Battlefield China

Chapter 11 Operation Warhammer

Sitting in the wardroom of the USS Portland amphibious transport dock, newly-promoted Lieutenant Colonel Tim Long could sense the apprehension in the air from his officers and senior NCOs. They were about to embark upon what would, in all reality, be the bloodiest campaign of the war to date — the invasion of mainland China. After a lot of changes to the original invasion plans over the last six months, it had finally been settled that the Allies would focus on the capture of several key Chinese cities and provinces as opposed to their initial objective of driving on Beijing and dividing the country up. It was hoped that this change in strategy would bring about a much swifter end to the war than the original plan President Gates had approved.

Tim Long was still getting used to commanding a full battalion; six months ago, he had been in charge of a company. Due to attrition in the officer ranks and the continued expansion of the Marines, the Corps had a massive shortage of officers and NCOs to continue filling out the ranks of the new units, and a lot of battlefield promotions had been going around.

Nevertheless, Lieutenant Colonel Long was there in the wardroom, and he decided he’d better make the best of it. He cleared his throat. “This is probably going to be the last time we all meet together for the next few days. It’s going to get hairy once the action starts, so I want to make sure everyone fully understands what’s expected of them and our overall objective,” Long said. His men leaned forward, listening intently.

“Our battalion has been given the task of capturing the Yantian International Container Terminal and the harbor. This is going to be the 6th Marines’ primary beachhead, so we need to secure this facility quickly. The PLA is going to throw everything they have at us to keep us from seizing this critical port. Knowing that, we’ve devised a plan that I believe will work.”

He pulled up some maps on the video monitor. “McKnight’s Never Company is going to air-assault in and secure Kuk Po Lo Wai Park for 1/10 Marines, who’ll be arriving via LCACs. We’re getting the entire battalion of artillery to come along with us. That gives us thirty 155mm howitzers for fire support.”

Several officers let out low whistles, and others nodded in approval.

Long turned to look at the man who’d be in charge of protecting this critical brigade-level asset. “Captain McKnight, it’s going to be imperative that Never Company holds the surrounding hills and approaches. The entire brigade is going to be depending on that fire support. I can’t stress enough how important holding your positions will be,” Lieutenant Colonel Long asserted.

McKnight nodded, adding, “You can count on us, Sir. No one’s getting past us.” McKnight was a Marine reservist who had joined Long’s command four months ago after 4th Battalion had officially formed. In the civilian world, he was a high school wrestling coach in the fall and a track and field coach in the spring. He was tough as nails and had quickly earned the respect of his men.

Colonel Long relaxed a bit at McKnight’s confidence and turned next to Captain Hammermill. “Oscar Company has the critical task of securing the beach near Boluoshan. It places you opposite the port we need to secure. Come hell or high water, you have to lock down those facilities as quickly as possible. Eliminate any threats and then push the perimeter out. The Navy’s going to bring in a Ro-Ro ship that’ll start offloading our LAVs and tanks.”

Hammermill responded, “You’ve got it, Sir.”

They spent the next two hours going over every element of the plan in detail, asking questions and making sure everyone knew what was required of them. Within twenty-four hours of landing, they’d be replaced by their sister battalion, 3/6 Marines. Then they’d head inland to work on securing the next set of critical ports around Chik Wan in the Shenzhen Bay area. This would completely isolate Hong Kong from the mainland and make it much easier to secure. It would also give them the necessary port facilities to quickly offload the rest of the division’s equipment and get them in the fight faster.

The V-22 Osprey hugged the water as it approached the dark landmass. Every now and then, the pilot would jink to the right and then veer back to the left, just in case an enemy antiaircraft gun was lying in wait for them. In seconds, they were over Grass Island. They made their way toward Plover Cove Country Park and their final objective. Looking off in the distance, the pilots spotted tracer fire starting to lift off from Tong Yan Chung, where the port was.

The pilots deftly kept the Osprey just above the water and then the treetops, doing their best to keep themselves from becoming visible to the enormous amount of antiaircraft fire that had started to saturate the early-morning sky. Shortly after making landfall, the first several Ospreys flared their noses up and settled their giant tiltrotor aircraft down on mainland China. In seconds, thirty-two Marines rushed off. The dust and grass of the empty field before them would soon be turned into a massive artillery firebase.

Two other Ospreys landed their human cargo a kilometer further west, near the small village of Kai Kuk Shue Ha, while two more Ospreys dropped another platoon of Marines to the southwest, at a village called Tin Sam. Both of these platoons were to act as a blocking force and a tripwire in case PLA forces tried to head toward the soon-to-be-established Marine artillery base.

With several hundred Marines dropped off, the group of seven Ospreys turned back to the Portland, where they would begin the task of picking up the next company of Marines to ferry to the mainland.

While the Marines were air assaulting in hundreds of grunts to secure their objectives, the Navy had sent in six of their littoral combat ships; three of their smaller, swifter Cyclone fast-attack patrol boats escorted the eight LCACs that were bringing sixteen of the thirty howitzers ashore. Several other Cyclones raced in to the port facility and other key objectives to drop off several platoons’ worth of Navy SEALS.

Boom, boom, BAM!

Captain McKnight looked off at the port facility a kilometer away and saw several large explosions billowing up into the night sky. He briefly caught the silhouette of one of the Navy’s patrol boats as its chain gun raked an enemy position with hundreds of bullets.

“Give `em hell, boys,” he muttered under his breath. Then he returned his attention to the task as hand.

“I want those trees down, now!” he roared. “We don’t have much time left to get this area cleared out!” The half dozen Marines unraveling det cord around several trees dutifully sped up their process.

Once the howitzers showed up, they would gobble up nearly all of the cleared flatland in the area. His Marines needed to make sure they had a couple of working LZs set up to allow for more reinforcements to arrive and ammunition to continue to be flown in.

Twenty minutes later, McKnight heard the unmistakable noise of the LCACs racing in the water as they headed toward the beach. Captain McKnight hoped they would see the series of infrared lights his Marines had set up, directing the LCACs where to land. In minutes, the first monstrous hovercraft appeared out of the darkness and drove right up on the beach, continuing until it lurched forward in a stop at the signal of a Marine with a pair of handheld infrared signaling lights. Once the hovercraft came to a stop, the front ramp dropped. The first set of heavy trucks roared to life, rolling down the ramp while towing one of the M777 155mm lightweight howitzers behind it.

One by one, the other seven LCACs rolled in and started the process of getting the guns and their crews ashore. As the hovercraft were emptied, they started their engines back up and proceeded to head back to sea, where the sailors offshore would be anxiously waiting to send their next load in. While the artillery crews went to work on identifying where they wanted each gun to be placed, the roar of gunfire and explosions happening across the bay grew steadily in intensity. Captain McKnight observed more explosions blasting around the port area. Meanwhile, the Navy’s patrol boats and littoral combat ships continued to move up and down the coast provide direct fire support wherever needed.

Twenty minutes after the first set of howitzers were ashore, the first of the sixteen guns started to deliver their first fire mission for the ground forces already heavily engaged across the bay. Minutes after the first howitzer started to fire, three more artillery cannons added their weight as well.

The Marines of 1/10 FA were inundated with fire mission requests. In short order, they had all sixteen guns delivering a sustained one to two rounds a minute for the Marines battling it out on the mainland.

As the Osprey circled the area below, Lieutenant Colonel Long spotted the two platoons Captain McKnight had placed as a blocking force to protect the newly established firebase. Despite the short timeframe, they looked well organized in their new positions.

Long turned to look out the other side. His other company had reached the port, and he could see that they were already pushing the perimeter out beyond it. Already, a group of Navy Seabees was hard at work getting the port’s heavy equipment ready to start offloading the first Ro-Ro ship, which was already headed their way.

“You ready to head down, Sir, or do you want us to make another pass?” asked the pilot.

“I’ve seen what I needed to see. You can set us down now. Thanks again for letting me get a bird’s-eye view of my guys,” he answered.

The Osprey headed back down to the LZ McKnight’s Marines had cleared out nearly an hour earlier.

Once on the ground, Lieutenant Colonel Long headed for the tent his headquarters staff had set up. When he walked in, he saw they had the maps up on the tent wall and the radios going. One of his staffers was plotting the location of the various companies and platoons in the city, as well as the enemy units they had either spotted or the UAVs had found. From the looks of things, there were several large PLA formations heading toward them now. Two were headed toward the docks, and the other was headed toward the lone platoon two kilometers away from their current position.

It was clear that platoon was going to need help soon. Turning to his S3, he asked, “When is Romeo Company going to arrive?”

“They’re getting ready to leave the Portland now,” he replied.

“I want them redirected to this point here,” Long ordered. “We have a much larger force heading toward us and not enough Marines to defend this position. I also want a battery of those guns to shift fire and start hitting this location.”

His S3 walked over to look at the map. Once he saw the number of enemy soldiers heading toward them he nodded. “You’re right, Sir. That looks to be close to two battalions’ worth of infantry headed their way.”

Boom, boom. BAM!

Explosions vibrated the ground beneath them. Several pieces of shrapnel ripped right through one section of the tent, tearing into one of the map boards and hitting a Marine in the arm as he was updating it.

One of the sergeants in the tent began to administer first aid to the wounded Marine. “Corpsman!” he yelled.

Lieutenant Colonel Long raced outside the tent to see what had happened. He immediately spotted two of the artillery guns a couple hundred meters away, turned over on their sides. One of the trucks sitting between the two guns was also on fire, burning in bright orange flames.

His eyes swept toward the bay. One of the Navy’s Cyclone patrol boats was on fire. It looked like the captain was trying to steer the endangered ship toward their patch of shore, away from the port.

Someone shouted, “Incoming fighters!” and pointed in the direction of the city across the bay.

The dark silhouettes of fast-moving objects appeared to be headed right for them. A couple of Marines who had been in the tree line ran out into the open field nearby, each raising a long tube to their shoulders. Seconds later, they each fired a Stinger missile at the incoming war planes.

One of the fighters fired a pair of missiles at the Ro-Ro ship tied up to the pier, while a second fighter shot off two more missiles at one of the littoral combat ships in the harbor. Two more planes continued their flight directly toward Long’s firebase.

The littoral combat ship engaged the fighters with their RIM 116 rolling airframe missiles and CWIS system, splashing two of the five enemy planes. One of the Stingers hit the third fighter, which ripped apart and spiraled toward the ground with a trail of smoke behind it. The remaining two fighters continued to head for the artillery base Long’s men had established.

Seconds later, the planes buzzed over their positions and four objects fell from their wings, tumbling end over end until they slammed into the ground.

Boom, boom, boom, BOOM!

The blast wave and concussion from the explosions hit Long across his entire body, blowing him completely off his feet and sending him tumbling backwards. The blast wave threw him and his soldiers around like the ragdolls of an angry toddler.

A series of secondary explosions rocked the base — some of the artillery propellant had caught fire and exploded. Colonel Long was vaguely aware of his surroundings, but the world was still a bit dim after being tossed about like that. As Long’s hearing started to return and his brain slowly turned itself back on, the first thing he heard was the cries for help. Sitting up, he did a quick check of his arms and legs, making sure everything worked.

He looked nearby and saw the tent his headquarters staff had set up was largely gone, torn apart. Marines lay in heaps all around it. Down toward the artillery gun positions, he saw nearly half of the artillery guns had been knocked over or were destroyed. Small fires spread all over the base, along with the remains of the dead.

Long gingerly got up. He looked down and saw his rifle was still attached to his IBA via his single-point sling. Hearing cries from the wounded near his headquarters tent, he made his way over to the remnant to check on his staff. As he approached them, he heard one of the Marines crying, begging for help.

When he found the source of the desperate pleas, he saw Private First Class Luke Grabowski leaned up against several of the destroyed radios. He was using his one good arm and hand to desperately hold his intestines in and keep them from spilling out of a large gash in stomach, just below his body armor. His left arm appeared to be shattered and unusable.

PFC Grabowski looked up at him, tears streaming down his face. “Help me, Sir. My guts are spilling out of me and I can’t stop it.”

In that moment, Long wanted to turn away, to throw up or do anything other than walk toward the young man. But he knew he needed to help him. He moved quickly to the young man’s side. “Hold on, Grabowski. I’m here now. Help will be here soon.”

Long helped Grabowski slide down to lie flat on the ground. He grabbed Grabowski’s first aid bandage and quickly applied it across the gash across his stomach. The bandage now held the man’s innards where they belonged. He placed Grabowski’s good hand on top of his abdomen.

“Hold this in place,” Captain Long instructed gruffly. Then he grabbed his combat application tourniquet and tied off the crushed and bleeding part of Grabowski’s left arm. Long knew he needed to stem the bleeding if the young Marine was to have any chance at surviving.

Turning to look for help, he spotted a group of Marines heading his direction. “I need a corpsman over here now!” he shouted.

One of the people in the group ran toward him at a sprint as the others trotted behind. The Navy corpsman immediately went to work on Grabowski. He gave him a shot of morphine and then did his best to get his abdomen wound sealed up.

“We need some medevacs here ASAP!”

“Romeo Company is almost here, Sir. Once they land, we’ll load the wounded onto the Ospreys and get them brought back to the Portland. Are you OK yourself, Sir?” asked one of McKnight’s lieutenants.

“I’m fine, but clearly most of my headquarters staff have been killed,” he replied, waving his hand around at the torn and dead bodies. Many of these tattered remains represented Marines he had only known for a few months, most of them new to the Corps, fresh from training.

“I think you should set up with Captain McKnight, Sir. We have a command post over in that tree line,” the lieutenant said, pointing in the direction of where he had just come from.

Lieutenant Colonel Long nodded. He knew the lieutenant was right. “Lead the way, Lieutenant.”

As the two of them walked toward the CP, several other Marines looked for more survivors. Long glanced down at the beach; the second wave of LCACs was approaching, bringing with them the rest of 1/10’s artillery battalion. He sighed. Of the sixteen howitzers that had landed in the first wave, only four of them were still carrying out fire missions. The rest of the guns had either been destroyed or disabled.

When they entered the tree line, Long spotted McKnight on the radio and he waved for him to come over. “Yes, Sir. He’s right here,” he said to the person on the other end. Then he handed the radio receiver to him.

“It’s General Tillman,” McKnight explained in response to the quizzical look Long had given him.

Long nodded. “This is Loki Six. Go ahead.”

“Loki Six, this is Rogue Six. What’s going on over there? I heard you guys got hit by an airstrike. Is your firebase still operational?” asked General Tillman, voice filled with concern.

“Two fighters plastered our position pretty hard,” Long explained. “I lost my entire headquarters staff, and twelve of our sixteen howitzers are down. The rest of 1/10 just showed up, so we should have them operational shortly. I’ve also got Romeo Company inbound in five mikes to reinforce our position. How copy?”

A minute went by before the radio beeped and the SINCGARS synced up. “Good copy. 3/6 Marines will head to shore in two hours. Can your battalion hold until they arrive, or do I need to push them to arrive sooner?”

“We can hold, Sir, but I need some air cover and gunship support. I have three battalion-sized formations heading toward our positions. Two are entering the northern side of the city heading toward the port, and the third is heading overland up the peninsula toward our firebase. How copy?”

“Good copy on all. I’ll see what I can do about the air cover. I’m going to dispatch Attack Helicopter Squadron 167 to hit those targets for you. When 3/6 arrives, you need to do your best to have your battalion disengage and move to your next objective. How copy?”

Long sighed for a second. He could see McKnight shaking his head at him with a grin on his face. “That’s a good copy, Sir. We’ll be ready. My vehicles start to arrive on the next wave of LCACs. Out.”

“He’s eager to get us moving to Shenzhen, isn’t he?” asked McKnight.

“Semper Gumby, McKnight. That’s about all I can say. Speaking of that — when Romeo lands, I’m going to have them reinforce your second and third platoons on our perimeter. I need the rest of your guys to work on getting those new guns showing up ready. See if the gun bunnies need some help getting some of those howitzers turned back over. Maybe a few of them can be salvaged.”

Long looked for a spot to sit down. He was still a little rattled from the airstrike that had wiped out his headquarters staff. So far, only two other Marines from his headquarters unit had survived unscathed.

Minutes later, they heard the thumping sound of the Ospreys’ helicopter blades as the giant flying machines landed in the clearing they had built. The helicopters landed two at a time, disgorging their human cargo. As the newly arrived Marines ran off the back ramps, medics and others loaded the wounded Marines onto the helicopters to bring them back to the Portland, which had a level one trauma center.

As the newly arrived Marines headed toward their positions, Lieutenant Colonel Long walked out to find Captain Nickles, the Romeo Company commander.

Nickles saw Long and trotted over to him while the rest of his men filtered into the tree line. “It looks like you guys took a few hits, Sir,” he said when he got closer.

“You could say that,” Long said with a snort. “Listen up, Nickles — McKnight’s got two platoons that are about to be a speedbump for an element that’s at least battalion-sized and heading our direction.” He pulled a map out and hastily pointed to it. “I need you to get your men over to this position here and hold the line. We’ve got some gunship support headed our direction, so use them as you see fit. Once McKnight’s and your LAVs and JLTVs arrive, we’ll mount up and head over to help you out. We need to push the PLA back to Sha Tau Kok. When 3/6 Marines land, the rest of our battalion will rally on us here, and then we’ll take the Sha Tau Kok Road to the San Tin Highway and the Shenzhen interchange. From there, it should be a straight shot to secure the next port.”

The two of them talked for a bit longer before Romeo Company took off at a quick trot to get in position. Meanwhile, the LCACs finished offloading the remaining guns of 1/10 FA and headed back to the ships offshore to pick up Long’s battalion of LAVs and JLTVs to bring ashore, along with a company of tanks that had been assigned to them. The next few hours would see some of the heaviest fighting of the campaign as the PLA desperately tried to throw the invaders back into the sea before they could establish a foothold.

As he rode in the LCM-8 "Mike Boat," First Lieutenant Ian Slater thought he was going to get sick. Several of his soldiers had already puked their guts out, adding to the acrid aroma of diesel fuel, feces, and urine that wafted toward him from the front of the boat.

He found himself wondering how in the hell his company had gotten stuck doing yet another amphibious assault. “I swear — I thought we had a Marine Corps,” he thought angrily. Ian had fought in the slaughter that was the Second Korean War, then invaded Indonesia, then India, and now China. He wasn’t sure his luck would hold out much longer.

BOOM, BOOM, BAM.

Explosions blared off in the distance, almost like the grand finale of a Fourth of July fireworks show. When their boat entered the Zhujiang River Estuary, Slater saw several small islands on either side of the LCM, and realized they were nearing their target. His battalion had been assigned the job of capturing a host of small islands throughout the Zhujiang River Estuary and the mouth of the Shenzhen Harbor.

In front of them, two Navy littoral combat ships and several Cyclone patrol boats led the way. A couple of destroyers had even moved into the waterways with them. Looking behind them, Ian saw at least twenty of these Mike Boats following them in.

While their boat got closer to one of the islands, the sound of machine-gun fire and explosions emanating from the nearby cities grew in intensity. The night sky filled with antiaircraft fire. Green and red tracers crisscrossed back and forth across the sky, chasing after high-flying fighters and ground-attack planes and helicopters.

The thumping rotor blades of hundreds of helicopters filled Slater’s ears — the battle for the industrial heartland of China was now in full swing. It was spectacular to see such an awesome display of war machines and military power, but also terrifying. He knew that tens of thousands of enemy soldiers were lying in wait to kill him and his fellow soldiers.

“Five minutes!” shouted the boat commander.

Lieutenant Slater turned his gaze forward. The island before them grew in size as they got closer. Shrouded in the pre-twilight darkness, the landmass looked ominous, shadowy and unknown. Seconds later, several starburst rounds from one of the escort destroyers erupted over the top of the island, illuminating it in magnesium brilliance for them to see what lay in wait for them.

When their boat got within a hundred meters of the shore, green tracers started to reach out for their boat. Several of the rounds hit the front hatch, bouncing harmlessly off. Another string of rounds fired from a higher elevation came in at shoulder height, hitting several unlucky soldiers before they even made it to the beach.

The bottom of the boat scraped against the gravelly beach, and the front hatch dropped. Ian’s soldiers raced off the boat as quickly as they could up the beach to the waiting arms of enemy machine guns.

Ratatat, ratatat, zip, zap, BOOM.

Green and red tracers strafed back and forth between the two lines of warriors, intermixed with mortar rounds, hand grenades and antipersonnel mines as the two sides fought the desperate battle of life and death.

“Take that bunker out!” shouted one of Slater’s squad leaders.

Pop, swoosh…BAM.

One of his soldiers had fired his AT4 rocket, successfully blowing the machine-gun bunker apart. First Squad charged forward while Second and Third Squads laid down covering fire. When First Squad made it to the first line of enemy defenders, his soldiers jumped right into the enemy trench line, foxholes and machine-gun positions, letting out a guttural howl. The fighting quickly devolved into brutal hand-to-hand combat.

As First Lieutenant Slater ran toward the trench line with Fourth Squad, he saw several of his young privates and specialists using their bayonets against the enemy defenders. He witnessed one of his soldiers get shot point-blank. Another was stabbed to death by a PLA soldier. A few of them had thrown their rifles down to use their trench knives in close-quarters combat. This battle was already gruesome.

“Behind you, LT!” shouted one of his soldiers. Slater turned to see a wild, crazy-eyed PLA soldier screaming as he lunged at him with his own knife in hand. Slater twisted his torso just enough to miss the soldier’s blade, but not before the soldier plowed into him, knocking his rifle from him. The two of them fell to the ground, and the PLA soldier landed on top of him. Slater grabbed at his own trench knife, pulling it from the strap on his IBA. With as much power and speed as he could muster, he rammed the blade into the side of the Chinese soldier’s rib cage, feeling at least one bone crunch.

The soldier let out a guttural scream and tried to pull away from Slater’s blade. As the knife ripped itself out of the man’s chest, a geyser of blood erupted, spraying Slater’s uniform. The enemy soldier staggered backwards and fell.

A loud roar of voices suddenly overtook the other sounds of war, intermixed with many high-pitched whistles. Slater got back to his feet and grabbed his rifle, and as he did, he spotted a swarm of enemy soldiers charging down toward them from further inland. Surveying his immediate surroundings, Slater saw that most of First Squad was either dead or wounded. Half of Fourth Squad was in the same shape.

“That’s a lot of enemy soldiers!” yelled Sergeant Starr, Slater’s platoon sergeant. The remnants of Second and Third squads jumped into the enemy positions they had just cleared.

“We need some damn fire support! Where’s the rest of the company?” shouted Slater.

“Get those heavy weapons unleashed on that mob!” Sergeant Starr yelled to the squad leaders.

“Mitchem!” shouted Slater to his RTO. Seconds later, Specialist Mitchem plopped his body next to Slater, holding the hand receiver to the radio out to him.

Zip, zap, zip, zap, crump, crump.

More bullets flew over their heads. Some hit the sandbags right in front of them. Dropping to a knee, Slater grabbed the radio. “Ronan Six, this is Ronan One-Six. My platoon’s secured Objective Alpha. I need help or we’re going to be overrun!” he shouted.

BOOM, BOOM!

Slater lifted his head above the lip of the trench and saw several large explosions erupt amongst the enemy soldiers charging toward them. Many of the PLA soldiers were now seeking shelter amongst the shrubs, underbrush and secondary line of defense they had built. Despite that turn of fortune, the rate of enemy fire being directed at his men was tremendous. That kept his troopers’ heads down, which would mean that squads of enemy soldiers would soon be bounding forward toward them again.

“Ronan One-Six, this is Ronan Six. Good copy. Hold your positions. Charlie Company is hitting the beach as we speak. They’ll move forward to assist. Out!”

Shaking his head, Slater knew the other platoons must be in as much crap as they were. Sneaking a quick look behind him, he saw another wave of Mike Boats landing. “That must be Charlie Company.”

Looking to his left, Slater shouted to Sergeant Starr, “Have the guys on your side of the line start laying covering fire for Charlie Company as they rush off the beach toward us.”

Slater then dashed down to his right, making sure his guys were firing at the enemy. When he found one of his soldiers who’d been shot in the gut, just below his IBA, he stopped briefly to help get a pressure dressing set in place before moving on.

“They’re charging!” shouted a young private, who was only maybe five meters from Slater’s position.

“I need you to hold this in place, Private,” said Slater hastily. “I’ve got to get back to killing them before they overrun us.” The poor kid was bleeding pretty bad, but he just nodded through gritted teeth and unstrapped his Sig Sauer, in case he needed it.

Looking at the enemy charging again, Lieutenant Slater saw what must have been several hundred enemy soldiers rushing toward them. “Where do they keep coming from?” he thought with a mixture of awe and fear.

Raising his rifle to his shoulder, he sighted in on one guy and squeezed the trigger. Pop, pop, pop, pop. Enemy soldier after enemy soldier dropped as he carefully aimed each shot. A couple of the PLA soldiers got back up and resumed their charge; clearly some of them had been issued body armor. Slater changed his aim and pointed more toward their guts or midsection, where the body armor usually stopped. “Aim small, miss small,” he thought, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves as he continued firing. Slater’s only goal at this point was to slow the enemy soldiers down until their own reinforcements arrived.

Several American soldiers jumped into the fighting positions Slater and his soldiers were occupying. One of the newly arrived soldiers plopped his M240G down with the bipod setup and swiftly tore into the advancing enemy. In seconds, the Americans had shredded most of the enemy soldiers before they finally broke and ran back, further into the wooded areas of the island.

In short order, the volume of fire directed at Slater and his soldiers tapered off until it nearly ended completely. With the first real break in fighting, Slater ordered his soldiers to help the wounded, getting them stabilized and then bringing them back to the beach area five hundred meters behind them.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

The mortar platoon finally arrived and started to drop rounds in the tree line where the PLA soldiers had retreated. The soldiers of Charlie Company then advanced past Slater’s company toward the tree line to pursue the enemy. Slater stood and surveyed the area. Everywhere he looked, he saw torn and broken bodies. Enemy and friendly soldiers called out for help, pleading for someone to save them, or at least be with them so they wouldn’t die alone.

Captain Wilkes ran toward him. “Lieutenant Slater,” he shouted, “I need your platoon to help move the wounded back to the beach area and work with the medics to get them loaded on the next set of boats that come in. I’m taking the rest of the company with me to go support Charlie.”

Slater nodded.

With that settled, Wilkes shouted out to the other platoons. “Form up on me!” Soon he led the way after their sister company.

Lieutenant Slater turned to look for his platoon sergeant and found him helping one of their wounded soldiers with another medic. He walked over to check on them and saw his RTO, Specialist Mitchem, lying on the ground with his left arm ripped off. The medic was working on getting an IV in him.

“I hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t by my side since I last used the radio,” Slater thought, ashamed of himself for not having looked after his radioman. The kid had done a great job of staying by his side, and here Slater hadn’t even known he’d been shot. He’d been so busy with trying to keep his platoon from getting overrun, he hadn’t seen him get hit.

Kneeling down next to him, he placed his hand on his shoulder. “Hang in there, Mitchem. It’ll be OK. Doc’s taking good care of you now. We’re going to move you back to the beach and get you back to the ship, OK?”

The young soldier looked at him, pain written all over his face and fear in his eyes, but he managed a nod. “You saved our platoon, Sir. I’m sorry I got shot and couldn’t do more to help,” he replied with tears streaming down his face.

“No, Mitchem. I should have been there for you,” Slater answered, almost choking up himself. He’d lost so many soldiers under his command, but seeing Mitchem lying there like that really got to him in a way the others hadn’t, not since his friend Joe had been killed in front of him in that bunker on the Yalu River in Korea.

“We need to get him back to the beach, Sir,” the medic instructed. He and Sergeant Starr lifted Mitchem up and carried the young man to the aid station that had been set up.

A string of six Mike Boats pulled up to the beach, dropping their front hatches and allowing the next wave of soldiers to exit. This was Delta Company. A platoon of medical personnel also came ashore, along with a platoon of engineers. The medics rushed forward to the temporary aid station, immediately going to work on the dozens of wounded soldiers. Before any of the newly arrived boats could leave, one of the sergeants ran inside two of them, making sure they knew they needed to wait so they could load up the wounded.

As the four other boats pulled away, dozens of soldiers assisted in carrying nearly forty wounded Americans to the remaining two boats to be brought back to the motherships and a higher-level trauma center. Looking at the gravelly beach, Slater saw a lot of dead Americans still lying where they had shuffled off this mortal coil. Looking inland toward where his platoon had just been fighting, he saw more dead Americans covering the ground, mostly the soldiers of Alpha and Bravo companies, who had borne the brunt of the initial casualties.

Once ashore, the engineers went to work tying det cord to various trees not far from the beach. Their goal was to get a swath of trees cleared so the artillery battalion could start to bring their howitzers ashore. Big Army was determined to turn this little island into an artillery firebase. Being situated in the center of the Zhujiang River Estuary, it was spitting distance from all of the major ports in the area. The howitzers would be able to provide a solid twenty-four-kilometer radius of fire. The eighteen 155mm howitzers of the 1st Battalion, 108th Field Artillery Regiment, would provide one heck of a punch to support the Army and Marines as they continued to move inland.

Bullets ricocheted off the armored shell of the LAV as Lieutenant Colonel Long’s battalion continued to race down Binhe Avenue on their way to the Chiwan Container Terminal and the Shekou Container Wharf. His battalion had been in nonstop combat since they’d hit the mainland nearly twelve hours earlier. The PLA had rushed two brigades of motorized infantry into the city of Shenzhen, which had bogged them down for several hours. A company of battle tanks had finally been offloaded at the first port they’d seized, which had helped them break through the bottleneck they had been stuck in. Now they were rushing through the city, buttoned up in their armored vehicles as they raced to the two remaining ports they had to secure.

“Loki Six, this is Rogue Six. How copy?” asked Lieutenant Colonel Long’s regiment commander.

Long depressed the talk button on the handset. “Rogue Six, Loki Six. Send it.”

“How close are you to securing objectives Chiwan and Shekou?”

“We’ve broken through onto Binhe Avenue. Taking heavy small-arms fire as we race through the city. We’re two kilometers from both objectives. ETA five mikes until we have a visual,” he replied. His commander had been all over his butt for over an hour to secure their objectives. Never mind the fact that they only had three tanks left for heavy armor support.

“Good copy, Loki Six. Keep the pressure on. 3/6 is pushing to your north. The Army secured a new firebase for us. You’re going to start using call sign ‘Lightning Eight’ for future artillery missions. 1/10 has been retasked to support 3/6 further north. Out.”

“They changed our artillery support?” asked Long’s S3, who was sitting next to him in the command vehicle.

“Yeah, looks that way…an Army 155mm battalion.”

“As long as they can deliver steel-on-steel, that’s all that matters,” the S3 said, seemingly having a change of heart.

“We’re approaching Objective Shekou!” shouted the turret gunner.

More rounds pinged off their armored shell. Crump, crump, crump. A handful of small explosions shook their vehicle, adding to the chaos that was going on all around them. The turret gunner returned fire at something, hoping to keep the enemy’s heads down.

“Romeo Company is entering Objective Shekou,” announced the vehicle commander. “Papa Company is continuing on to Objective Chiwan. Which location do you want us to stop at, Sir?”

“Go to Chiwan,” Long ordered. “We’ll set up our headquarters there.”

Lieutenant Colonel Long turned to his S3. “Get on the horn to Sierra Company and tell them they need to head to our location. I want our mortars with us, along with the medical unit.”

As they approached the outer part of the port, they saw a couple of buildings near the wharf and headed toward them. When they reached the building, several dozen Marines dismounted from the vehicles and began to clear the surrounding structures.

A few moments passed before Long got out of his command vehicle, and one of the sergeants walked up to him. “We’ve cleared the buildings, if you want to use them, Sir. They look to be warehouses for something.”

“Good job, Sergeant. Yes, let’s make this building the battalion HQ and the aid station. See if we can’t get some machine guns set up on the roofs to act as lookouts and keep any enemy forces at bay. I want the LAVs to help create a perimeter as well,” he directed.

His devil dogs went to work on transforming the terminal into a forward command center. While his Marines carried some of their equipment and radios into their newly acquired building, the rest of Sierra Company started to arrive. The mortar platoon went to work getting their tubes set up, ready to deliver fire missions. The medical section prepared their aid section, and two landing zones were quickly identified and prepped for use by medevacs.

Once they had their new HQ prepped, Long sent word out to regiment that his battalion had secured their objectives and were holding in place. He also let the other companies know they had the aid station up and running, so if they needed to start ferrying some of their wounded over they could.

In the distance, he heard the sound of rotor blades thumping. He stepped outside the new HQ and saw a pair of Cobra attack helicopters fly overhead on their way to support one of his companies. The Cobras were quickly followed by two Ospreys that had spotted them and headed toward their newly established LZ.

Once the helicopters landed, a platoon of fresh Marines trotted off, and a small group of men and women that he figured must be officers headed in Lieutenant Long’s direction. Some of the corpsmen and their lone field surgeon rushed a couple of wounded Marines to the helicopters before they could take off.

“No sense in letting a perfectly good ride back to the fleet leave without evacuating our wounded,” Long thought with a smile.

Brigadier General Tillman approached him. “Lieutenant Colonel Long, hell of a job securing these ports!” he shouted over the rotor wash and the distant sounds of battle.

Long gestured for them to head into the warehouse, where several of the newly arrived Marines worked on unloading a couple of pelican cases of radios and other gear they had brought with them. Once they were inside the building, Long turned to his mentor.

“Sir, we’re still securing the area,” he explained, concern in his voice. “My guys only got here thirty minutes ago. It’s not safe to have you this far forward.” Long had really taken a liking to General Tillman since he’d promoted him to captain. Working on his staff for five months prior to taking command of 4/6 Marines had taught him a lot about the man as a commander and a leader, and he respected him greatly.

Waving off the concern, Tillman replied, “Nonsense. I need to see what’s going on up here at the front. Besides, I’ve brought another platoon of Marines with me. Once I get a sense of where the front is, I’m going to order 8th Marine Regiment in. I still have them sitting offshore, begging to be unleashed.” He grinned. “Bring me up to speed, Long.”

They walked over to a map board one of the sergeants had just set up. Perusing the map briefly, Long reviewed the locations of his Marines as well as the designations that showed which of his groups were currently engaged and which weren’t seeing any action. “Right now, most of the heavy fighting is happening over in Sector Five, two kilometers north of where we are.” While he spoke, they overheard several thumping noises. The mortar platoon must have started a fire mission.

General Tillman in approval. “OK, then that’s where I’m going to unleash the 8th Marines. We’ve got to do our best to push the PLA out of the center of the city and secure a wide perimeter. I’ve got 2nd Tank Battalion on two Ro-Ro ships, navigating their way to the port right now. We need to get those tanks and other armored vehicles and equipment unloaded.”

“We also need ammunition bad, Sir,” Long insisted. “We’re almost black on all types of ammo right now. We got one resupply before we fought our way through the city, but we burned through a lot of it securing these ports.”

“Copy that. We’ll start work on that now,” Tillman replied. He turned to one of his officers, who swiftly walked over to the bank of radios one of the sergeants had just finished setting up.

The remainder of the day was a complete slugfest throughout the city once the 8th Marines and the 2nd Tank Battalion got ashore. The Chinese had moved several brigades of PLA militia forces into the city to try and slow the Marines’ efforts to secure the city. During the second and third day of the invasion, the fighting largely devolved into house-to-house, block-by-block combat. Large swaths of the city were torn apart by the conflict. Millions of residents fled to the countryside, desperate to get away from the warring factions.