Dan And The Bottle Ch 17

Ok, folks, here is the next chapter. For those of you who think I might be wrapping things up, well... maybe. I'm still considering several other 'sidestreets' that this overly long tale can go down, so bear with me, I'm still making up my mind on a few of them. I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far, stay tuned, and all the rest of that happy stuff.

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John Corcoran looked out over the assembled troops, smiling with pride. They'd come such a long way in just a few short years. Between the Rebels from Jackson Hole and the Juniper troops, who had arrived the night before, plus his own Militia troops, over eight thousand men and women were ready to move against the Chinese base... and that didn't take into account the numerous pilots and the crews driving the various APCs and tanks.

It meant stripping all three bases, along with literally dozens of small towns, down to the barest of minimums; still, it was what the commanders deemed necessary to ensure a decisive victory against the invaders, while keeping their own casualties to a minimum.

Their battle plan was simple and straightforward; Chinook troop carriers, escorted by Apache, Blackhawk, and Cobra gunships, would ferry some of the advance troops into place, fifteen to twenty miles out from the Chinese base, to locate and secure 'landing strips' on some of the old highways... where a number of the old cargo planes would land with the bulk of the troops, along with much of the lighter armor. The heavier tanks would drive up at the same time, accompanied by a number of deuce and a halves, APCS, and Hummers carrying more infantry and heavy weapon squads.

The Stealth fighters would drop in just before dawn, taking out the radar, the anti aircraft emplacements, and as many of the guard towers as they had smart bombs for, then the choppers and the Harriers would move in. By the time that bit of carnage was over, the snipers and the rest of the ground troops would be in position and the real fun could begin.

They knew that there was little chance that their intent would remain hidden for long... there was too much chance of the troop carriers and the helicopters showing up on the enemy radar. They were instead counting on speed and strength of sheer numbers, along with the superior training and the high morale of their own troops to carry the day. He had reconsidered, after a bit of persuading by Jim Archer, and they were actually back to the original plan.

'

The Stealth fighters would hit the two radar dishes well before dawn, and would then drop off all of their remaining smart bombs on guard towers, the main gate, anti air rocket emplacements and machine gun towers, followed up by the Hawker Harriers and the choppers. Tanks and APCs would follow them in, followed by ground troops backed up by snipers from the surrounding terrain. If all went as planned, they could have the entire operation wrapped up by early afternoon.

This base was surrounded on two sides by dense woods, but the other two sides were small, suburban homes. This was both good and bad, as the Chinese had taken to booby trapping both the wooded areas and local houses where people might be tempted to take shelter and use as hiding places to attack from. They used something similar to claymores, with tripwires that had to be carefully cut.

On the bright side, many of the houses surrounding the base to both the north and west were two and three stories high, giving the snipers up to two levels of height advantage.

Bob Sharpe ran through his preflight in the F-117, while around him four others did the same, checking the munitions listings and fuel levels, seeing to it that the engines were all running normally and the running gear was acting like it should. His flight of five ships would be the point men; if they didn't do their jobs right those who came behind would be in deep shit, and he knew it.

"Ok, people, listen up!" he said into the mask mic.

Four pilots perked up their ears.

"I want precision... You all know your targets, and you know what's at stake. When we get done, I want a clear path for the Harriers and the choppers. Be careful what you hit, there are American POWs down there and we want them coming home with us alive. Radio silence from this point on until after those radar dishes are knocked out. Sharpe out!"

There was a chorus of 'Yes Sirs' and then silence.

The flight to the enemy base took an uneventful twenty minutes, and, as planned, the nearest of their ground troops had laser sighting devices pinpointing the radar dishes and other targets when they got within three miles of the base.

Each of the Stealth fighter/bombers chose their appointed targets and let fly, switching between targets as fast as they could, exhausting their loads of smart bombs and switching to air to ground missiles to take out the control tower and the main gates and destroying strategically placed sections of the fences.

Lieutenant Hin was in an utter panic. Whatever was up there had taken out both of their radar towers, six rocket emplacements, four machine gun towers, the control tower, the main gate, and at least ten sections of fence... and he couldn't even see them in the pre-dawn gloom. What was worse, the Chinese knock-off of an American Stinger missile that he held to his shoulder couldn't even get a reading, much less a lock on any target up there. He thought, just for an instant, that he caught a look at something as another Maverick missile left one of the Stealths, and he fired blindly.

Lt. Jimmy 'Coop' Cooper saw the missile headed towards him and deployed a pair of flares behind as he kicked in the afterburners of the big jet, adding a load of chaff for good measure.

The Chaff countermeasure had barely left it's bay in his plane when the Stinger caught it, exploding just behind him and peppering his plane with shrapnel. His rudder control suddenly felt sluggish, though he still had control.

"Major, I'm hit."

Sharpe heard this, but recognized Coop's voice, and knew there was no hint of panic there. Cooper was one of his more level headed pilots.

"Can you get back to base, Coop?"

"I think so, Boss."

"Alright, Brother man... nice and easy, I'll stay alongside of you the rest of the way back. Don't try to push it, just grab some altitude... go up to angel's ten and hold it there until we get close to Juniper."

Both men pulled back on their control sticks and climbed to ten thousand feet, giving Cooper ample room for error if he had to punch out and abandon the aircraft. The short flight was uneventful, though, and Cooper managed to land the black jet and taxi it over to the mouth of the tunnel leading to the repair hanger.

Back at the Chinese base, utter chaos reigned.

Snipers were picking off Chinese troopers as they left their barracks, and American armor was rushing into the camp from all sides. One APC in particular, with big guns built on to either side, drove through a hole in the fence, set itself across from the barracks, and opened fire, the two cannon firing rounds that appeared to be explosive; three buildings were virtually vaporized in a matter of minutes.

Commander Chun ran out of his quarters and looked around in dismay and utter fury; these were His men, and this was His base. How dare these American bandits attack their betters?! He was still screaming orders that nobody could hear when a sniper's bullet took him in the upper left shoulder, spinning him to the ground. He was out of the fight, never having had the chance to get properly dressed. He would be found later, by one of the troopers, who would haul him to his platoon Sergaent for rudimentary bandaging and subsequent interrogation.

Three of the six Harriers hovered fifty yards out from the base fences, seeking and finding targets for their Mavericks at every turn. Two fired simultaneously at the hanger where the Hinds were stored; the two missiles hit in rapid succession, and the entire building exploded in a fireball that was visible from miles away.

Four Blackhawks, six Apaches, and four Cobras, along with three Harriers, ringed the base, firing missiles and miniguns and their M2 .50s into the surrounding buildings and some of the surrounding terrain, setting off the mines that the Chinese had salted the ground with. As they exhausted their ammo, they turned away to return to the Militia base, leaving behind a path of destruction that the troops could walk through with impunity.

The American troops began a slow advance into the remains of the base, even as the four Abrams tanks drove back and forth through the fences, widening the holes and flattening the remnants of some of the guard towers. One of the surviving Chinese troops managed to get a machine gun back upright; he opened fire on the nearest tank, his rounds barely scratching the paint on the fifty ton behemoth, but catching the attention of those inside.

Before those inside the tank could react, however, Mark Watson came stepping up out of the gloom, looking for targets... seeing the foolish soldier, he spun to bring the six rotating barrels of the personal minigun he was carrying to bear... ripping the man in half. He grinned, once again giving thanks for the fact that he was one of the few men strong enough to carry the mini-Gatling gun.

Sarah Jennison ran into the camp, making a beeline for the structure that the surveillance told them housed the female slaves, and found... nothing. The building was empty. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she instructed her girls to spread out and search the entire camp, looking for the women while praying that they were still alive.

Finally, the voice of Jill Everheart came over her headset. "Ma'am, over here, northern side of the camp... you're going to want to see this."

"Any survivors?"

"A few dozen, maybe... we're going to need medics over here on the double. It's... it's pretty bad, Ma'am."

The women had been moved to a building that, according to their surveillance, had been a barracks full of enemy troops. It had subsequently been hit by at least one rocket and a long burst of machine gun fire, perhaps more than one.

Twenty seven of the occupants were dead or dying, and twenty six more were seriously wounded.

Sarah didn't hesitate. "McCoy, Carruthers, get out there, find the ambulances, bring back every medic you can find, on the double!"

Within five minutes, a dozen medics and nurses came back to the building; by the time they were finished, they were nearly out of bandages and other supplies in their kits. They managed to save the lives of forty two of the female prisoners, out of a total of sixty three. Only ten of the women in the building had not been hit. The counselors were going to be busy for quite some time to come.

They found a wealth of intelligence at the base communications shed, and a long list of radio contacts... it would take their intel people several weeks to go through it all.

They also found the usual stacks of supplies, both Chinese and American, much of which was in sad shape. They decided, this time, to leave all of the weapons behind, taking only the ammunition and a few other odds and ends, making more room in the trucks for the wounded and the former prisoners. Corcoran called in four of the Chinooks to ferry the worst of the wounded back to the Cave... including all of the women the Chinese had held prisoner.

The hospital wing of the Cave would be a very busy place for the next three days.

Bill Jackson lay in the hospital bed, still wondering how he had missed the trigger that had blown up the house he was going to shoot from. His legs felt like they were held down by lead weights; he lay there for the first several days wondering if he would ever be able to walk again... but the counselor who came to see him assured him that he would, and consoled him by pointing out that he had fared better than two of his comrades. Pete Mollen and Johnny Glenhurst had been hit by enemy fire and had suffered spinal injuries. Both men were paralyzed from the waist down.

Jim Archer, John Corcoran, Lou Gunn, Bob Gunderson, Herb Montgomery, and Rick Jamison sat in conference, going over the after battle reports and the reams of intelligence they'd picked up. There was a listing of radio contacts and frequencies amongst the pile, and Montgomery was shocked to find out that one of the people in one of his satellite towns was on that list. A spy amongst his own people was the last thing he'd expected to find.

Archer sat back at the table, rubbing his eyes... he'd been up for over two and a half days, and fatigue was settling deep into his bones. Finding out that there were Americans spying for the Chinese was taking a toll, too... it was demoralizing, learning that people he'd had a hand in freeing were actually helping the soldiers his people were fighting.

Lou Gunn sat, deep in thought; he recognized one of the men from the photographs of the assorted spies the enemy was using. He'd met the man... it was one of the wandering traders he'd met while out on patrol. The Chinese were supplying him with the weapons and ammunition to guard his trade caravan, along with trade goods to aid in his 'cover' identity.

Corcoran sat, going over some of the reports when it occurred to him. Maybe it was time to switch tactics again. He reached for the phone on the tabletop, punching in the number for the main warehouse chamber.

Frank Bergen picked up on the third ring. "Warehouse."

"Frank, it's John Corcoran... listen, do we have any wooden wagons down there that we could modify for long distance trading? Something that could be pulled by a couple of horses?"

Archer looked up sharply at this; he had an idea that he knew where Johnny was going with this.

Bergen had to think on it for a moment; then he nodded to himself. "I think we could fix up something for that, Sir... what do you have in mind?"

"C'mon up to the council room for a few minutes... and bring along a sketch pad. We've got work to do."

Archer, Jamison, Montgomery, and Gunn exchanged looks; all had some idea of what he was thinking, though none were certain.

They called down to the kitchens as they waited, knowing this was going to be a long night, and platters of cold cuts, cheese, bread, pizza, and urns of coffee and jugs of juices were brought in just ahead of Bergen's arrival. After everyone had set themselves up with food and drink, they settled in for a long planning session.

Bob Gunderson nodded when Corcoran laid out his ideas; he knew a few of the older men from the villages who could pull this off.

"I know a few folks that would be perfect for this; the question isn't can they do it... but Will they?"

Archer nodded. "We can't order them... it has to be voluntary. If they're grumbling about being 'sent out', they could easily blow their own cover."

Montgomery agreed. "That, and if we ask, and they turn us down, they have to be sworn to secrecy. We can't have anyone blabbin' all over town about how we asked 'em to go out and put themselves at risk to gather intelligence for us."

Jamison nodded. "It'll have to be a team, or teams, I suppose... men and women who can work together. Small weapons only, and some way to conceal them if they run up on a patrol they can't handle. Could we rig up these wagons with some false floorboards, or something similar?"

Bergen grinned and nodded. "I'll have the lads work up something. What kind of 'trade goods' though? What trades well out in the wastes where they'll be heading?"

Gunderson spoke up. "The things we were always too short on, back in the village... needles and thread, fabric for fixing old clothes up, a few bows and arrows might be good..."

Jamison spoke up. "What about other weapons? Guns and ammo?"

Gunderson frowned at this. "No... anyone with guns out there... they'll think you're working for the soldiers. Mundane goods would be better... blankets are always good, the thicker the better. Anything that looks a bit on the old side. Winter clothing... a good, thick sweater or coat is worth ten times it's weight in food. Dried meat... preferably smoked; that will bring a premium. Smoked fish would be good too. Fishnets... fishing string and hooks... farmin' tools are always good, axes, shovels, rakes, hoes, and the like, as long as they look old. Knives and scissors. Maybe a few hundred of those firestarter thingies. Nothing new, that'll raise too many questions."

Archer nodded. "No problem... we've found enough of that stuff in some of these abandoned homes to outfit a dozen traders. Hmmmm... what about bottles of juice?"

"You'll need a good story to go with that... something like 'We ran across an old couple who was squeezing apples, or grapes, or whatever'. Fill up a dozen or so of those little bottles... the ones with those screw on tops. Nothing they can't explain... orange juice, or lemonade, those would take some explainin'. Maybe some of those old camp type coffee pots, tell 'em they can use 'em for boilin' water, gettin' the bugs and whatnot out. Unbroken glass jars, especially if they've got lids, those are a prize. Candles are always good too, if they look homemade."

Archer smiled... Even Gunderson, who had been with them for a few years now, wasn't entirely comfortable with some of the new things he'd learned, not completely. He looked up, catching Frank Bergen's eye.

"The wagons will need some hidden stashes... for guns, digital cameras, night vision gear, spare magazines and ammo... I don't want these guys going out defenseless. Add a spot for a satellite phone, too, and some way to keep 'em charged. Do we have any of those little solar panel battery chargers?"

Bergen nodded. "I can rig something up. No worries. What kind of weapons are we talking about, though?"

Archer and Corcoran looked at each other, frowning in thought for a minute. It was Corcoran who finally spoke.

"We want to keep it compact... but as much firepower as we can pack into a tight spot. Silenced pistols, maybe a few of the M4 Carbines, one silenced hunting rifle... something with a scope, so they can take out an enemy from a distance would be good... we can't go too far overboard with it."

"What about sabotage equipment? What if they run up on a situation where they could, say, rig up some explosives, something like that?"

Archer mulled it over for a few seconds, but it was Jamison who beat him to the punch.

"No... absolutely not... we need these guys gathering intelligence, not strung up by the first soldiers who see them. If they run around killing people deliberately and blowing stuff up, the Chinese might put two and two together and start hitting every wandering trader, just on general principles. It's too much of a risk. Defensive weapons only, and we have to stress the fact that they're for a last resort only. Carry weapons should be bows, maybe a few crossbows, knives... that sort of thing."

Corcoran smiled... his counterpart from Juniper was thinking like a veteran spymaster already, anticipating problems instead of trying to solve them after the fact.

Montgomery spoke up. "We could use them to spread some rumors, while we're at it... like... 'I hear those militia types have an old missile silo... or two, or three... with an intact nuke, or a bunch of cruise missiles', or something along those lines."

Corcoran started to smile; it was obvious he liked the idea... but Archer frowned in thought.

"We do that, we're painting a target square on our backs, and on our cities. A whispering campaign like that could backfire on us big-time." He shook his head. "No... I think having our faux traders gathering intel quietly, reporting back by satphone is pushing it."

Sherice came to the bedroom, having finally gotten Julie Ann to sleep, and shed her robe, laying down next to her husband with an exhausted sigh. They'd both had a long day, serving up food to the many wounded in the hospital wing for nearly fourteen hours. George rolled over, taking her in his arms, content just to have his arms around her again. She kissed him lightly.