Battlefield Pacific

Battle of Fort Mag

Six hours after securing the initial airfield on Fort Mag, Captain Tim Long and his company had moved over to the small village of Palayan City, less than two kilometers from the airfield, to set up a defensive perimeter. Long hated the idea of using the local church as his headquarters, so he set up in a nearby building and opted to use the church as a field hospital, should they need it.

Throughout all the fighting, running, stopping, shooting, and the couple-kilometer trek through the heavy foliage to their current position, Captain Long hadn’t had the opportunity to take a proper bio break. He hadn’t eaten in nearly twelve hours or had nearly enough water to drink — both of which were probably the saving grace for how he had been able to hold out as long as he had — but now that they had a few minutes to think, he found the time to take care of some “proper” officer business. While seated on the lone toilet in the building, which surprisingly had running water, Long heard the sound of a vehicle approaching his headquarters.

“God, I hope that’s First Sergeant Madero and not a hostile vehicle,” he thought.

Finishing his business, he reached into his cargo pocket, pulled out a small bottle of hand sanitizer, and liberally used it on his hands. If he were to survive the next few minutes, he didn’t want to catch any unnecessary germs.

Walking out of his command building, Long saw the outline of the JLTV coming around the bend in the road toward them. In the front seat, he spotted his first sergeant and one of the privates who had gone down to the airfield on foot with him a few hours ago. Clearly, they had found transportation on the way back. Captain Long breathed a sigh of relief and then waved to them as they came to a halt in front of the small three-room building. The private got out and immediately went to the back of the truck to begin unloading its contents.

“I see you found a new set of wheels, First Sergeant?” Long asked jokingly.

“My dogs are killing me. If you thought me and this private were going to hump all that ammo back here, you’re crazy, Sir,” Madero replied in good humor.

“What did you guys manage to scrounge up?” asked Long.

“Aside from the list of ammo you gave us, I was able to pry away five 100-foot strands of concertina wire we can use to set up the roadblocks. I also grabbed us roughly thirty additional Claymore mines, about the same number of trip flares, and additional IV bags for the corpsmen,” explained First Sergeant Madero with a smug smile of satisfaction written across his face.

Captain Long had to laugh at the man’s resourcefulness. The guy had more connections within the brigade than he’d thought possible. Long was very fortunate that he had been given an experienced first sergeant when he had been promoted to captain. He hated to admit it, but he relied on the old guy far more than he probably should have.

“Good job, Top. I still can’t believe you managed to snag a vehicle. See if you can make another supply run before it gets dark. I want to make sure we have everything we’ll need before nightfall. I have a feeling it’s going to be busy,” Captain Long said, hoping he might be wrong and they might catch a break. Word had it their sister battalion that had hit the beach had run up against a brick wall and gotten mauled. He hoped they hadn’t taken too many casualties.

“Yes, Sir,” said Madero. He and a few other Marines nearby began unloading the supplies.

As Captain Long’s men continued to fortify their various positions around this small village, he looked back in the direction of the airfield. He was happy with what he saw — several heavy-lift helicopters were sling-loading a battery worth of 105mm Howitzers.

“Those may come in handy once they get set up,” Long thought.

More Ospreys were flying in, dropping off what seemed like an endless supply of fresh Marines from the troop ships offshore. No one knew for certain when the Chinese attack would come, or what direction it would come from, but one thing was certain — the enemy wasn’t going to leave them unfettered at this base for long.

Captain Ma Qiliang was exhausted. He hadn’t worked this physically hard since he had gone through airborne training nearly six years ago. Following what was, by all accounts, a very successful ambush of the American Marines, his company had been ordered to fall back before they were pulverized by the American warplanes. Hiding those 152mm Howitzers in the hills to use as tank busters had been proven to be a brilliant move.

He felt immensely proud of how well his men had performed. They had shot down five enemy helicopters and three ground-attack aircraft, and mauling that battalion had been exhilarating. However, as great as he felt about how badly they had hurt the Americans coming ashore, the unit that had been assigned to defend Fort Mag had apparently been wiped out by heliborne troops. When his command had finally been able to get through to him, they’d ordered his company to withdraw from their current locations and move to attack the Americans at Fort Mag.

Pulling out his map, he looked at his current position in relation to the location of Fort Mag. “Ugh, that’s got to be close to thirty kilometers away, and it’s through some fairly rough terrain,” he thought.

Under normal conditions, his men could travel that distance in six hours. However, they had just spent the morning fighting the Americans, and now he was going to force them to march thirty kilometers and fight a much larger group of Americans.

“Well, at least this group at the airport won’t have tanks,” he thought.

“Captain Ma, it’s 0200 hours. The men are exhausted. Can we let them rest for a few hours before we press any further?” pleaded his senior sergeant. “We should be approaching their perimeter, if they have expanded beyond the airfield.” Ma usually deferred to his senior sergeant in these matters. After fifteen years in the 43^rd Airborne, he tended to know just how far they could push the men before there would be problems, and he had earned Ma’s respect.

Ma stopped walking and nodded in agreement. “Order the men to stop and set up camp. I want a 360-degree perimeter and one-third of the men on duty at all times. We’ll roll out again at 0515. That gives everyone roughly three hours to catch some sleep before we move to contact with the Americans.”

While his senior sergeant got the men spread out and issued the instructions for the evening, Captain Ma and his two lieutenants looked at the map under a poncho with a red light. “We have to be really close to the Americans,” one of the officers said as he marked their exact location on the map. They were roughly four kilometers from the airfield at this point.

“I agree,” said the other officer. “I’ll bet they’re no more than one or two kilometers away from our current position. It’s a good thing you called a halt to the march, Sir. We could’ve walked right into one of their ambushes.”

“I’m so tired that I hadn’t even thought about that,” Ma thought. “I have to get some sleep, or I’m going to get my men killed.”

The only silver lining was that, as his company was leaving their initial ambush point, they had run into the remnants of two other companies that had been a part of the attack on the Americans at the beach. Both companies were down to half strength and were being led by lieutenants. Ma ordered them to fall in with his command and consolidated them for the attack at Fort Mag. Once they knew where he was headed and what his orders were, they gladly joined. That brought his 118-man reinforced company up to 331, a light battalion by many standards. How they hadn’t been spotted by enemy helicopters, drones or aircraft up to that point was beyond him, but he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth just yet.

“Before anyone goes to sleep, we have some work to do,” announced Captain Ma. “Lieutenant Chu, I need you to make contact with headquarters. Let them know where we are, and ask if there is any fire support we’ll be able to call on when we attack. See if you can find out what other units are in the area and if we are supposed to coordinate our attack. If so, at what time and with whom? OK?”

“I understand, Captain. I’ll work on that right now,” he replied. He ducked out from under the poncho to start making calls on the radio.

“Lieutenant Li, you have the most dangerous and most important mission,” said Captain Ma. “I want you to pick two of the more senior sergeants or men who are most adept at sneaking up on someone. I need your team to scout what’s in front of us and find the American positions without being detected. See if you can get their exact locations, strength, and the weapons they have. If we can get some fire support from headquarters, we’ll relay that information to them and see if we can hurt the Americans before we launch our attack.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Lieutenant Li, who seemed excited about the mission.

“I want you to set out to do this around 0400, not right now,” explained Ma. “I want you alert and rested when I send you out, so for the moment, go get some sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

The following morning was going to be busy, and chances were, a lot of his men might not survive.

At 0445 hours, Captain Ma awoke from perhaps the deepest sleep he had had in weeks. Yawning, he stretched out his arms, then his legs, and finally his back and neck, noticing the creaks and cracks along the way.

“There’s no way I can stay in the airborne for my entire career if I survive this war. My body just won’t take it,” he realized.

“Hey, you’re awake, Sir. I was just about to come get you,” remarked Lieutenant Chu, the officer he had tasked with identifying any other potential support.

Ma took a swig of water from his canteen, swished it around in his mouth and spat it out. He then took a couple of long drinks before returning his attention to his lieutenant. “Thanks for letting me sleep, Chu. I really needed it. So, tell me, what did you find out from headquarters?” he inquired.

Chu smiled. He had been the XO of a sister company that had met the American Marines at the beach the day before. After an hour of fighting, they had been ordered to fall back to their rally point, which was several kilometers inland, away from the beach and deep in the jungle. His company commander and the two other officers had been killed, and he found himself in charge. Having just joined the company a month ago, he’d didn’t know a lot of the other officers in the battalion, so when the remnants of his company had made contact with Captain Ma, he was only too happy for him to take over command and let him lead them.

Chu pulled out the map and laid it on the ground next to them. “I’ve listed the location of the other units in the area. What the Americans don’t know is that nearly the entire 128th Regiment moved to this position during the night and spread out across this entire zone,” he said. He pointed to the village of General Tinio, roughly four kilometers from the airfield.

“The 14^th Armored Brigade is located here,” Chu continued, pointing to the city of Rizal. “General Toa said he wants us to begin our attack at approximately 0615 hours. At 0600 hours, they’re going to launch a massive rocket artillery barrage on the base. When that happens, the 14^th Armor is going to race toward the American positions and try to overwhelm them. I also made sure to give them the location of the American lines in front of us.” A huge smile spread across his face.

Ma didn’t know what to say. He wanted to hug Chu at that very moment. This was going to be a real attack, not some half-measure that would result in most of them being killed or captured.

“But how did the Americans not see that we are massing tanks, artillery, and all of these soldiers?” he wondered. “How have they not already attacked us?”

“Lieutenant Chu, if we live through today, I’m going to recommend that you be awarded the Order of the Heroic Exemplar. You may have just saved the lives of our entire company,” Ma replied. He saw Chu just beam with pride, and he knew in that instant that Chu would follow him anywhere, under any circumstance, for giving him such glowing praise.

“What about the American lines in front of us? How far away are they?” Captain Ma asked. He turned to Lieutenant Li and saw that he was still asleep. Ma realized that Li must have gone out already and given his report to Chu.

“Lieutenant Li came back from his patrol about thirty minutes ago,” Chu answered. “I’ve been updating the map with what he found and relaying those grid coordinates to our own artillery. Like he said last night, it’s a good thing we stopped. The Americans are no more than one kilometer away from us. We would’ve walked right into them had we not stopped when we did. It was still dark, so he could not see their exact numbers, but using the night vision goggles, he was able to make out two roadblocks and a couple of locations where they had strung up some concertina wire. Judging by the way they placed the wires, it looks like they’re trying to funnel us into certain areas. His best guess is they probably have antipersonnel mines set up in the areas they left ‘undefended’ and want us to run through. He marked them on his map, which I transposed to yours. We both suggest that we work our way around to this spot here and avoid hitting them head-on. If we hit their right flank, we can avoid the concertina wire they set up and probably get a good jump on them.”

The two of them looked over the maps for a few more minutes before they woke up Lieutenant Li and then grabbed their senior sergeants. It was time to talk over their attack plan and figure out how they were going to nail this American unit without getting themselves wiped out in the process.

Colonel Micah Tilman finished taking a morning bio break against the side of the building and then turned to head back into the makeshift headquarters Lieutenant Colonel Chuck Jackman had set up the day before. It was now 0422 hours, and despite the sun having been down for nearly eight hours, it was still hot and muggy. As Tilman walked along the side of the building toward the side that faced the airstrip, he saw two V-22 Ospreys land and unload a small group of passengers, all carrying a lot of gear. As soon as they got everything unloaded from the aircraft, the Osprey was gone, headed back out to sea or wherever it had come from.

Walking toward the front entrance of the headquarters building, Colonel Tilman watched the group of soldiers throw a lot of their gear into a vehicle that drove out to meet them. Most of them hopped in, and the vehicle headed toward him. A couple of minutes later, the group got off the truck and stowed their gear near one of the burned-out hangars for the time being while three of the new arrivals walked toward him.

As they got closer, he smiled as he recognized one of the men.

“Lieutenant Commander Charlie Haversham, it’s good to see you again!” Colonel Tilman said as he extended his hand to shake his old friend's hand.

Haversham returned the smile. “It’s good to see you as well, Colonel. I see your brigade has gotten itself in a bit of a pickle here at lovely Fort Mag,” he said jovially. He gestured for them to walk into the building and talk further.

Lieutenant Commander Charlie Haversham had worked with Colonel Tilman on a few other occasions in Iraq and Afghanistan, and more recently in Syria fighting ISIL. Of course, that was when Haversham had been a lowly lieutenant in charge of a SEAL platoon and not a troop commander.

When Tilman walked into the room with their newly arrived guest, he signaled for Lieutenant Colonel Jackman to come join them. “Chuck, I want you to meet Charlie. He’s from SEAL Team Three. His troop has just been assigned to our brigade to help us out with some recon and special missions the division commander has coming down the pike,” Tilman said.

The two men shook hands and did what all warriors do, sizing each other up.

“I’m glad the SEALs decided to join the fight,” said Jackman, half-joking, half-serious. “Better late than never.”

Haversham just shrugged. He didn’t decide where they got sent — he just went where he was told. “Let’s walk over to the map,” he said. “I have some information we need to pass along to you guys. While you guys are playing patty-cake with the PLA here yesterday, I had my three platoons scattered across most of Luzon, feeding targeting data to the air wings and getting us eyes on the enemy. A couple of my teams have spotted some real trouble headed our way,” he replied. He pointed out the location of the enemy armor brigade that had moved into position, along with what appeared to be an infantry regiment to their southeast and southern flanks.

“Commander, if your teams have spotted these enemy units, are they calling in air strikes, or are you waiting for our permission?” inquired Jackman, who was now very concerned. They had some antitank missiles with them, but they couldn’t stand up to an armor battalion, let alone anything larger than that.

Haversham sighed. He had known that question would be asked, and he didn’t really want to answer it. “Two problems with that,” he said. “First, we needed to know where the friendly units were before we called in air strikes. I’m not going to be responsible for getting a Marine company smoked because I didn’t know they were there. Second, and this is probably the bigger problem — the enemy air defense. Right now, that armor unit is staging in the city of Santa Rosa, using the civilians as shields. Despite the civilians, we were given the go-ahead to hit the tanks, so a couple of F/A-18s were vectored in to hammer them. As they got closer to the target, both aircraft were intercepted by Chinese stealth fighters and were shot down.”

Jackman mumbled something under his breath.

Haversham continued. “After that incident, the carrier said they would send in a pair of F-35s. As soon as the F-35s dropped their weapons, both of them were shot down by a surface-to-air missile complex that’s still operational near Clark International Airport. We took out maybe half a dozen or more enemy tanks but lost a total of four aircraft in the process. Needless to say, that is not a very good exchange,” he concluded. This meant that their air support had virtually dried up over the evening.

Colonel Tilman jumped in before Jackman could ask any other questions. “What is the Navy doing to take those SAM sites out, so we can get our air support back?”

“That’s our new assignment,” Commander Haversham responded. “I’m setting up my headquarters here to run my teams. Our guys are now moving to get in position, so we can lase those SAM sites. Then the Air Force can hit them with some of their long-range guided glide bombs. They can launch those bad boys from nearly one hundred miles out and let them glide undetected toward their targets. Once they’re down, we’ll have our air support back up and running.”

Jackman snorted. “Well, this is just great. We have a tank unit prepping to attack us and a heavy concentration of enemy infantry to our south. Colonel, we’re going to need a lot more support if we are to hold this base.”

Tilman nodded. “This information does change things for us. Commander, I want you to give the coordinates of those troop concentrations and tanks to our fire support guys. I have one battery of 105mm artillery on the east side of the base. It’s been a cluster mess getting them set up and ready, but as of half an hour ago, they reported that they’re ready to provide fire missions. I want to hit those enemy positions before the Chinese have a chance to hit us. Is that understood?”

They had a lot of things to do to get ready for a pending attack, and the action would most likely start within the next couple of hours. They spoke efficiently and stayed focused; hopefully their preparations would make a difference in the outcome.

It was 0520 hours when Captain Tim Long awoke with a start as he heard the 105mm Howitzers fire off a volley at some unknown target. Sitting upright, he immediately got to his feet and grabbed his rifle. Then he walked over to his radio operator to find out what was happening.

First Sergeant John Madero and Gunnery Sergeant Mueller were already talking with his radio operator, giving him some instructions before he called back to headquarters. “What’s going on, Top?” asked Long, hoping it wasn’t anything serious.

“We’re working on trying to get an update from battalion. All we know right now is they caught word of a possible tank unit getting ready to attack the airfield, so they’re trying to disrupt the attack with the big guns,” Madero replied.

“OK. Why don’t you guys go ahead and get everyone awake and have them get ready?” Long asked. It wasn’t really a question, but more of an order. “If they’re going use an armor unit, then chances are, this could be a coordinated attack. In which case, they’ll probably hit our positions as well. We’re practically the only unit protecting those Howitzers right now.” Captain Long suddenly felt a new sense of urgency. To add further emphasis to his concern, another volley of artillery fire exploded in the distance.

Nearly forty minutes went by as the company manned their fighting positions and got ready for whatever might be coming their way. The sound of the artillery fire picked up, and a few times, it sounded like they’d changed directions of where they were shooting. Then suddenly, while the Marines were sitting in their fighting positions, eating their MREs and waiting to see what would happen next, they all heard the unmistakable sound of incoming fire.

While many of the Marines were still green, they knew the loud racket was not friendly. Dozens and then hundreds of rockets hit Fort Mag, rocking the base. At first, it was just the airfield that was getting hit, nailing a few attack helicopters that had transferred to the shore, while other rockets hit some of the barracks and garrison buildings, rocking the defenders. A couple of minutes into the barrage, the men started to believe that maybe they were going to skate by without being attacked directly; then the first rocket hit the church, followed by dozens more that hit all across the small little village, smashing people’s homes and the local school.

When it sounded like the barrage had lifted, the cries of wounded civilians and those in agonizing pain began in earnest. Just as Captain Long poked his head above the foxhole he had been hiding in, a slew of machine-gun fire overtook the screams of the wounded.

“The Chinese are attacking! Return fire!” yelled one of the sergeants maybe twenty meters in front of Long’s foxhole. To his right, maybe a hundred meters away, one of the M240s opened fire, spraying the jungle to their front with streams of hot lead. A loud explosion shook the air as one of their Claymore mines tore into the attackers.

Boom! Boom! Explosions rocked the machine-gun position seconds later, and the M240 went silent, replaced by the roaring yell of hundreds of voices running right at Long’s right flank.

“Holy crap! They're going to overrun us!” he thought as he heard the loud screams of the enemy charge.

“Shift fire to the right! Reinforce those positions now!” Long yelled over the company net. “The Chinese are trying to move around us!”

Another explosion rocked his right flank, and then he saw several RPGs fly past his soldiers’ position and hit a few trees further behind them. One exploded right in front of three Marines who were moving forward to shore up their defenses, killing them outright before they even knew what had happened.

Turning to the group of five Marines near him, Captain Long ordered, “Fix bayonets and follow me.”

The Marines collectively looked at each other, seeming to ask themselves if they’d really heard what they thought they had. Then their instincts and training took over, and they grabbed their bayonets, attaching the blades to the front of their M4 rifles.

Captain Long changed his magazine, placing a fresh thirty-round one in his rifle, and then lifted himself out of his fighting position. He dashed forward in the low ready position with his rifle aimed in front of him as he moved to reinforce his right flank, ready to shoot the first Chinese soldier he saw. Seconds after he left his position, the other five Marines got up and quickly followed him, lining up almost abreast of him as they advanced.

The chattering of both rifle fire and machine-gun fire was constant now as both sides threw more and more men at each other, trying to gain an advantage and fire supremacy. Another RPG flew over their heads, exploding somewhere behind them. The fighting zone in front of them was becoming hidden by the amount of smoke from grenades, RPGs, and Claymore mines going off. The smells of cordite, sulfur, and feces permeated the air.

Charging forward into the roar of gunfire and screaming men, a cloud of smoke wafted in front of Long’s men, temporarily obscuring their view. As they ran forward through it, they tripped and stumbled over the dead bodies of fallen Marines intertwined with dead enemy soldiers. Several Marines were rolling on the ground in a desperate hand-to-hand fight to the death. One Marine swung his entrenching tool wildly as he hit a Chinese soldier in the face repeatedly, either not realizing the man was dead or simply overcome by his emotions.

Long rang toward one of the Marines, who was being straddled by a Chinese paratrooper who was desperately trying to drive his knife into the Marine’s chest. In one smooth motion, Captain Long used the butt of his rifle to hit the enemy soldier under the chin, causing him to lose his balance and fall backward. As the man fell, Long lunged his bayonet into the man's abdomen. He pulled the bayonet out and thrust it into the soldier’s gut again, twisting the blade before he pulled it out this time. The enemy soldier went limp.

The Marine who had been on the ground fighting for his life grabbed his M4 and fired several rounds into a Chinese soldier who had charged at Long, nearly running his own bayonet through him. Just as Long went to say, “Thanks,” the Marine was shot in the cheek and the bullet summarily exploded out the other side of the man's face.

“Look out, Sir!” one of his Marines yelled. Long ducked just in time to place his shoulder into the chest of the man who was charging right at him. In that instant, he felt the man’s armor plate in his body armor and a twinge of pain in his own shoulder. He lifted up and backward with all of his might, throwing the enemy soldier over his shoulder to the ground below. Turning quickly to face him, Long fired several rounds into the man's upper body and face, killing him instantly.

“There’s more of them coming!” another one of his sergeants yelled as even more of enemy paratroopers burst through the jungle in front of them.

“My God, that’s a lot of Chinese soldiers,” he thought as he saw yet another wave charging forward with their guns ablaze.

One of the five Marines that had charged forward with him jumped into the blown-out fighting position that had the M240 in it. He leveled the gun at the storming soldiers and opened fire. In seconds, he raked nearly a hundred rounds across the charging horde, wiping out the attacking force. As Long moved toward the Marine to help him keep the gun going, an RPG flew out of the jungle, blowing up right in front of the machine gunner. His body was ripped in half from the explosion, and the force of the blast knocked Long to the ground with a hard thud.

Captain Long struggled to catch his breath after having the air punched out of him from the fall. He felt a strong pair of hands grab the back of his IBA and pull him hard backward, toward the rest of his men. While he was being dragged, Long saw several enemy soldiers charging after him. He took aim with his M4 and fired as quickly as his rifle would let him, gunning them all down. Then he crawled behind a tree and took aim at the enemy soldiers, who were still trying to press home the attack.

“We need to fall back, Sir. We can’t hold this position,” said one of his sergeants.

“Someone, get on the radio and tell Fourth Platoon to double-time it to our position now! Also, see if you can raise battalion and find out if we can get some fire support from the gun battery or the mortar platoon!” Long screamed to be heard over the relentless sounds of men and machine.

Minutes after placing the call, another twenty-six Marines rushed forward to join them against a cluster of now fallen over trees and other odds and ends they were using for protection. The added firepower appeared to be enough to cause the enemy to pull back, and the two sides settled into still firing at each other without actively trying to overrun each other.

Sergeant Gerald Phillips arrived at Fort Mag on one of the many CH-53 Super Stallions that had been delivering supplies to the base just prior to dark. His squadron of Super Cobras was going to rebase on Fort Mag so they would be closer to the actual fight, rather than having to waste fuel flying from the amphibious assault ships to support the ground pounders. The infantry was in near-constant contact and desperately needed the gunships.

When he arrived at the base, the first thing he noticed was how shot up the place was. There were several downed helicopters near the edge of the runway, along with numerous other enemy vehicles. A fair number of dead bodies were still strewn around the area, which further added to the macabre scene before him.

“Sergeant Phillips, get the tools and other equipment set up over near that section of the taxiway!” shouted his lieutenant.

Just then, a pair of Cobras settled onto the taxiway, shutting down their engines. Trudging toward the helicopters and the area where their platoon leader wanted them to set up as their repair section, Phillips saw the pilots climbing out of the helicopter.

“Sergeant!” exclaimed the pilot, waving him over. “I think my tail boom took a few hits on our last attack run. Can you guys check it over and make sure nothing major was hit while we get some food? We have to get back into the air as quickly as we can.”

Phillips nodded. “We’ll get right on it and have you guys airborne in no time,” he said. The other pilot joined the first, and the two headed off toward one of the tents that had been set up as a field kitchen.

While Sergeant Phillips moved closer to the helicopter with his tool case, he saw one of the POL guys moving a small tanker near the helicopter as another guy hooked the fuel hose up to the helicopter to refuel. While that was happening, a couple of the munition guys reloaded the rocket pods, and another guy worked on reloading the nose gun. It was a true team effort as the various support personnel crawled over the helicopter, getting it fueled, rearmed and mechanically checked over while the pilots took a few minutes to get some food and water and take a bio break before they flew back into harm’s way.

As the sun began to set, the air operations wound down, giving the mechanics the time they needed to fix a lot of the battle damage to the gunships: repairing bullet holes, fixing hydraulic hoses, and replacing electrical wiring and sensors. Come morning, those helicopters would be busy. In addition to the repairs the maintenance squad was responsible for, Sergeant Phillips also had to make sure his guys had dug a few fighting positions nearby. If the enemy managed to overrun the perimeter, then they might need to repel an attack on the airfield from these very same positions.

When the twilight of the new day peeled away the darkness of the evening, Phillips’ crew had just finished repairing the Cobra they were responsible for. The crew of mechanics was just picking up their tools when the sound of incoming rockets and artillery fire rang out in the distance. Rounds landed at various positions around the base, shaking the ground violently and shattering the morning's serenity. Looking in the direction of where the pilots had been sacked out, Sergeant Phillips saw them grab their helmets and run quickly to get into their helicopters and get airborne before a lucky round landed near their gunships, disabling or destroying them.

Phillips jumped into one of the fighting positions they had just prepared a few hours ago and made sure his squad was readying themselves to deal with whatever happened next. One of the helicopters got airborne and headed off in one direction, while the second helicopter continued to climb and gain altitude. As the second helicopter banked to the north, it was suddenly hit by one of the many rockets flying toward the Marine positions. The gunship exploded from the large-caliber rocket, crumpling the frame of the helicopter as it fell to the ground below in a fiery mess.

“Holy cow, that was close!” thought Phillips. He hoped this artillery barrage would end soon.

Looking toward the other end of the airfield, he saw the 105mm Howitzers clearly fire back at the enemy. It was now incumbent on them to provide the counterbattery fire that would hopefully silence the enemy’s guns. The dueling artillery fire went on for a handful of minutes before the enemy fire finally subsided. Then the Howitzers went back to firing in support of the ground forces, and so did the mortar platoon that was set up with them.

The next forty minutes was pure chaos. Light and heavy machine guns were firing all over the place. Wounded Marines were dragged back to the hospital tents near the artillery battery, while occasionally a medical helicopter would swoop in with its brightly painted red cross on the side to quickly load up the wounded and ferry them back to the higher-level trauma center on the amphibious assault ships offshore.

“Sergeant! Do you hear the sound of tanks?” asked one of the soldiers in the next foxhole.

“We don’t have any tanks with us yet, do we…?” he thought in horror.

“Yeah, I hear it. I don’t think it’s friendly though. If we have to fall back, guys, we’ll fall back to the artillery batteries’ position, OK?” Phillips shouted.

The other Marines in his squad just nodded as they continued to point their weapons into the forest and trees around them, waiting to see if a horde of enemy tanks or soldiers would suddenly appear out of nowhere. Suddenly, half of the air operation building, which was acting as their brigade headquarters, exploded. They saw an enemy tank charge right at the building, but then a missile streaked in from one of the attack helicopters they had been working on the night before, blowing the tank apart like a firecracker on the Fourth of July. The enemy tank had been destroyed, but not before it caused the damage it had sought to inflict on the Americans.

Then, to their front, an armored personnel carrier came barreling out of the woods and headed straight toward them. In the turret, Phillips spotted a soldier in the turret manning a machine gun, firing at his men. Sergeant Phillips raised his M4 to his shoulder and took aim at the soldier who was spitting out death and destruction. He gently squeezed the trigger, sending a three-round burst at the soldier, who clutched at his chest and fell inside the vehicle. The machine gun had been silenced.

The vehicle suddenly hit one of the tank mines Phillips had seen some of the engineers placing around the perimeter the night before. The vehicle stopped moving and started to billow smoke. Half a dozen enemy soldiers emerged from the back of the vehicle and fanned out, shooting back at the Americans. Then, maybe a platoon's worth of enemy soldiers emerged from the woods and added to the volume of fire toward the Marines defending the airfield.

“Sergeant, what do you want us to do? It looks like the enemy is going to overrun the airfield!” shouted one of the soldiers in Phillips’ squad.

Looking around, Sergeant Phillips saw his ten Marines were quickly being cut off from being able to fall back to the other side of the airfield near the gun battery. Their best bet now was to do their best to hold their current positions and hope the other Marines around them were going to do the same and the enemy would run out of steam.

“Everyone, listen up! We are dug in here,” said Phillips. “We’re going to stay put and make sure the enemy doesn’t take our little section of the airfield. Is that understood? I want everyone to stay put. Conserve your ammo and only shoot when you’re confident you’ll hit something. We can do this, Marines!”

Chief Petty Officer Brian Conway, call sign “Punisher,” sat on the roof of the air operations building at Fort Mag, wondering if this tour of duty was ever going to end. He had hit his six-month mark three months ago, with no end in sight. Then again, he hadn’t heard of a single Special Forces unit that had rotated home for any amount of dwell time.

“Well, I’m not getting shot to get some time off,” he thought.

Conway had been a part of SEAL Team Three since he’d joined the Navy and completed BUD/S training twelve years ago. After surviving the world’s most brutal training program, he specialized as a sniper. Having served multiple tours in both Iraq and, more recently, Afghanistan, he had built up quite a record among the teams as an exceptional sniper. When the war in Asia had broken out, his team had found themselves heavily involved in the opening of the Second Korean War, and then later in the Russian Far East. With the change in strategy and direction for the Marine ground war, his team had been pulled from Russia and sent to Guam to support the Marines in the Philippines.

He ran his hand across the flat black Stoner Rifle-25 semiautomatic sniper rifle he brought with him for this mission. Unless he was going to conducting long-range sniper operations, he preferred to use the SR-25 with its 20-round magazine. Conway had trained in the Philippines in the past — he’d even trained at Fort Mag before — so he knew he’d be faced with some dense foliage. That meant the majority of his shots would be under 500 meters. He was more concerned with being able to hit multiple targets in quick succession than he was about nailing an enemy soldier 2,000 meters away.

Intruding into his personal thoughts, his partner said, “Punisher, you think those Chinese paratroopers are going to attack our base?” He spat a stream of tobacco juice over the edge of the building they were lying prone on.

Punisher’s spotter, Petty Officer First Class Leeroy Miley, call sign “Leeroy Jenkins,” had the personality of a paranoid schizophrenic who would either charge into a situation without warning or hold back, depending on what mood he was in at that moment.

“You can bet your paycheck they’re going to attack us. It’s a matter of when, not if,” Punisher told his country hillbilly of a partner. The two of them had worked together for close to three years. Conway loved Leeroy like a brother, but sometimes he was too brash to be a spotter. His true passion was being a breacher, the guy who blows the door of the building open and charges right in. That was why he had been given the call sign “Leeroy Jenkins,” after the infamous World of Warcraft MMO gamer who would relentlessly charge forward into battle without taking the time to know the enemy and make sure he didn’t just run to his glorious death.

“From everything I’ve heard, those Chinese paratroopers are vicious fighters,” said Punisher. “They’ve led the invasion of every country China’s invaded since the beginning of this war. If they attack, you can bet it’ll be in force, and it’ll be a real battle. I mean, look around us, there’s what — maybe four companies’ worth of Marines and an artillery battery and some helicopters here? We’ve been surrounded by close to 4,000 enemy paratroopers, maybe more.”

Leeroy’s face settled into a worried look as his paranoia took over. “You think we might not make it out of this one?” he asked.

Just as Punisher was about to respond, the enemy rocket attack began. All around them, rockets were hitting buildings, the runway, the hangars, and everything possible except the building they were sitting on top of. They could hear the whizzing of shrapnel flying through the air as the base around them was being blown apart. Men dove for cover. Others screamed out for a corpsman, begging for someone to help them.

“Scan the perimeter! They might rush us any moment,” Conway urged his spotter.

What Leeroy saw as he searched beyond their own lines was horrifying. “Tanks! Holy crap, that’s a lot of tanks!” he shouted. Twelve T-99 main battle tanks, covered in reactive armor, brush and tree branches, charged toward their lines at full speed. Immediately behind the tanks was a line of armored personnel carriers and other armored vehicles, ready to push through whatever hole in the American lines the tanks managed to punch through.

While the two of them watched the charging tanks, several antitank missiles streaked toward them from further behind the Marine lines, blowing several of the tanks apart with their shape charges. Seconds after the first four tanks were hit, another three more were blown up by the second wave of antitank missiles. However, before the Marines could get a third set of missiles off, the tanks charged right through their positions and continued to race forward, right toward the airfield.

“I knew I should have brought the Barrett with me!” Conway chided himself. He realized the SR-25 had no real antimateriel stopping power like the heavier-caliber .50 of the Barrett.

“Forget the tanks. Find me targets we can take out!” Punisher yelled. It was difficult for his spotter to hear him over the roar of diesel engines, explosions, and the rattle of machine-gun fire.

Leeroy began searching for targets for them to engage to their front. Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of something moving on the opposite side of the runway. As the smoke from the earlier rocket attack cleared, he saw dozens of enemy soldiers charging toward the battery of 105mm Howitzers. The gunners were desperately trying to lower their barrels to be flush with the ground, while anyone with a rifle was doing their best to shoot at the attackers.

“Turn around and stop those soldiers from overrunning our artillery battery!” Leeroy yelled.

Conway turned to look behind him and saw what his spotter had found. “Crap! They’re going to overrun our artillery support!” he thought in horror.

Instantly, he jumped up with his rifle and ran toward the other end of the building, flopping hard on the ground. He brought his rifle to bear and quickly identified targets. Letting his breath out slowly, he squeezed the trigger and watched as the head of a Chinese soldier exploded in a bright red mist. His body fell to the ground, tumbling from his recent forward momentum.

He aimed for another soldier next to him and squeezed the trigger again, with the same result. In a matter of sixty seconds, he had shot sixteen enemy soldiers before they could overrun the gun battery. As more Chinese soldiers dove for cover, they continued to fire on the Marines manning the Howitzers, hitting many of them as they tried to hold their positions.

Conway swapped out his magazine, slapping a fresh one in place, and went back to systematically wiping out the attacking force that had nearly overrun their only artillery support.

“Switch back to the front of the building!” yelled his spotter. “Two armored personnel carriers just stopped less than a hundred meters in front of our building and are unloading their troops!”

If he didn’t have a spotter with him, chances were Punisher would never see the guy that would ultimately kill him because he would be so focused on taking out the man on the other end of his sniper scope. Rolling over to his side and then quickly jumping back to his feet, Conway ran in a low crouched position to the opposite end of the roof and again got down and sighted in the next group of enemy soldiers.

Nearly a dozen enemy soldiers exited one of the armored personnel carriers, or APCs, and ran for cover, firing at the Marines near them. Seconds later, the armored vehicle they had just exited blew up from an antitank rocket. The other APC managed to get nearly half of their soldiers out before it also exploded from a direct hit by an antitank rocket.

Conway sighted in the first enemy soldier. The man appeared to be an officer, since he was yelling and then pointing at several Marines not far from them. Punisher gently squeezed the trigger, feeling the rifle kick slightly as the officer clutched at his chest, then collapsed next to the dead body of another one of his soldiers, who had just died from a bullet fired by another American nearby.

It was a complete melee breaking out in front of Conway. Several waves of Chinese soldiers bum-rushed the Marine positions and began fighting in hand-to-hand combat in the foxholes. Conway did his best to snipe at as many of the enemy soldiers as he could, trying to give the defenders as much covering fire as possible.

Suddenly, an explosion rocked Conway’s building. Part of the roof they had been shooting from collapsed, and they fell into the building. Hitting the floor below them hard, Punisher and Leeroy spotted the tank that must have imploded this half of the building. Around them were several bodies of the men who had been manning many of the radios, keeping the base connected with the outside world. Their radios were largely destroyed by the explosion.

Before anyone had a chance to process what had just happened, bullets whipped past them, some of them hitting the building materials. One of them ripped through Leeroy’s right hand, his shooting hand.

“I’m hit!” he yelled as he quickly switched firing hands and took aim at the enemy soldiers that were charging forward.

Punisher leveled his rifle at the first enemy soldier he saw and pulled the trigger, only to be met with a click.

“Ugh, I didn’t change the magazine out!” he realized, still dazed from the fall. In seconds, he dropped the empty one and slapped another one in its place. He suddenly realized that his spotter had been shot in the hand and was bleeding profusely.

Two other SEAL members who had been with the radiomen ran toward them and helped to tear into the charging enemy. In less than a minute, the four of them had mowed down close to thirty charging enemy soldiers. The group collectively changed magazines and scanned for new targets as they worked to establish some sort of perimeter around the shattered command center.

As the SEALs reengaged another group of charging paratroopers, one of the wounded enemy soldiers threw a grenade in their direction. Punisher saw the object arc through the air right for them and yelled “Grenade!” as it bounced off an object that seemed to propel the grenade right toward them, instead of away.

It landed right in the center of the group, and without thinking, Punisher instantly jumped on the grenade just as it went off. While he didn’t die outright, he couldn’t move his body and just lay there as his body began to bleed out. In that instant, he saved his fellow SEAL members, though they would eventually be overrun before the day’s fighting was done. Sadly, during the battle of Fort Mag, the entire SEAL platoon was eventually wiped out.

Colonel Tilman had been thrown to the ground when the command center took a direct hit. He didn’t know what had hit them, only that the room above him was spinning. Tilman realized he needed to gain control of his mind and get back into the fight. He pressed his leg against something firm and did the same with his hand. In a fraction of a second, the spinning stopped and his mind stabilized itself. Rolling over to his side, he got up to his knees and saw the two SEALs who had been on the roof moments before, shooting it out with an unknown number of enemy soldiers that were clearly nearby.

Tilman saw Lieutenant Commander Haversham and one of the other SEAL team members rush to the gaping hole in the side of the building and add in their own firepower. “Colonel Tilman, are you OK?” asked one of the Marines, who had been talking on the radio to the offshore command ship before the explosion.

Getting back to his feet, Tilman nodded and reached for his M4 in case he needed to use it. Turning to look toward the SEALs who were still firing at the enemy, he saw an object fly into the room.

Someone yelled, “Grenade!” Before anyone else could react, one of the SEALs dove on top of the grenade as it went off.

“We need to fall back!” yelled one of the SEALs.

Boom! Bam! More explosions rocked the area, causing the structure to shake violently. The supports of the building had been thoroughly compromised.

Lieutenant Colonel Jackman turned toward the SEALs. “Fall back to the artillery batteries’ position!” he yelled. He reached down and helped a wounded Marine get to his feet.

The Spec Ops guys nodded and said they would provide covering fire while they grabbed the wounded and fell back.

Colonel Tilman grabbed one of the lance corporals, signaling that they should run to the wreckage of one of the Ospreys from the previous day and set up a firing position to help cover their retreat. In seconds, the two of them were running at full speed toward the wreck, with bullets kicking up dirt and rocks all around them.

Bringing his rifle to his shoulder, Colonel Tilman sighted in on a cluster of enemy soldiers that were trying to come around the building. He fired a series of controlled three-round bursts into the soldiers, hitting several of them before they turned their fire in his direction. Bullets hit the destroyed wreck they were hiding behind, forcing Tilman and the lance corporal to seek cover. While they were keeping the enemy focused on them, one of the SEALs came around the corner and finished them off with a burst from his M240. He quickly waved for the Marines behind him to cross the taxiway and make their way back to the artillery batteries’ position.

When the 105mm artillery guns arrived the previous day, they had the helicopters place the guns on the northeast side of the airstrip, near the firing range. It was a relatively large open field, which gave them more than enough room to set the Howitzers up on. They had also placed one of the two mortar platoons inside their perimeter. As the front half of the perimeter of the base began to fall apart, it made sense for them to try and fall back to the artillery position while they continued to call for help and reinforcements.

Had the Marines not gotten the Howitzers set up in the early hours of the morning, they wouldn’t have been in a position to take out the enemy rocket artillery. As they ran toward them, Tilman thought, “God only knows how long we would have held up if the enemy had been able to pound us relentlessly with rockets.” As it was, they had already caused a considerable amount of damage.

It took Colonel Tilman and the rest of what remained of his headquarters staff fifteen minutes to fight their way back to the artillery positions. When they crossed over into their lines, they were quickly met by a number of corpsmen, who helped get the wounded moved back to the ad hoc aid station they had set up. Looking back across the airstrip, Tilman saw small pockets of Marines fighting various clusters of enemy soldiers. Overhead, he heard jets high above them, engaging some unseen adversary.

“Man, we could really use some air support,” he thought.

The artillery commander walked up to him with his radioman. “Colonel Tilman, thank God you’re still alive. When your headquarters was taken out, we thought you’d been killed. I’ve got the division commander on the radio. He wants a status report. I was about to tell him you were killed, and the base was being overrun,” the captain explained, obviously glad that he wouldn’t have to be the one to relay that kind of information to the general.

“Thank you, Captain,” said Tilman. “Let me see if I can try and get us some help before we all get wiped out.”

Grabbing the mic from the radioman, he lifted the receiver to his mouth. “General, this is Colonel Tilman. Are you there?” he asked, too tired and rattled to remember what call sign he was supposed to be using that day.

The general responded, “You sound like hell, Micah. How bad is it?”

“My headquarters was blown up with me in it. Most of my staff was killed, and a lot of our radios were destroyed. I’ve got tanks inside the wire, along with God only knows how many other armored vehicles. These flipping paratroopers are all over this base right now. The north side of the base perimeter has held for the moment, but they’re taking a beating. The east and south sides have held, despite the Chinese throwing what was probably an entire battalion at them. However, the entire west side of my lines has collapsed. For the moment, I’m hunkered down with the Howitzer battalion. I need some freaking help here, or we’re going to get wiped out,” he replied.

“Colonel, I’ve lost nine surveillance drones over your position in the last four hours. We just got a new drone over your position, providing us with some real-time video of what’s going on. You’ve got small pockets of soldiers holding various positions all over the base. I’m doing everything I can to get your reinforcements right now,” the general explained.

The division commander let out a deep breath before he continued. “I told the strike group commander that we have to get you guys some air support, even if he has to lose a few planes in the process. He’s sending six Hornets your way. Once they’re on station, we’ll let you know so you can coordinate their attack. As to reinforcements, I’m sending a company of Marines to you right now. They’re roughly ten minutes out. See if they can retake the airstrip again. I’ll see if we can get the better part of a battalion sent to you throughout the day,” his boss replied.

Colonel Tilman was frustrated at the painfully slow pace of getting the Marines ashore. The enemy’s air-defense systems had thus far proven to be a lot heavier and more sophisticated than they had been led to believe. His own aviation wing had lost nine Ospreys in the first four hours of the invasion, and another dozen CH-53 Super Stallions — not a good way to start an invasion.

He sighed before responding, “That’s a good copy, General. We’ll do our best to retake the airfield once those fast movers help us out. I’m not sure how fast you can get my reserve battalion ashore, but I sure would appreciate their help here at Fort Mag.”

After General Cutter took a quick shower and had a bowl of oatmeal and some orange juice, it was time to check in on the status of the various battles unfolding in the Philippines. Walking into his command center, he saw a number of officers animatedly talk amongst themselves over a map that was spread out on a table. Sensing something was up, he moved to investigate.

“What’s going on?” Cutter inquired. The group of majors and captains suddenly grew quiet.

Seeing a possible moment to shine in front of the general, one of the young captains spoke up. “We’re reviewing the latest positions of the Indonesian 1^st Infantry Division. The bulk of their force has fallen back to the Mount Banahaw area. They’ve essentially left the entire lower portion of Luzon open for the taking. We were discussing what our forces should do next in response,” he explained.

A major, who had only recently joined his staff, chimed in to add, “We’ve managed to offload an entire brigade down near Legazpi, and they’ve moved inland. For some reason, the Indonesian general has left behind small units to harass us, but nothing serious. They clearly had a numbers advantage on us and time to prepare a layered defense; it just doesn’t make a lot of sense that they would give that up without a fight,” he concluded. A few of the other officers nodded in agreement.

General Cutter smiled. “It could be that this Indonesian general heard he’d be facing the United States Marines and decided it wasn’t worth dying for, so he withdrew his army to a more defensible position,” he said to the laughs of the men around him.

“No, on a serious note, they’ve probably fallen back because they fear us landing a blocking force behind them, trapping them down on a narrow part of the island. Nearly the entire island is in range of the Navy's 5-inch guns, which means they can provide a modicum of indirect fire support. Let’s let him retreat for right now. We need to focus on offloading as much of our armor, artillery, and troops as possible for the time being. I want the entire 7th Marine Division offloaded before the end of the week.”

Turning to a colonel who’d walked over to him, Cutter asked, “What’s the status of the 6th Marine Division in the north? Last I heard, the battle of Fort Mag was still raging on into its second straight day. Have we finally secured that base and beaten back those Chinese paratroopers yet?”

Colonel Rob Porter nodded. “Colonel Tilman’s brigade radioed in an hour ago that they had officially re-secured the airfield with the help of the new reinforcements. They’re in the process of pushing the perimeter further out and going after the retreating paratroopers. I have his brigades’ latest casualty report, along with the carrier strike groups’. You should know the admiral was furious at the aircraft losses his forces suffered in retaking that airfield.”

General Cutter just nodded as he took a long drink of water from the bottle he had just opened. Looking over the casualty list, he just shook his head. “So many Marines…” he thought in despair.

“Did it really take one of his battalions two days to advance ten kilometers inland from the beach?” he inquired, not sure if what was just handed to him was correct.

“Yes, Sir,” answered Colonel Porter. “That battalion also sustained 218 casualties securing the beachhead for the Navy. Apparently, those Chinese paratroopers were responsible for defending the roads and hills around the beach and had somehow maneuvered a number of 152mm Howitzers into the hills — the intelligence guys must have missed it. Those guns tore up our armor before they were destroyed by the carrier airwing.”

“I take it the enemies’ surface-to-air missile systems are to blame for the large number of losses we’ve sustained up to this point?” Cutter inquired. He wanted to know if it was the lack of air support that delayed them, or if it was poor leadership.

Porter pulled a different map from a stack on his desk and brought it over to the table the two of them were now standing next to. Placing the map on the table and putting a couple of objects down to hold the edges, he explained the problem. “The issue is much larger than one factor, Sir. The battalion commander was aggressive, just as we’ve instructed them to be, but we had poor intelligence of the area. The SEAL and recon teams were directed to find and eliminate the air-defense systems on the island, so the Navy and Air Force could provide us with air support. That led to us not having enough information to know what we were potentially walking into.” As he spoke, he pointed to where the enemy air-defense systems had been located.

“The Air Force and Navy hit the SAM fields around these areas here,” Colonel Porter continued as he pointed to two locations around Manila: one at Subic Bay and one near Clark International Airport. “When the Navy went in to support our guys at Fort Mag, the enemy turned on a new SAM nest we hadn’t seen yet, and subsequently shot down a number of their aircraft. Destroying that nest took the Air Force another twelve hours, as the aircraft had to fly in from Guam with more standoff cruise missiles. It was during this delay that the Chinese launched that massive counterattack that nearly wiped our guys out at the base. By all accounts, Sir, it was one of the bloodiest battles of the war with China. Colonel Tilman was on the ground during the entire thing. He relayed a very hair-raising experience when I spoke with him.”

“I’m glad you were able to talk with Tilman,” said Cutter. “What’s the status of the rest of the division? Are they ashore yet?”

“The 3^rd Marine Amphibious Brigade just offloaded. They’re now making their way to Fort Mag and will drive down to Manila. The 2^nd Marine Amphibious Brigade will be ashore by evening. They’ll head toward Clark International Airport and then push on to Subic Bay. If I may, because of how badly mauled the 1^st Marine Amphibious Brigade was during the last two days, I’d like to recommend that we leave them to garrison the surrounding area of Fort Mag and the beachheads. Most of the brigade is down to 50 % manning. Until they’re reinforced with additional replacements from the States, I’m not sure they would make an effective offensive force,” Porter explained.

Cutter nodded at the suggestion. “OK. Send a message to Tilman and let him know his brigade is now responsible for the security of the area. Tell him he needs to focus on making sure the airstrip stays operational and securing the beachhead. When I talk with the Pentagon later today, I’ll let them know I need the next batch of reinforcements to be flown directly to Guam. From there, we can throw them on C130s and have them flown to Fort Mag. I want Tilman’s brigade back to full strength ASAP. He’s my best forward commander, and I’m going to need him for the next invasion,” the general said. Then he turned back to the larger map that showed the entire Chinese occupied territories — his eyes were fixed on Taiwan, the real prize to his plan.