It was enough for many of the veteran soldiers of the 9th. They quickly packed their meager belongings and started marching again—this time toward the east, back to the the West Virginia hills. When their officers appeared and ordered them to stop, they ignored them and kept moving. And when their officers shot a few of them, the members of the 9th, returned the fire, killed the officers then fled.
The scene was repeated all over eastern Kansas and Missouri. Wherever the leaflets fell, the "borderline" Circle troops —veteran Mid-Aks, Family soldiers, mercenaries mostly —began questioning their resolve. Scattered mutinies, uprisings, and random defections started to take place. More than a few Circle commanders resorted to force to keep their soldiers in line. By morning, The Circle High Command estimated that they'd lost anywhere from 10
to 15 percent of their troops. The Russians believed even more had deserted.
How this would affect the planned link-up of their forces was anyone's guess.
What they didn't know was the worst was yet to come ...
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Back at the Denver Air Station, General Jones studied a video tape shot by an A-7 Recon Strikefighter and rushed to the situation room. Taken only an hour earlier, the tape clearly showed small groups of Circle Army deserters moving east along highways and secondary roads. Most were walking, some riding in commandeered trucks. Everywhere—blowing in wind, or scattered amongst the trees —were Hunter's propaganda leaflets. The Wingman had succeeded in covering most of eastern Kansas and Missouri with them.
Jones turned to the principal officers who had also gathered to watch the tape.
"Well, it looks like Hunter's brainstorm worked as well as could be expected,"
the general said. "It's certainly not a rout, but they are losing at least some of their paycheck soldiers."
"And those are the guys who are their veterans," Dozer added. "Most of them have been in combat
•*
before, some of them would have been tough nuts to crack. Leave it to Hunter to push the right buttons in them, and at the right time."
The others agreed.
"We can probably expect more of this after we hit their troop concentrations
—with real bombs —today," Jones said. "But there's another certainty we have to be prepared for from this, and I'm sure Hunter is as aware of it as we are.
"That is, as The Circle loses their veterans, only 353
the die-hard fanatics will remain." A grim silence descended on the room.
Jones continued. "When that Central Group hits our defense line, we can expect everything, even kamikaze attacks. That means we'll have to kill every last one of the bastards . . ."
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The two F-4X Phantoms known as the Ace Wrecking Company swept in over El Dorado Lake without warning. Coming in side-by-side, each jet deposited a fat napalm cannister right into the heart of the Circle encampment. A tidal wave of murderous burning jelly washed across the camp in an instant, igniting trees and flesh alike. For the thousands of Circle troops just waking up to the first light of dawn, it seemed as if they were still locked inside a horrible nightmare. Everywhere they saw their comrades running in panic, with their clothes, hair, faces on fire. Blood-curdling screams echoed throughout the old state park camping area. The flames reached ammunition stores, blowing them up and causing additional carnage. Many soldiers fled from their tents and leaped into the nearby lake.
The Phantoms pulled up, banked to the left and bore down on the encampment again. Two more large napalm cannisters were dropped. Another wave of fire tore through the camp. More screams.
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More burning flesh. More horrible death.
By the time the Wrecking Company made its third and final bombing run, a small firestorm was sweeping the encampment. Huge trees were exploding from the heat alone, perforating any soldiers nearby with thousands of searing deadly splinters. The heat from the gasoline-jelly flames now threatened those soldiers who had sought refuge in the lake. The temperature had become so unbearable near the shoreline, those troops who could had to swim for it.
Those who couldn't were forced back into the deeper water until they drowned.
Eventually, the fires became so hot, the lake itself began to steam . . .
High above, watching the action, was a small, dark, mysterious-looking fighter plane.
Thirty miles west of Topeka, a convoy of small boats was making its way on the Kansas River. The vessels —work barges, pleasure ships, fishing boats —were carrying an elite brigade of Circle Army sappers to Manhattan, Kansas, where they would be dispatched to the front. Moving the 2,000 troops by water had become necessary after an entire 20-mile stretch of the division's original route—Route 70—had been destroyed by Western Forces aircraft two days before.
Despite some grumbling from their soldiers after many had read the leaflets dropped by the enemy the night before, all was going smoothly for the 356
Circle commanders charged with sailing the makeshift fleet to Manhattan. The sappers were a cut above the ordinary Circle Army soldiers, therefore their resolve was more reliable. And now, with only ten miles to go to the landing port at Rocky Ford, the commanders were confident the force would arrive intact and on-time. Some were even beginning to enjoy the view along the pleasant, treelined river bank.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, they heard a loud chopping sound. There was a flash of smoke and flame from the northern shore treeline, and one of the boats —a huge commandeered yacht traveling third in line—exploded with a horrendous sound. The yacht went under in a matter of seconds.
The overall Circle commander, riding on a fishing vessel safely placed in the middle of the pack, leaped to his feet to see an Apache helicopter rise above the treeline. It had fired the missile that took out the boat, and was in the process of firing another one. The commander's eyes were diverted to the southern shoreline where another Apache had risen up just over the treeline.
It too was firing at the boats. Then another Apache rose up beside it. Then another and another. All were firing TOW rockets into the tightly packed line of boats. All were hitting their targets.
In a matter of 20 seconds, the air was filled with buzzing Apaches, strange-looking bug-like choppers, that were loaded with cannons and TOW
missile launchers. The Circle commander realized 357
they had foolishly sailed right into an ambush. They were literally sitting ducks for the Apaches. He could only watch as the helicopters methodically rocketed and strafed the boats. There were explosions everywhere. Bodies and pieces of bodies were being flung high into the air as it seemed like every TOW missile launched founds its mark. Some of the sappers gamely attempted to return the fire, but most were only armed with M-16s and hand guns and their effort was useless in the face of the vicious onslaught.
Then, in the middle of the battle, a small, black jet fighter swooped down over the river, strafing the boats, sinking two before disappearing over the western horizon. The Circle commander knew he had seen such an airplane before. It was the same as the one in the propaganda leaflets dropped by the Western Forces the day before.
One by one, the Circle boats went down. Some troopers tried to swim for it, others were caught up in the many gasoline fires raging on the surface of the water. The commander's boat took a TOW right on the bridge, killing him and everyone stationed there. Now leaderless, the boats were twisting and turning in every direction. But the fire from the squadron of Apaches was so intense, it seemed useless to even attempt an escape.
Within five minutes, the Apaches' deadly work was complete. Every one of the boats had been hit, more than three quarters of them sent to the bottom. The sapper unit was destroyed.
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Back at the Circle stronghold in Topeka, troops guarding the city's bridges noticed the swift moving Kansas River had turned red with blood . . .
The 40-mile stretch of Kansas Interstate Route 135 between Salina and McPherson was the scene of an incredible traffic jam. . . .
A convoy of 300 trucks, carrying six battalions of Circle ground troops, was traveling south on the highway when it met a large column of Circle tanks and armored personnel carriers moving in the oppo- ' site direction. Someone had screwed up. Strange radio reports had reached both commanders earlier in the day, countermanding their previous orders. The armored column was trying to get to Salina to get on Route 70 heading west. The infantry convoy had been directed south —off Route 70 —and toward McPherson to take Route 5,6 west.
Both of the column commanders used all four lanes of the abandoned interstate to get where they were going. They had met roughly halfway, near the small town of Bridgeport, Kansas and had been stalled, in place, while the Circle High Command tried to figure it out.
It didn't matter. The Western Forces were about to do that for them.
The first PAAC aircraft to arrive on the scene was a pair of C-130 Spooky gunships flying 10 miles south of Salina. Each one was equipped with three rapid-fire GE Gatling guns poking out of its port-359
side. The Spookies overflew the area once. Then while one headed south to ascertain the length of the exposed enemy, the other climbed and went into an orbit 1000 feet above the stalled infantry column. Before their commanders could order their troops to scatter, the C-130 opened on the trucks, its gun spitting out bullets at an incredible rate of 6000 rounds a minute.
Next on the scene were four aging PAAC B-57 bombers. The pre-Viet Nam era, two-engine jobs had been outfitted with deadly array dispensers. Fitted beneath the belly of the airplane, each dispenser contained hundreds of small, globe-like bombs. When released, the hand-sized bombs — which packed the punch of ten hand grenades-floated to earth via small parachutes. Exploding on impact, they would burst with a scattershot of deadly shrapnel going highspeed in all directions. The dispensers were originally designed to destroy an enemy's crowded runways. They would work just as fine on the traffic jam ...
The B-57s came in low and streaked just above the tops of the trucks, trailing a small cloud of little parachute bombs. The deadly globes slowly sank to earth, then started exploding as they landed on the tops of trucks, jeeps and people. A five mile stretch of the highway was soon the scene of incredible carnage. The small bombs tore up metal and flesh. Even the soldiers who were able to take cover at the side of the road were sliced up by the flaming pieces of bomb fragments.
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But the Circle troops were not defenseless. A Stinger missile flashed up from the truck column, catching the starboard engine of one of the B-57s. The small jet bomber lost its wing immediately, and went into a freakish cartwheel above the crowded highway. It finally slammed into the traffic jam, exploding on impact and destroying a dozen more trucks in the process.
Their work done, the surviving B-57s turned west and headed back to their base. Meanwhile, the two C-130 gunships had moved south and were firing on , the tanks and APCs of the armored column.
Then two PAAC A-10 Thunderbolts appeared on the scene. The C-130s again backed off and let the small, squat Thunderbolt "Tankbusters" do their thing.
Carrying a powerful cannon in their noses, the A-10s swept up the highway, further chopping up the column and adding to the destruction. Several small SAMs rose to meet the 'Bolts, but the PAAC pilots were able to maneuver their rather slow-moving but effective ground attack airplanes out of harm's way.
But there was trouble ahead for the A-10s.
A Russian general and his entourage had been unlucky enough to be caught in the deadly traffic jam. He had seen a number of his command staff shot to pieces in the first pass of the gunships. By the time the B-57s had wreaked their destruction, the Russian was on the line to his headquarters, demanding that air support come to the aid of the beleaguered column.
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Ten minutes later, six Yaks appeared.
Three of the Yaks went after the gunships, the other trio pounced on the A-10s. Neither the Yaks nor the Thunderbolts were built for dog fighting but the Russian jets had it all over the slow, ground attack PAAC airplanes. The A-10s split up and attempted to flee, but one was quickly overtaken by two Yaks and mercilessly gunned out of the sky. Even after the airplane skidded to a fiery crash landing, the Yaks strafed the wreckage, just to make sure.
Meanwhile, the three other Russians attacked the prop-driven C-130s. Although the gun crews gamely tried to shoot it out with their Gatling guns, it was not even a close match. One gunship took an Aphid air-to-air missile on its starboard inside engine, destroying it and setting the wing on fire. The C-130
pilot ordered his crew to bail out. Rapidly, the five airmen went to the silk and watched as their pilot put the airplane in a steep dive, pulling back on the throttles to get his air speed down. He was going to try to put the big ship down, but a Yak was right on his tail. Another Aphid missile finished it.
The Soviet air-to-air caught the airplane's port wing, its explosion severing the wing from the C-ISO's body and killing the pilot. The gunship never pulled up. It plowed right into the ground, exploding on impact.
The parachuting survivors, watching their airplane go down in flames, never saw the other two Yaks. The jets systematically and ruthlessly strafed 362
the airmen as they descended helplessly in the parachutes. All five died horribly before they reached the ground.
Feeling smug in their cruel victory, the three Yaks climbed to join the uneven chase for the other two PAAC aircraft.
They found the second A-10 had been disintegrated by a barrage of Aphid missiles. But they soon realized their comrades had forced the second C-130
down on a plain ten miles from the highway. The airplane had landed more or less intact, but now the Yaks were playing a cruel game. They were hovering over the big airplane, taking turns dipping their noses and puncturing the fuselage with cannon fire. For the crew members still trapped inside, it was leading up to a particularly slow death.