New World Order: California Invasion (Vol. 2) Page 3

  On the second ring a familiar voice answered, “Hello.”

  “This is the President of the United States, let me speak to The Boss.”

  “Give me a few minutes, sir, and I'll see if he can take your call.”

  “Tell him I have seen the video and need to talk to him.”

  “Yes, sir, I will tell him. Give me a minute or two, please.”

  Placing the President on hold was done to make him sweat, but the Commander-in-Chief had downed too many double whiskeys to sweat. As he waited, he turned on the television. It was the news, and all it showed was violence and dead bodies. There was some footage of a CSA airstrike that had hit a military complex over night, and over 40 had been killed. They then interviewed a United Nations pilot who'd been shot down defending the facility and while he looked rough, with small cuts and bruises all over his face, he complained of a shortage of missiles. The President knew the missiles were manufactured in Macon, Georgia, now a CSA state. As a result, until the old US air bases in the United States of America expanded the production and supply of American made munitions they were stuck with using UN weapons systems, and US pilots were complaining that only about 40% of the missiles worked.

  “Hello, Mister President.”

  “Hello, Paul. I trust you are well. I got your message and video.”

  “I am well, but I'm afraid your man was more of a pussy than a real man.”

  “I am following your last orders, and those Republicans still in the street are being rounded up and taken to prison. Additionally, anyone with a gun and without a gun license is being killed on the spot. As of this morning those who resist us, Republicans, Christians, and gays are being shot and in large numbers. This morning we executed 500 gays of both genders, 600 Christians, and 400 Republicans, but those numbers will soon grow much larger.”

  “Excellent, Herr President. You will never get another warning from us. However, you may want the wife of Stovall on your staff, because she killed five of my men with the help of only one man. I find her much tougher than her husband. Now, I want you to get off your ass and plan an invasion of the CSA or you will soon be replaced. I do not care where you invade, but wars are not won by sitting on your ass and letting the enemy come to you. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir, I fully understand, and I'll move on it today.”

  “Guten Tag, mein Herr, und move on things today. If we have to teach you another lesson Herr President, you will be the victim, not a member of your staff.” The Boss said, and the line went dead.

  The President was still holding his drink in his right hand and the receiver in his left. He hung up the blue phone. He knocked his drink back and more or less fell into his stuffed leather chair.

  He dialed for Norman, and when the young man answered, the President said, “I want to meet with the entire Joint Chiefs of Staff in one hour. Additionally, notify the concentration camps that I want four times the number of criminals killed daily and that is to start immediately—today. Authorize the police to raid any home they suspect may have illegal guns. I want anyone having a gun and all people with them killed. Now, get your ass moving.”

  Two hours later, now in a meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, he considered what he'd just been told. The UN troops were good, but language got in the way at times, or some of their gear was not constructed to American standards. Seemed all he'd heard was this excuse or that excuse. He was mad, his anger fed by the bottle he'd made a big dent in, and it wasn't even noon yet.

  The President cleared his throat and said, “I want an invasion plan drawn up, and I am giving you 48 hours. I don't care which state we invade, but I want a plan. Our last invasion, into Missouri, is still going on, but we've been stalled. I want the commander there fired, and today. Once his replacement arrives, make the old commander disappear. Now, I'm warning all of you, have it ready two days from now, or heads will roll.”

  As the President moved to leave the room, an old Army E-9 yelled, “Tennn – hooouuut.” They all stood as the drunken man moved slowly from the room.

  Army Colonel Thomas Gamble stood on Main Street in the small university town of Rolla, Missouri, and shook his head. His men were clearing the building of snipers and others who may be giving the Rebels support. The snipers had moved into the city and were taking potshots at his men. The problem was that the shooters were deadly. So far this evening he had five men and women down in less than ten minutes. Gamble was an Englishman and while he felt the UN was not needed here, he obeyed orders. Beside him was a tank, and on the other side of him was a man with a flamethrower who was about to move into the building with a squad of English soldiers. In many of the buildings there were stores on the ground floor, mostly empty now, and upstairs rooms rented to college students and others on limited income. Under Gamble's orders, snipers were to be killed on sight. If taken prisoner, they were to be executed right then.

  There came a loud shot, and a soldier standing in front of the tank screamed loudly and then fell, blood from his chest running into a slowly expanding puddle on the cobblestone street. The bullet went through the man, struck the tank, and then ricocheted, striking another man about to enter the building. This one fell screaming as his hands grabbed his lower belly, where the chunk of lead had struck him.

  “Sergeant, find that sniper now, and the rest of you bloody fools seek some cover.” It's a shame when I have to tell a soldier to find a hiding place.

  The tank commander was in the open hatch, his machine-gun ready to use, except it would not elevate high enough to strike the roof. While the Colonel had considered destroying the structure with the tank's cannon, he was under orders to keep destruction at a minimum, if possible.

  There was movement on the roof and then a liquid was thrown toward the ground. It struck the commander, some ran into the open hatch, and a great deal struck the drivers hatch, which was open as well.

  It took the tank commander just a split second to realize he was in danger, as was his whole crew, so he screamed a warning, “Out now, that was petrol! Out, out, out!”

  Glancing up, he spotted a lighted Molotov cocktail dropping from the roof. He'd just stood on the turret, when the homemade explosive hit his tank. When the bottle broke on contact, the burning rag ignited the gas inside the bottle and on the tank. With a loud woof the tank was covered in an almost clear flame.

  Screaming, the tank commander jumped from his tank and then staggered around on the ground in an almost comical way as he burned to death. Of his three man crew, only the driver got out alive and the lower half of his body was in flames. The gunner was heard screaming from inside the tank as the small space inside the vehicle filled with fire.

  “Someone wrap a blanket around the legs of the driver, and do it now.” Gamble ordered as he pulled his pistol and shot the commander in the chest. When the burning man fell, the Colonel shot him again, only in the head this time. The tank commander stopped moving.

  The driver's flames had been extinguished, and he was gone now.

  “Everyone, away from the tank, because the fuel and ammo will blow in few minutes!” he ordered with a yell, and then began to run up the street. Less than five minutes later, a loud 'ka-boom' sounded and the turret on the tank was blown high in the air, tumbling as it moved. Oily black smoke began to rise into the air mixed with bright red flames, and then the explosives began to cook off from the intense heat. Those who'd not taken shelter earlier, did so now.

  Hearing the radio in his hands squawk, the Colonel lifted it to his ear and said, “Say again, please.”

  “We have killed five, with most dying from the flamethrower. What is the noise I hear on the street, sir?”

  “The tank is cooking off and see, if possible, if you can spot any movement on other roofs, since you're on one of the higher buildings.”

  There sounded gunfire from around the UN troops and a few minutes later, the Sergeant said, “Colonel, I just lost four men, including the man carrying the flamethrower. All a
re dead. The sniper fire came from the direction of the bank, but I suspect it was from a structure higher than this.”

  “Copy, bring your dead and return to the unit.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  “Sir,” the radio operator said, “We have orders to pull back to the outside of town as they bring in some jets. They plan to bomb and use napalm on this place.”

  “Tell headquarters we are moving back now and I will let them know after we've left the town.” The Colonel said, but thought a second later, they will level this place and then send us in, only for what purpose? Most will be dead or severely wounded, and there is nothing of value in this town.

  “Yes, sir.” the radio operator replied, and then spoke into his handset.

  “First Sergeant, get the men into the trucks. We've been ordered to leave town and will do the job immediately.”

  “Yes, sir. Okay, you guys and gals heard the Colonel, into the trucks.” the First Sergeant ordered as he moved around the big deuce and a half vehicles, all marked with a big blue UN on the sides, roof, and hood. He kept his eyes skyward, hoping no partisan would lean over and send an RPG or rocket into one of the ten trucks.

  Something small popped in the burning tank and the First Sergeant turned to look. When he glanced at the tank, a truck in the middle of the column exploded, sending a black oily fireball into the sky.

  Screams were heard, but they were short lived, and it was then the Colonel yelled, “Get the trucks rolling now, and no stopping until we are out of town.”

  They drove around the burning vehicle and continued, taking the shortest route for them to get out of town. At 3rd street, they turned left and instantly the first and last trucks took hits, forcing both trucks, and those in the middle, to stop. Smoke was pouring from the engine compartment of the first truck.

  The First Sergeant jumped from his truck and had the troops from both trucks load on the remaining vehicles. Sniper fire pinged as it struck the concrete around him, but he ignored the shots. Finally, just before they were to move, he took a glancing blow to his left leg and down he went.

  “Medic!” he screamed as he crawled for the limited protection of the big trucks.

  One medic ran to the Sergeant, only to have the top half of his head taken off by a sniper, his Kevlar helmet not protecting him this time. He fell without making a sound, but his body twitched as it shut down. A smart thinking Corporal tossed the First Sergeant a rope, which he tied around his left wrist. He was slowly pulled toward a truck.

  When he was within four feet of the truck, four men ran out away from the truck to pack him to safety. A sniper fired four times and all four men fell, with three dead and one mortally wounded. They jerked the rope hard and when the First Sergeant was pulled behind the truck, they bandaged his knee. He was loaded in the back and the convoy moved around the first truck, which was now in flames. The hood was up and flames shot six feet into the air.

  “Great wound you have, First Sergeant. You'll be going home for surgeries. The round struck your kneecap and shattered it, so your war is over.” He then removed a morphine syringe and gave the man the drug in his arm. His pain instantly began to fade.

  They were about half way out of town when a machine-gun opened up and stitched the whole convoy. People screamed and fell over like dominoes as blood, bone, gore and guts flew through the air. The First Sergeant, on the floor, watched as red tracer rounds passed just inches above his face. He wanted to reach up and touch them, only his body refused to obey orders from his brain.

  “Any fighter aircraft, fixed wing or chopper, I'm taking severe ground fire from a machine-gun and need assistance now!” The Colonel yelled in his handset to be heard, the radio operator now dead.

  “Uh, what is your call sign, over?” a voice asked in reply.

  “Convoy Six One, over, and I am Convoy Six Actual.” he replied, knowing the One or Actual would identify him as the commander.

  “I'm a chopper with Gatling guns and missiles. Uh, give me your location.”

  Giving his map coordinates, the Colonel then said, “The machine-gun is west of me perhaps a hundred yards in what looks to be an old lumber yard.”

  “Copy, I have you visual now.” the chopper pilot replied as those on the ground heard the “whop-whop-whop” of the blades moving in the air.

  “Get down now, Convoy Six, because I'm rolling in hot!” Everyone saw the aircraft bank and line up on the machine-gun. Two puffs of smoke suddenly appeared and rockets were seen moving. No sooner had the rockets departed the aircraft, than the sound of a large zipper being unzipped was heard —which meant the Gatling gun was firing. The rockets exploded, screams were heard, and then the bullets from the Gatling gun were heard striking concrete. Some must have struck flesh because more yells were heard, and the pinging of the rounds striking the concrete was loud.

  “Move, and do the job now!” the Colonel ordered.

  The trucks began to move as soldiers inside began administering first aid to the many wounded. The dead were placed on the floor. In the First Sergeant's truck, ten dead were stacked near the cab, so he and the injured could be unloaded first. There would be no hurry to remove the dead.

  Once outside of town, the Colonel contacted headquarters and informed them he had half his unit dead or injured, but they were out of town.

  “Convoy Six Actual, remain where you are now unless ordered to move.”

  “Roger that, but my medics tell me I have ten troops that require a medivac, over.”

  “Copy and helicopters are on the way. When able, give us a total count of the injured and dead, and keep your heads down once the choppers arrive. We have word the partisans have both RPGs and shoulder fired missiles. Do you read, over?”

  “Roger that, Blue Goose. We'll be ready.”

  “I think you can contact the choppers on their frequency now, if you try. Call sign is Save One. This is Blue Goose, out.”

  Changing frequency, the Colonel said, “Save One, this is Convoy Six Actual, over.”

  “Uh, go ahead, sir.”

  “What is your ETA, over.”

  “Five minutes, so clear me a spot to land over.”

  “You!” the Colonel yelled at a man with three stripes.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Two choppers are inbound for our severely injured, so when required, pop smoke for them and help them land in the parking lot.”

  “Not a problem, sir.”

  Five minutes later, the first chopper was loaded and took off with no difficulty. The First Sergeant smiled as they gained altitude. The second chopper was loaded and as it began to lift off, the Colonel saw something fly into the cockpit compartment just before it exploded. The aircraft was low, maybe five feet and when it tilted to the side after being struck, the main blades struck the concrete and shattered.

  A long piece of the blade struck the man with three stripes, cutting him almost in half, and he fell back onto the hard surface, screaming in pain. The chopper struck the pavement and exploded once again as the fuel went up in flames.

  “Good God, look how many partisans there are!” someone screamed.

  From his position behind a truck, the Colonel spotted well over 500 partisans racing toward him, and he knew he was about enter into a fight he'd not win.

  Chapter 3

  James poured a cup of coffee and then asked, “Is everyone ready to go?”

  “Yep, all we're waiting for was the coffee to finish.”

  “Everyone who wants coffee, fill your cup now and load in the van. Let's move, because we have invaders to kill this morning.”

  As they loaded in the van, Frank asked, “Where are we heading, boss?”

  “The UN is in Rolla, so we'll try to sneak in and raise some hell with them. The last word we got by television was an airstrike was being called in.” Frank didn't talk much, but when he did, it was usually questions about an upcoming mission. James didn't mind, and figured the whole group would listen in as they talked.


  “Why would they announce that to the world?”

  “Who knows, but I suspect to allow any innocent civilians to leave. Only, we'll hang around outside of the town and move in after the air strike.”

  “Any idea how many UN troops are in the area?”

  “The television said close to 10,000, but I doubt it's half that many. Rolla only has a population of about 21,000 and most have fled the town.”

  Frank thought a moment and then asked, “How many partisans are active there, or do you have any idea?”

  “The last number I heard was 200, so thanks to the United Nations, it'll be a target rich environment for us.”

  “Hell, if they have 5,000, we're in serious trouble.”

  “Not really, we'll hit them, move, and then hit them again later.”

  “I know that, but if they corner us, it's all over but the dying.”

  “I can leave you, if you'd rather not come with us.” As he drove, he took a quick glance at Frank.

  “You misunderstand me, my friend. America, a good America, is worth fighting and dying for. I'm just getting a feel for our enemy.”

  “They'll be strong, and will bring all the power they have against us, you can be sure of it. The UN has all kinds of gear and equipment, but I'm after their people. If we can kill a dozen or so, and so can a dozen other small teams like ours, that'll be close to 150 troops killed for them. No unit can afford that many casualties in one battle during one day. The key is, we hit and then run. Mobility is the key to our survival, and remember that. Failure to move will get you killed.”

  “How far from town are you going to park the van?” Nancy asked from behind James.

  “I'll stop at the Lion's Club Park and then we'll move into town on foot. I want Dick on drag and Ben on point, move to the left of Fort Wyman school as we go over the hill, and then over the crest to the road near the cemetery. Avoid walking on the roads, but walk beside them. Once the air raid is over, we move in as soon as the aircraft are gone. I want you to take the road that runs parallel to the Rolla Cemetery and goes right into town. We'll pass by the old courthouse on the left, the tracks, and then by the old lumber company on the corner in town. From there, we'll split up into two cells and work independently of each other. The key is be back at the van by full dark, or I'll leave you.” He knew those that weren't at the van by dark were either dead or prisoners, with death preferred.