “Begging your pardon, sir, but one of the strengths of a Western Army is the ability to share ideas and opinions.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Have you ever read any of Victor David Hanson’s military books?” asked Stan.
Captain Jones stared at Stan until finally he nodded. “You’re the one they call Professor, right?”
Stan shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Well, let me tell you something, Professor. We’re not in the classroom. This is war. The Chinese have invaded our country and they’re rolling through it. If they reach Anchorage, it could be game over for holding Alaska. You need to snap out of your shock, come down to reality and listen to what I’m telling you.”
“I am listening, sir.”
“I don’t need any of your history lessons, do you understand?”
“I’m sure you don’t need any lessons, sir. I’m just saying that a defensive line here near the west Kenai coast looks exposed. Why not pull back to the junction here near Soldotna?” Stan pointed at the screen. “Heck, it seems like we should pull back to Cooper Landing. Let’s use the terrain in our favor and force them to funnel their attack onto our guns.”
Captain Jones used his tongue to moisten his lips. “I’ll be sure to relay your concern to General Sims. In the meantime, I’m telling you where you’re taking your tanks.”
“You want us on the main line?” asked Stan.
“If you’re chicken, Professor, you’d better tell me now so I can find someone to do the fighting for us.”
Several of Stan’s National Guard buddies who talked in a clump beside the nearest tank heard that. Jose Garcia, who owned his own mechanic shop, was a heavy man of Mexican descent. He was only five-seven and had trouble moving in and out of the Abrams’ hatch, but he was the best gunner in the company.
“You’d better watch your mouth, Mr. Staff Captain, sir,” Jose said loud enough for Jones to hear.
Captain Jones seemingly chose to ignore that as he kept staring at Stan. The National Guardsmen in Alaska had fallen on hard times as far as discipline and decorum went.
“I’ll fight, sir,” Stan said. “It’s just that these are about the only tanks in Alaska I know of. I’d hate to lose them right at the get go.”
“You listen to me, Captain. I’m not here to argue with you. You’re taking those Abrams and heading for the main line of defense. We don’t know everything the Chinese have, but we sure as fire know what we have, which is just about nothing modern. We’ve rushed half the 4th Airborne Brigade down there and several National Guard line companies. Some of the 16th Combat Aviation Brigade is helping. With them are some summer soldiers with their rifles to fill in the gaps.”
Stan knew that the summer soldiers were the Militiamen. They had been a political offshoot of the secessionist troubles these last ten years especially. The Debt Depression meant the Federal and State governments lacked the monies of the past. In other words, neither the Feds nor the States had the funds to raise more National Guard units or new Army or Reserve units. They kept disbanding military formations because of a lack of money. Then some bright Army officers had convinced the government to let ordinary Americans form militia companies under various state government inspections and controls. The civilians paid for their own uniforms and weapons and received training from National Guard drill instructors. This gave the states more military muscle and at almost no extra cost. It also meant the local communities had armed forces able to patrol the streets. There had been abuses, cries of militarism and outrage. But it had also allowed certain survivalist and anti-government types to march and train under the State government’s eye. They were more paramilitary than military, a local force of shock police, but they did train as squads, platoons and sometimes even as companies. The more rural and hunting States had better militia than the primarily urban States. As befitted Alaska, it had a higher ratio of Militiamen to population because the State had more hunters and fishermen per capita than any other State. It still left Alaska woefully short of military muscle and under-armed, but the Militia was there and now it was being used to help plug the advancing Chinese. One of Stan’ best friends, Pastor Bill Harris of the Rock Church, was a sergeant in the Militia.
Captain Jones took a deep breath before he kept speaking. “The President said he’s going to airlift us reinforcements, while the rest of the Alaskan National Guardsmen are forming up in Anchorage or using the train-line from Fairbanks to come here. Right now, however, your tanks are about the only thing heavy we’ll have to destroy anything cute the Chinese are landing. Our Strykers and even our Bradleys can only do so much in that regard.”
“Yes, sir,” said Stan. “I’m sorry for being so outspoken, sir. This is a desperate time and my mind keeps churning out ideas. You can bet that I’ll do my part when it comes to combat.”
“You’ve sucked off the Guard’s tit for years. Now it’s time to pay up.”
“I understand, sir. Can I ask one more question?”
The captain gave him a guarded looked. “As long as you leave out any historical references, go ahead.”
“How much air cover do we have?”
The captain heaved a sigh. “You’ve got that pegged right. We don’t have much. You load up now, race for Portage and then wait for nightfall. After that, you’re crawling with the haulers to Soldotna. We’ll give you infrared mufflers, about the only ones in the State. We know the Chine
se have Commandos crawling everywhere. We’ve sent the best hunters we have after them, but….” The captain shook his head.
“Hunters, sir?” asked Stan. “Airborne hunters?”
“No, deer and bear hunters, Militiamen.” The captain snapped his laptop shut. “The Chinese have gained strategic and operational surprise. We’re doing crazy things to try to hang on until the airlift starts bringing us more soldiers. Now listen up, Professor, and don’t take this the wrong way. You use those tanks to kill Chinese vehicles, but don’t lose any of your M1A2s. That’s not an order to act cowardly—”
“You’d better watch your mouth!” Jose Garcia shouted. “That’s our captain, and he’s five times the soldier you are, baldy.”
“Jose, please,” Stan said. “We’re all under tremendous pressure. Let him do his job.”
Muttering, Jose turned away, causing several other National Guard tankers to turn with him.
“Hurt them, Captain,” said Jones. “But try to bring those tanks back.” He scowled, glanced at Jose and then turned back to Stan. “Right. Your men think you’re okay. That’s a good sign at least. I know I’ve given you contradictory statements, but we’re in a real fix. Good luck…Professor.”
Stan accepted the captain’s hand, and they shook firmly. Once he let go, Stan stood up, turned to his tankers and began to shout orders.
-11-
Invasion
TUSTUMENA LAKE, ALASKA
Reconnaissance showed the Chinese had established a firm beachhead from Homer to Ninilchik. More material poured onto the beaches as the naval brigades began to advance along the coast on the Number One Highway.
During that time, General Sims had rushed soldiers past Soldotna as they built a main line of defense beside Tustumena Lake. Everything from Anchorage had to run the gauntlet of the Number One Highway. Chinese aircraft and helicopters ran interdiction most of the way, but they refrained from using heavy bombs, likely wanting to save the highway as their main line of advance to the city.
Invasion: Alaska Page 25
