“If someone else has taken command, but I outrank you… See note to Mitchell.”

  21:05 PST

  Lake Louise, AB.

  Once the division’s transportation needs were handled, the drive up to Lake Louise had been uneventful. The Canadian soldiers had managed to find a bus transit service that held dozens of buses, both city and highway. While they got them up and running, the British soldiers had raided a camp ground and managed to steal 10 motor coaches. A third gang of thieves had come across an industrial park that held several transport trucks and even a few fuel tankers.

  It was an absurd convoy and certainly not of the military’s impeccable standards, but every vehicle in their ridiculous fleet managed to maintain a steady 110 km/h. As ludicrous as it may have looked, they had gotten them to where they needed to be.

  Colonel Bennet led from the front while Major Jenkins covered the rear, both riding in a mil spec Foxhound. As important as these civilian vehicles were to their mission, neither of them felt the desire to actually ride in one of them.

  While Bennet’s vehicle was a standard armoured transport, Jenkins rode inside a Foxhound that was outfitted as a mobile communications vehicle. With its impressive array of antennae and satellite dishes, the comms team were busy trying to establish communications with the Royal Navy, still at anchor in Montreal. Jenkins was ordered to ride with them and radio the information to Bennet directly as it came in.

  Reaching the sign for Lake Louise, Bennet pulled them all over and grabbed his radio.

  “Colonel Bennet to Major Jenkins. Come in. Over.”

  “Go for Major Jenkins, Colonel. Over.”

  “Join me at the front of the column, Major. Over.”

  “Aye, aye, straight away, sir. Over and out.”

  Bennet looked around the area as he waited for the major. Even in the darkness of the night, he could tell that this was a truly beautiful part of the country. He really hoped that they wouldn’t have to blow it all to hell.

  Screeching to a halt beside him, Jenkins hopped out and jogged around to Bennet’s door.

  “Sir!”

  “This map shows a rail bridge on the other side of town, Major.” Colonel Bennet said. “I think we’ll move on through and see if it will serve our purposes. With the city behind us, we’ll have a good fall back position, should the enemy force us back.”

  “Excellent, Colonel.” Jenkins replied. “We’re not pushing on then, sir?”

  “No, our orders are to hold the line here, Major. With comms down, General Notley didn’t want us too close to the aerial bombardment. We need to fortify this position and prepare for any of them that get through. I’ll lay out the plan in detail, once we get the troops set up.”

  “Roger, Colonel.”

  Once through town, a gentle left hand turn brought them to a large rail overpass that would suit their needs perfectly. Its iron and concrete structure would provide excellent cover for over 1000 soldiers while the embankments on either side would provide cover for 2000 more. The rest of the division could line the roadway from high above on either side, covered safely behind the thick trees that ran alongside of the highway.

  Colonel Bennet stopped the convoy again and stepped out of his vehicle, looking at his surroundings while Major Jenkins, once again, made his way up to the front.

  “Oh, this is bloody marvelous, Colonel.” Major Jenkins said as he stepped out of his vehicle. “We’ll have them surrounded in a ‘U’ formation from high ground, sir.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.” Bennet said.

  “How do you want us set up, sir?”

  “First thing, I want two of those fuel tankers driven ahead 200 metres and dropped into the ditch on either side of the highway. Have them rigged to blow on a remote detonation. I intend to turn that section of highway into a damned inferno. As soon as those tankers get through, I want this highway completely blocked off by our civilian vehicles. Park them as deep as we can manage. Nothing gets through, not even a tank, Major.

  “While you see to that, I’ll have Sergeant Stryer set up every belt fed machine gun we have on that bridge. You’re to disperse your brigade as you see fit, Major, but when you’re done setting those charges, I’ll take that detonator from you and have you to take command of the soldiers on that bridge.”

  “Aye, aye, Colonel. And the mortars, sir?”

  “Mortars? Where the hell did we get mortars?” Bennet asked, pleasantly surprised.

  “A gift from the Yanks stationed in Italy, Colonel. They were shipped down to Lisbon and then brought out to the fleet as we sailed past, sir.”

  “Well, hot damn! What did we get?”

  “We have 50 lightweight M224s along with 5000 assorted munitions for them. I should tell you, sir… there’s white phosphorus bombs amongst them.”

  “Incendiaries, good. The North Koreans made a mistake launching those EMPs, but when they invaded my home, they seriously screwed up. Now they can suffer the damn consequences.”

  “My sentiments exactly, sir.”

  “Have the mortar teams set up on those hills, there and there.” Bennet said, pointing to either side of the highway. “Assuming its dark when the enemy arrives, tell them I want standard illumination protocol. I’ll expect a flare every 20 seconds.”

  “Aye, aye, Colonel. I’ll get it done.”

  “See that you do, Major.”

  Jenkins did an about face, finding that the troops had already climbed out of their vehicles and were awaiting orders. Major Jenkins addressed them in his own special way.

  “Right! Bring two of those fuel tankers forward, lads! You there, get off your pathetic ass and…”

  21:15 PST

  Leanchoil, BC.

  The first few minutes of the operation and already JADE had lost two of its most important components, air defense mitigation and the element of surprise. The U-2 pilots were already reporting that the enemy was reacting to the explosions in the mountains around them and taking defensive positions.

  Most of the satellites that the drones normally depended on, no longer functioned after the EMPs. Knowing this, the drone pilots and their equipment had been loaded onto an AC-130 and flown into the region, high above and ahead of the first attack squadrons. The six unmanned MQ-9 Reaper drones flew alongside the hulking cargo plane, waiting patiently for their pilots to unleash them on the North Korean defenses.

  The first five drones had been sent off on their missions simultaneously and all five had experienced the same catastrophic failure. As soon as the pilots brought their Reapers below 10,000 feet, they suddenly lost their piloting cameras and the ability to communicate with them. The out of control drones had then veered off and crashed into the side of the mountains.

  All six of the two man piloting teams were trying desperately to figure out why they had lost control of their vehicles. It was their mission supervisor that had made the connection between the remote piloting malfunctions and the radio frequency jamming that the enemy had established around them.

  Taking their supervisor’s suggestion, the final drone piloting team had levelled off their Reaper at 12,000 feet and fired one of its AGM-114 Hellfire missiles from there. As they guided it down, searching for the enemy’s air defenses, the screen suddenly went to static. Seconds later, the team reported that they had lost control of their missile. Apparently, nothing that depended on remote radio signals could penetrate the enemy’s electronic shield.

  “That’s it then.” Their supervisor said. “I’ll have the Spectre turned back to base. I’ll report five drones lost. Sixth drone ineffective. No damage to enemy install…”

  …They were all suddenly knocked sideways as the AC-130 Specter unexpectedly banked hard to the right. Imagining an impending explosion or flack to start hitting their plane, the drone teams scrambled to get into their designated flack seats with their heavy steel plating. The fact that they normally performed their duties from the relative safety of a comfortable ground operations centre, was not lost on any of them.

  ◆◆◆

  “Enemy weapons alert!” Apollo radioed to his wingman.

  “I see it… What the hell is that?” Archangel radioed back.

  “A rocket of some sort.” Apollo replied as he watched the object climb steadily higher.

  “Is that thing heading towards us?”

  “Negative, Archangel. It just missed that Spectre, though.”

  “Why is it still climbing then, Apollo? We’re the only things up here.”

  Simultaneously, the master alarms sounded in both of their aircraft as their computers finished their calculations and determined that they were in range of a weapon.

  “Silence all alarms. I’m not detecting any guidance on it at all. I have it heading straight up, north of our position.” Apollo said. “It’ll miss by at least a klick. It’s still climbing, though.”

  As Apollo and Archangel watched, the rocket zipped past the noses of their U-2s and continued to climb. At 80,000 feet, the unguided rocket finally fizzled out and began to slow down.

  “That’s it, Archangel. It’s out of fuel.”

  “Well, that was a little anti-climactic… thankfully.” Archangel said.

  As it came to a stop and started to fall back to Earth, a puff of smoke momentarily obscured their view of it. When the smoke cleared, the nose and rocket body had fallen away and now only a small cylinder remained, suspended below a deployed parachute. It caught what little air currents existed at that altitude and began to slowly drift away to the north.

  “You still got it, Archangel?”

  “Oh, I haven’t taken my eyes of it, Apollo. What the hell is going on?”

  “Damned if I know. I’m adjusting my camera now. Trying to get a closer look at it. Archangel, I’ll stay with this thing. I need you to turn back to the battlefield and switch to the first combat frequency. The fighters should be arriving any second.”

  “Wilco, Apollo. Switching frequencies.”

  As Apollo got zoomed in on the object, floating gracefully above him, he saw something that surprised him. I tiny red light was blinking steadily, just below the chute.

  Holy shit… I think that’s a transmitter. Those assholes are calling somebody!

  21:40 PST

  Blaeberry, BC.

  Still 55 kilometres from Leanchoil, Lieutenant General Ross Mitchell could only growl when he saw the glow from the explosions suddenly flash in the sky ahead. As the lead vehicle, he had been pulling his column as quickly as possible down the Trans-Canada Highway, but they were still far from where Mitchell wanted to be.

  Knowing that the 75,000 soldiers under his command were probably spread out over 10 klicks by now, he decided to slow down. Now that the engagement zone was no longer hospitable to human life, he figured that he might as well regroup and get his soldiers together for when they finally arrived to mop up.

  Now travelling at a steady 60 km/h, they would get there in just under a half hour. Mitchell’s soldiers would have plenty of time to catch up and those sky rats could finish up with their nonsense. As important as an efficient air force was to a modern army, it always irked Mitchell how they always seemed to claim the juiciest targets for themselves. In this particular case, however, he was happy for the assistance. He only wished that weren’t so damned far away when it began.

  Mitchell had noticed the tiny single flame rise high above the mountains a short while ago, but he had been forced to dismiss it. He had already come to terms with the fact that, without comms, there would be a lot of events occurring tonight that he had no control over. Still, though, the sight of a single rocket being fired by the enemy was more than a little concerning.

  Surprisingly, for the first time in hours, his radio suddenly came to life.

  “Major General Fielder to Lieutenant General Mitchell. Come in. Over.”

  Outstanding.

  21:30 PST

  10 kms North of Leanchoil, BC.

  “Say again, Front Runner.”

  “Turning back to base. Drones ineffectual. Air defenses re… main. Radi… jamming extend… z… z…”

  The pilot of the returning AC-130 was gone, their radio link broken. Giving up on his radio, the Hornet squadron leader went back to the task at hand. He got the basic idea of what they were trying to tell him anyway. The drones had failed and it would be up to his CF-18s to plough the road before the bombers arrived.

  Screw ‘em. This is our job anyway.

  The Hornet squadron had been told, during their pre-mission briefing, that comms would likely be sketchy at best. They had planned for this inevitability and knew exactly how they would proceed. If communications were absolutely essential, they would have to climb out of the area until comms could be reestablished. None of these pilots had any intention of leaving the combat zone, though. They all intended to engage the enemy until they ran out of pointy objects to fire at them.

  In the absence of comms, each of the 12 RCAF fighter pilots relayed a thumbs up through their canopy to the CF-18 pilot beside them. With all acknowledging that they were good to go, they tightened their seat straps and flipped their switches to ‘WEAPONS HOT.’

  Once over the foothills of Mt. Vaux, they dipped into the river valley and turned south-southeast following the Trans-Canada Highway from a height of 750 feet. They quickly maneuvered into attack formation and increased speed to Mach 1.1, intent on staying well ahead of the deafening roar of their engines.

  Seconds later, they banked hard, following the sweeping 150 degree right hand turn of the highway. When they levelled their wings again, they were headed northwest and straight at the enemy. They roared into Leanchoil and saw the enormous column of enemy vehicles appear in front of them. Unfortunately, the Canadian pilots weren’t the only ones with fingers on their triggers.

  ◆◆◆

  “I believe it’s some kind of communications beacon, but I have no idea who it’s talking to, sir. Decryption equipment isn’t able to establish a link.”

  “Comms, you say. Can we shoot it down, Apollo?”

  “Negative, Brigadier General. At this altitude, we don’t have anything that would reach it. Without ballistic missiles, there’s really nothing we can do about it, sir.”

  “Archangel is on the other channel reporting that the Hornet squadron has engaged, Apollo. If there’s nothing we can do about it, just leave the damn thing where it is and get back over the battlefield. Your wingman could use another set of eyes up there.”

  “Wilco, sir. Returning to mission. Apollo out.”

  Apollo took a few more quick snap shots of the object, still floating at approximately 75,000 feet and turned his camera off. He then gave his engine a little bit of throttle and turned due south as he switched his radio back over to the combat channel.

  “…forward column completely destroyed, Control. Five Hornets hit by shoulder fired missiles. Forward troops escaping into forest on either side of highway. Over.”

  “Can you ID shoulder fired missiles? Over”

  “Not 100 percent. Gimlets, maybe. Heat seekers, for sure. Hundreds of them. Lead pilot launched countermeasures in time to save most of the squadron, but he and four others went down right into the middle of them. I believe most, if not all enemy missile launchers destroyed by exploding aircraft. Over.”

  “Roger, Archangel. Sounds like we have our first heroes of the night. Over.”

  “Roger that, Control. Over.”

  “Bombers report two minutes out at two five thousand feet, Archangel. Over.”

  “I see them, Control. Have them switch to combat channel. Over.”

  “Apollo to Archangel. Returning to mission. I’m half a klick off your left wing, buddy.”

  “Roger, Apollo. Saved you a seat, pal.”

  “Remain on Hornet overwatch, Archangel. I have the bombers. Copy?”

  “Wilco, Apollo. I have the Hornets. Over.”

  Seconds later, the bomber squadron commander called over the channel to the U2 pilots.

  “Spirit Squad to ‘Eyes in the Skies.’ Over.”

  “This is Apollo. Welcome to the party, Spirit Squad. I hope you brought the good stuff. Over.”

  “We’ve got a trunk full of kegs, Apollo. Just looking for a spot to drop them off. Over.”

  “Transmitting target coordinates now, Spirit Squad. Front column already handled. Concentrate on the rear. Copy?”

  “Copy, Apollo. Stick it in their rear. That was our plan anyways. Over”

  “Roger that, Spirit Squad.” Apollo said with a slight chuckle.

  As Apollo watched from above, the 12 Stealth B-2 Spirit bombers formed a single line, nose to tail and positioned themselves directly over the highway. He couldn’t see it from above, but he knew that 12 sets of bomb bay doors were currently opening. With each carrying an enormous compliment of precision guided bombs, Apollo also knew that he was about to witness something spectacular. He readied his cameras and prepared to film history.

  The bombs that the ground crews had loaded into these B-2s, were far more than simple explosives. They were ‘next generation’ technology and something very special. Each of these bombs carried a series of heat seeking sensors, designed to home in on anything warmer than a human body. That in itself, wasn’t what made these particular bombs so advanced, however. Their unique feature, was that they had the ability to communicate with one another and to work together.

  A half second after being released, the bombs would identify and digitally ‘paint’ every single heat signature within range, creating a targeting grid. Once an individual bomb locked onto one of the targets, it would no longer ‘see’ any of the other targets. They would all, in effect, go dark. To the bomb, only itself and the target would exist and it would begin adjusting its flight fins to steer towards it.

  All of the other bombs would have the exact opposite experience. Once a target was ‘captured’ by another bomb, they would know because it would instantly disappear from the targeting grid. To them, the target would no longer appear as a heat source, telling them to move on to something else. It wouldn’t matter which plane they were dropped from, as they would all work in coordination within the same grid.

 

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