by Steven Linde
“It’s good to see you Lieutenant and Gunny, we were under the impression that you were all dead lost up North some place.”
“Yes Sir, as we found out when we landed and Captain Hendricks told us we were dead.” replied the Lieutenant.
“I see you brought back the Army with you as well as the Air Force?” asked the General.
“Yes Sir, this is Sergeant First Class McDonald 19th Special Forces Group out of Camp Parks near Hayward. We met up with them near Monterrey where the Naval College there is still in operation, it’s quite a set up they have their, Sir.”
“Is that so Sergeant McDonald?” asked the General.
“Quite frankly Sir, my orders right now are to get a shortwave radio set up so you can chat it up with Lieutenant General Watkins, US Army,” SFC McDonald said.
“I’m sorry Sergeant, we don’t have any working shortwaves,” the General replied.
“Yes Sir, I understand that, we brought three with us that are fully functional, one for here, one for NAS North Island and the other one for 32nd Street.”
The General’s jaw dropped open, visually stunned by the news. “Where are the radios now?”
“Outside sir, under guard by my team. My comms Sergeant can have one set up in a few minutes if you like.”
“Yes yes by all means let’s get it set up now. What do you need from me?” asked the General.
“Not much Sir, we are fairly self-contained, we need some room and a place to set the generator.”
“Alright Sergeant, let’s get to it then set it up any up any place you want as far as I’m concerned.”
SFC McDonald quickly headed out to retrieve his comms Sergeant and the radio, and they all came into the HQ like a bull in a China shop. The General didn’t care; they were combat troops after all. Within twelve minutes they had it all setup and the generator running, it was noisy inside the building. No one cared.
It was just about 15:30 as the comms Sergeant attempted to make contact with General Watkins. It didn’t take much, he was waiting, and before they knew it the Commandant of the Marine Corps was talking to the current Commander-and-Chief of all US Forces. The Commandant seriously wondered if he might outrank him, but then he thought it didn’t matter because the Admiral outranked them all. It didn’t matter right now; they would figure it all out later on. For the next hour General Watkins explained the current situation throughout their AO, and then the Commandant spent the next forty-five minutes explaining what was going on in Southern California.
The Commandant was stunned by all that General Watkins and his staff had been able to accomplish, and he was only hoping they could help. General Charkin told General Watkins he didn’t have much more time to talk, he had caught them in the middle of a bug-out. Forces from the North were overwhelming the Marines and they were pulling back. Then the surprise of General Charkins’ life came: General Watkins offered up four fully loaded B-52 bombers with ordinance. If he could give him coordinates where he wanted it all dropped, they could be on their way from Travis within the hour and possibly on site soon after takeoff. General Watkins asked if he thought it would help his situation. General Charkin’s response was “Hell yeah!” he then called in his XO, briefly explained what he needed, and told him he needed it within the next ten minutes. His XO nodded. “No problem Sir!” then hustled himself out of the office, only to return a few minutes later with a couple of maps. With General Watkins and part of his staff on the radio, they quickly planned out the B-52 raid. If it worked there would be no bug-out and most of the enemy forces would be dead, at least the ones along the lines.
General Charkin passed the information to General Watkins, and he instructed Colonel March to send this Flash and execute immediately. He told him to let him know when the birds were in the air and the time they would arrive. Once that was completed, General Charkin and General Watkins talked for a few more minutes, and General Charkin stated he needed to sign off, or rather leave. He needed to get the word out and get his men prepared for the massive bombing that was coming. General Watkins concurred and told him that the SF comms Sergeant would maintain radio contact, and once they had a time of arrival would let them know.
General Charkin and General Watkins made plans to speak again after 2300 that night to see how it went and what else he could do. He then offered up another tidbit that left General Charkin speechless. He told him that the USS Hornet and its battle group, be it as it may, was a day or day and a half out of Los Angeles. He was certain that they would be able to provide more help with fighter aircraft and a few thousand more Marines. General Charkin’s simple response: “Marines, my Marines?”
“Yes General that would be true your Marines with LAV’s, Bradley’s, and Abrams all there ready to help and yes they would be under your command to an extent. Right now the battle group is under Admiral Walcom, you wouldn’t be able to take the Marines right off the bat; it would endanger his own command and operation potentially leaving them vulnerable.”
“Yes of course General I was happy to hear, however that I have several thousand more Marines in the Corps.”
“I will contact Admiral Walcom and ask him to join us at 2300 so you can plan accordingly. We also need to get those other radios to North Island and 32nd Street. Any ideas General we took a big chance flying into Pendleton, we don’t want to get shot down,” said General Watkins.
“Do exactly what you did here, I don’t think you will have any problem they’ll definitely be shocked to see the C-47. Once you’re there the additional radio can be taken over to 32nd Street by boat.”
“Sounds good General. My XO has handed me a message, it’s from Travis. They will be lifting off in 15 mikes. They expect to drop within eighty minutes after that. Better get going General you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“Roger that General talk to you soon.”
General Charkin was barking orders at his XO and the rest of his staff to drop everything they were doing. They needed to get word out to the troops on the lines that they need to get to cover ASAP, that the world around them was getting ready to literally explode. Unfortunately, as he barked out his orders everyone wanted to know what the hell was going on, and it took him a valuable twenty minutes to give them all a run down. They all wanted to know how this General Watkins guy could be trusted and if he was for real. All he could say was they have at least one C-47, a Special Forces A Team that Lieutenant Winchell and Gunny Roy vouched for, not to mention they brought three working shortwave radios. As far as the bombing run, they were about to find out in about forty-five minutes and if they weren’t prepared there was going to me a lot of Marine casualties. He advised his staff to get off their asses and get it in gear regardless, if true or not they needed to be prepared for it. After forty-five minutes they would proceed with the bug out. The clock was ticking.
Runners were sent to all units on the line, many were skeptical of the order. Orders were orders though, and they would dig in, dig deep, and dig in. If it was remotely true everything around them was going to be lit up like a Christmas tree in about thirty minutes. Marines began to prepare for a massive air assault; most of them have been through similar assaults either in Iraq or Afghanistan, or both. The ground was going to shake like it was a massive earthquake, the air was going to be sucked out of the area, and it was going to be difficult to breathe, with debris flying around everywhere. They needed to dig deep and fill it with everything they needed if it was true there was a tremendous amount of hurt on the way.
The clock continued to count down, and NCO’s and Officers were running around making sure their men and women were ready for the coming onslaught. All of this movement wasn’t lost on the opposing forces, they knew they had the Marines on the run and they were pulling back. Although they didn’t have the firepower like the Marines, they had the numbers. Something was different; they were digging in, and weren’t retreating. With ten minutes left Marines throughout the lines began to button up their fox holes and bunke
rs. They were going to ground.
Many thought it was stupid. There was no more Air Force, nothing could fly anymore after the event, and most didn’t even run, so how could an airplane fly? Not everyone buttoned up, and some wanted to sit on top of their bunkers, but they did as they were ordered. A vibrating noise could be heard throughout the lines. “What the fuck is that noise?” one Private exclaimed.
Everyone peaked out of their holes and bunkers, and the most c’mon phrase heard throughout the Marine Corps at that time was, “Oh shit!”
The half a dozen B-52’s were clearly in sight now; they could clearly see the big white star on it’s the undercarriage. They all knew Armageddon was at hand, and the Marines that decided to sit on the bunkers quickly moved underground. If they could they would have started to dig even deeper, but it was too late for that. The opposing forces saw the huge aircraft and wondered to themselves what was going on, but the veterans of the group knew what was coming and when asked what was going on they simply replied, “It’s time to bend over and kiss your ass good-bye!” It was lost on most of them. Then the massive airplanes bomb-bay doors opened. There was nowhere for them to go. A few moments later, bomb after bomb after bomb dropped from the planes.
Chapter Fourteen
The USS Pampanito slowly made its way into Los Angeles (Port of Los Angeles) harbor. It was submerged, moving carefully through the water with Commander Washington at the periscope searching for any potential threats. It was 0700, the movement down from Monterrey had been uneventful, and it had been clear sailing and gave the crew time to work out the kinks in the sub. Prior to leaving San Francisco they had completed, at most, two days at sea, and that was only around San Francisco and up to a few miles off the coast. They had now been at sea for almost a week. It wasn’t a long sail to Los Angeles, a day and a half maybe, but they had stopped in Monterrey for a couple of days and had made another stop along the way. Commander Washington had the crew perform and exercise where the sub surfaced deployed its rafts, and members of the crew deployed to the nearest beach. The exercise had two purposes: abandoning ship and boarding/beaching parties. The rafts had small engines which had a range of about fifty miles, with the rafts fully loaded. In the case of the exercise, the ship was five hundred yards off the beach. Commander Washington felt the need to break the engines in with a short trip to the beach.
Once on the beach, the Sailors were required to set up a perimeter. The parameters of the exercise stated that there were hostiles in the area and they could attack at any time. Once the rafts were secure, a team of two men would be left to guard them while the rest of the Sailors moved inland. They had to move at least a mile in to accomplish the mission, while keeping contact with the sub using PRC-77 radios. The Sailors, while back in port in San Francisco, had gone under intensive unit training by the Marines, including tactics and weapons. They were taught enough to be dangerous.
After a couple of days, the battle group had moved offshore. Command knew that word would spread quickly that there was an aircraft carrier and battleship off the coast, and forget about the support ships and Marines, it was the Navy’s show right now. They were showing the US colors more importantly, it gave the civilians great comfort in knowing they were out there. There was ship-to-shore leave for most of the Sailors and Marines, and they were required to be in uniform while there. Again this was a political move to show the colors.
Then one morning the ships were gone, to the dissatisfaction for the civilians. They were assured by the Navy they would be back, for now it was part of the routine patrol. The Navy for now wasn’t going to venture too far from our own coasts until it was all secured.
The USS Pampanito sat off the harbor for twelve hours observing before moving in. As far as they could tell there was little to no movement around the harbor at all, but what was odd was that they saw dozens of ships anchored off the coast, just huge ships sitting there listless. They didn’t get too close to the ships, and it wasn’t the mission. They observed them and saw no life. Either the crews had found a way off, which wasn’t too hard to imagine. They had lifeboats and it was possible that the engines worked after the event, or the crews were dead.
Commander Washington had a decision to make whether to surface or not, as they continued to move forward in the harbor. He spoke with his XO about it they decided that if they hadn’t detected any direct threats to the boat within the next fifteen minutes they would surface. After all, they had the deck guns and would man those after they surfaced. There was the four inch gun, a 40mm, and 20 mm guns. She was well armed and capable of defending herself.
The fifteen minutes had passed without incident. Commander Washington gave the command to bring her up and ordered all stations to battle stations. As the sub surfaced, teams were making their way out to the guns, prepping them, loading and then gave the all-ready to their CO. The XO in the conning tower raised the Stars and Stripes, the largest flag he could get. They had a rough idea where they were heading, the Harbor Patrol station, but they wouldn’t dock; they would remain in a defensible position within the bay. They were about two hundred yards off shore and they still couldn’t see any personnel, so they continued to make their way to the Harbor Patrol station.
Once they found it they offloaded the zodiacs with their engines. A single zodiac with six armed men and women made the Harbor Patrol docks and disembarked onto the dock. They formed a single line with a five foot interval between each person; in the lead was Lieutenant J.G. Ackerman, and he looked like he just graduated from High School. Chief Petty Officer Tacker was the NCOIC. He was a hard-nosed Sailor who claimed to be from the old Navy, whatever that meant. They moved down the dock with weapons at port arms, CPO Tacker told everyone to keep their wits about them, keep their eyes peeled for anything unusual. He went onto say that if they didn’t and he got killed, he swore he was gonna come back as a ghost and kick their ass.
They reached the Harbor Patrol Headquarters and still hadn’t seen a soul. The Lieutenant ordered CPO Tacker to take two men to the rear of the building to determine if there was anything to be seen and to stay in radio contact. The Lieutenant approached the entrance to the building, stood there at the front door for a moment thinking could it really be unlocked? He pulled on the door and it swung open. Once everyone was in he yelled, “US Navy! US Navy!” there was no response over the radio. He heard from CPO Tacker that they had nothing and were returning. The Lieutenant ordered them to remain outside and to find defensive positions in the event of attack. CPO Tacker thought it an odd request, because what the heck were they going to do with three Sailors, not that the three more in the building would help. But he would do as ordered.
The Lieutenant and the Sailors made their way through the building searching for any sign of life. One of the discoveries they made was that the armory had been cleaned out of all weapons and ammunition, and that wasn’t good. It could be that the Officers took it all with them, and it was also certainly possible that some unsavory characters accessed the building and took the weapons. If that were the case, then he was sure they would end up being used against them.
“Sir,” said CPO Tacker, “We have some movement towards us. Looks like a half dozen civilians heading this way.”
“Are they armed?” asked the Lieutenant.
“Hard to tell right now Sir, but we could sure use your help about now.”
“Roger that Chief we’re on our way.”
Lieutenant Ackerman ordered the Sailors to the entrance ASAP but not to exit until he arrived. Once at the entrance, the Lieutenant contacted CPO Tacker and asked for an update. He told them there were now a dozen men about a hundred yards off their front and no longer advancing, as they were standing around talking to each other. Then the Lieutenant told him they were exiting the building now and there was no doubt they would be seen. They were going to have to cover their exit from the building in the event the men had weapons and opened fired. CPO Tacker told them to come on out anytime, they were ready t
o cover them.
The Lieutenant and the Sailors exited the building slowly, taking their time moving to where CPO Tacker and the others were. As the Lieutenant and the Sailors left the building, the dozen or so men stopped talking and started at the Sailors as they moved to meet the others.
“That certainly caught their attention.” CPO Tacker said.
“Yup, it sure did.” The Lieutenant was staring down the road at the men. “Two of them are walking towards us, they look to be unarmed.”
All of the Sailors were watching the men coming towards them. “You and you.” CPO Tacker pointing to two of the Sailors. “I want you covering our six live these guys to us. I don’t want any of their buddies circling around. Also, Sir we need to contact the CO and let him know what’s going on.”
Lieutenant Ackerman acknowledged that. “Make it happen Chief. While you’re doing that, Peterson and myself are gonna walk down for a little pow-wow with them. I’m counting on you to come and get us if this all goes to shit.”
CPO Tacker chuckled at that. “Yes sir, no worries we’ll be there in a flash.”
Lieutenant Ackerman and Peterson stepped out from the position, weapons held at the ready, and walked slowly to the two men who had left the group to approach them. The Lieutenant could tell the men were nervous, possibly because of the weapons. It only took moments for them to meet about half way between the two groups.
The four men stood there staring at each other for a moment, measuring each up. The two civilians were dressed in rags and looked like they hadn’t seen a bath or a razor in months. “They stunk to high heaven,” Peterson would later recount to his crew mates.
“Who are you?” the taller of the two men asked.
‘What an odd question’, thought Lieutenant Ackerman. He would have thought that the uniforms with US Navy across their chests would have given away who they were. “I’m Lieutenant Ackerman, United States Navy, and this is Seaman Peterson.”
