Rico said, “I’m in contact with a team who has inside information into what a couple of federal agencies are up to. They provide some intelligence, but it’s not enough.
“I’m associated with Angel’s team,” I added. Rico knows her by Angel. I found out later that they had been busy mapping out where the camps were located.
Ricki was associated with a group made of people with dubious backgrounds. “I suspect my contacts all have criminal backgrounds, but these days it doesn’t take much to get a background. I saw a report online that claims that according to the FBI, one in every twenty-five persons in the U.S. had been arrested in 2011.
“People were getting locked up for everything, and some were getting long prison sentences. There was that woman; I can’t remember where she was from, who got twenty years for firing a warning shot inside her house.”
“Florida, I think,” said Rico.
“It also made recruiting in prisons more effective,” Ricki continued. “I think that’s where my contacts met. The more they mistreat people, the more they send to us.”
“We treat people good. In the patriot teams you are a valuable team member; you have family,” said Rico.
“We even have doctors, nurses, and pharmacy people. Now that few can afford government affordable health care, our people can still see a doctor. Nothing’s out in the open. The doctors and nurses usually go to people’s homes or safe houses.”
“What about family members?” I asked.
“Them too. Other teams handle acquisition of supplies, weapons, ammo, food, money, and everything that’s needed to operate in this environment. We even have farms. These allow other teams to supply food to people in the tent cities.”
“You guys have been working on this a while,” I interjected, surprised.
“Most of the tent cities are secret now on private land or hidden in national forests. On the surface, everything looks normal. There’s still some construction, mostly government buildings especially prisons. There are still cars on the streets and goods in the shops.
“Every day the news tells us how the economy is improving, and the recovery’s picking up steam. They are adding jobs all the time. However, if you look below the surface, you’ll notice many more people walking or using bikes. The jobs are flipping burgers or working for the government.”
“I thought it was just something wrong with me because I couldn’t find a job,” said Slime.
“Oh no,” continued Rico. “One fast food chain insisted everyone have a bachelor’s degree before you could even get an interview.”
“To flip burgers?” asked Laura incredulously.
“Oh yeah. While the system struggles to maintain an air of normalcy, the bureaucracy is eating the heart out of the country. There are just too many federal government employees who have to be paid out of what the economy can produce. For years’ people complained that government had gotten too big. Now it’s not possible to support it.
“Not only is it too big, it long ago blew off the Constitution especially the Bill of Rights. One of the early things they did was taking property from suspected drug smugglers. Once they take your property, you can’t afford a good lawyer.
“It got pretty obscene, taking people’s homes, and in one case the cops used a really nice place for their own. Never mind the Fourth Amendment, just take it. That started as part of the War on Drugs.”
“Yeah, I heard about that,” said Tim.
“The War on Terror, now that has been their vehicle. It was better than the War on Drugs. I know you’ve heard some of the older guys telling tales of an America where people were free to pursue their own lives without unnecessary interference and surveillance. Those days are gone.
“For a couple of generations at least the system and its minions had propagandized the public with everything that could possibly be wrong with America. Often these same people never had a negative thing to say about the old Soviet Union. It was always the same song. Now, if you mentioned the Constitution or individual liberty, you were some sort of extremist and might turn to terrorism at any moment.
“Add to that almost half the remaining population is on the dole. They want more government control, more protection, and more stuff. Well, between the bloated ravenous federal bureaucracy and the multitudes on the take, the rest of us can’t make a living and support them.
“Throw in the militarization of the police, rampant police brutality, and a prison population that would make Stalin blush; the people have had about enough.” Rico just shook his head.
“Don’t expect any help from politicians,” added Laura. “The two-party system long ago stopped functioning. Now both were statist parties; oh, they still have marches, and clamor to get out the vote, and every election was the most important election ever, etc. etc. There’s no real difference between them. The leadership quickly stamped out any grassroots efforts at real change.”
Rico continued, “Now this, a war in the Middle East which has come home to us. For the first time since the 1800s, war has come home to us. Okay guys, that’s all I have. We’ll have to see how this develops. Just lay low and stay in touch with all your contacts.”
Right, I needed to find Red. I drove a roundabout route, never the same route twice in a row. Is it possible the attacks after the bombing of the Iranian nuclear power plants were just a warning? Now we had aircraft attacking Iranian missile sites, and the level of attacks on U.S. soil had increased dramatically. We were in trouble, and I had to make a decision. Even no decision was a decision.
People whose country our military was attacking were attacking our country. This looked like a win-win for the police state. Whatever we did next, it would have to be the right thing.
Chapter 5 – Operation Anvil
Admiral Samuel P. Johnson stood on the bridge of the carrier USS Enterprise. He was excited and apprehensive. In less than five minutes, he would give the order to launch the Enterprise’s attack aircraft to go after mobile missile launchers in Iran. Cruise missiles had taken out all know stationary sites by now.
Since the Israeli attack on Iran’s nuclear power plants and nuclear material enrichment plants, the Iranians had been firing missiles into Israel. The job of his task force was to take out as many missile launchers as possible. Those civilians in Washington thought this would be cakewalk.
He snorted. “Yeah, just like Iraq and Afghanistan,” he said in a low voice as though someone might hear him and his own doubts place the mission in jeopardy.
The mood was serious but not solemn. These were professionals, trained and experienced. Every man and woman on the huge carrier was prepared. This was what they had trained for, and they were ready.
“Launch,” was all he said.
The first F-18 Hornet catapulted into the wind and climbed toward its meet up point. In short order the F-14 Tomcats followed. Soon they were winging their way to the as yet unlighted objective. Satellite data showed where the missile launchers were just a few hours ago. By first light, they would be toast.
“Report when they cross the coast,” ordered Johnson.
At this range, it didn’t take long. They would catch the Iranians off guard. Crossing the coast was assumed to be the trigger for any Iranian response.
“Sir, we’ve got incoming.”
“Incoming?”
“They appear to be cruise missiles.”
“Cruise missiles. Come to battle stations. Bring the fleet to heading 225.”
“Helm, bring heading to 225,” ordered the ship’s captain.
“Two-two-five, aye.”
With surprising swiftness, the task force began to turn away from the incoming missiles. That would only work if the incoming were of an inferior design. Otherwise, the Carrier Air Patrol, the destroyers’ antimissile missiles, or the Enterprise’s own Close In Weapons System, Phalanx, would take care of them.
Suddenly, there was a flash off the starboard. “What tha’?” One of the destroyers had been hit.
“The Iranians must have been waiting for us. Get the choppers up. Find them.”
“Does the CAP paint any enemy aircraft?”
A moment later, “Negative, there are no enemy aircraft.”
Missiles flashed from the Las Vegas, then from two more destroyers. The night sky was lit up with missiles as the destroyers fought to defend the task force.
Another flash, then another as the first of the cruise missiles found their targets. “Sir, the destroyers Las Vegas and Cincinnati have been hit.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Do we have anything on their speed boats?”
“No sir.”
“Find them.”
“Yes sir.”
The admiral turned to Captain Schmidt. “It can’t be the shore batteries. The cruise missiles took the Chinese Silkworm missiles out already.”
“That’s what the report said, but at this distance they could reach us quickly.”
“Yes that’s the only reason we slipped in so close,” said Johnson.
“You think they had Silkworm sites we didn’t know about?” asked Schmidt.
“That or we might have been attacking decoys all along” responded Johnson. “That’s the only thing I can think of.”
Without warning, the ship’s self-defense guns opened up. These are autonomous and automatically aimed. They were the last line of defense for the giant carrier. There were bright flashes every time one of the incoming cruise missiles exploded. A modern Navy ship was big but not particularly vulnerable.
Without warning, the ship shook, and fire exploded from the side of the ship. A cruise missile had gotten through. The alarm sounded and damage control teams raced to the stricken part of the ship.
Then there was another and two more slammed into the side of the giant ship. Each time it shook like a great beast trying to shake off an attacking animal.
The next blast knocked the admiral to the floor, but this one was different. The bow was on fire.
“I thought we had swept for mines,” Johnson said as he climbed back to his feet.
At that moment, a destroyer on the port exploded. There were multiple blasts. “Sir, the Detroit is abandoning ship.”
“Johnson stared in disbelief.”
“Sir, the …”
“I heard you.”
“Get rescue teams in the water.”
“Aye sir.”
“Sir, we’ve got Iranian speed boats, heading 030.”
“Full speed, turn port to heading 120. Relay the message to open fire on them.”
“Sir, a torpedo has gotten through.”
“Launch countermeasures,” ordered the Captain Schmidt.
“Sir, Iranian Air Force aircraft have engaged our fighters.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Sir!”
Johnson looked to where the sailor was pointing in time to see the horizon peppered with missiles heading in his direction. One caught them on the bridge.
* * *
Seaman First Class Jesus Hernandez was working his way down the companionway, spraying the fire that had enveloped decks four and five. The ship suddenly reeled from multiple hits, rolled to starboard, and kept rolling. A sailor came staggering down the companionway. He was on fire. Hernandez hosed him down as the wall became the floor.
“Get him, and let’s get out of here,” ordered the fire suppression team’s chief.
Two men picked up the stricken sailor and carried him while Hernandez fought a rearguard action on the rapidly approaching wall of flame.
“Come on Chewy!”
Hernandez turned around. Jimmy was extending a hand down for him. With his help, he was able to get up above the bulkhead, and they got it closed. Now walk across the wall to try to find an exit, he thought. They had to hurry before the ship rolled any further.
* * *
Lieutenant Commander Bill Springer smiled to himself. His aviators had made it to the target area in darkness. The Iranian Air Force had shadowed them in the distance but had not engaged.
“Hey Joe, why do you think they’re just laying back? Surely they have us painted on radar.”
“Don’t know, maybe they’re afraid to tangle with us.”
“Maybe, but I wouldn’t bet on it,” Bill responded. “I wonder what they’re up to.”
“We’re coming up on our targets,” said Joe, his NFO.
“This is leader. Break on my mark and head to your assigned targets.”
“Mark.” With that, he rolled the F-14 Tomcat hard over and followed an invisible GPS trail in the sky to where spy satellites had shown his assigned target to be.
It was a mobile missile launcher, a tractor-trailer that carried a missile. Its crew would drive to an assigned location, raise the missile and launch. The mobile missile launchers were harder for the Navy to target because of their mobility. However, close watch on them had indicated a pattern in their movements and just hours before the attack, they were being true to form. The Navy knew just where they were, and now Springer had visual on his target.
“Bombs away,” Springer said as he released his bomb load. He climbed and circled. He saw the explosion but was disappointed as there were no secondary explosions. Curious he thought to himself. No time to worry about that. Someone else would handle damage assessment. It was his job to do the damage. He did the same with his other assigned targets. Still there were no secondary explosions; it bothered him. Now get formed up for the return to the Enterprise.
Over the radio, “Strike team leader, this is Watchdog.”
“Go ahead.”
“You will have to try to make it to Saudi or Qatar in order to land.”
“Why are we being diverted?”
“Sir, the Enterprise has been destroyed.”
Springer’s eyes widened in disbelief, the word destroyed echoing in his head.
“Sir, there is something else. The Iranian aircraft have changed course; they are now headed your way.”
This was the worst possible time for them to come, what with all his aircraft spread out and attacking different targets. Suddenly, it hit him. They had been tracking decoys. All their effort had been spent on false targets. That is why the Iranians had not attacked. Now, when they were at their most vulnerable, the enemy came.
Suddenly, he had new respect for this foe. Not a bad bit of subterfuge for a bunch of camel drivers, he thought. He did not realize that he was dealing with a country sporting a modern military hell bent on defending itself, and Persians are not backwards camel jockeys.
He keyed the mike. “Boys, we’ve got company coming. Get some altitude.”
He hit the afterburner and raced skyward as the Iranians dived down to meet him. The flyers from both sides were spoiling to do what they had trained endless hours to do.
Springer’s wingman would not be able to get to him before he engaged. He had tone and fired a missile. The oncoming fighter rolled and juked, but it was to no avail. The enemy plane exploded in the early morning half-light.
‘Wonder if I can get five today,’ Springer thought. Five had always been the number that made an aviator an ace. He rolled toward the next target, but the approaching fighter got off a missile first.
He avoided a direct hit, but the missile exploded too near for comfort. On the radio he heard, “I’ve been hit.” Then there was only silence.
Where the devil is that AWAC? He should be feeding me data on the incoming targets.
“Bill, I’ve lost the AWAC on radar.”
“Great, looks like we’ll have to do this the old fashioned way. Did you get who had been hit?”
“No I didn’t.”
The next fighter opened up on Springer’s Tomcat with machine gun and cannon fire. Then the approaching jets were past them. Springer didn’t roll to reverse direction. He pulled vertical then rolled around enough to see where the fighter went.
“Joe, do you see him
?”
“No, wait; look over your right shoulder.” The Iranian had pulled vertical as well. A moment later tracers began to fly past. Springer rolled and fell off to the port side in an effort to get behind the pursuing fighter.
The Tomcat was more powerful, but the little Iranian fighter was nimble and deadly.
“Splash one,” called Lieutenant Donovan. “You need some help over there boss?”
“Smartass,” said Springer under his breath.
“Lead, you’ve got another one diving in on you from your port side.”
His NFO called out, “Break left, now!”
Springer rolled his aircraft up on a wingtip and both men strained against the G-forces. The good news was that the incoming could not fire a missile without endangering the fighter glued to his tail. The bad news was he had a fighter glued to his tail, and he was burning fuel at a ravenous rate.
It was a problem for him and his people, but the Iranians were flying over their home territory. Now with the Enterprise out of the picture, he might end up getting his feet wet. For a Navy man, Springer did not really like the water all that much.
There was another task force out here, but it was in the northern Persian Gulf. Even if it was close enough, that carrier had its own aircraft to get onboard. No Dhabi, Qatar, or Saudi would have to do, he thought.
Right now he had other problems – two fighters after him. Lieutenant Donovan was above him and dropping in behind the Iranians. “Boss, try the scissors maneuver,” he said.
Springer pulled up and the Iranians followed him. Then he pushed it over, now they were above and behind him but not in a position to fire on him. As the pursuers came in line to fire, he quickly pulled up.
One of them got off a quick burst but missed. Again, up they went, but this time as he pushed over Donovan got off a missile. It went right up the lead fighter’s tailpipe. The other fighter broke away trying to get behind the new Tomcat.
Donovan rolled with him. “Boss you’re in the clear.” Two kills, today was looking up, the triumphant young aviator thought.
“Where is he?”
World War III - Home Front: A Novel of the Next American Revolution - Book One – As Day turns to Night Page 6
