by James Rosone
No one spoke for a moment. They were waiting to see if the President would add something more or allow them to continue providing more updates. Wilson nodded to Admiral Thiel for him to get them back on track.
“Mr. President,” the admiral said to get his attention. “Perhaps the best course of action right now would be to end this meeting and let everyone get some rest. We can reconvene at, say, 0800 hours. That’ll give us time to put together some better information on both our military situation and how we should respond going forward. The military is running on its current set of orders—I say we leave them be and let them continue to handle things. This short break will give General Yeager some additional time to work things out with our NATO allies.”
The President’s eyes looked bloodshot, and there were large bags underneath them. He looked tired and emotionally drained. He nodded slowly, agreeing with his senior advisor. “I think that’s a good idea, Admiral. In the meantime, General Yeager, let the NATO members know that if they don’t want to initiate Article Five, then we will. This has been a concerted and coordinated assault on Europe and America that had to take years to plan. We need to stand united in our response against them.”
The President then stood, as did everyone else.
As he was leaving the room, Albert Abney, the President’s Chief of Staff, signaled for everyone else to stay put. He wanted to talk with them all separately.
*******
With the President now gone, Abney tore into the generals, admirals, and senior advisors. He was furious about how things had transpired these last four weeks and their inability to do anything to stop it. The Chinese had been running circles around the US and Europe with these deepfake videos spreading across the internet. Something needed to change, and it needed to change now.
Abney glared at Admiral Thiel as he spoke. “Admiral, as the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, it is your job to advise the President on military matters and the defense of the nation. Under your watch, the homeland has come under multiple sustained attacks across numerous domains by a known adversary. I don’t know whose fault it is, and I won’t play the blame game either. I’m here to tell you all that, right now, you’re not just failing the President, you’re failing your nation.”
Abney paused to look at everyone before he continued. “I know everyone is tired. I also know in a few days, the American people will pick a new leader: either Vice President Vickie Jackson or Congresswoman Maria Delgado will be the next woman to lead the nation. Depending on the outcome, some or all of you may be out of a job come January. But right now, it’s all of us in this room deciding the fate of the nation and the world. We have to live up to the expectations our fellow citizens have of us. One of the candidates will inherit this war. We need to do our best to either end this war now, before it spreads further, so that a new president isn’t left dealing with this, or ensure the new president is in a position to lead our country to victory.”
Abney saw a few heads nod and he knew his message was getting through. “Admiral Thiel, what’s happening in Cuba? Have we been able to neutralize the PLA’s ability to attack the homeland, or should we expect more attacks?”
Admiral Thiel leaned forward. “The problem we’re dealing with, Mr. Abney, is that the cruise missiles hitting our bases along the Gulf Coast are being fired by these transporter erector launchers. The TEL vehicles can hide in the thick tree cover and vegetation, making them difficult to locate with satellites and drones. Then factor in that close to half of our satellite network has been either destroyed or compromised and our surveillance ability has been cut in half in the last twenty-four hours.”
Shaking his head in frustration, Abney countered, “There has to be something we can do. We shouldn’t be forced into taking these hits. That attack on MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa not only tore up the base—one of those cruise missiles went astray and landed downtown. It killed nearly a hundred civilians and injured many more. That is not acceptable, Admiral. We need a better solution.”
“I agree, Mr. Abney,” Admiral Thiel replied. “We’re moving two more destroyers into the Gulf to help shoot these missiles down as they’re fired. Once the ground operation starts, we’ll be in a better position to hunt these launchers down and take them out.” The man looked exhausted, like everyone else, as he reached for his cup of coffee.
Abney sighed as he looked at the tired faces. He knew they were trying their best. It just wasn’t good enough. If there weren’t an election next week, he’d probably recommend the President fire and replace them. Right now, that wouldn’t be a good idea—not with the transition of one administration to another needing to take place very soon.
“OK, everyone. Let’s get some sleep and be back here for our eight o’clock briefing. But seriously, get some sleep. None of you will be helpful to the President if you’re exhausted and can’t think straight. Your country needs you sharp,” Abney said as the meeting broke up.
*******
Florida Keys
3rd Battalion, 116th Field Artillery Regiment
Florida Army National Guard
“Hey, I think we’re almost there,” Staff Sergeant Hector Ramirez said as he pointed to a local sheriff car and a military police JLTV parked on the side of the road with their lights on. An MP and a deputy were directing military traffic to a side road that led to a large field or beach area off the main highway.
“I see it. Are they really going to have us set up out here?” asked Sergeant Rob Fortney.
Fortney was new to the unit, but not new to the Army. He’d finished a four-year stint on active duty not that long ago. He’d gotten out to leverage his GI Bill and pursue his true passion, becoming a police officer and then a detective like his dad and his grandfather. They had both served in the military before becoming peace officers, so it was kind of a Fortney family tradition.
“Who knows where they’ll have us set up, Fortney?” Ramirez replied glumly. “All I know is thirty-six hours ago we were back home doing whatever we wanted. Now we’re in this new nameless war.”
Fortney thought Hector was a good guy and a decent squad leader. They lived not far from each other in Brandon, Florida. Hector’s wife had given birth to their second child fifteen days ago, so he hadn’t been the least bit thrilled when their unit, the 3-116th FAR, had been called up. They were part of Bravo Battery out of Dade City, Florida. Their unit was an M142 High Mobility Artillery Rocket System or HIMARS unit. Their rocket system could reach out and hit targets as far as three hundred kilometers away.
“Big Pine Key,” Fortney commented as he read the road sign indicating where they were headed. “I’ve always wanted to check out the Keys. I never thought I’d be doing it in uniform.”
“Actually, it appears this road leads us to Southeast Point,” Ramirez countered.
Ahead of them, they saw several other HIMARS vehicles being guided to specific locations and told to park. Judging by how they were parking, they were being made ready to fire.
“Fortney, Ramirez. We need you to park your vehicle over there, near B-4, and then head over to the FDC for a briefing on what to do next,” another sergeant shouted to them as they slowed down to hear his instructions.
They nodded and drove their vehicle to where they had been directed. As they got out, they saw another convoy of four vehicles approaching. There was one more HIMARS launcher and four ammo carriers. If they planned to start firing rockets soon, they’d need more ammo; this would be a long drive to fire off a single volley.
Approaching the headquarters vehicle, they saw some soldiers setting up the command tent and the Tactical Operation Center or TOC. The Stryker vehicle acting as their FDC for the time being had the hatch down and a dozen soldiers standing around it. Ramirez and Fortney figured this must be the meeting they had been directed to attend.
The company commander explained to the group, “The rest of the battery should be arriving over the next ten to twenty minutes. I told the battalion we’d be operational
to start firing in roughly an hour. I need you all to get your vehicles ready. I have no idea what our targets might be, but I need everyone to be ready to act.”
He continued, “Everyone should have been issued live ammo back at the armory. Until now, you’ve all been told to keep your rifles unloaded. That’s changed. We are now in THREATCON Delta. Weapons are always to be loaded with safeties on. We don’t have any direct intelligence saying there’s a threat to our unit yet. You can bet when and if we do start shooting, we’ll be a prime target for any commando units they have operating CONUS.
“Once our fire mission is complete, we’ll be moving to the next position. We’ll reload the trucks once we reach the new site and then stand by to provide a follow-on strike. As you all know, we’re shooting the brand-new MGM-168 Block V ATACMS because of their extreme range. Any mission we receive will be in excess of one hundred and twenty miles. I was told the Greenie Beanies are already in Cuba, hunting down targets for us to blow up. Let’s make sure to send the Chinese and Cubans bastards seven hundred and fifty pounds of Florida love.”
This last comment got a few laughs from the soldiers. They were all starting to get pumped up and feeling good about their preparation for their mission. Before the battery commander dismissed everyone, he added, “This is the real deal, gentlemen. A few hours ago, MacDill got plastered. A couple missiles even hit downtown Tampa. These guys aren’t messing around, and they’re attacking our homes. I need you all to stay frosty, heads on a swivel. Now, go get your trucks ready to fire. Dismissed.”
Ramirez and Fortney went back to their vehicle. This would be the first time anyone in their unit fired the new Block V missile. When the US had left the Missile Technology Control Regime in 2020 with the Russians, the Army had gone to work on expanding the range of their ground-to-ground missile systems—they could now hit targets as far away as three hundred and eighty miles away with a seven-hundred-and-fifty-pound warhead.
“Hey, when’s Davis getting here? He’s supposed to be our gunner,” asked Fortney.
Ramirez shrugged. He was too busy working on getting the vehicle ready to fire to care where their missing guy was. His mind was still back home, with his fifteen-day-old girl and his wife.
Shaking his head in frustration, Fortney shrugged it off. He had to keep reminding himself this was the National Guard, not the active duty. Not everyone lived on or near the base. Their missing man would catch up to the unit at some point.
When the warning order had gone out for them to report for a possible deployment, they had only been given two hours’ notice. When they’d started showing up at the armory, they’d found the ammo carriers already there, loading them up with live rockets. The armorer had started issuing them their weapons and ammo. “Grab your helmets and your IBA and load them up in the trucks,” he’d directed. “You’ll be pulling out in an hour to head to the Keys—it’s a long drive and the commander wants to get a jump on things. If you’re missing any people, we’ll leave someone behind with a couple of vans and they’ll catch up.”
As far as Fortney was concerned, this whole war was all screwed up from the word go. Come to think of it, everything that had gone on the last few months had been a complete flipping mess. It was like a never-ending circus going on in America and across the world lately. First the trade wars, then the virus, then the deepfakes…now a shooting war—Fortney wasn’t sure when or how it would all stop now that it was rolling.
“Hey, Fortney. Get the targeting computer spun up while I get things ready out here,” Ramirez ordered. “Make sure you’re linked up with the FDC. If we’re having a problem syncing the computers, then see if it’s a problem with the data link on the SINCGARS. If you can’t fix it yourself, go find someone from commo and see if they can help you.” He was starting to return to his normal self as he fell back on muscle memory and their training.
Fortney nodded and climbed back into the vehicle. He probably knew better than most how to run one of these trucks. He’d spent four years in an active-duty HIMARS unit. Still, he liked working with people who knew the trade, even if they were weekend warriors.
It took Fortney close to five minutes to get the computer up and running and synced with the FDC. Fortunately, he knew a thing or two about the radios, so he handled most issues he encountered. Looking at the other trucks, he saw a couple of the commo guys doing their best to get everyone up on the right comms.
It was a challenge even on active duty getting all the guns and trucks synced up and on the same page. It was likewise a bit more complicated for the citizen soldiers who didn’t work on or touch the equipment on a daily or even weekly basis to maintain those skills. Normally when a Guard unit deployed to a combat zone, they’d go through a couple months of retraining to freshen up their skills. Not this time—they were rolling out of their National Guard armories within hours of being given the go order.
Standing outside the vehicle, Fortney heard a lot of jet engines overhead. While he couldn’t see exactly what was happening, he couldn’t help but speculate about it. If he looked off into the Straits of Florida, he could sometimes see a missile or two launch from one of the Navy ships beyond the horizon. He’d catch a glimpse of the white contrails of the missiles streaking up into the sky to chase after their targets.
As the crow flies, they were twenty-two miles from NAS Key West. Word had it the Chinese had hammered the base hard during their counterattack the day before. In the distance, Fortney thought he could still make out streaks of black smoke coming from the direction of the base.
None of them knew much. They had only just arrived a few hours ago. What they did know was that the Chinese had the ability to reach out and hit the base from ninety miles away in Cuba. That told them they could get hit as well.
Two hours later, Staff Sergeant Ramirez and Sergeant Fortney were eating some food, trying to tease out information from a local business owner. The man owned a restaurant nearby and had brought over a ton of food for everyone. He told them of how the Chinese had hit the naval air station the other day with what he thought had to be fifteen or twenty missiles. He wasn’t sure how many fighters or helicopters, if any, had been caught on the ground, but he thought he’d seen a few flaming wrecks.
What Fortney noticed right away about the guy, aside from the awesome food he’d brought them, was the sidearm he was carrying. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. He was carrying a Springfield HD in a pistol holster on his right thigh. Not that Fortney had a problem with it—he was glad to see people exercising their right to bear arms. However, it made him realize that as soldiers, they had all somehow failed to protect this man, his family, and his business. The man felt he needed to carry a sidearm with him in public. For Fortney, that was a problem. It was his job to protect his country. Somewhere along the line, he and the leadership above him had failed in that basic duty, and now civilians were taking matters into their own hands.
“Fire mission! Fire mission! Fire mission! Everyone, man your vehicles and stand by for coordinates!” roared one of the FDC sergeants.
In an instant, everyone stopped what they were doing and ran for their vehicles. They hopped in the cabs and sealed the trucks up as they got the vehicles prepared to fire.
*******
ODA 7322, Bravo Company
Soroa, Cuba
Sergeant First Class Rusten Currie put his field glasses down and reached for the map, analyzing it and then the location where those TEL vehicles were hiding. He thought he had the location identified on the map. Once he double-checked it, he passed it over to his counterpart to verify.
His partner, Sergeant First Class Mark Dawson, took the paper and the map from him. He looked at them both and then did a quick double-check of the terrain with the field glasses and then the map. Without saying a word, he nodded to Currie. They had the right location.
Reaching for the radio, Currie depressed the talk button. “Odin, Loki One. Fire mission. Three Dragons identified. How copy?”
Si
xty seconds went by with no response—just long enough for Currie and Dawson to get nervous that their transmission might have been jammed, or their command element wasn’t receiving.
The radio crackled softly in their earpieces.
“Loki One, Odin. Good copy. Three Dragons identified. Send coordinates. Over.”
“Odin, coordinates are as follows: Charlie Uniform Five-Seven-Three-Niner-Seven-Three-Eight-Eight. Break. Dragons are hidden under dense jungle canopy. Break. Ten meters from nearest road. How copy?”
Currie was hoping they’d send a cruise missile to hit the site—nothing like a thousand pounds of high explosives to plaster the place.
Given that they were only in the middle of day two of the war, the Air Force was still having a hard time gaining air supremacy over the island. The Chinese surface-to-air missile systems were a hell of a lot better at ferreting out American stealth fighters than anyone had expected.
Until the Loki teams like Currie and Dawson from the 7th Special Forces Group found more of the enemy radar sites and these damn CJ-10 launcher vehicles, the Pentagon was leveraging cruise missiles as often as possible. The downside to using cruise missiles was that they took some time to spin up and get ready.
“Loki One, next Greyhounds come available in ninety mikes. Will a HIMARS strike work instead?” asked the operator on the other end.
Currie and Dawson both looked at each other and shrugged as if to say Why not?
“Odin, that’s an affirmative. Break. The Dragons are spread out under the trees. Break. The HIMARS will need to plaster the area to hit them. Over.”
A minute passed before they got a reply.
“Loki One, affirmative. Stand by for HIMARS strike. Request BDA poststrike. Out.”
*******
“Targeting data is coming in,” Ramirez said. “Damn...this is a long shot. Looks to be two hundred and seventy kilometers, give or take.” As he spoke, he prepared the truck to fire.
