Modern Warfare

Pelican 01,  14^th Airlift Squadron, 437^th 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 14^th, 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 14^th 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 82^nd 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 2^nd 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 82^nd 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 15^th 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.” 

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 1^st has sent their Aviation brigade down from Ft. Riley.”  1^st Infantry Division, based in Fort Riley, Kansas was part of the larger III Corps which 3^rd 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, 3^rd 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.”