Invasion: Alaska

Before contact occurred, the airport’s laser batteries lit the skies with stabbing beams. U.S. Wyvern missiles roared from their launching pads. AA guns poured tracer fire into the air. It was a maelstrom.

Chinese fighters went down. F-22s blew apart. Then Chinese missiles began to arrive at the airport, and explosions occurred. The missiles knocked out radar stations, SAM sites and a laser focusing system.

The surviving laser began to overheat as bombers appeared in the sky. The last Wyverns launched as the Herons unloaded their smart bombs.

Few of the Chinese Herons left the vicinity of Anchorage airport, as the F-35s now attacked.

It was a costly battle on both sides. The Chinese had more planes. The Americans had ground-based weaponry helping them. As the Chinese knocked out those systems, though, they finally gained air superiority over the airport.

* * *

“Sir,” a radar operator asked Sims. “What are those do you think?” He pointed at his screen, at the blizzard of blips that seemed to rise from the ground.

“I don’t care what they are,” said Sims. “Kill them!”

“Can’t do it at the moment, sir,” the operator said. “The last laser is re-juicing.”

Sims had a cold feeling in his chest.

“What are they, sir?”

“I wish I knew,” said Sims.

* * *

The last wave of the Chinese attack approached Anchorage airport. They were heavy Chinese choppers. During the intense air-battle, the helicopters had sped over the waves of Cook Inlet. Now they streaked for Anchorage airport. As the heavy choppers neared, remaining flak guns opened up in the city. The first chopper exploded in a hail of gunfire.

Now bay doors rolled open on the Chinese craft. One after another, men leaped out of the bays. They wore dinylon body-armor and Eagle-7 jetpacks. The elite Eagle Teams engaged their rugged battlefield thrusters. Kept airborne and mobile, each soldier used a joystick-control to guide him. They had assault rifles, grenades and RPGs, although none of them used their weapons yet. They were too busy flying their jetpacks.

The flak guns continued to pound the choppers, and the big machines kept dropping out of the sky, most minus their jetpack cargos. Now the Eagle Teams swooped for the cratered airport. It was a sight, men dangling in their jetpacks.

Lieutenant Chiang led his squad. He watched the ground rush up toward him as the wind whistled past his helmeted head. He had thick wrists and a steady hand. Behind him on his back, the jet whined. His bones shook, but he loved this. Checking his gauge, he saw that he had another fifteen minutes of fuel.

He approached a flat-looking building. Americans ran outside. They held assault guns. Some of the Americans knelt, raised their weapons and began firing. Chiang clenched his teeth as he concentrated on flight.

A bullet whanged off his dinylon armor. Chiang shouted as he veered to the side. He almost lost his balance, and that would have sent him plummeting to his death. Around him, Chinese jetpack- soldiers indeed fell to the ground. Fortunately, his pack’s internal gyro stabilized him. Chiang knew he had to touch down fast. He used his joystick, and he felt a sudden lurch as the ground rushed up.

Then several Chinese attack helicopters swooped in with the Eagle Teams. The 25mm chainguns cut down the Americans firing up at Chiang.

I’m saved. It was a wonderful feeling.

With another deft use of his joystick, Lieutenant Chiang’s feet touched down. He shut off the jetpack and unsnapped his harness. With a clang, the assembly fell from his shoulders.

Chiang was barely in time. More Americans ran out of the building. Throwing himself prone on the tarmac, Chiang brought his assault rifle to bear and began firing, cutting down the first American.

Then other Eagle Team members touched down and shed their packs. Chinese soldiers began shouting to one another.

They were on the verge of capturing the airport. Lieutenant Chiang knew if they could keep the airport for any length of time, the admiral could begin air-ferrying naval soldiers into this critical rear position of the Alaskan defense. Admiral Ling would have taken the city and stranded the Americans on the Kenai Peninsula.

* * *

“Recall all of them!” Sims shouted. He’d stripped Anchorage of defenders earlier, sending them to the front to try to stem the Chinese push.

“Sir, what about the highway strongpoints?”

“If we lose Anchorage, none of that matters. Recall the Army Rangers in their helicopters and land them as close as you can to the airport. We have to get it back, now! We have to drive the Chinese out of there or the game is over!”

* * *

Lieutenant Chiang led the assault against the last Americans in the airport. The Eagle Team commander radioed him afterward, telling Chiang the Americans wouldn’t give them much time. They had to set up fast and hold until the Chinese naval infantry got here.

JUNCTION HIGHWAY ONE/NINE, ALASKA

News of the jetpack attack on the Anchorage airport swept through the defenders waiting along Highway One.

“Are we cut off back here?” men asked.

It was four hours of questions, of growing panic, before the Chinese bombardment at the front sent soldiers cowering to their foxholes and trenches. Stan Higgins awaited the attack in his Abrams.

They had the high slope here, a long upward area with big boulders and rocks strewn everywhere. There were pines in places, but more stumps. Chainsaws had been buzzing for endless hours—days. Now the slope was a giant boulder-earthen-pine strongpoint, protecting the highway that wound through the American position.

“I still don’t understand,” whispered Jose. “If the Chinese hold Anchorage airport—”

“How many times must I tell you?” Stan asked. “They struck at the airport, but I doubt they’ll be able to keep it long.”

“Why not?” asked Jose.

“Because we can’t afford to lose it and certainly not Anchorage,” said Stan. “It’s the key to Alaska. General Sims will use everything we have to dislodge the Chinese from the airport.”

“Where does that leave us?”

“So far, we’ve been lucky.”

“How do you figure that, Professor?”

“The Chinese haven’t attacked us here yet. If I were them, I’d hit us hard right now while the men are shaky.”

“What do you think this bombardment is?”

Stan peered through his scope. He was worried about the jetpack strike like everyone else. His reading of history also let him understand something: the psychology of the attack. Men liked being brave. Soldiers honored courage. If a man faced the enemy with his friends, he could usually hold his spot. That had been particularly true of ancient combat. What men and soldiers hated, however, was having somebody at his back. The reason was obvious. An enemy at your back could hit you freely. Therefore, in ancient times particularly, if enemy troops managed to get behind an enemy formation, the soldiers in the formation often ran away. Once they broke formation, they lost the battle. Having the Chinese in their back lines frightened the men up here. It was a mental thing, a spiritual thing, yet it was very real for all that.

“I don’t hear anything,” said Jose.

“The bombardment has stopped,” said Stan, as he peered through his scope.

“I hope so.”

I don’t, Stan told himself. It meant the main attack was coming. Moreover, if Jose and Hank were any indicator, the American side was shaken by the news of the Anchorage airport assault. It might not be so easy holding today with panicked soldiers.

“Oh no,” whispered Jose.

Stan stood, opening the commander’s hatch. He thrust up, but not too high, lest he hit his head on the heavy