Katelyn Mackie sighed. “Generals, I know this is going to be hard, but let’s look at the tradeoff. We are gaining complete access to the PLA’s communication system. If the PLA is sending reinforcements or preparing for a massive attack, you’re going to know about it in advance. You’ll be able to move troops around to deal with them or lay an ambush, knowing exactly where the enemy will be.” She paused for a second to let that sink in before continuing. “We can’t stop what they’re about to do. We were fortunate enough to learn about it far enough in advance that we’ve been able to prepare for it. Had it happened without our knowing about it, it could have lost us the war. As it is, it may be the very thing that wins it for us.”
The group sat there in silence for a moment, thinking.
General Bennet finally broke the stillness. “OK, I accept that I can’t do anything to change the crappy situation we’re about to find ourselves in. I can’t even imagine how badly this is going to screw up the rest of the global economy or our own country, but I have to focus on the military side and do what I can to defeat the enemy and end this war as swiftly as possible. That said, let’s talk about what I’m going to need from you.”
Katelyn nodded as she picked up her pen, ready to write down whatever he mentioned.
“Ms. Mackie, once the PLA destroys the global satellite infrastructure and we find ourselves listening in to everything they’re talking about, I’m going to need a team of folks dedicated to tracking and identifying where China’s nuclear weapons are located. I need confirmation of their silos, and I need to know where their mobile launchers are on a continuous basis. There’s going to come a point in this war where the PLA leadership will recommend the use of nuclear weapons to save face from a major defeat or surrender. When that decision has been made, we’re going to need to know exactly where their weapons are located so we can take them out before they can use them.”
Katelyn and Secretary Castle nodded. “General Bennet, consider your request granted,” she said. Her confident response silenced any further objections.
Chapter 9
Operation Fortress
Private Shane Webster’s senses were overrun. The high-pitched shrieking sound of the high-mobility artillery rocket system, or HIMARS, firing another volley of 227mm rockets overhead was unmistakable. Yet another wave of cluster munition and high explosives reached the enemy positions. Intermixed with the piercing shrieks of the rocket artillery was the near-constant thunder of hundreds of 155mm howitzers, adding their own measure of death and destruction to the scene unfolding across the enemy fortress.
Every now and then, Webster and the other soldiers of 2-14 infantry would spot a massive fireball from a secondary explosion, letting them know the artillery got lucky and hit something important. In between lulls in the artillery, ground-attack planes swooped in, releasing a string of bombs or napalm, depending on what they were looking to target. For the newly arrived soldiers of the 10th Mountain Division, it was both awe-inspiring and terrifying to witness such a display of firepower. They all knew that in the very near future, they would have to assault the fortress before them.
Staff Sergeant Sanchez walked up and abruptly broke up the gaggle of spectators. “Enough gawking, privates! I need everyone to head over to the ammo tent and load up. We’ll be moving out soon!” he shouted.
Private Shane Webster shook his head as he watched another massive explosion rock the mountain fortress, then he turned to follow the rest of the soldiers in his platoon to the ammo tent. It was a short walk since they were already in the rear of the American lines. When they arrived at the general purpose or GP tent, Private Webster let out a low whistle — the smorgasbord of items before him would make any gun nut salivate with envy.
Webster got in line with the rest of his squad. First, they stopped at a table with crates of 5.56mm NATO rounds packed in twenty-round boxes.
Staff Sergeant Sanchez, who had already seen action in the war, ordered, “Grab twenty-one boxes.”
They all dutifully placed the appropriate number in their empty rucksacks. This would give them 420 rounds, or fourteen magazines worth of ammo.
Once the squad had loaded up on the required number of bullets, they moved to the next table. This one had boxes of M67 fragmentation grenades.
“Grab eight,” ordered Sanchez.
Again, they put them in their rucks and moved on to the next table.
This time, Sanchez led them over to a crate of M18A1 Claymore antipersonnel mines. “Everybody, take one of these,” he directed.
At the next table, a supply clerk stood next to a stack of crates that held four AT4 antitank rockets. Only three of the eleven soldiers were told to grab one. Webster was glad he wasn’t one of the guys slated to lug one of those around. “My ruck is already heavy enough without having to shoulder a fifteen-pound rocket,” he thought.
The last table their squad leader led them to had tons of ammo cans opened on it. Inside were one-hundred-round belts of 7.62×51mm for the squad’s lone M240 Gulf heavy machine gun. They were all to grab one belt of ammo and stuff it in their rucks. Private Webster found himself grateful again, this time that it wasn’t his job to carry the machine gun, commonly referred to as “the pig.” It was heavy, and it chewed through ammo like a pig at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Now that everyone was fully laden with the tools of war, Sanchez had them all bunch in close to him. “Listen up, guys. We’re going to go back to our tent area and put our magazines and vest loadouts together. Once we’ve done that and I’ve inspected everything to make sure you guys are ready, we’ll pick up some cases of MREs from supply here and get them loaded into our rucks. Then, and only then, will we get some shut-eye. We move out at 0400 hours for the front.”
With their pep talk done, the squad got a move on to the transient tents their company had been staying in the last couple of days since they’d arrived. Walking into the tent, Private Webster and the others plopped their rucks on the floor or their cots and went to work on getting their magazines loaded up.
Private First Class Liam Miller, the squad’s heavy machine gunner, tried to make conversation while they got their gear in order. “Hey, Webster, what did you think of that fortress getting the crap pounded out of it?” he asked. Miller and Webster both hailed from the same Ohio city of Akron. They’d become quick friends throughout basic training and had been equally excited to be assigned to the same infantry unit.
Webster looked up at Miller and shook his head. “I don’t know, man. It sure looks like we’re pounding the hell out of them, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re just riding the bombardment out in some sort of bunker — you know, like the Viet Cong did in the movie Hamburger Hill. My dad told me his grandpa fought the Japanese during World War II and he said that’s what they used to do, too.”
“After the shellacking we’ve been giving them, I’ll bet they’re just ready to give up,” piped in another private. “I talked to one of the supply guys, and he said we’ve been pounding that mountain for nearly a week.”
“I just hope none of us die in the next couple of days,” said another private, who appeared to be holding back some tears. He was clearly scared, and it was starting to show.
“Good God, Private Hodge, are you going to cry again? We’re soldiers, grow up!” Specialist Nathan Ryle exclaimed angrily.
“Hey, cut him some slack, Nathan. We’re all scared; its normal. Plus, you know his brother died six months ago fighting the Russians,” Webster shot back. Several of the other soldiers in the squad all nodded.