Author: admin

Walter Reed National Military Hospital

Bethesda, Maryland

Admiral Harris took a full three days to completely regain his faculties.  The official prognosis was “Traumatic Brain Injury” or TBI.  Fortunately for Harris, Walter Reed had extensive experience with TBIs.  Thousands of US soldiers, sailors and marines had been wounded during the Global War on Terror (GWOT), often involving blows to the head.  By that standard, Harris was quite lucky.  He still had zero memory of the actual attack, but most of his other memories had returned within a couple of days.  When he asked the neurologist  if he would regain his memory of the actual attack, the doctor shrugged and said, “It’s unlikely; that video didn’t get written to the hard drive.”

The attack and pending invasion of the United States had sent a charge through the hospital.  Almost everyone at the facility was a member of one branch or the other of the armed services, but none of them were assigned to combat units.  They were either staff assigned to the hospital or casualties like Harris himself.

Twenty-four hours after the space-based attack, casualties started to arrive.  A day later, the casualties became a flood.

That’s it, I’m not sitting here anymore.

Harris got into as much of a uniform as he could.  Not all his personal effects had made it to Bethesda, but he at least had the basics.  Walking down the hallway, he buttonholed a harried-looking medical corpsman.  “Chief, where is the nearest secure conference room?” 

The chief did a double take.  He looked like he was about to order Harris back into his room but then realized he was talking to an admiral.  “Admiral, there is one on the third floor, southwest corner.”  Harris smiled.  Sometimes he regretted accepting promotion.  Other times, like this, being an admiral was quite nice.  He wasn’t sure what would have happened if he was still a lowly commander.

“Thank you, Chief.  Carry on.”

Navigating down to the third floor, he found the secure area guarded by a Marine in combat fatigues and an M4.  “Open up, Marine.  I need to make a call.”

“Sir, you need to identify yourself to enter.”

“Of course.”  Harris wasn’t sure what would have happened if he didn’t have ID, but luckily, his wallet and all of his ID had been among the items that found their way to the hospital from Mexico.  He handed his ID card to the Marine guard.

“Thank you, sir.  You may enter.”

Moving into the secure area, he was able to find a communications tech.  “Get me a secure video session with NAVNORTH.”

“Sir, video is still down.  I may be able to get you a secure voice circuit.”

“Whatever you have, I’ll take it.”

It took a full fifteen minutes, but eventually he was able to talk to Admiral Johnson who was the current Joint Force Maritime Commander for Northern Command.  He was based in Hampton Roads, Virginia, instead of in Colorado with the rest of Northern Command, which is probably why he was still alive.  “Neil, good to hear from you.  I heard you were in the hospital?”

“Still in the hospital, but no time for that now.” 

“You ready to get into the game?”

“Damn straight.  Where do you need me?”

“We lost most of our Pacific surface warfare leadership when Coronado took two direct hits.  I need a new type commander out there pronto.”  Normally, each “type” of unit (submarine, surface, aircraft, etc.) had their own commander.  All of this was part of the fleet command structure which had recently been badly broken by the Chinese space based attack.

“Is there anything left in San Diego to command?”

“Not in San Diego, who knows if we will get hit again.  All my type commanders are out to sea.  I want you to move your flag to the Zumwalt, she is just off the Channel Islands.”

“You got it, Bill.”

“Thanks, Neil.  Godspeed and good hunting.  I’ll push through a priority transport order for you.”

Harris was in a cab to Andrews within ten minutes.  All civilian air traffic had been shut down due to the attack, but he hoped to pull rank and get himself aboard one of the hundreds of Air Force cargo flights crisscrossing the country.

On the way, he texted Ping Pong.  Assigned new command, 2nd Fleet, Embarking Zumwalt Soonest.  Please take care.

Concerningly, he received no answer.  He hadn’t heard from his wife for almost two days since a short cryptic text that she was in California.

221st Cavalry Regiment (Nevada National Guard)

National Training Center, Fort Irwin, CA

“Crystal Palace, Wildhorse Six, say again.”

“Wildhorse, 221st Cavalry and attached units from NTC are directed to deploy to a blocking position fifteen clicks west of the intersection of I-10 and Highway 111.  You are to defend the pass against hostile forces at all costs.  Readback.”

“Crystal Palace, 221st is to defend the Los Angeles basin and ensure that nobody makes it past us on I-10.  We are to defend the pass at all costs.”

“Wildhorse, readback correct.”

With that, the circuit went dead.  With all satellite-based communications dead and most of the UHF radio constellation down, communications were chancy at best.  Aliston had been stunned when Northern Command located at Cheyenne Mountain (referred to as “Crystal Palace”) had contacted him directly.  That shock paled in comparison to the news that someone was trying to invade Southern California from Mexico.  It was insane.

He gestured to Ziffren who had been standing next to him with a look of shock on his face that probably mirrored Aliston’s.  “I want all officers and senior NCOs in the briefing room in ten minutes.”

The audience in the slightly battered conference room on the grounds of Fort Irwin was a mix of confused, focused and worried faces.  While nothing had been officially announced, the rumor mill on an Army post moved at lightning speed.

“I have been informed by Northern Command that we are to deploy south to defend Southern California against a possible attack from parties unknown but currently sited in Mexico.  There have been a series of attacks degrading US military responses and things are pretty confused right now.  Northern Command has reverted to Crystal Palace.  To my knowledge, we are the only armored unit in the field in the entire state at the moment.  We do not know exactly what is going on, we do not know if we will have to fight and we do not know who we will fight if it comes to that.  I am sorry to tell you that we do not have the type of intelligence that I would normally expect to have before going into combat.  However, I fully expect that each and every one of you will do your utmost to defend the United States, if necessary.”  Aliston paused and looked around the room.  He knew his people, they had been under fire in Afghanistan together.  They would be nervous, but they would do their duty.  There were a few other random officers and sergeants in the room who were NTC staff.  “As senior combat officer present, I am taking command of the task group on direct orders from Northern Command.”  He caught the eye of a captain who was part of the NTC staff and thus technically out of his chain of command.  This meant he wasn’t subject to Aliston’s orders.  The captain nodded, indicating that he would follow Aliston who would command the mission.  “At this point, that is the entire mission brief.  I am very open to suggestions.”

The NTC captain raised his hand and Aliston pointed to him.  “Sir, we have two entire shipping containers full of Javelins.”  There was a general murmur of excitement.  “There is a shoot-ex planned next week so we have been taking them into inventory.”

“That’s great news, Captain, thank you.”  He turned to his logistics officer.  “Tony, how are we set for TOW reloads for the Bradleys?”

Captain Lenard answered from memory.  “We have two missiles per vehicle and ten reloads per troop.”  221st had three “troops” of Bradleys.  The term “troop” was a holdover from the horse calvary days.  Each troop was actually a normal Bradley company of fourteen vehicles and associated soldiers.  This meant that the 221st had forty-two regular Bradleys in addition to the command vehicles.  They also had a full company of Abrams tanks which was also fourteen.  They had also picked up an additional platoon that was normally attached to the NTC for an additional four tanks.  Eighteen tanks wasn’t going to hold off an army, but it was a powerful force.

Aliston turned to his ops lead.  “Captain Teller, have you been able to study the maps yet?”

“Yes sir.”  He activated the projector at the front of the room.  “As you can see from the map, San Gorgonio Pass necks down here to less than twenty klicks.  The mountains on either side are extremely high—it is unlikely that any armored units will get around.  If we block I-10 and have spotters on the slopes, we should have an excellent defensive position.”

A lieutenant at the back of the room muttered, “It would be easier with a dozen Apaches.”

“It would be easier with a dozen A-10s too.  Don’t forget to ask for the entire 101st airborne while you’re at it, son.”  Aliston pointed to the town of Cabazon.  “We will center our defense here.  I want as much fuel and ammunition as we can find staged and hidden under cover.  Let’s assume the enemy will have ISR assets in place, probably drones.  We need equipment to build revetments.  The locals probably have bulldozers.”  He pointed to his civil affairs lead.  “Sandra, get us some earth-moving equipment.”

“Yes, sir.”

“OK people, make it happen.  I want the entire task force dug in and ready for anything in 24 hours.  Move it!”

“YES, SIR!”