INVASION USA (Book 2) - The Battle For New York (48 page)

It took another several minutes before Carlos phoned the number back and immediately heard the same person’s voice on the other end. “Good morning, Mr. Mo Wang,” Carlos spoke into the phone. “My name is Carlos Rodriquez. My uncle is the Colombian Ambassador to the United States and you called me on my phone. I am putting my phone onto speaker phone.”

“You mean one of our phones, Mr. Rodriquez,” the person on the other end replied in perfect English.

“No, actually this has always been my own personnel phone since I purchased it a year ago. I don’t believe this phone ever belonged to you, or your organization, Mr. Wang. Maybe the new parts did, which I had to pirate from one of the phones we captured when your troops attacked ours last week.”

“So, you are in North Carolina, Mr. Rodriquez?” Mo Wang asked.

“No, I’m not, but I was there when we completely wiped out your men, Mr. Wang. And I believe we will do so again and again until you and your company is dead—in about ten days, I believe?” He heard the sound of a grunt of shock on the other side.

“You know where we are?” asked Wang, not believing what he was hearing.

“Of course we do, Mr. Wang. We have our own dozen satellites monitoring your movements right now,” Carlos embellished the truth a bit. “We destroyed your headquarters, most if not all of your troops here on the ground, and we are about to destroy what you have left. Oh, and thank you for your aircraft. They are going to really help us get all our troops back home to await your arrival.”

“You stole our aircraft?” asked Mo Wang, trying to fathom that he had actually been correct all along. “And Lee Wang has helped you find out about us?”

“Yes, we stole your aircraft in preparation for the aircraft you destroyed. And yes, to your second question. Mr. Wang works for me now and his wife is currently in Russia giving their government some of your captured satellite phones and telling the authorities there who is to blame for the destruction of their country. They are free to use our satellites and send over as many nuclear missiles as they wish to destroy your country, as we are about to, and I believe as your group has already started to do a couple of hours ago. It’s going to be a big turkey shoot over there. By the way, Mr. Wang, we asked the Russians not to destroy you. We want that pleasure for ourselves. I just don’t understand why you are destroying your own country.”

“You know about the missile attacks?” Mo Wang then asked, knowing that his chances of a long and fruitful life were now mostly likely in the hands of the Americans, rather than those of the chairman.

“Our satellite feed showed Beijing, Taiwan, and Hong Kong being destroyed by your own missiles coming out of northwestern China—not the United States or Russia—so don’t try and bullshit me, Wang. Your headquarters were destroyed, your satellites can be erased at any time, and if you think you can attack us with your modern weapons with no satellites to guide them, you are very much mistaken. Mr. Wang, we can take you out at a push of a button. If we had known that your organization had nuclear missiles, we would have taken out your three little satellites sooner. A small mistake on our part that cost over 40 million lives, unfortunately— innocent Chinese lives.”

“I am not in control of what is happening,” replied Wang. “The chairman is giving the orders.”

“Should I know his name?” asked Carlos. “Is he important enough for me to know his name? Don’t tell me it is Mao Zee Tung? I won’t believe you, Mr. Wang.”

“His name is Chairman Wang Chunqiao, son of Comrade Chunqiao from the Zedong days of ‘The Group of Four’. Chairman Chunqiao is President and CEO of Zedong Electronics, and my boss,” replied Wang, now not knowing what to do.

“I’m sorry, but his name doesn’t ring a bell. I suggest you hand him your phone when we are finished and tell him to call me when he’s ready to be terminated,” Carlos was having way too much fun. “By the way, this conversation is being recorded and will be sent to the President of the United States, who will decide when to end your attack once and for all,” Carlos continued, winking at Lee. He now had control of the man at the other end, if he didn’t hang up. “Or, we could play back this recording to your Comrade Chairman when we meet with him in a few days. We are ready and looking forward to the introduction. We have been moving hundreds of thousands of troops into your arrival area for days now.”

“What can I do to help you get rid of this madman?” asked Mo Wang, honestly.

“Not much,” replied Carlos, smiling for the first time that day. “Your friend Lee Wang is sitting right next to me and he said not to trust you.”

Suddenly the communication turned into rapid Chinese, Mo Wang talking excitedly to Lee Wang since he realized the phone was on speaker phone.

“I’m very sorry Mr. Mo Wang, but I don’t speak Chinese anymore,” replied Lee sincerely. “I’m an American citizen and you have attacked my country. Not only that, but you tried to kill my family. I am looking forward to being there when the president, a very nice man actually and far better than you and your organization, will press the button to end your life. If you wish to speak with me, you had better continue in English—my Chinese is very bad.”

“Mo Wang, call off your hit squads,” added Carlos angrily. “We are ready for them in New York, Washington, Los Angeles and every city you care to mention. Tell them to disappear and never be heard from or seen again. Tell your chairman that we are ready for him. My buddies are excited about getting into battle with their aircraft, tanks, guns, submarines, ships, helicopters, and believe you me, Mr. Wang, they all itching to get into the action first. Just send the 20 remaining aircraft you have over to us. We want to get our troops back and if not for those aircraft, you would all be dead by now. Oh! By the way, I look forward to meeting you personally in a few days. Look for me. I’ll be one of hundreds of flying fighters, and when we meet, you will hang by the neck until dead, right next to your chairman. Bon voyage, Mr. Wang!” and he hung up.

Carlos put the phone down, his anger dissipating now. At least if the chairman were told of the conversation, or if he was actually listening in and it was a ploy, they wouldn’t be so certain of their survival.

“I don’t think you made Mr. Mo Wang very happy,” suggested Lee, smiling.

“I hope not,” replied Carlos.

*****

It was a fantastic sight, and it certainly raised the morale of everybody there, when on the 11th day, four fully laden 747s flew into each New York airport, disgorging 500 fully armed troops from each aircraft fresh in from Turkey with their gear.

Newark’s cleared runway was ready as the four jumbo jets lined up for their final approaches, coming in from Incirlik Air Force Base. Two thousand troops per airport was the goal General Allen had hoped would be realized. Now they had an even better chance of winning the war, and 11 more flights, or nearly 80,000 troops, could arrive before attack day.

The 747 transporter had arrived several hours earlier, flying in from Alaska. Her electrical component cargo had already been unloaded at McGuire, and she had been refueled to carry a full load of food into JFK.

Using the airport’s fuel generators as back-up and running with new parts, and the central fuel-pumping terminal using the largest airport generator and several smaller military ones all tied together, fuel was once again retrievable from the central aviation fuel location in New Jersey. Now, all three airports could fill the 12 thirsty jets with 64,000 gallons of fuel each and get them airborne with fresh crews five hours after landing. The transporter would need five hours just to be loaded with food and the refueling queue would be back in the air by the time she needed fuel—this time at JFK.

Two thousand new soldiers to feed per airport per day was a big deal, and all three of the airports had brought in cooks and field kitchens so that supplies of any fresh food could be served instead of MREs, at least until it was used up.

Colonel Patterson had received his new insignia, as had Major Wong who had flown the transporter most of the way from Elmendorf in Alaska, after getting some sleep during the 7-hour flight from Shanghai to Alaska. Patterson got a shock that his promotion had already been patched through to the base commander at McGuire, as well as orders from the general that he was to lead the attack in New York.

Everyone had heard about the death of General Allen. After the call to Mo Wang, Carlos had phoned all the numbers necessary to tell them the news about the general’s death. The president had ordered that the nuclear explosions in China be kept from everyone else for the time being.

The remaining incoming troops would be flown into Teterboro, now the busiest airport with C-130s and helicopters going in every few minutes. Once the transporter began airlifting into Teterboro, the C-130 transporters were to go out to the bases and move in troops and any vehicles or guns that could fit into their holds.

Here at Teterboro, General Allen had planned to house 60,000 troops within the first ten days, with the 747s bringing in 6,000 new troops per day. The other three airports were ramping up for another round of 2,000 troops during the second week, and then Newark was to be supplied with as many troops as possible who could walk into the harbor area around New York once they were airlifted into Newark, which was the closet airport to the harbor area.

The airports were up and running, and the 200 Chinese and 200 American engineers were being trucked into New York Harbor daily to repair all electrical cranes, machines or lines for whatever was needed. The Chinese electricians had a master plan and the American engineers just went along with it.

The two remaining gunships and HC-130 tankers arrived back a day later, minus Ghost Rider. They were all refueled, and would wait for the memorial service to be held later that afternoon at McGuire for the 14 lost aircrew, including General Allen, who had been aboard the lost aircraft. Carlos had gotten a lift back to Preston’s farm to pick up his P-51, and all the people at Preston’s farm had flown up in Baby Huey and Lady Dandy to attend the service.

There weren’t many people left at the farm. Even Will Smart risked his life, choosing the helicopter over Lady Dandy. He sat on the floor of the helicopter, holding his kids’ hands as they and the president’s kids sat with him. The President and First Lady were comfortable in the upholstered chairs that had been reinstalled to make Baby Huey into Air Force One again. With Will’s eyes tightly shut, Baby Huey took off in a northerly direction towards McGuire under Buck’s steady hand.

Lady Dandy had flown directly in to McGuire with Barbara in the left seat and an excited Maggie as her co-pilot in the right seat. Joe and David wanted to attend as well, and they arrived with Captain Pierce and 20 of his troops in the DC-3. Mike, John, and Pam offered to stay behind to feed the dogs and get to as many people as possible with the Cargomaster, Pilatus, and Cessna 210 working most of the daylight hours. Preston flew up in the P-38 in formation with Martie’s and Carlos’ P-51s on either side of him.

Everyone wanted a flyover for the memorial service, so Preston organized a flyover and the 11 C-130s the general had carefully looked after and returned to perfect condition were all brought in for the short ceremony. Time, unfortunately, was running out.

Carlos had arranged for his uncle and father to be picked up from the Colombian Embassy in another Huey, and Vice Admiral Rogers and several of his naval personnel flew in on an old Coast Guard C-130 they had just refurbished and made air-worthy the day before.

Michael and Grandpa Roebels, as well as the base commanders of Edwards and Hill AFBs arrived from Edwards aboard a C-130 with Captain Jennifer Watkins in the pilot’s seat. In the last four days, Jennifer had visited 30 Air Force bases in the United States and had given out satellite phones. It was the first time since that busy day at Preston’s farm so many aircraft were in one place. Even the three refurbished F-4s had been flown in by pilots of the general’s direct command.

Just to spite the enemy, something General Allen would have done, every aircraft flew in with their transponders on just to piss-off the enemy, if they were still watching.

First, the president said a few words about the man he had only really gotten to know several days earlier. “Pete was an American who put his country first. I don’t even know if the general was married or had any children. He did his job for his country, not allowing anything, or anybody to distract him from saving this land. Thanks to him, the United States of America now has the opportunity to continue to be a free and democratic society for the long term.” He continued, explaining that this memorial service was also a tribute to all the American people, military or civilian, who had died since January 1st. “Don’t let us forget the millions of innocent people around the world who have died for nothing more than someone’s thirst for power and greed.” He silently took his seat.

The Colombian Ambassador stood at the podium and said that Pete Allen was one of the finest men he had ever met. He had helped Colombia overcome the drug war in the early years by providing U.S. aid and Air Force aircraft and helicopters to help with the effort to curtail gangs and drug lords from taking over Colombia. Thanks to Pete Allen, his country of Colombia was also still a free country.

Vice Admiral Rogers said a eulogy for his fallen friend. “I grew up with Pete Allen. We were at a high school military academy together. Nobody could out-think Pete Allen. He was a tactician. He lived for planning battles. Unfortunately, Pete was a straight-talking man and had been passed by for promotion by Air Force generals now long forgotten, when he wouldn’t stand down from verbal confrontation. He was not one to beat about the bush and he called a spade a spade and pissed off many. I knew Pete’s family well. He and I had both courted the woman who finally became his wife, and he definitely won the prize with Marge Allen. Unfortunately, she died of cancer in 1995 and he was pretty lost without her for a while. Marge and Pete Allen had had two sons—Captain Peter Junior and Lieutenant Joe Allen. One died in combat in Iraq and the other in a civilian car crash here in the United States. Both had been active-duty military and both were single when they died. His elder son Peter was shot down in an Apache helicopter in Iraq in 1996, and Joe had been a Navy Seal Team member for several years when he was killed in a car accident driving from Washington to North Carolina in 1998. In three years, this proud man lost his entire family, but he never shirked his duty to his country. He got through the turmoil in his life and moved on to the kind of greatness we saw in him over the past week. Hopefully, he is now reunited with his loved ones in heaven. General Pete Allen, as well as the entire Allen family, should always be remembered for their support of their beloved country, the United States of America.”