One by one the fighters took off. The first aircraft turned right, out to sea and then came over the aircraft carrier at 500 feet as the 12th one left the steel runway and rose up to join them. The rest, 17 aircraft, were already being lifted up to the flight deck from below and being prepared for take-off, as were three helicopters that would go in and survey the harbor for any form of shipping, or a surprise ground attack.
“The American aircraft is landing,” stated the first Chinese fighter pilot on their radio frequency as he noticed the C-130 getting lower and lower on his modern radar screen. “Permission to destroy the aircraft?”
“Permission granted” was the reply, and he toggled the switch and two of the world’s most modern Russian missiles left his aircraft and sped towards Blue Moon, 15 miles ahead.
“Missiles hot,” the forward radar position on the other tower of the Verrazano Narrows Bridge reported to the colonel and Lee Wang. Still at McGuire with all the other pilots and aircraft ready to go, Lee activated the scrambling software he and Carlos had designed a couple of days earlier.
The Chinese fighter pilot was surprised to see his rockets suddenly turn skywards and begin to go vertical, not something he had expected. He ordered his next two aircraft to fire their missiles at the C-130, which was now only 500 feet above the ground. They locked their missiles onto her and four new missiles sped forward, yet also went vertical following the heat ejections of the first rocket motors towards space.
“Missile malfunction,” reported the pilot over the radio. “Changing to heat-seeking missiles, two locked and launched,” he said calmly as his next two shot forward and the C-130 landed. Three seconds later the missiles lost their target as dozens of silver balloons were released from the airfield ten miles ahead and hundreds of already warm military engines were started to mess up the missiles’ telemetry. One of the missiles went into an old truck driving down the road a couple of miles in front and the other into an empty burned-out strip mall where some form of fire must have been smoldering.
“Missile failure,” reported the lead aircraft. “It looks like an airfield where the American aircraft went in and we are starting to get return fire from units on the ground,” as a couple of aircraft easily dodged the Sidewinders aimed at them.
“Go in and destroy the airfield with the rest of your missiles at close range,” was the reply from the Air Force commander as he looked towards the container ships cruising a mile in front of the rest of the stationary naval flotilla. They would be under the bridge in about ten minutes. All was still quiet as he watched his three helicopters take off from below him and turn towards the bridge.
“We have three helos incoming. Keep your heads down—no movement, no firing—and make sure they can’t see you. Look like snow, guys, and bury deep,” ordered the colonel as he saw the helicopters coming towards him.
Now only five miles from the airport, the wing commander in the lead J-10 aircraft ordered his fighters to lock onto targets as suddenly a wall of tracer bullets erupted from near the airfield in front and came towards them, blowing up the aircraft to his left just as he ordered the aircraft to split up and fire at anything that moved below them. Missiles were locked onto the hangars, which had been emptied for the occasion and had coal stoves inside each of them omitting heat. The buildings were like saunas inside. Several missiles left their launchers as dozens of lines of cannon tracer came up to meet them. A couple of the missiles flew straight into the wall of incoming fire and exploded, which rocked the lead aircraft.
The fighters banked to the left and right, some going higher, some diving to get closer to the ground when everybody on the airfields began firing as fast as possible. Two aircraft erupted into balls of flame as they were hit and several of the empty hangars blew up as the missiles reached them.
“Take out anything hot you can find,” ordered the wing commander as his aircraft suddenly shuddered underneath his seat and then watched as his right wing began to fall apart and separate itself from the rest of the aircraft. His ejection seat worked fast and he was out of the aircraft seconds before it began its death dive, exploding just before it hit the ground. His parachute opened several seconds before he hit the roof of a flat building, breaking his right leg on impact and knocking him out.
At the same time, the helicopters came in low over the bridge and Colonel Patterson ordered two groups of five Mutts units armed with a TOW missile on each to be uncovered on the road several hundred yards south and north of the bridge, to take out the three helicopters only half a mile away flying just above his height above the right tower of the bridge. The helicopter pilots would be able to see their deployments pretty soon, as well as the men on the towers from this close a range.
All three of the helicopters immediately tried to dodge the incoming missiles, but this was close range shooting and the TOW missiles followed their movements. Colonel Patterson felt the shock waves of the exploding helicopters as all three blew up less than 300 yards from him.
“Well done, Mutts. Men, run! Get out of there. I’m sure the ships immediately located your jeep positions. Run!” the colonel shouted. He saw dots of light as several of the ship’s guns fired and seconds later both areas where the old jeeps stood exploded into orange balls of flames. “Hold your fire around the harbor!” he ordered, as he trained his binoculars onto the firefight going on 20 miles away at the Morrisville Airport.
*****
“Why did our helicopters explode?” shouted the chairman to his Air Force commander as the two frigates 300 hundred yards away began firing at the shoreline.
“They were hit with missiles from either side of the bridge, but the Americans are now history,” he replied, as they all saw large fireballs climb skyward on both sides of the bridge.
“Don’t hit my bridge, Admiral,” warned the chairman. They watched as the first container ship reached the bridge, was not attacked, and carried on into New York Harbor.
*****
The fighting at the airport was in full force. Most of the hangars were burning and the remaining seven fighters were spending much of their time dodging tracers and incoming missiles from every direction. Another J-10 aircraft exploded and several vehicles on the ground exploded as they were hit by cannon fire.
The men on the ground had fared reasonably well. Missiles went into the empty hangars as planned, destroying one or two guns that were too close. But now that the airfield was on fire, the enemy fighter began to take out the ground fire with what they had left. The cannons on the ground were red hot as rounds were fed into them as fast as they could, and the men behind the sights followed the aircraft a couple of miles out as they turned and came in firing cannons in return. Another two were hit as several more ground units exploded. There were just too many vehicles to aim at.
Suddenly the fighters pulled away and the gunners followed them as they retreated back to their ship, hitting one more aircraft before the area went silent.
“Morrisville, your kills and losses, please?” asked Colonel Patterson, as he saw several dots getting closer from the smoky area that was the other battle zone.
“Morrisville reporting,” stated someone whose voice Patterson didn’t recognize. “Commander took a direct hit. I counted seven aircraft down and one left with oil pouring out of its ass.”
“Roger, I have it visual. It just went into the ground,” replied the colonel. “I count four returning to the mother ship. Harbor area, do not—I say do not—fire at the returning aircraft until I give direct orders. Morrisville, continue. Over.”