Invasion: Alaska ia-1, page 21
part #1 of Invasion America Series
“Engaging laser,” said Han, who began to target the first GPS satellite.
VANDENBERG BASE, CALIFORNIA
Klaxons wailed as the base’s silos began opening like flowers. Moments later, the first ASBM missiles began to emerge for liftoff. They were the TX Mod-3. The “T” stood for Triton, the “X” was for Experimental. “Mod-3” meant this was the third major modification of the Triton missile type.
The base’s commander watched from his bunker. He knew the President was dubious about this. The GPS satellites and other recon satellites were gone, swept away by the Chinese sneak attack. The Joint Chiefs had probably told the President the ASBMs wouldn’t be any good without real-time information.
At least our ABM lasers killed those Chinese laser-firing missiles, but not before they destroyed our most critical space assets.
The base commander grinned tightly. The Chinese hadn’t counted on the Mod-3 Triton. The Mod-3 was linked to over-the-horizon radar stations, and even now, the Navy was launching UAVs. The missiles would use data gained from those high-flying drones.
The thirty-three thousand pound missiles were ready. Each was thirty-five feet long. The engine was solid fueled. Its operational range was nineteen hundred miles, approximately three thousand kilometers. It was more than enough to hit the Chinese Fleet threatening to enter the Gulf of Alaska.
“Sir?” asked a major.
“Launch them,” whispered the base commander. “It’s payback time.”
Thirty seconds later, the ground shook as the first Triton ASBM roared into life, causing a great billowing cloud to engulf its launch pad.
The Tritons roared for the heavens. The initial boost phase lasted three point one-five minutes. The heavy rockets put the missiles into sub-orbital space flight. None of the missiles were intended to complete an orbital revolution around the Earth. Each missile’s flight path used a trajectory that went up and down in a relatively simple curve, well before it had a chance to orbit around the Earth like a recon satellite.
These were ship-killing missiles—essentially, they were ICBMs without nuclear warheads. The Tritons would use a conventional warhead and kinetic energy to destroy its targets. At the time of impact, each missile would be traveling at Mach 10.
The individual Tritons received telemetry information and made course corrections. They were beginning the mid-course phase of their flight. Triton missiles were MIRVed. They each carried multiple warheads with individual targeting abilities. Each Triton also used MaRVs, maneuverable reentry vehicles. Before those final maneuvers took place, the ASBMs would launch metallic-coated balloons. The balloons would carry the same thermal readings as the warheads and would hopefully fool Chinese targeting. Each Triton would also launch a full-scale warhead decoy to further frustrate Chinese radar.
PRCN SUNG
The pride of the Chinese Navy was the supercarrier Sung. It was a massive ship, displacing one hundred and eight thousand tons. Its air wing of ninety modern fighters, bombers, tankers and electronic warfare planes gave it great offensive power. There were seven other supercarriers in the invasion fleet. Each had its escort of cruisers, destroyers, supply-ships, submarines, helicopter-tenders and other vessels.
The fleet was spread out across this tiny portion of the Pacific Ocean as it neared the tip of the Aleutian Islands. It was a grand armada of a type not seen since World War Two. Fighters flew Combat Air Patrol—CAP. Farther behind, and much higher in the atmosphere, giant Type Nine COIL planes flew CAP. Those lumbering monsters had one task: shoot down incoming enemy ballistic missiles. They protected the Navy fighting ships and the vast number of cargo vessels carrying nine brigades of Chinese naval infantry, a regiment of Army T-66 tri-turreted tanks, and fuel, food and munitions for the coming fight.
Admiral Niu Ling commanded the armada from the Sung. The giant supercarrier moved like a serene beast through the gray waters. Admiral Ling was old, and looked older. He was missing his left arm, while the left side of his face never moved. He’d been in an aircraft accident fifteen years ago, when a two-seater had landed badly on a flight deck. Fortunately, his one good eye shone darkly. Ling was a gruff old man, wearing his injuries like armor. How could anyone hurt him more than he’d already hurt himself?
“Admiral,” an officer said. “The Americans have launched their ASBMs at the fleet.”
The old man grunted.
“If you’ll come over here, sir,” the officer said, escorting the admiral to a com-board.
Admiral Ling studied the board before he snapped off an order, “Alert the cruiser and destroyer captains. Then engage the joint Ballistic Missile Defense System. Let us see who is superior: the fallen Americans or us.”
The fleet’s cruisers and destroyers rushed into defensive mode as horns wailed on the many ships. The computer systems were integrated, run from the mighty AI Kingmaker in the Sung. The fleet had practiced seven dry runs throughout the many days of the supposed naval exercise for just this eventuality.
The sky was overcast as the first defensive MIR-616 Standard Missile 4 blasted off from the Chinese cruiser Eastern Thunder.
The SM-4 was six point five-five meters long. It had a wingspan of one point seven-five meters and an operational range of five hundred kilometers. Its flight ceiling was one hundred and sixty kilometers—approximately one hundred miles.
The AI Kingmaker on the Sung used Chinese GPS satellites and INS semi-active radar to track the approaching missiles. It used that information to integrate its anti-missile defense.
On other cruisers and destroyers, SM-4 missiles began their first stage liftoff. Each used a solid-fuel Aerojet booster.
From the bridge of his supercarrier, Admiral Ling watched in admiration as a great flock of anti-missiles sped into the gray sky.
The Chinese Fleet now took emergency maneuvers as the warships made erratic course changes. At the same time, the SM-4s roared out of human eyesight. The AI Kingmaker kept track of them, however, as it kept feeding them information.
As the first stage rocket fell away, the second stage dual thrust rocket motor took over. More GPS data poured into the missiles as they rapidly climbed out of the atmosphere and into space. The third stage MK 136 solid-fueled rocket motor used pulse power until the last thirty seconds of interception.
It was an information and electronic war now as the SM-4s sought to destroy the carrier-killing Tritons.
Computers decisions were made in nanoseconds. On a SM-4, the third stage separated. The Lightweight Exo-Atmospheric Projectile sent the kinetic warhead at its chosen target. Chinese sensors on the kinetic warhead attempted to identify the most lethal part of the target and steered for it.
The seconds ticked by, and the kinetic warhead impacted against one of the Triton’s warheads. The SM-4 hit and provided one hundred and thirty megajoules of kinetic energy to the American object, destroying the first warhead of the battle.
MUKDEN, P.R.C.
Finished with his duties some time ago, a dazed Captain Han stood to the side. He watched operations in the large Nexus Central Command Underground Station. Green-jacketed operators at various stations used touch screens. Standing behind them, Space Service officers cursed or stared fixedly at the TVs. Others spoke into receivers.
“There, sir,” an operator said. “If you’ll look up on the big screen….”
Han turned his attention to the Nexus’s big screen, tracking the flock of ASBMs approaching the invasion fleet. Red blips had ASBM numerals under them. One winked out, a kill by a SM-4.
No one cheered yet. It was much too early for that.
The fleet was a cluster of blue-colored blips that cruised just south of the Aleutian Islands off the Alaskan Peninsula.
“Make certain the pilots are alerted,” the Air Commodore said.
Han noticed yellow blips. The majority of them circled the blue blips. They were Type Nine laser-planes on combat air patrol around the fleet. A few yellow blips moved away from the Kamchatka Peninsula of Siberia and toward the fleet. They would likely be far too late for the battle. The planes used short-ranged lasers, at least short as compared to the strategic ABM lasers.
“Where are the space-mirrors?” Han asked. “Why don’t we use them?”
A tech watching beside him whispered, “What was that, Captain?”
“Why aren’t we using our space-mirrors, bouncing our ABM lasers off them to destroy these ASBMs?”
“The Americans had the foresight to attack and de-calibrate the mirrors,” the tech replied.
Han nodded sagely. The Americans had fallen behind in the technological race, but they were still cagey.
More ASBM blips began to wink out on the big screen. That still left far too many. They would surely destroy the supercarriers, the heart of the fleet’s offensive power. That would end the invasion before it began. How would the Chairman and the Ruling Committee react to that?
“Why aren’t our Type Nine planes firing yet?” the Air Commodore asked.
“Range, sir,” one of the nearest operators said. “In another thirty seconds—”
“That’s cutting it too fine,” the Air Commodore said, as he stepped closer to the big screen. The Air Commodore arched his head to look up as he clenched his fists.
“Sir!” an operator said. “The Tritons are entering the atmosphere. The terminal phase has begun and the enemy warheads are maneuvering.”
Han didn’t know how anyone could make sense of the big screen. It was a blizzard of lines and colored blips. He noticed that lines stabbed from the yellow blips. The lines connected to the fast-moving red blips. There was less than two minutes to impact.
PACIFIC OCEAN
The Triton warheads with their semi-maneuverable vehicles and advanced guidance systems zeroed in on the supercarriers or anything that looked or gave the electronic signature of a giant ocean-going vessel.
High in the atmosphere, however, were the Type Nine COIL anti-ballistic planes flying combat air patrol. Each plane had a medium-ranged-powered laser, much weaker than China’s strategic ABM lasers. The plane’s lasers were chemical-powered as compared to the heavier pulse-lasers ringing China.
Each Type Nine was as large as a Chinese cargo airbus used to transport a main battle-tank to distant theaters of war. Each Type Nine used a COIL weapon: a chemical oxygen iodine laser. The beam was infrared and therefore invisible to the naked eye. A mixture of gaseous chlorine, molecular iodine with hydrogen peroxide, and potassium hydroxide fed the laser. A halogen scrubber cleaned traces of chlorine and iodine from the laser exhaust gases. The focusable beam was transferred by an optical fiber, and it speared through the atmosphere at the Triton warheads.
The COIL planes represented China’s entire fleet, kept aloft by tankers. The scale of the operations was immense and impressive.
The Type Nine COIL planes continued to stab their lasers at the last warheads. The SM-4 missiles and the COIL beams had destroyed ninety-three percent of the attack. Now, the few American warheads to survive the journey began to strike with fantastic results.
PRCN SUNG
Admiral Ling gazed out of the ballistic glass on the supercarrier’s bridge. Something flashed down from the heavens. There was a brighter flash on the horizon. Ling stood frozen for a moment. Then he turned to a computer screen.
There was a sweaty, frightened odor on the bridge as the crew waited for life or death.
“No,” Ling groaned.
“They destroyed a carrier,” an operator whispered.
“Look, sir,” an excited operator told Ling. “The next one hit a camouflaged destroyer.”
The Sung’s XO laughed, nodding happily.
Admiral Ling didn’t laugh. He was glad the next warhead had missed another carrier. Yes, the last hit was good for China and the invasion fleet, but not good for the sailors on the destroyer. They had pulsed signals, trying to electronically mimic a carrier. The crew had paid the ultimate price for their success.
A terrific explosion occurred nearby.
Stricken, Admiral Ling looked up. “Was that another carrier?”
“…no, sir,” an operator said. “I think the warhead hit a fuel tender.”
Admiral Ling nodded sickly, waiting for it to be over. How many more ships would the Americans hit?
There was yet another explosion, another massive spot on the horizon. Everyone on the bridge waited. Ling was finding it hard to breath.
“Another fuel tender, sir,” an officer said.
Ling nodded.
Then a horn blared. It was the AI Kingmaker’s way of saying that the ASBM attack was over.
“We did it,” the XO told Admiral Ling. The man grinned. “Soon it will be our turn to attack the Americans.”
Admiral Ling became thoughtful. They had survived with most of the fleet intact. Rubbing his stump of a left shoulder, Admiral Ling sighed. His fleet was headed toward the tip of the Aleutian Islands. The invasion of Alaska was about to begin.
ANCHORAGE, ALASKA
“Professor” Stan Higgins checked his watch. He had ten minutes to talk to his dad. Then he had to hightail it to the National Guard Depot. The news yesterday about the Chinese Fleet had frightened everyone at school.
We attacked the fleet with ASBMs and failed to take it out. They’ve already taken out two of our supercarriers in San Francisco. It looks like the Chinese are winning.
Stan sat in a cubicle with ballistic glass and a phone before him. The door in the other room opened. His dad wore orange prison garb and was flanked by a guard. Mack looked around in confusion.
It hurt to see his dad like this. His father stooped more and his leathery skin sagged on his face. The worst was his cloudy eyes and that his wrists were handcuffed. What was the reason for that?
Stan banged on the glass to get his dad’s attention.
Instead of gaining that, a guard in the visitor’s room told him, “Hey, don’t hit the glass. If you do it again your time is over.”
Stan hunched his shoulders. He waved to his dad. The guard with Mack grabbed his dad’s arm. Big Mack Higgins flinched. More than anything else, that put a pit of pain in Stan’s gut. What had the guards done to his dad to make that happen? His father was a brave man, not easily frightened.
Has Officer Jackson been in to hit him again?
One of these days, Stan would like to face off with Jackson, both of them with nightsticks. Jackson was bigger and might have more training with the sticks, but Stan would jump at the chance to have a fair fight without the law involved. Then they would see what happened.
His dad sat down on the stool in the other cubicle. Stan picked up his phone and smiled. The cloudiness was still in his dad’s eyes.
They’ve drugged him. The creeps have drugged my dad. Stan tapped on the glass.
“I thought I told you—” the guard in the visitor room said.
“Sorry,” Stan said. “I won’t do it again.”
“If you do,” the guard said, “you ain’t coming back. Got it?”
Stan’s eyes narrowed. It made his dad give him a questioning look. Shaking his phone, trying to forget about the guard, Stan mouthed, “Pick up your phone.”
It must have worked, because Mack did.
“Hello, Dad,” Stan said.
“Son?”
“Are you all right?”
Mack scowled. “They’re poisoning me with drugs that are ruining my thinking. The aliens must be trying to erase my memory.”
“Has anyone hit you?” Stan asked.
Mack touched his side. “A few times.” A slow grin worked onto his face. “But I fought back.”
Stan wanted to groan.
Mack put a hand on the glass. Two of the fingernails were cracked and black underneath. “Is it true the aliens are about to invade?”
“Do you mean the Chinese?”
“Not them, but the aliens—the ones pulling the Chinese strings.”
“The Chinese blew up two of our carriers in San Francisco,” Stan said. “Have you heard about that?”
Mack nodded. “They’re a clever and treacherous people. We must nuke them as MacArthur said. Son, if they’re coming for Alaska, they’ll hit Anchorage sooner or later.”
Stan nodded. His wife and kids had tried to get out at the airport, but couldn’t. And all the boats were full. All the cruise ships had long since left, and they were closing the highways.
“The Chinese will send paratroopers to grab the airport,” Mack said.
“That seems like a logical move,” Stan said. He’d taken out a map yesterday, figuring out what he’d do if he were the enemy. “If the Chinese control metropolitan Anchorage, they’ve conquered half the population, grabbed the most important ports and the critical airport. It seems like it would be easy from there to rush to the main passes. Then they could bottle up the rest of Alaska and set up defensive positions into Canada, making it nearly impossible for reinforcements arriving from British Columbia or the Yukon.”
“Let me out of here to help you,” Mack said. “I can lead a counter-terrorist squad. We’ll sweep the Federal government buildings of alien sympathizers.”
Stan winced. If they’re recording this, my dad is toast. They might send recordings like those to Homeland Security. They’d be sure to kick me out of the National Guard then.
“Dad, listen to me. I want you…to fool the aliens.”
“What do you know?”
“I think they’re monitoring the phones,” Stan said. “You need to confuse the sympathizers by acting as peaceful as possible.”
Mack squeezed his phone as he stared at Stan. “No! They know who I am. They’re trying to break my will by having psychologists convince me I’m crazy.” Mack laughed. “Besides us two, the aliens have bamboozled nearly everyone else.”
That’s the definition of insane: when you believe you’re the only one who’s sane.
“I know what you mean,” Stan said. “But listen, try to pretend. Go along with them for a little while until I can spring you.”
Mack shoulders straightened. “Are you talking about a jailbreak?”
Stan put a finger in front of his mouth. Then he pointed at the guard. His father nodded in a knowing way.
