ANCHORAGE, ALASKA
C-in-C Sims was worried because the Chinese had taken out the strategic Talkeetna ABM station. The giant pulse-laser had been the backbone of air defense in South Central Alaska. Now the Chinese could hunt inland, possibly hitting the train line from Fairbanks or even attempting to interdict the transport flights landing in Fairbanks.
Sims had rearranged SAM sites, moved tactical laser batteries and lofted more air, particularly early warning radar and fighters. His pilots were overworked and they flew outdated aircraft, but they were tough and knew the stakes.
So far, he had kept the Chinese ground forces away from Anchorage. It had cost too many American lives doing it, however. As fast as the reinforcements arrived, he sent them against the Chinese in the Kenai Peninsula. If the Chinese could interrupt his small but steady trickle of reinforcements—
“Where are they going to hit next?” Sims asked his Air Chief.
“If I were them,” the Air Chief replied, “I’d put the rail-line out of commission.”
Sims studied the situation on an operational map as he sat in headquarters in Anchorage. The strike against the Talkeetna ABM station hurt. It gave the Chinese greater freedom. How would they use that?
“We need more laser batteries,” Sims told the Air Chief.
“We need more of everything,” the man replied.
PRCN SUNG
It was over thirty-seven hours since the destruction of the strategic ABM laser site in Talkeetna. Now Admiral Ling’s second risky attack was about to commence. The first had worked beautifully, if he’d lost more Ghosts than he would have liked. Victory in Alaska would absolve him of any problems concerning that.
Admiral Ling stood on the bridge of the supercarrier Sung. He watched as the steam catapults launched bombers into the gray sky. Once aloft, the heavy planes climbed toward waiting fighters and EW craft.
Ling had worked himself to exhaustion these past days. He attempted to ensure coordination between the various arms and fronts. He had ensured coordination on the carriers for this new air-team venture. If his plan worked, he would shatter the Americans like a glass vase.
“That’s the last of the bombers,” Commodore Yen said beside him.
Admiral Ling gave him a rare smile. “Order the helicopters into the air. It is time.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Yen said.
***
Fifty big Heron bombers climbed to launching height. The supercarriers were already one hundred and fifty kilometers to the east behind them. Ahead of them waited Anchor EW craft and J-25 Mongoose fighters.
Captain Cho piloted the lead Heron. He had run many bombing missions already, but this one was special. Anchorage airport was the target. If everything went well, it would be the beginning of the end for the Americans.
“Launch,” came the order from a controller aboard the Sung.
Captain Cho’s palm was moist. He glanced at his navigator, gave him a grin and then yanked a lever.
At the bottom of the large bomber, a big Goshawk drone dropped from the pylons. It fell fifty meters before the turbojets kicked on. From other Herons dropped more Goshawks.
Slowly, the bombers dropped behind as the Goshawks climbed higher. Each was remote-controlled from Mukden or from one of the supercarriers. In a deadly flock, the Goshawks increased speed as they headed for Anchorage airport.
In time, the Goshawk drones passed the EW Anchors.
The Anchor pilots were nervous. They had practiced this four times during the naval exercise. It should work now against the Americans. They climbed to the same height as the Goshawks, but kept eighty kilometers behind.
Now they turned on powerful jamming equipment. It would take time and electronic effort for the Americans to pierce that. And once they did—
The Anchor crews were busy, but not as much as the flight controllers aboard the Sung were. There were other smaller bombers following and the many fighters to protect the last wave, the infantry-carrying helicopters.
If anything went wrong, this could prove the costliest error in the war so far.
ANCHORAGE, ALASKA
It was a clear day over Anchorage under the overcast sky. The international airport was busy as always. There were two laser batteries stationed nearby along with AA guns and Wyvern SAMs. A garrison platoon manned machineguns and Army MPs drove around in jeeps and manned the perimeters on the unlikely chance of saboteurs.
Between the airport and Anchorage was C-in-C Sims’s command post. It was underground and linked to the airport’s radar net.
“Sir,” the Air Chief said. “You should look at this.”
“What now?” Sims asked.
The Air Chief pointed at a large screen. There were an easy thirty enemy blips on it, moving toward Anchorage.
“What—?” even as Sims began to ask his question, the computer screen went white.
“Someone is jamming us, sir,” a nearby operator said.
“I’m getting nine fixes, sir. Nine jamming aircraft.”
“Are the Chinese attacking us directly?” Sims asked.
The Air Chief nodded.
“Put everything in the air,” Sims said.
“I’m already on it.”
“And break that jamming!” Sims shouted.
“That will take some time, sir,” an operator said.
“We may not have time,” Sims said.
***
The Goshawks flew toward the airport as their transponders gave off precise signals, making them appear as regular Chinese bombers. Their jamming equipment would help confuse American radar.
Behind the Goshawks by forty kilometers followed the Herons, with precision air-to-ground missiles primed.
A wave of F-15s moved to intercept the enemy. They launched air-to-air missiles, and in less than twenty seconds, sixty of the missiles raced toward the Goshawks. Eagle radar burned through enemy jamming, guiding their missiles to target. Soon, the missiles slammed into, exploded and killed thirty-seven Goshawks.
The remaining Goshawks bored toward the airport and into range of the tactical lasers. They beamed, and Goshawks began to fall apart.
Now the Herons moved into position. Captain Cho nodded, and the bombardier released precision-guided air-to-ground missiles. All around them, the other bombers did likewise.
Now one hundred Chinese missiles burned for their targets: for airport radar stations, laser sites and SAM installations.
“Glory to China,” Captain Cho said, as he increased speed. He would follow the missiles, and make a single bombing run.
***
Sims stared at a video-feed of a laser destroying a Goshawk. “What is that?”
“A drone,” the Air Chief said.
Sims squinted at the screen. Then he turned to the Air Chief. “They’re trying to saturate us.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Let them rip themselves apart on our sword,” the Air Chief said. “Put everything aloft.”
“Yes, sir,” said an operator.
“They’re trying to do to us what they did at Talkeetna,” Sims said.
***
The F-15s had launched almost all of their air-to-air missiles. They still had their cannons, however. They used afterburners to close the gap with the enemy. Behind the Eagles followed several squadrons of F-16s.
Now the more numerous Chinese Mongooses showed up, and air-to-air missiles streaked through the sky at the American planes.
Before contact occurred, the airport’s laser batteries lit the skies with stabbing beams. U.S. Wyvern missiles roared from their launching pads. AA guns poured tracer fire into the air. It was a maelstrom.
Chinese fighters went down. F-15s blew apart. Then Chinese missiles began to arrive at the airport, and explosions occurred. The missiles knocked out radar stations, SAM sites and a laser focusing system.
The surviving laser began to overheat as bombers appeared in the sky. The last Wyverns launched as the Herons unloaded th
eir smart bombs.
Few of the Chinese Herons left the vicinity of Anchorage airport, as the F-16s now attacked.
It was a costly battle on both sides. The Chinese had more planes and better tech. The Americans had ground-based weaponry helping them. As the Chinese knocked out those systems, they finally gained air superiority over the airport.
***
“Sir,” a radar operator asked Sims. “What are those do you think?” He pointed at his screen, at the blizzard of blips that seemed to rise from the ground.
“I don’t care what they are,” said Sims. “Kill them.”
“Can’t do it at the moment, sir,” the operator said. “The last laser is re-juicing.”
Sims had a cold feeling in his chest.
“What are they, sir?”
“I wish I knew,” said Sims.
***
The last wave of the Chinese attack approached Anchorage airport. They were heavy Chinese choppers. During the intense air-battle, the helicopters had sped over the waves of Cook Inlet. Now they streaked for Anchorage airport. As the heavy choppers neared, remaining flak guns opened up in the city. The first chopper exploded in a hail of gunfire.
Now bay doors rolled open on the Chinese craft. One after another, men leaped out of the bays. They wore dinylon body-armor and Eagle-7 jetpacks. The elite Eagle Teams engaged their rugged battlefield thrusters. Kept airborne and mobile, each soldier used a joystick-control to guide him. They had assault rifles attached, grenades and RPGs, although none of them used their weapons yet. They were too busy flying their jetpacks.
The flak guns continued to pound the choppers, and the big machines kept dropping out of the sky, most minus their jetpack cargos. Now the Eagle Teams swooped for the cratered airport. It was a sight, men dangling in their jetpacks.
Lieutenant Chiang led his squad. He watched the ground rush up toward him as the wind whistled past his helmeted head. He had thick wrists and a steady hand. Behind him on his back, the jet whined. His bones shook, but he loved this. Checking his gauge, he saw that he had another fifteen minutes of fuel.
He approached a flat-looking building. Americans ran outside. They held assault guns. Some of the Americans knelt, raised their weapons and began firing. Chiang clenched his teeth as he concentrated on flight.
A bullet whanged off his dinylon armor. Chiang shouted as he veered to the side. He almost lost his balance, and that would have sent him plummeting to his death. Around him, Chinese jetpack-soldiers plummeted to the ground. Fortunately, his internal gyro stabilized him. Chiang knew he had to touch down fast. He used his joystick, and he felt a sudden lurch as the ground rushed up.
Then several Chinese attack helicopters swooped in with the Eagle Teams. The 25mm chainguns cut down the Americans firing up at Chiang.
I’m saved. It was a wonderful feeling.
With another deft use of his joystick, Lieutenant Chiang’s feet touched down. He shut off the jetpack and unsnapped his harness. With a clang, the assembly fell from his shoulders.
Chiang was barely in time. More Americans ran out of the building. Throwing himself prone on the tarmac, Chiang brought his assault rifle to bear and began firing, cutting down the first American.
Then other Eagle Team members touched down and shed their packs. Chinese soldiers began shouting to one another.
They were on the verge of capturing the airport. Lieutenant Chiang knew if they could keep the airport for any length of time, the admiral could begin air-ferrying naval soldiers into this critical rear position of the Alaskan defense. Admiral Ling would have taken the city and stranded the Americans on the Kenai Peninsula.
***
“Recall all of them!” Sims shouted. He’d stripped Anchorage of defenders earlier, sending them to the front to try to stem the Chinese push.
“Sir, what about the highway strongpoints?”
“If we lose Anchorage, none of that matters. Recall the Army Rangers in their helicopters and land them as close as you can to the airport. We have to get it back, now! We have to drive the Chinese out of there or the game is over!”
***
Lieutenant Chiang led the assault against the last Americans in the airport. The Eagle Team commander radioed him afterward, telling Chiang the Americans wouldn’t give them much time. They had to set up fast and hold until the Chinese naval infantry got here.
JUNCTION ONE/NINE HIGHWAY, ALASKA
News of the jetpack attack on the Anchorage airport swept through the defenders waiting along Highway One.
“Are we cut off back here?” men asked.
It was four hours of questions, of growing panic, before the Chinese bombardment at the front sent soldiers cowering to their foxholes and trenches. Stan Higgins awaited the attack in his Abrams.
They had the high slope here, a long upward area with big boulders and rocks strewn everywhere. There were pines in places, but more stumps. Chainsaws had been buzzing for endless hours—days. Now the slope was a giant boulder-earthen-pine strongpoint, protecting the highway that wound through the American position.
“I still don’t understand,” whispered Jose. “If the Chinese hold Anchorage airport—”
“How many times must I tell you?” Stan asked. “They struck at the airport, but I doubt they’ll be able to keep it long.”
“Why not?” asked Jose.
“Because we can’t afford to lose it and certainly not Anchorage,” said Stan. “It’s the key to Alaska. General Sims will use everything we have to dislodge the Chinese from the airport.”
“Where does that leave us?”
“So far, we’ve been lucky.”
“How do you figure that, Professor?”
“The Chinese haven’t attacked us here yet. If I were them, I’d hit us hard right now while the men are shaky.”
“What do you think this bombardment is?”
Stan peered through his scope. He was worried about the jetpack strike like everyone else. His reading of history also let him understand something: the psychology of the attack. Men liked being brave. Soldiers honored courage. If a man faced the enemy with his friends, he could usually hold his spot. That had been particularly true of ancient combat. What men and soldiers hated, however, was having somebody at his back. The reason was obvious. An enemy at your back could freely hit you. Therefore, in ancient times particularly, if enemy troops managed to get behind an enemy formation, the soldiers in the formation often ran away. Once they broke formation, they lost the battle. Having the Chinese in their back lines frightened the men up here. It was a mental thing, a spiritual thing, yet it was very real for all that.
“I don’t hear anything,” said Jose.
“The bombardment has stopped,” said Stan, as he peered through his scope.
“I hope so.”
I don’t, Stan told himself. It meant the main attack was coming. Moreover, if Jose and Hank were any indicator, the American side was shaken by the news of the Anchorage airport assault. It might not be so easy holding today with panicked soldiers.
“Oh no,” whispered Jose.
Stan stood, opening the commander’s hatch. He thrust up, but not too high, lest he hit his head on the heavy log roof over the Abrams. He heard the familiar rattle-squeal-clank of Abrams tanks. To Stan’s amazement, Benson’s M1A3s moved out of their bombardment position. The tanks went to take their spots around the highway, giving them a good field of fire. It was crazy, but under the circumstances, it was heroic.
“Ignorance is bliss,” Stan whispered.
He glanced around at soldiers in their foxholes who had popped up to look. They stared wide-eyed at Benson’s massed Abrams. Then soldiers began to cheer.
“Well, would you look at that,” said Stan.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Jose asked.
Taking out his binoculars, Stan peered down the long slope. Those were Marauders, and they were charging at high speed.
“Why aren’t they using smoke to shield them?” Jose shout
ed out of the tank.
Stan had no idea, unless maybe the Chinese troops had heard about what their jetpack brothers had done. Maybe even as it panicked the American side, it had bolstered the Chinese. Maybe the Chinese figured they were simply going to overrun the Americans today.
American 120mm guns traversed, and Benson’s Abrams opened up, sending their long-distance sabot rounds shrieking at the enemy.
“Hit!” shouted Stan. “They’re hitting Marauders.” Stan found himself grinning. He didn’t care anymore if Benson was one arrogant prick of a tanker. If the man could shoot Chinese like fish in a barrel, that was just fine with him. “Mighty fine,” Stan said with a laugh.
From the trenches and foxholes, U.S. Army soldiers, National Guardsmen and Militiamen cheered wildly.
The Marauders began firing. A shell slammed into an Abrams. The tank blew up. Another Chinese shell bounced off an American tank. Then the American tanks fired again. It was a glorious sight, and it poured massed fire down at the Chinese. It also destroyed the Marauders.
“You’d better button up,” said Jose. “The Chinese will likely start another bombardment.”
Stan thought likewise. Then he froze. He focused his binoculars on three T-66s. Dropping the binoculars, he picked up his receiver and shouted to Benson’s Abrams, “Get behind something, a boulder, dirt—hide!” he shouted to Benson’s tankers.
Instead of doing anything so sensible, the M1A3 Abrams revved up and began to move down the long slope toward the giant Chinese tanks.
To Stan, it seemed as if a hush descended on the battlefield. Soldiers waited. They watched. Stan couldn’t believe that Benson was really that arrogant. How could the major dare charge the tri-turreted tanks?
Then the American tanks skidded to a halt, and their cannons boomed. Shells roared down-slope and smashed against the first T-66. Smoke billowed around the monster.
“He’s going to learn now,” said Jose.
The Abrams revved and moved as Chinese shells screamed at them. An American tank blew up. Then the smoke cleared from the first T-66. Stan expected to see an unhurt monster. Instead, incredibly, the Chinese tank lay on its side, destroyed.
Invasion: Alaska Page 38
