Modern Warfare Series

Thank you so much to everyone who has helped make The Kidd Incident such a huge success. We have had over 100,000 page views on this page alone and thousands and thousands of readers for the complete series. Now that the original story is complete, it is available as a novel on Amazon. You can find The Kidd Incident here. You can also read Episode 1 for free. Note that the novel is essentially a cleaned up version of the story that was posted here, not a new story.

This project began in September of 2018 as a way to explore a topic that has floated around Quora for many years: what would happen in a modern conflict between China and the USA. To make the story work, some scenarios like full-on nuclear war have been sidelined. The goal is to tell a story from the US Military perspective which means that other perspectives are muted intentionally. This doesn’t mean those perspectives are unimportant, they are just not the focus of this work.

This site is now dedicated to the sequel to The Kidd Incident. Modern Warfare Book 2: The Sonoran Incursion. Just like the original Kidd Incident, the Sonoran Incursion will be shared here in episode format, one episode at a time. Over the past four years, we have received thousands of comments, suggestions, and messages of support. Please know that we read EVERY ONE and we appreciate your input and support.

For information about the series including notifications of new episodes, join our mailing list using the link on the left.

You can start Book 2 here.

Book 2: Episode 1

Salton City, California

Lance Peters sighed as he opened a beer on the back porch of his trailer. Sitting down on the lawn chair, he gazed over the salt flats of the former Salton Sea.  For some reason, he felt like he belonged here.  Semi-abandoned, only crazy people lived here these days.  Decent folks, they kept to themselves which suited Peters just fine.

After the South China Sea war, Peters had bounced around the Army in a couple of roles.  Too old for a field command, his final posting to the Pentagon convinced him to leave the Army for good.  However, once he left, he realized he really didn’t have any marketable skills or interest in working for a company that made widgets or whatever it was they did.  After trying to run an executive consulting company focused on motivation and strategic goal setting, he finally decided to simplify his life.  Living in a trailer on his Army pension in a mostly abandoned town was about as simple as it got.  He didn’t even have a phone or electrical service, just solar and water he had delivered once a month.  Or at least he had water delivered when he remembered to pay the bill, which he hadn’t lately.

Living in the desert meant that you didn’t have to weed the yard, just an occasional raking was fine.  No trees or grass to maintain.  Just sand and rocks.

As he finished the beer, he was faintly surprised to hear a car drive up his driveway.  In the year he had lived in the trailer, he had had exactly one visitor, someone from the local veterans hall worried he was a suicide risk.  Since then, nobody had come down his street, let alone come up the driveway.

A patient man, Peters waited.  If it was someone who wanted to talk to him, they would figure it out.  If not, he’d rather not talk to anyone anyway.

A few seconds later, the car stopped, the engine was turned off and he heard a door slam.

“Captain Peters!!  Are you home?”

Well, shit.

Peters didn’t move.  Perhaps the person would just go away.

But they didn’t go away.  “Peters!   Godammit!  Are you here or not?”  He heard knocking on the door of the trailer.

Peters briefly entertained answering the door.  But then he remembered he had another beer in the cooler by his foot.  Opening the beer, he decided that the door would take care of itself.

A minute later, a tall Asian man walked around the side of the trailer.  “Captain Peters!  Is that you?  Jesus Christ!  You look like shit, man.”

“Retired.”  Peters sighed.  “I don’t know you, man; this is private property.  Go the fuck away or I get my gun and shoot your ass.”

The man shook his head and walked over to where Peters was sitting.  “Don’t you recognize me?”

Peters took a good look.  The man looked Korean.  Fuck.  “No, did I shoot your mommy during the war or something?”

“I heard you had some sort of breakdown, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.”  The man looked around for another chair but didn’t find one.  He walked over and leaned against the post holding up the awning.  “Peters, it’s me, Dae-Won Park.”

Peters looked at him again.  “All the Koreans I know are dead.”

“Well, you missed one.”

This dude wasn’t going to go away, was he?  “OK, I give up, who the fuck are you?”

The man shook his head.  “You really don’t recognize me?”

Peters took a big slug of the beer.  Maybe the alcohol would make him go away.  “No, go the fuck away.”

“Dark barn, greedy general, sea route home?”

Peters dropped the beer and leaped to his feet.  “Park!  Holy Fuck!”  Park flinched as Peters gave him a huge bear hug.  “I thought you were dead, man!”  For a moment, Peters was back in North Korea, behind enemy lines just days before the invasion from the south.  While he had been too focused at the time to be afraid, he looked back on that time now with a shudder.  So many things could have gone horribly wrong.

Park laughed.  “No, just stuck behind the line.  I got trapped halfway to the ocean and missed my ride.  Got a bit hairy there for a while.  By the time I got clear, the war was over.”

“I would offer you a chair, but I’ve only got one.”

“You OK, man?”

“Yeah, just needed to simplify things.”

Park looked around.  The ancient aluminum trailer had been painted once but was mostly just bare metal now.  Inside it looked like someone had put curtains in the windows sometime in the 1950’s.  It was hard to tell because the windows clearly hadn’t been cleaned since then.  If his source hadn’t insisted that Peters was here, he would have assumed the trailer was abandoned.

“How about I buy you dinner?”

Peters shook his head.  “I don’t get out much.  I’m fine here.”

Park poked his head inside the trailer for a second.  “They have a bar there.”

“Well, that sounds more interesting.”  Peters sighed.  “I don’t do well around crowds.”

“It’s 2pm on a Thursday.  There won’t be anyone there.”  Peters still looked doubtful.  “We can eat on the patio.  You don’t need to go inside.”

Peters laughed.  “OK, you got it.”  He looked down at his ragged T-shirt and dusty jeans.  “Uh, let me put on some fresh clothes.”

“A shower wouldn’t hurt.”

“No water.”

“Of course.”

By the time they made it to the Jackalope Ranch restaurant in Indio, Peters was getting curious about why Park had gone to so much trouble to find him.

Settled at a table on the edge of the lush grass and listening to the artificial waterfall just on the other side of the artificial pond, his brain started to engage again.  “OK, Park.  What the fuck is up?”

Park laughed and sipped at his mai tai.   “You’re an asset, my friend.”

“An asset?”

“Yeah.  You are well trained, an expert in austere operations and, judging from our time together today, nobody will miss you if you suddenly disappear for weeks or months at a time.  You would be surprised at how many people can’t just drop everything and leave the country.”

“I would?”

“You just going to ask two-word questions all day?”

“I might.”

“Fuck man, cut it out.”

Luckily the slab of ribs they had each ordered arrived just then.  Peters tore into his with ravenous hunger.  He realized it was the first decent meal he had eaten in months.  He’d been living off of canned food and Top Ramen packets.  It tasted pretty fucking good.

“OK, Park, tell me what the fuck is up.  I don’t know you well, but our brief time together didn’t lead me to think you are sentimental.  We are not going back to Korea, that shit is all wrapped up.  There is no way the Army wants me, or you would be wearing a uniform and pretty ribbons.  This isn’t a social call because I don’t actually know you.  Don’t give me that spook central shit.  You have a job for me.  What is it and will I survive the experience?”

Park paused over his second to last rib.  “That’s more than you’ve said to me all day.”  He finished the rack, opened a wet wipe and carefully cleaned his hands and face.  “Let me tell you about a lovely estate the CIA owns in Nogales, Mexico.  You will love Sonora, I guarantee it.”

Peters started to laugh.  In seconds he was laughing so hard his eyes watered and he struggled for breath.  Finally, he stopped, panting.  “OK, you got me.”

Continue with Episode 2 NOW!

Book 2: Episode 47

Pelican 01,  14th Airlift Squadron, 437th Airlift Wing

Flight Level 140, Barstow, CA

“Pelican Oh One, Bear One One”

“Go for Pelican.”

“Pelican, we have a hot LZ, troops in contact.”

“Confirm, hot LZ.”

Lieutenant Colonel Holtzman looked over at his young co-pilot.  As the commander of the 14th, Holtzman usually took the most junior right seater.  The young woman sitting in the co-pilot’s seat looked young enough to be his daughter.  “You ready for this Wilkins?”

“Yes, sir.  Good to go.”

The C-17s of the 14th were about to drop the lead elements of the Immediate Reaction Force into a combat zone.  This would be the first combat jump for the US Army since Iraq in 2003.  That jump wasn’t contested so this would be the first one under fire since Vietnam.  The members of the 82nd Airborne in the back were about to parachute into a world of hurt.  Holtzman only had to get them there.

“Pilot to Loadmaster.”

“Go.”

“Jimmy, the ground pounders just let me know that we have a hot LZ.”

“Roger that, sir.”

“We are going in at 500 feet.  Let the troops back there know.”

“Yes, sir.  We’re on it.”

The aircraft’s warning receivers were already detecting enemy radar coming from the area where they were scheduled to drop.  Signaling the rest of the squadron, Holtzman dove the big four-engine jet down, following I-15 through the Cajon pass.  The big cargo plane was a dream to handle down low.  He pushed her lower, well below the mountains on either side, shielding the big bird from enemy radar.

Their target was a golf course just east of I-15 in Temecula.  Not a perfect LZ, but better than dropping over houses or other buildings.  Large swaths of grass made excellent landing conditions for the paratroopers.

2nd Infantry Brigade Combat Team (Falcon Brigade), 82nd Airborne Division

Flight Level 5, Temecula, CA

“Check Equipment!”

The answer came back in unison: “Check Equipment!”

“Sound off for equipment check!”

Each soldier, starting with the furthest back, responded, the answer moving up the line on each side of the aircraft.  When it reached Colonel Gregens, he responded with “All OK, Jump Master!”  After responding, he gave the jumpmaster a low five which was instantly returned.

After getting the all-OK, the jumpmaster turned away from the other paratroopers and faced the door.  The first soldier in line checked his static line, giving it a small adjustment, then padded the jumpmaster on the shoulder to let him know everything was OK.  Gregens turned back to make sure his “stick” of paratroopers was ready behind him.  Each trooper was lined up and holding their static line in their right hand, ready to go.

They waited tensely for the signal to jump.  After an eternity of waiting, the Air Force crew member slid the side door of the C-17 up and out of the way.  He looked outside briefly, then held up one finger.  With a nod, the jumpmaster moved to the doorway, carefully checking for obstructions, even running a hand along the edge of the opening to be sure there were no sharp edges that would catch on the soldiers on the way out of the plane.

“Stand by!”

When the jump light turned from red to amber, the jumpmaster stepped back, allowing his commanding officer the privilege of being first out.  It is tradition that paratroop officers in the US Army are always the first ones out of the plane.  Figuratively and literally leading their men into combat. 

The moment the light turned green, Gregens launched himself out of the C-17.  As he fell, the static line played out quickly and deployed his parachute.  With a grunt, he felt the chute open, rapidly slowing him from 150 miles per hour.  At this low altitude, it would take almost the entire jump to slow down.  Unlike a sport jump, they didn’t spend any time in free fall.  Looking up, he could see hundreds of parachutes all around him.  Mostly other troopers from the 2nd BCT but also bundles of equipment and even vehicles.  Everything the brigade needed to fight was coming down with them.  The plan was to have the bulk of the 82nd along with their heavy weapons and vehicles flown into a nearby airport, but the troops on the ground needed support right now and the parachute jump was the fastest way to get that help on the ground.

He looked down.  The loadmaster had placed them right on target.  Gregens was coming down on the 15th green and only needed a few small adjustments to be sure he hit the grass dead center of the open area.  There were sure to be soldiers off track, and injuries were unavoidable in a combat drop, but he felt confident that the majority of his command would get on the ground safely.

Once they were on the ground, it was a different story.  “Falcon Actual, Bear One One.”

“Go for Falcon.”

“Falcon, I need you to take elevated positions on the east side of the fifteen.  We have armored Chinese regulars coming up the freeway.  We have deployed artillery-based mines but they are working to clear them.”

“Copy, deploy to east of the fifteen, engage armored column.”

“Readback correct.”

Within five minutes, the leading elements of the brigade were on the ground and moving to the west.  The golf course was on a mesa overlooking the I-15 freeway.  They should be able to find good firing positions up there.  He signaled to a nearby sergeant to get his attention.  “Sergeant, get two squads of Gustafs up there on the bluff.  Engage any enemy vehicles you see.  Take another four squads and deploy them to defend the bluff.  There are bound to be infantry down there.”

“All the way, sir!”

“Airborne!”

Running to the edge of the course and looking out over the bluff, he could see that they were just in time.  PLA units including tanks, infantry fighting vehicles and other support vehicles were making their way up the hill and into the narrow valley that the I-15 used to get up to Temecula.  Within moments, recoilless rifle fire began raining down from the bluff onto the vehicles.

“Bear One One, Falcon Actual.”

“Go for Bear.”

“If you have artillery, this would be the time.”

“Roger that, fire mission incoming.”

“INCOMING!  TAKE COVER.” 

Book 2: Episode 46

3rd Brigade Combat Team, 1st Armored Division (“Bulldogs”)

Truth or Consequences, NM

“Bulldogs don’t retreat.”

“I’m sorry, sir?”

Colonel Arnold F. Lathrup, West Point graduate, combat veteran, leader of men, was angry.  After getting the shit bombed out of his unit on a random Sunday, he had been too busy to be afraid.  Then he had been too concerned for his soldiers.  Then he had been ordered to retreat.  Now they had established a defensive position along the Caballo Mountain range.  I-25 passed through here on its way north to Albuquerque; other than that, pretty much nothing interesting had happened in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico since they changed their name to win a radio contest in 1950.  In all the time since the original attack, he hadn’t had time to really think.  Now he did.  And it made him angry.  Deeply angry.  Spitting mad.  He turned back to Command Sergent Major Pylo.  “I’ve fucking had it with falling back, Pylo.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What the hell is going on with the zoomies?  Do we have any ISR yet?”

“No, sir.  SatCom is still down.  We have limited contact with Crystal Mountain; we have reports of armored PLA units coming across the border at El Paso.”

“Which is where we should be, goddamit!”

“Yes, sir.”

A communications technician walked into Lathrup’s tent, handed him a message form and walked out.  Everyone knew how pissed off Lathrup was and there was incentive to move quickly around him.  “About damn time!  The 1st has sent their Aviation brigade down from Ft. Riley.”  1st Infantry Division, based in Fort Riley, Kansas was part of the larger III Corps which 3rd Brigade was also a part of.  In theory, all of III Corps was supposed to fight together as a single unit, but the electronic warfare attack and chaos associated with the satellite-based attack had fragmented larger units like III Corps and forced smaller formations to act on their own.  Not something the US Army trained for.

“Apaches, sir?”

“Yes, but more importantly Gray Eagles.  Let’s get those operators into the ops tent right now. I want overhead.”  The MQ-1C Grey Eagle was an upgrade to the well-known Predator drone.  Driven by a diesel-powered propeller engine, it could be fielded from a very austere strip and didn’t require avgas.  It could run on the same diesel fuel that powered all of the Army’s land vehicles.  It was dead simple, ran forever and allowed commanders on the ground like Lathrup to have his own aerial surveillance.  Something he desperately needed.

Two hours later, Lathrup was peering at a video screen, his unit commanders and intel team crowded around him.  “What the fuck is that?”

The intel chief peered at the screen.  “Tank traps, defiladed tanks, earth moving equipment, my guess.  Minefield.”

“That is a textbook defensive position.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why would an invading army waste time setting up defensive positions like that?”

“They wouldn’t.”

“Who the fuck is running this shitshow?!  These bastards aren’t invading here.  They just want to keep me from moving south.  Which they couldn’t do if we hadn’t retreated up here in the first place!”  He turned to the sergeant manning the encrypted radio who had been very silent during his commanding officer’s tirade.  “Get Crystal Palace.  I want to talk to Northern Command Actual.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me, get that wing-wiping son of a bitch on the horn!”

Now everyone was silent.  While Lathrup was famous for his invective, nobody had ever heard any Army officer refer to an Air Force general as a “wing-wiping son of a bitch” before.  Sergent Major Pylo had been with the colonel for two years; as senior enlisted, it was his job to keep the officers on an even keel.  “Sir, perhaps we should…”

Lathrup held up one finger.  “Stand down, Pylo.  This stops here.”

“Yes, sir.”

The communications tech held up a handset.  “Crystal Mountain.”

“NORTHCOM, Bulldog One Actual.”

“Bulldog NORTHCOM Romeo, go for NORTHCOM.”

“Son, I want NORTHCOM actual.”

“Sir, the general is in a meeting.”

“Get him out.”

“With SecDef.”

That took the wind out of Lathrup’s sails.  Of course, the man in charge of the defense of the United States would be meeting with Very Important People.  He took a breath.  Get ahold of yourself, Arnie.  “Understood.  There is an urgent tactical issue here that requires his immediate attention.”

“Wait one.”

It was more like ten minutes.  Lathrop had plenty of time to regret his emotional outburst and question many of his major life decisions that had led him to this point.  Perhaps I should just resign my commission now.  When the handset came to life, he was calm, resigned to his fate.  “NORTHCOM Actual,” he heard General Wilkes say.                                                             

“Sir, Colonel Lathrup here, 3rd BCT.  As ordered, we have established a defensive position in New Mexico.  We have gotten our air assets down from Riley and we are getting overheads.”

“Excellent, get that video up here anyway you can.”

“Yes, sir.  That’s why I’m calling.  The ChiComs are not moving north.”

“No?”  General Wilkes seemed amazingly unsurprised at this news.

“No, sir, they have established defensive positions to our south, blocking I-25 at La Cruces and US 70 coming down from White Sands.”

“Are there any significant movements of Chinese forces that you can see with your overhead or other scouting?”

“No, sir.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Sir?”

“Colonel Lathrup, I am about to tell you something that is for your ears only.  Do you understand me?”

Lathrup had no idea what was going on.  He had planned to chew this man out, but now it seemed like the general already suspected what he wanted to tell him.  “Yes, sir.”

“I have reason to believe that Russian intelligence has compromised one or more members of senior leadership.  We do not know who, we do not know why.  What we do know is that the Russians and Chinese are cooperating in this operation.  The Russians are providing intelligence assets, and the Chinese are providing the muscle.  I have been ordered to divert I Corps away from defending California and towards blocking the Chinese advance at the Mississippi.”

“But, sir, there is no Chinese advance.”  Lathrup thought about this for just a second.  I Corps, based in Washington State, was one of the most powerful formations in the US Army.  Considering the mess that his command was in, I Corps was probably the only chance to stop a major Chinese advance.  Having them move east was the worst thing they could possibly do.

“Exactly, Lathrup.  Exactly.”

“Son of a bitch.”