INVASION USA (Book 2) - The Battle For New York (25 page)

For three hours they watched as the bulldozers cleared an area right next to them. A couple of men were opening the fuel openings in the apron cement right next to the 777. An electrical generator on wheels was being pulled into sight behind one of the trucks and they could hear the motor starting up and then shutting down. It was a big one—the type of generator used to pump fuel into large aircraft. It had “Air China” written all over it. Pipes and connections were offloaded from a fuel truck and stacked neatly by the building out of the way. The third bulldozer slowly came back into view followed by a dozen other vehicles, mostly an assortment of 30-year old trucks and cars. One white Cadillac had what looked like red blood down the side of it. The road was now passable and the radio squawked on.

“How many men are out there?” the Major asked.

“I see about 30 so far,”
answered the Lieutenant in the 777.
“The new vehicles are being parked in a line and three or four more coming into view. Each is been driven by one man. A fourth bulldozer has come into view pulling a second “Air China” generator and the man is being given orders. It looks like he is being told to start clearing a second parking area. The first area is complete by the looks of it as a road is now being made out to the runway itself. The finished clearing could fit a large 747.”

“Roger that. It looks like you guys have the front row seats. We are going to move to the closest terminal next to you guys and will let you know when we are ready. The incoming aircraft are going to have to use stairs if they are parking over there. I want to see if we can find some more and bring them forward so that they leave yours alone. Check out a bottom exit to your aircraft in case they move your stairs and don’t drink the first-class liquor, boys,” the major said with a smile on his face. “Pack it up and we’ll take it back to base. We must not be seen until we have their aircraft in the hands of our pilots, who are waiting here with me. Their incoming pilots might want to freshen up, powder their noses and use these bathrooms, and we will take them out in here. We are going to collect their clothes. Hopefully our guys are short enough to fit into their clothing.”

“The way they are clearing all that snow, we will have enough packed snow to use for defensive positions. They are obviously not considering that anyone will attack them and are walking around as if they own the place. I’m sure they won’t miss a couple of their guys. And remember men, the brass reckons the aircraft are not due in until dawn tomorrow morning. Out.”

Over the rest of the day, the major worked out what the visitors would do if they had access to the terminal. First, he made sure the door was ready to be opened, and then he studied the closest store, a clothing store full of warm clothing.

“Yes,”
he thought to himself.
“The pilots going back won’t resist getting a few presents for themselves and their girlfriends,”
and he formed a plan of action and broke the lock of the door. There was no electricity, and the concourse was dark, but they would come in here for warmth. He saw the bar on the other side. He broke that lock, too, opened the steel mesh doors on top of the counter, and then arranged cases of beer in a pile so that they couldn’t miss them—what man could resist a mountain of cold beers ready for them? He opened a couple of cases and put six cold bottles on the table and poured three down a sink to make it look like somebody had already been there when the airport closed down. He lay one on its side and let one break on the floor.

The action on the runway went on and on throughout the day. It was one of the longest civilian runways in the United States. They only had three bulldozers working on the runway itself and the snow was a couple of feet deep. It took each dozer about an hour to clear a narrow line from one end of the runway to the other.

Another old truck came out and men started throwing salt onto the parking areas. They even got an aircraft weather-spray truck pulled in close by the fourth dozer. It didn’t work, but they were obviously expecting whoever was coming in by air to have everything they needed, and they might need a spray down before take-off if bad weather came in again.

Night fell and the lights on the bulldozers showed that they were still working out there. They were halfway done, and it was going to be a very cold night. The salt truck had gone out several times and they had done a good job. One of the major’s men in white snow gear had sneaked out to inspect the runway. It was quite dry and they had about three hours of work left to go.

The major had allowed many of his men to sleep part of the day, and he had talked with two of his Chinese-American Air Force pilots who spoke fluent Mandarin, and together they had worked out a plan. Quite a few of the Chinese had come into the terminal a couple of hours earlier and helped themselves to food and the beer placed for them. The major and his guys had gone on high alert when they heard voices in the terminal for the first time. They were over 100 feet away from the door and a couple of soldiers had crawled down the dark terminal floor and found two men sitting at the main table of the bar drinking cold bottles of beer.

They hadn’t finished their brews before their necks were broken and they were dragged back to the storage area where Major Patterson and his team of pilots were holed up.

An hour later, six more men came in looking for the other two, whispering their names, an interpreter told the major. Two came down to the dark area where the troops were waiting. One American soldier made a grunt on the opposite side of the concourse and the two flashlights held by the Chinese men quickly swung around towards the sound. That was their last move before being terminated from behind by strong hands. The other four had found the beer, the demise of many men, and bottles were opened.

It wasn’t long, however, before the first two were missed. The crew in the store shouted for them, and one of the Chinese-American pilots impersonated them with a cloth over his face to hide his voice, and told them that they had found some good chocolate and American candy. One of the four men, carrying a shoulder missile launcher, swaggered over to the dark area of the concourse shouting that beer was better than chocolate and then he, too, went eerily quiet.

It took several more minutes, but the last three went the same way as the rest, sitting around the darkened terminal with flashlights and the moon, their only source of light. The eight dead men were relieved of their clothing and it was given to the shortest soldiers in the group. The two Chinese-American pilots were now as mean looking as the guys outside.

Going through the pockets and jackets, they had found two satellite phones as well as lots of small things, and now they had communications with the outside world. The major had been told to update the general whenever a phone became available, so he called the general and was connected just like he would have been on his regular cell phone a few weeks earlier. There was no answer on the other side until the major stated “Allen Key” into the phone.

“Name and location?” General Allen requested into the phone curtly.

“Patterson. Juliet, Foxtrot, Kilo,” Major Patterson replied.

“Well done, Patterson. I assume you have terminated some visitors to get this?”
the general asked, now well on his way to Elmendorf Air Force Base in Alaska.

“Roger that, Allen Key.”

“Give me a quick sitrep (Situation Report) Mr. Patterson,”
the general continued.

“We have 180 friendlies in four separate locations. We were visited by 40 guests in trucks a little earlier, now down to 32. We have two new cell phones and hope to have several more by tonight. So far today, two areas cleared by four bulldozers. Area 31-Lima (left) is about 120 minutes from being totally cleared. Salt is being laid. I have a plan in place. Two friendly Charlie-American pilots are ready and prepared to get into any arriving empty birds and take them to Mr. McGuire. Then we bring in reinforcements and terminate uprising ASAP. We have one friendly Charlie ready on cell phone to tell any aircraft that everything is okay. Any suggestions? Over.” The major gave his brief report into the cell phone as more visitors suddenly entered the terminal shouting for their friends.

“I have a situation. Our next cell phone has just entered the building. Out.” And he hung up on the general.

Four more cold Chinese men found the beer and were momentarily distracted. It took several minutes for them to drink one and open another. Another group of eight joined them, and then another four men came in out of the cold. Two more cases were ripped open and bottles hissed as their tops were twisted.

“Bring six men with silencers forward and place them in positions where they can take them out if need be,” the major ordered his first sergeant in a whisper. He also had an automatic pistol with a silencer and he watched through its night sights as six men crept forward and got into position on the floor in a line where they could hit the men without breaking the large windows around the concourse.

Suddenly the satellite phone rang in his hand. “Shit!” he whispered, trying to find and hit the kill button to turn it off. The men drinking beer immediately shouted to see whose phone it was. Major Patterson immediately whispered to the Chinese-American pilot next to him to answer as if he was drunk. The man did as he was told and several men laughed and hooted from the bar area. He swore, telling them to leave him alone, and told the “person” on the phone to call him later when he woke up, which prompted raucous laughter from the bar crowd.

Three men, laughing, came to find him, and were quickly laid to rest without bullets. One made a grunt as his neck was broken and the men in the bar suddenly went silent. The major prodded the other Chinese pilot and told them to shout at each other and make drunken laughter. They did a good enough job that another two came over to see what all the fun was about. They also didn’t make the party, and this time the two Chinese-American pilots got really rowdy. They started getting angry at each other and swore in rapid Mandarin to each other about being left to sleep. This time the rest at the bar went silent, one drew a pistol, and they all came forward flashing their flashlights into the darkness.

This time, their clothing couldn’t be saved, as the major shot first and the six silencers followed suit firing several shots and killing all ten men without a sound, and with no broken windows. Immediately, the major told the troops behind him to drag the bodies back, far down the concourse, out of the way, clean up any blood, make sure the prisoners were dead and strip any clothing off that did not have blood on it. This was completed in seconds with the men still wearing night goggles.

Major Patterson immediately sent two men to cover the door to the outside to watch for any more Chinese and he sent another two men to set up the bar tables again with fresh bottles, just in case.

Within three minutes the concourse was quiet, with the bar area looking like a lot of drinking had occurred, and with the odd jacket and hat lying around.

“Allen Key,” he spoke into another, new phone and waited for a response from the general.

“Busy night Patterson?”
the general asked.

“Busy bar night Allen Key, just like any Friday night. All these guys are drinking and we now have 24 of them hidden in the broom closet, all as dead as Do-Dos. They are down to the five guys on the dozers and seven others somewhere playing in the salt pit. We have clothing for 14 and six fancy phones.”

“Don’t answer any cell phone unprepared,”
cautioned General Allen.
“If the red number comes up when your phone rings, that’s a no-no for at least two more days. You will see the number on the phone. Turn off all phones, and if the red number crops up and if you need to say hi to Uncle Charlie, use a guy who can talk the lingo. Get my drift?”

“Roger that, Allen Key.”

“And this is your number from now on, Patterson. Let me know how your plans go tomorrow. Tell me immediately what comes in. You will have to play this drama out on the spur of the moment. Hopefully I can hand you an Oscar when we meet. Mr. McGuire will have the four choppers full and three big 130 mama’s ready to take off by dawn. As soon as you have pilots aboard the aircraft and they are about to take-off, tell me and Mr. McGuire and he will release the hounds into the attack. They will take 20 minutes to get there and will be below 500 feet to stay out of any aircraft radar contact. That’s 300 guys and what you have there to terminate the guests. Call me when you are about to attack—a buddy of mine believes that he can jam all their communications for awhile. Well done, Patterson, and good luck. Your plan sounds positive, and we want those big aircraft undamaged. Out.”

Major Patterson got back on the radio to all his men and explained the plan to them.

“Team Four,” he stated to the 40 men based in one of the outside aircraft, the M-90. “Go through your exit in the bottom of your aircraft and find the salt pit. There are seven or more Charlies working with a truck. Try and take them out without bloodshed. We need their clothes and cell phones. I say again, we need undamaged cell phones and clothing. Use silencers.”

“Roger that. On our way,”
the commander of Team Four replied.

“Team Two in the commuter jet,” Patterson continued. “I believe they will park the dozers close to the area where they want the aircraft to land and refuel. It looks like two aircraft will be incoming. Once the dozers are back from the runway, take the drivers out and we should be clear of bad boys until the next lot comes in.”

“Roger. We are getting on white gear and heading out. What about the line of vehicles? Shall we leave them alone? Over.”
The commander of Team Two needed to cover all the bases.

“Take the keys out of the ignition and put them under the seat of the front passenger, not the driver’s seats. Confirm!”

“Copy that, the left passenger seats,”
the commander replied, and within five minutes Major Patterson could see dim white shapes leave the express jet and crawl over to the large mounds of snow between the arrival area and the runway.