by James Rosone
Dekker shrugged. “I think if you tell them what needs to get done, they’ll find a way to make it happen. Frankly, with how bad those enemy SAMs are over the island, I think it’s suicide to fly in on a C-130. The island will be ringed with more SAMs around the airport. It’ll be tough enough with helicopters, but at least if one gets taken out it doesn’t wipe out half a company in one swoop.”
“That was my thinking as well. I think the colonel is worried about it too,” explained Meacham. “He wouldn’t have sent us down here to assess the field if he wasn’t.”
“So, what do we do now that we’ve seen it?” asked Dekker.
“We call home and give them our assessment,” Meacham said as he reached in his pocket for his phone.
*******
US Strategic Command
Omaha, Nebraska
“Admiral, do you believe we’re ready to launch a ground assault? Isn’t the Air Force still struggling to take out the air defenses?” Wilson asked the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.
The President nodded in approval of the question.
Admiral Roy Thiel, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, had known this question was coming. He and Wilson had spoken about it several hours earlier. He was better prepared for it now than he had been when Wilson had first grilled him on it.
“Mr. Wilson, we will be in position to launch the ground invasion in a couple more days,” Admiral Thiel began. “We’ve been flying a tremendous number of airstrikes on the island over the last three days. We’ve flown more than nine hundred sorties since the start of the war and fired sixteen hundred cruise missiles. Tomorrow, we move into another phase of the air war. We’ll run round-the-clock Wild Weasel missions across the island. We believe we’ll need a full forty-eight hours of these types of missions and then it’ll be safe enough for us to consider an air assault onto the island.”
“What about the Marines? Will they conduct an invasion from the sea?” asked President Alton. The garrison on Guantanamo had been under siege the last few days, and the President was getting nervous that they might not be able to hang on much longer if they didn’t get help soon.
The election was seventy-two hours away. In just a matter of days, one of the new candidates would be chosen and the transition of power would begin. Alton had expressed concern about launching such a massive military operation on either election day or the day after. He didn’t want to scare people into not voting, and he didn’t want to take away from whoever won the following day. Once the ground invasion of Cuba started, it would suck all the oxygen out of the room—especially when the casualties rolled in.
“Yes, Mr. President,” replied Admiral Thiel. “The first Marine divisions will be leading an amphibious assault of the island from the direction of Gitmo. Second Battalion 8th Marines, 2/8, and the 1st Battalion, 65th Regiment from the Puerto Rico National Guard were pre-positioned early and have been fighting it out with the Cubans and Chinese soldiers for the last three days. The Marines will start their amphibious assault as soon as this tropical storm passes.” The late October storm had thrown a monkey wrench into their operations along the eastern Caribbean.
Admiral Thiel continued, “In three days, the 18th Airborne Corps will be assaulting to the west of Havana and will focus on that half of the island. Once we secure Havana and the Port of Mariel, the Third Infantry Division will be brought ashore, along with their heavy armor equipment. We’ll also be bringing the 53rd Infantry Brigade Combat Team from the Florida Army National Guard. They have extensive training in the tropical environment we’ll encounter in Cuba. This will be a large operation once it officially kicks off.”
“Is it wise for the Marines to launch their invasion before we secure the skies?” asked Albert Abney, the President’s Chief of Staff.
“Ideally we would wait,” Thiel explained. “But the garrison has been fighting for nearly three days. They’re sustaining a lot of casualties, and frankly I’m not sure they can hold out much longer. We’ve been feeding them a trickle of reinforcements from the sea as we can, but we need to focus on landing a more substantial force if we’re to break the siege. In the north, I think our paratroopers and air assault soldiers will secure us the beachhead we need once our pilots are able to suppress enough of the enemy air defenses. We’ll tentatively commence ground operations around Havana five days from now.”
“So two days after the election?” Abney clarified.
Admiral Thiel nodded.
“What do the rest of you think?” Abney asked as he surveyed the military leaders.
President Alton had been deferring to Abney and Wilson more and more these last few days to ask the tough questions. He was done being president, and tired of trying to hide his medical condition. He was trying to keep things held together until his successor was chosen.
“What kind of casualty estimates are we talking about once the ground war starts?” asked the President.
General Kurt Stavridis from US Southern Command answered this question. “That all depends, Mr. President, on how hard the Cubans and Chinese decide to fight. There are some who say we may lose as many as ten thousand soldiers in the first thirty days. Then again, those are the same kind of people who said we’d lose a hundred thousand soldiers during the first Gulf War against Saddam and it ended up being nowhere near that. My money says the Cubans will do what the Iraqis did in 2003—a few units will fight hard, but most of them will give up. They simply aren’t willing to die for a regime that has left them to live in abject poverty.” Stavridis was presently the commander in charge of the war. It was his command leading the way and managing this war.
Stavridis continued, “My bigger concern is the eighty-two thousand Chinese soldiers on the island. I’m sure they’ve suffered a fair number of casualties the last few days and they’ll suffer a lot more once our attack planes and helicopters are able to start their operations. I’m not trying to lowball you, Mr. President, but I wouldn’t expect US casualties to be too high—not if we’re able to really employ our airpower like we have in previous conflicts.”
“OK, gentlemen. Then let’s continue with the current plans as they are,” the President declared. “We launch the ground invasion in five days. In the meantime, hammer the hell out of them before we send our ground forces in. I don’t know if it’s possible, but I sure would like to have this Cuba campaign wrapped up before the inauguration of the new president in January.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Vipers, Vipers, Vipers
20th Fighter Wing
Homestead, Florida
Colonel Tim “Joker” Hatfield looked at the pilots of his fighter wing with pride. They had performed exceptionally well. But today—today would be a true test of their skill, training, and equipment.
Placing the glass of water down on the lectern, he began, “In two hours, the 20th will conduct an aggressive antiradiation suppression of enemy air defense action against three sections of Cuba. For our purposes, we’ve broken the country down into sectors. Sector A consists of the eastern half of the island. It stretches from Gitmo to Las Tunas. This sector falls to the 55th Fighter Squadron. Sector B encompasses Las Tunas to Santa Clara and is assigned to the 77th Fighter Squadron. Sector C will be the toughest sector to deal with. This sector falls to the 79th Fighter Squadron.
“Our mission in this sector is to support the Marines and the Army as they prepare the battlespace for the ground invasion. As you all know by now, the Chinese SAMs are more accurate than we originally thought. There are also some enemy fighters that continue to pop out of nowhere from time to time, so keep an eye out for some of them as well.”
Hatfield paused for a moment as he surveyed his pilots. He saw a lot of grim expressions. His people were exhausted from flying nonstop combat operations since the start of the war. They were also feeling the loss of too many of their fellow aviators.
“The next forty-eight hours will determine when the ground war will begin. Let’s do our part to win this war and bring it to a swift conclusion.
Victory by Valor!” Colonel Hatfield shouted to rally his pilots.
*******
14,000 Feet over Western Cuba
Colonel Tim “Joker” Hatfield pulled up hard on the aircraft as a string of 35mm autocannon rounds cut through the air right where he had been.
Damn, that was close, he thought.
Warning alarms continued to blare, letting him know the gun truck was still tracking him.
“Fox Three,” called out his wingman as she fired one of her AGM-88E HARM missiles.
“Dice, pull up to angels fifteen and let’s reposition for another attack on that gun truck.”
“That’s a good copy, Joker. Did you see my missile hit? I can’t tell if they destroyed it or if it was a dud,” Dice replied as her Falcon rose up to meet him.
Craning his neck to look back into the valley, Joker spotted black smoke rising from the location of the PGZ09 they had targeted. The two anti-aircraft tracked vehicles had been working together to keep the valley locked down. The damn trucks had shot down a Marine F/A-18 earlier in the day.
“Yeah, it looks like you got him,” replied Joker. “We need to get that other truck before we head back home. Then we can mark this area off as cleared.”
They moved their fighters into position. This time they planned for Dice to fly in as the bait. When the gun truck locked and engaged her, Joker would swoop in and fire one of their new advanced antiradiation guided missiles. These truly were fire-and-forget missiles when it came to going after SAMs.
“Going in now,” Dice called out as she rolled her Falcon over into a dive to head back into the valley.
As Joker watched her, the last SAM opened fire. Several strings of 25mm autocannon rounds started reaching out for Dice. This particular truck had a quad 25mm autocannon capable of firing up to six hundred rounds a minute. The gun was radar-controlled, which helped it lead the aircraft, making it scary accurate. It also carried four QW-2 Vanguard surface-to-air missiles. The little buggers didn’t have a lot of range, but they were deadly to low-flying aircraft and helicopters, which was why the Air Force had targeted them.
Dice effectively jinked and moved out of the way of the anti-aircraft fire. Suddenly, the gun truck fired a pair of QW-2 missiles. Joker fired off his HARM and told Dice to get the hell out of the area.
The first enemy missile went after one of Dice’s flares and blew up. The second missile got within range of its proximity fuse and detonated. The shotgun blast of shrapnel practically tore Dice’s left wing right off her plane. In the blink of an eye, her plane spun in circles and slammed into the side of the ridge before she had a chance to eject.
“No, damn it. No!” Joker screamed. He’d known Major Lacey “Dice” Dickson for five years. She was a hell of a pilot. She was also a good friend.
Catching a quick glance in the valley, he saw his missile had scored a hit. They’d gotten the last of the gun trucks. Pulling his own aircraft up to twenty thousand feet, he saw his fuel gauge was getting low. He needed to head back to base or find a tanker. He’d left with four HARMs and he still had one left. He thought about trying to find a tanker and sticking around to use that last missile. Then he shook his head. The smart play at this point was to return home. He had a wing to think about and manage, not just his own aircraft.
*******
Joint Battle Command Center
20 Kilometers Northwest of Beijing, China
President Yao looked at Dr. Xi Zemin with a bit of skepticism. “Doctor, what are the models telling you now?”
“The AI is still predicting that we will achieve victory,” replied Xi.
Yao lifted an eyebrow at that. “Even with the losses we’ve sustained in Cuba?”
Xi didn’t back down or flinch. “Even with the losses in Cuba.”
“How? I mean, perhaps I am not understanding how this all works. The Cubans lost five squadrons of fighters—the five we sold them and trained them on. We lost two squadrons of our fighters. Last I checked, most of our air defense battalions were wiped out. Half of the 635th Brigade was destroyed. That constituted half of our CJ-10 cruise missile launchers, not to mention the 616th Brigade and our DF-15 launchers. These kinds of losses hurt, Doctor. This isn’t a computer you can replace or a new software code you can write to recreate them,” the President reminded the scientist.
“I understand that, Mr. President,” Dr. Xi replied with a nod. “The AI already restructured hundreds of our factories to replace the military equipment and munitions expended and destroyed. It’s estimating what future losses we may sustain and building new equipment to have on hand when the losses happen. We also have to keep in mind the losses the Americans have sustained. They cannot readily replace the aircraft they are losing or replace the enormous volume of advanced missiles they are using. Our remaining forces in Cuba and the Caribbean only need to bog the Americans down for nine to twelve months. Then we’ll achieve our overall objectives.”
President Yao then turned to look at General Li Zuocheng. “General, how ready are our forces to execute the next phase of the operation?”
Sitting a little taller in his chair, the general replied, “We are ready to initiate combat operations against Taiwan when you give the order.”
The next phase of the plan called for the final annexation of Taiwan and returning the renegade island to the fold. Once the island had been subdued, the PLA would move to fortify it against future attacks and act as a shield in the Pacific against future American aggression. Then they’d move to phase three, the final phase needed to secure China’s economic and military security for the rest of the century.
“Before we initiate this next phase, are our forces in Venezuela and their government prepared?” asked President Yao.
“We are ready,” General Song Fu, the commander of the Chinese Caribbean Forces, replied confidently from the Chinese embassy in Caracas. “We have dispersed our forces across the country, as have the Venezuelans. If the Americans opt to fight to remove us, then we are ready. If they choose not to fight us, then we’ll be able to make sure the Panama Canal remains neutral and unavailable to military traffic. That’ll prevent them from being able to carry out operations in both oceans as easily as they have in the past.”
The President nodded. “Good. One less item to have to worry about. OK, Generals, then I believe it is time to move to phase two of this operation,” Yao declared.
In the coming days, the prodigal island would finally be returned to the fold.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Long March
Type 95A
East China Sea – Northeast of Taiwan
Captain Lee Jian Ho sat in the Conn of his Type 95A submarine, the Changzheng 30—translated into English, Long March, signifying the long march the PLA Navy had gone through to create what Lee believed was the most advanced submarine in the world.
The Changzheng-class submarine was the pride of the PLA Navy and represented a true revolution in naval technology. She was the product of decades of technological innovation, industrial espionage, and billions in research and development. The result was the most advanced submarine the PRC had ever produced.
They had been underway for a month now as they patrolled the East China Sea between Taiwan and Okinawa. They had originally been part of a screening force for the Liaoning as she transited the Pacific to bring more soldiers and supplies to China’s new allies in South America. That was until they’d stumbled upon something that caused them to stay in the area.
Several days ago, Lee’s crew had come across an American Ohio-class ballistic missile submarine lurking in the waters off the coast of China. It had taken an enormous amount of restraint not to engage them. The Changzheng had the American SSBN dead to rights. Unfortunately, the war hadn’t started yet, and his rules of engagement were clear—he could not fire unless fired upon by the Americans first.
Instead of sinking the American boomer, the Changzheng faded into the deep. They let the submarine pass over them and
then followed in their baffles until it was time to rise to periscope depth and check in. They needed to see if the war had started. They were eager to start hunting.
When Lee ordered the boat to periscope depth, they received a shocking report of the battle that had taken place several days earlier. The war had already begun.
I should have raised our communications buoy at least once a day, Lee chided himself. We might have been able to attack that American boomer had we known. He was angry at himself for not following standard protocol and checking in, but he had been too busy trailing this boomer.
The Liaoning, China’s first aircraft carrier, had sunk, along with three other ships of her strike group. One of their newer large amphibious assault ships had been damaged in battle. Even the new Type 60 Dingyuan battle cruiser had taken a torpedo hit. It appeared to have shrugged it off, just as they had been told it could so many months ago in their secret meeting at the JBCC.
Lee adamantly disagreed with this part of Operation Dragon Fire—ghosting the American electronics into thinking they were under attack so they would fire on the Chinese ships first. He understood the need to make it appear like the Americans and their NATO allies were the aggressors—attacking the peaceful people of China would play into people’s sympathies. Still, as a military officer, it stung to allow it to happen—to know many of his fellow sailors would ultimately die or get hurt as part of this elaborate charade did not sit well with him or many in the upper echelons of the navy.
Lee’s blood boiled at the thought of so many countrymen lost at the hands of the Americans. Even more troubling, it appeared the attack had been carried out by a single American fast-attack and her autonomous subs. If that was truly the case, then maybe that damn super-AI had underestimated the American Navy and its capabilities. Lee was determined that his ship would get their pound of flesh. They’d make the Americans pay for attacking their fleet.
