How this would affect the planned link-up of their forces was anyone's guess.
What they didn't know was the worst was yet to come…
Back at the Denver Air Station, General Jones studied a video tape shot by an A-7 Recon Strike-fighter and rushed to the situation room. Taken only an hour earlier, the tape clearly showed small groups of Circle Army deserters moving east along highways and secondary roads. Most were walking, some riding in commandeered trucks. Everywhere — blowing in wind, or scattered amongst the trees — were Hunter's propaganda leaflets. The Wingman had succeeded in covering most of eastern Kansas and Missouri with them.
Jones turned to the principal officers who had also gathered to watch the tape.
"Well, it looks like Hunter's brainstorm worked as well as could be expected," the general said. "It's certainly not a rout, but they are losing at least some of their paycheck soldiers."
"And those are the guys who are their veterans," Dozer added. "Most of them have been in combat before, some of them would have been tough nuts to crack. Leave it to Hunter to push the right buttons in them, and at the right time."
The others agreed.
"We can probably expect more of this after we hit their troop concentrations — with real bombs — today," Jones said. "But there's another certainty we have to be prepared for from this, and I'm sure Hunter is as aware of it as we are.
"That is, as The Circle loses their veterans, only the die-hard fanatics will remain." A grim silence descended on the room.
Jones continued. "When that Central Group hits our defense line, we can expect everything, even kamikaze attacks. That means we'll have to kill every last one of the bastards…"
Chapter Thirty-four
The two F-4X Phantoms known as the Ace Wrecking Company swept in over El Dorado Lake without warning. Coming in side-by-side, each jet deposited a fat napalm cannister right into the heart of the Circle encampment. A tidal wave of murderous burning jelly washed across the camp in an instant, igniting trees and flesh alike. For the thousands of Circle troops just waking up to the first light of dawn, it seemed as if they were still locked inside a horrible nightmare. Everywhere they saw their comrades running in panic, with their clothes, hair, faces on fire. Blood-curdling screams echoed throughout the old state park camping area. The flames reached ammunition stores, blowing them up and causing additional carnage. Many soldiers fled from their tents and leaped into the nearby lake.
The Phantoms pulled up, banked to the left and bore down on the encampment again. Two more large napalm cannisters were dropped. Another wave of fire tore through the camp. More screams.
More burning flesh. More horrible death.
By the time the Wrecking Company made its third and final bombing run, a small firestorm was sweeping the encampment. Huge trees were exploding from the heat alone, perforating any soldiers nearby with thousands of searing deadly splinters. The heat from the gasoline-jelly flames now threatened those soldiers who had sought refuge in the lake. The temperature had become so unbearable near the shoreline, those troops who could had to swim for it.
Those who couldn't were forced back into the deeper water until they drowned.
Eventually, the fires became so hot, the lake itself began to steam…
High above, watching the action, was a small, dark, mysterious-looking fighter plane.
Thirty miles west of Topeka, a convoy of small boats was making its way on the Kansas River. The vessels — work barges, pleasure ships, fishing boats — were carrying an elite brigade of Circle Army sappers to Manhattan, Kansas, where they would be dispatched to the front. Moving the 2,000 troops by water had become necessary after an entire 20-mile stretch of the division's original route — Route 70 — had been destroyed by Western Forces aircraft two days before.
Despite some grumbling from their soldiers after many had read the leaflets dropped by the enemy the night before, all was going smoothly for the Circle commanders charged with sailing the makeshift fleet to Manhattan. The sappers were a cut above the ordinary Circle Army soldiers, therefore their resolve was more reliable. And now, with only ten miles to go to the landing port at Rocky Ford, the commanders were confident the force would arrive intact and on-time. Some were even beginning to enjoy the view along the pleasant, tree-lined river bank.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, they heard a loud chopping sound. There was a flash of smoke and flame from the northern shore treeline, and one of the boats — a huge commandeered yacht traveling third in line — exploded with a horrendous sound. The yacht went under in a matter of seconds.
The overall Circle commander, riding on a fishing vessel safely placed in the middle of the pack, leaped to his feet to see an Apache helicopter rise above the treeline. It had fired the missile that took out the boat, and was in the process of firing another one. The commander's eyes were diverted to the southern shoreline where another Apache had risen up just over the treeline.
It too was firing at the boats. Then another Apache rose up beside it. Then another and another. All were firing TOW rockets into the tightly packed line of boats. All were hitting their targets.
In a matter of 20 seconds, the air was filled with buzzing Apaches, strange-looking bug-like choppers, that were loaded with cannons and TOW missile launchers. The Circle commander realized they had foolishly sailed right into an ambush. They were literally sitting ducks for the Apaches. He could only watch as the helicopters methodically rocketed and strafed the boats. There were explosions everywhere. Bodies and pieces of bodies were being flung high into the air as it seemed like every TOW missile launched founds its mark. Some of the sappers gamely attempted to return the fire, but most were only armed with M-16s and hand guns and their effort was useless in the face of the vicious onslaught.
Then, in the middle of the battle, a small, black jet fighter swooped down over the river, strafing the boats, sinking two before disappearing over the western horizon. The Circle commander knew he had seen such an airplane before. It was the same as the one in the propaganda leaflets dropped by the Western Forces the day before.
One by one, the Circle boats went down. Some troopers tried to swim for it, others were caught up in the many gasoline fires raging on the surface of the water. The commander's boat took a TOW right on the bridge, killing him and everyone stationed there. Now leaderless, the boats were twisting and turning in every direction. But the fire from the squadron of Apaches was so intense, it seemed useless to even attempt an escape.
Within five minutes, the Apaches' deadly work was complete. Every one of the boats had been hit, more than three quarters of them sent to the bottom. The sapper unit was destroyed.
Back at the Circle stronghold in Topeka, troops guarding the city's bridges noticed the swift moving Kansas River had turned red with blood…
The 40-mile stretch of Kansas Interstate Route 135 between Salina and McPherson was the scene of an incredible traffic jam…
A convoy of 300 trucks, carrying six battalions of Circle ground troops, was traveling south on the highway when it met a large column of Circle tanks and armored personnel carriers moving in the opposite direction. Someone had screwed up. Strange radio reports had reached both commanders earlier in the day, countermanding their previous orders. The armored column was trying to get to Salina to get on Route 70 heading west. The infantry convoy had been directed south — off Route 70 — and toward McPherson to take Route 5,6 west.
Both of the column commanders used all four lanes of the abandoned interstate to get where they were going. They had met roughly halfway, near the small town of Bridgeport, Kansas and had been stalled, in place, while the Circle High Command tried to figure it out.