Battlefield China

Chapter 4 Decisions

General John Bennet sipped on his Green Beans coffee as he readied himself for the big meeting, one that would decide the fate of millions of people. Today was one of the final strategy meetings to end the third great war. While former president Gates had been involved in many of the strategic decisions of the war, the current president, Wally Foss, was content to let his generals execute the war. Secretary of Defense Jim Castle had taken that extension of the leash and fully intended to let his generals do whatever was necessary to end this war quickly.

The door to the briefing room opened, and the SecDef walked in, followed by several of his aides. Bennet had insisted on using a long boardroom-style table for the day’s meeting. He’d wanted everyone to be able to sit opposite each other. He had his ground, air and naval commanders at one end and the SecDef and other support groups at the other.

Everyone’s faces looked weary. They had already met all day yesterday. In the morning, they’d gone over the disposition of the current People’s Liberation Army ground, air, and remaining naval forces, which had taken several hours. In the afternoon, they’d examined the key rail and logistics networks the enemy was using, as well as the likely routes enemy reinforcements would use depending on where the Allies launched their next attacks. Then, in the evening, they’d discussed the disposition of the Allied forces up to this point, and where they had built up supplies and logistical support. It was all relevant information to build a successful strategy, but everyone had grown weary of PowerPoint slides and printed dossiers at this point.

Despite the obvious lack of enthusiasm, by 0750 hours, all stragglers were present and ready to begin the meeting that had been scheduled for 0800 hours. Even in boredom, military punctuality reigned supreme. Besides, the President had given them a twelve-month window to defeat the Chinese, and they intended to meet their objective.

Once everyone was present, the doors were closed, and a guard was placed outside to make sure they weren’t interrupted and that the information being discussed inside remained secret from any potential prying ears. Bennet stood, walked over to the large wall map, which measured three meters by two meters, and rapped his knuckles on the board to get everyone’s attention.

“Good morning,” he said with as much gusto and gravitas as he could muster. A broad smile crept across his face.

“I’d like us to pick up where we left off. We went over a lot of information yesterday, and today we’ll be going over a lot more. This is the day we decide on how we’re going to defeat the People’s Republic of China.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Without further ado, I’d like to hand things over to Secretary Castle.”

The bulldog of a secretary stood up and walked over to General Bennet, nodding as he took his place at the center of the map. “Listen up, people. The President has given us the objective of defeating the Chinese by May of 2020. He wants the war to be largely wrapped up before the fall of 2020, so the outcome or course of the war doesn’t become a political decision.” Walking up and down along the map like a schoolmaster, Castle continued, “Secretary Landover has told the PRC our terms for ending the war, and as you can guess, they summarily rejected them.”

A few snickers escaped.

Secretary Castle continued, “I also need to make you all aware of a key piece of intelligence — up to this point, it’s been closely held, in hopes that the information wouldn’t be needed. Unfortunately, the Chinese are going to move the war in a new direction, and I’m afraid it’s not a going to be good for us. In the near future, the Chinese are going to begin going after the global civilian satellite network.”

A few people gasped. Castle seemed undeterred and plowed on. “Their aim is to bring down our ability to communicate, navigate and fight. In doing this, they know we’ll be responding in kind against their own civilian satellites. To compensate for the loss of those satellites, they will be switching their entire communications network over to a fleet of low- and high-altitude UAVs that will encompass their country and their army.”

Despite the fact that the room was secured, Castle leaned forward and spoke in a softer tone. “What the Chinese don’t know is that the NSA has inserted a code into the firmware of the UAVs that will allow us to decode and transmit a copy of everything they’re saying. It’s like the PRC decided to use the Navajo language to transmit all its data and we suddenly have a willing translator to help us interpret it all. With this access, we’ll know in advance what units are being arrayed against us, where and when they plan to attack us, and the disposition of their current air, naval and ground forces. I’m not going to lie and say losing our own satellites isn’t going to hurt us. It is. But in exchange, we’re going to gain complete access to their communications network, allowing us to anticipate their moves. With this information we’re going to crush them.”

Admiral Lomas, the Pacific Commander, held up his hand. “Excuse me, Sir, if I may. If the Chinese disable our satellite infrastructure, how are we going to compensate for that? For example, I don’t think the new MQ-4C Tritons the Navy acquired for targeting and surveillance for the carrier strike groups could handle the bandwidth and data load required on their own. How are we going to offset this loss without crippling our own capabilities?”

Crinkling his eyebrows, Castle explained, “There’s no other way to say this — this situation is going to suck. Fortunately, this problem was considered last summer, and a small contingent of people in D.C. have been hard at work figuring out a workaround. Between SpaceX, Google and Facebook, they’ve developed several types of UAVs that will essentially address our last tactical mile problem. At the front line, we’re going to make heavy use of our RQ-4 Global Hawks. Slightly further behind the RQ-4s will be a layer of Google/SpaceX high-altitude UAVs. Intermixed within this layer will also be a series of E-8 Joint STAR planes until Boeing is able to refit roughly three dozen 737s with midair refueling capability and additional communications equipment and a power plant to run it. While this will be tough on us, we will adapt.”

He cleared his throat. “I believe I’ve spent enough time on this issue,” he asserted. “Let’s move on to some of the changes the President just made to the rules of engagement.”

Castle pulled up a new PowerPoint slide. “The first major shift is for the Air Force and Navy. If your fighters or analysts find a target of opportunity, they are cleared to engage it. No more seeking higher-level authority, just execute and report what you hit and why. Second, no more restrictions on attacks, regardless of whether there’s a high probability of collateral damage. The Chinese have figured out that if they move something important near a civilian target, we won’t attack it. Well, that’s now changed. No more hiding behind a school and operating with impunity. Your guys are cleared hot to take `em out. Third, we have been authorized to carry out any necessary strategic bombings of Chinese cities and industrial parks.”

He held up his hand. “Before anyone gets up in arms over this, let me explain what I mean. If we spot a PLA brigade using a small city or town for cover to launch attacks on our forces, then we are cleared to use our strategic bombers to flatten the city in an attempt to destroy the enemy brigade. This does not mean we will carry out blanket carpet bombing of cities like what happened in World War II. It just means we won’t allow the enemy to hide behind civilians and kill our men.”

A strange murmuring echoed through the room. General Bennet surveyed the faces around him; some were obviously pleased with the changes, while others were less than thrilled.

“We’ve already gone over the changes in the ground invasion,” said Castle. “What we need to talk about now is the logistics of it all and how we’re going to make it work. With that, I’ll hand the meeting back to General Bennet.”

Bennet walked back up to the front. The conversation turned to the minutiae of the supply situation. Since the liberation of Taiwan, the island had quickly become a massive supply depot, and the Marines continued to build up their forces there in preparation for the next move. The Army was regrouping and preparing their fuel stores in Korea and Mongolia. Many maps were displayed, and a plethora of war scenarios were played out, but at the end of the day, they all left realizing that the next few months would see some of the heaviest fighting yet.

Aboard the HMS Albion, Sergeant Neil Evans held a new cigarette to the nearly burnt-out one he had in his hand, managing with some effort to light the new one before tossing the butt overboard into the waters of the Red Sea.

The ship was passing through the Suez Canal now. Sergeant Evans’s eyes drifted toward the horizon. Not too far away, a number of security patrol boats moved along the shore, keeping pace with them. He chuckled. Even from where he was, he could tell that the men on the patrol boats were bored and tired.

One of the corporals walked up behind him. “Can you believe twelve days ago we were strolling through the streets of Moscow, and now we’re being shipped off to Asia?” he complained. Evans didn’t mind his corporals grumbling to him, so long as they didn’t share their criticisms with the men below them. Complaining always goes uphill, not down to your subordinates.

“Come on, Corporal, you know you love a good fight,” Sergeant Evans replied lightheartedly. “We’ll find that when we get to Asia. Besides, we can’t let the Aussies or Kiwis show us up. They’ve already been fighting the Chinese and Indians — hell, it was an Australian general who forced the Indians to surrender. What have we done in this war?”

Evans was trying to keep the conversation good-natured, but he wondered to himself how Great Britain would fare after the war. “Those politicians have really bollocksed things up,” he mourned. Fighting with the US, then pulling out, then reentering the war again — it was enough to make any person’s head swim.

“I suppose you’re right, Sergeant,” said the corporal. Then he chuckled. “I wonder if they’re going to make us fight with those wannabe Marines.”

Evans snorted. “You mean the American Marines?” he mused. “I have no idea, but I can tell you this — they’ve seen more fighting in a month than the Royal Marines have seen this entire war. It’s about to change though, you’ll see. We’ll get a crack assignment; we just need to be ready when it comes down.”

The two of them talked for a bit longer before they resigned themselves to going back below decks and checking on their men. The ship had nearly completed its passage through the Suez.

Sergeant First Class Conrad Price watched as Major Fowler stepped around a couple of the sleeping soldiers of the 2nd Battalion, 75th Rangers before plopping down next to him. Price tensed up a bit as the CO sat next to him. He had a pretty good idea of what was coming next.

“Sergeant Price, we haven’t had much of a chance to talk since the end of hostilities with India and the battle back at the airfield,” Fowler began. “I need a no-BS assessment from you. How’s the platoon holding up?”

Price thought about that question for a moment before responding. The battle he was referring to was really nothing more than a massacre. It had broken many of his men, but he wasn’t sure if they just needed some downtime to rest and recover, or if they truly couldn’t fight anymore. Finally, Price asked, “What did Martinez say?”

“I spoke with him, and he said he has some concerns about a few of them. He said you know which ones he’s talking about — you’re the platoon sergeant, and I want your input.”

Price let out a short sigh. He looked around him to make sure none of the soldiers he was going to mention were within earshot. “Not that you can hear much in the cargo hold of a C-17 anyway, but still,” he thought.

He leaned in closer to Major Fowler. “There’s at least six of the guys in the platoon that I would recommend not sending on any new missions right away. I’d like to think they could still be salvaged, but I know at least one of them is never going to be back to 100 %. The other five, I think we can get back to the front lines at some point but, Sir, you’re going to have to let me place them in a noncombat role for a few weeks, maybe a month. Hell, if we had access to a shrink, I think we could get them better faster, but I’m not sure that’s in the cards.”

Major Fowler took the information in and leaned back. He looked like he had just been punched in the gut.

Turning back to look at Price, he replied, “Thank you for being honest and upfront. I know you want to protect your guys, and I appreciate that. I wish you’d brought this issue up sooner, maybe to the sergeant major, but you’re right — we need to deal with it. I’m not sure what kind of medical support we’ll have when we land in Mongolia in a few hours, but I’m going to make sure to find out. If they have a combat stress clinic, then I’m going to order them to be seen daily by the docs there, and we’ll find them a support position in battalion headquarters or something. I’ll try to pull a few guys from the other platoons to get you back up to strength. We’ve got another ballbuster of a mission ahead of us. I’m going to need my best platoon ready for action.”

This was George Tailor’s fifth flight from Minneapolis, Minnesota, to Seoul, South Korea, in the last ten days, and he was beaten down physically and mentally. The lack of good sleep, decent food and contact with his family was making him irritable.

Since the conflict in Asia had begun, his plane had ferried munitions or other war supplies to Seoul once or twice a month. The first few flights had been harrowing; he could see the heavy fighting taking place across the border. Explosions had ripped apart the forested ridgelines a mere twenty or thirty miles away.

While George didn’t mind the excitement of flying near a combat zone once or twice a month, the uptick in tempo of the last two months had been horrendous on the FedEx crews. Each time they’d landed in Minneapolis, he’d thought they were finally caught up on delivering war supplies, only to see the nearby warehouse had been completely restocked, waiting for delivery to Korea again.

George’s job was for the most part simple. As the flight’s engineer, he was responsible for making sure the maintenance was up to par. He also oversaw the loading or unloading of hazardous materials, which in this case happened on every flight into Korea.

Perhaps it was because he’d never been in the military, but the one thing he just couldn’t fathom was the number of artillery rounds he’d been charged with carrying to Korea on each flight. When one of the DoD contractors had climbed aboard his plane, after he’d finished signing the receipt to acknowledge receiving the newest batch of rounds, George had finally said, “Hey, Tim, I have a question — you know my crew and I have been flying these artillery rounds from the factory near Minneapolis to Korea now for over a year, right? We bring in close to five thousand of these bad boys a trip. I’ve got to know, if for no other reason than to satisfy my own curiosity — how fast are you guys using these things up?”

The contractor had looked at him quizzically for a second, as if trying to decide if he would be breaking some sort of protocol by answering him. He’d finally grunted and replied, “George, at the outset of the war, the Army and Marines were burning through five thousand rounds every couple of hours. We were practically running out of ammunition to use before you guys from FedEx and UPS started making deliveries. We’re caught up now, and we’re building up our supplies for the next big battle, but you guys are probably the reason the Chinese aren’t in control of Korea.”

The contractor had taken his signed papers, shaken George’s hand, and then left to go supervise the offloading of another five thousand 155mm artillery shells destined for the front lines.

One of the pilots had overheard part of the conversation and walked up behind George. “Can you believe that? Five thousand rounds an hour?”

George had shaken his head. Somewhat stunned by that information, the two of them had watched for a moment as eight other FedEx DC-11s were offloaded. All of them had been carrying artillery shells from Minnesota. Looking past the FedEx planes, they’d seen half a dozen UPS planes also being unloaded. “What do you suppose UPS is moving?” asked George.

Shaking his head, the captain had replied, “I have no idea. Maybe tank rounds or rifle bullets, or maybe those MRE things the soldiers eat. Who knows? All I know is, as soon as we’re offloaded and refueled, we’re supposed to head right back to Minneapolis and do this all over again.”

The two of them had gotten off the plane and headed toward the crew entrance to the terminal. At least they had time to get themselves a decent meal while the ground crew worked on getting them ready to be turned back around.