Recall to Arms

by Frank Perry

The two men looked at each other and the younger one in front began speaking and sobbing in endless streams of dialogue, pleading with the fellow in the backseat who had the cell phone ready to call Razzaq. As he started to dial, the driver bolted, leaving his gun and running down the street around cars in his path. He wasn’t ready to die. Watching from the back seat, the second man was distraught. He looked at the cell phone as if it was a mystical device. His chest was seizing, and he could not dial. His companion was a block away and could actually live. He could live!

  The second bomber, equally infected with fear, leapt from the car. He had enough composure to engage the electric door locks before running after the other terrorist. People were honking horns in frustration. Many were standing outside their cars, and people on the sidewalks seemed to be shuffling along in a daze. The vitality of the city had succumbed to the general gloom of a battle zone. Both of the terrorists had left their weapons behind. A few more minutes to run were nothing compared to the time it had taken to get the car in position. The man with the phone rationalized that it would take hours for a tow truck to get into position. The bomb was in place and they could live!

  On Madison Avenue, as some cars progressed, the abandoned taxi was gaining attention. A frustrated driver in a car trapped behind it had seen the two men run, and did not like his predicament, but there were no people willing to allow him to change lanes. So he opened his door and walked up to the taxi, and peered through the side window. His eyes locked on the weapons on the seats. He was mulling this over while the second terrorist with the cell phone stopped, breathless, to call Razzaq. He could not make the call immediately, having run circuitously more than five blocks, he was too breathless to speak. Two minutes passed while he regained enough composure to dial the number.

  Razzaq answered, “Yes?”

  The man said breathlessly, “Commander (cough) the package is in place.”

  “You sound exhausted.”

  The man said, “Sir, the traffic was very bad and I am, regrettably, (coughing) more nervous than I want to be at this momentous time.”

  “Allah be praised my brother.” The cellular number arming the detonator had been dialed when the discussion started.

  Detonation

  The massively hot concussion obliterated the front of the federal building. Glass exploded in shards, and searing heat enveloped everything in darkness. Material blew through spaces with lethal velocity. The outer office walls disappeared as people and debris filled the air. Shredded paper was hanging in the air, seemingly motionless. The cubicle walls that defined the bullpen partially protected some people in the interior. Screams could be heard through the smoke and dust. In the bullpen, people were knocked down instantly, and all had been injured. Over-pressure effects on their ears would leave some deaf.

  Minutes passed before people began to move. The electricity was gone and the emergency lights were providing just enough to see some of the damage near each person. Outside, it looked like night. The sun was obscured by debris that filled the atmosphere. It was impossible to see the street from the second floor. With eardrums throbbing, the lack of sound compounded the eeriness. Objects continued raining down. The sensation was surreal and terrifying.

  Less injured people began tending to others. No one in the bullpen was killed, but scores were wounded, many with severe lacerations. Around the entire second floor, people were sitting or lying with others helping to apply pressure and makeshift bandages to stop bleeding. Blood was everywhere.

  After several minutes, some cell phones seemed to work. Around the city, emergency calls were made from thousands of cell phones, two-way radios and aircraft. What wasn’t known, was that the city’s emergency operations center no longer existed. Located at 1411 W. Madison Ave, it was at ground zero of the attack. Everything within three to four hundred yards was completely destroyed. All life, buildings, automobiles were gone. Located only one mile away, the federal building survived total destruction, but the shock wave and heat had done extensive damage. Everyone on the sidewalks nearby was killed.

  Peter was knocked to the ground by a desk than fell on top of him. He lost consciousness briefly and awoke under a pile of office equipment and furniture. His head was ringing when he regained his senses, but the interior of the building was still cloudy. There was no fire. He pushed his way clear and pulled up to his feet.

  Luke and Angela were nearby, both with superficial cuts. Peter was bleeding from his scalp, but wasn’t seriously injured, thankful that his eyesight was okay. His ears would recover. Sam Lee, Rachael and the other senior Washington personnel had been in the outer offices, and he did not know their condition.

  After helping other people in the bullpen uncover themselves, Peter located the military radio which was built to withstand wartime damage. Pulling it out of the rubble, he turned it to battery power and pushed the talk button to call National Guard headquarters in Springfield, “HQ this is LTC Shields calling from downtown Chicago. Do you copy?”

  The response was immediate, “Wait one (there was a long pause), go ahead Chicago, please identify again.”

  Peter responded and described the situation requesting that all available Medevac aircraft and mobile medical teams, civilian or Government, be deployed to the city. He would rely on the Governor’s office to contact FEMA and was sure the communications were already underway.

  Since they were unable to see anything outside, he called Compass Call again, “Big Eye, this is Striker One, over.”

  Compass Call responded, “Roger Striker One this is Big Eye. We’re all glad you’re still with us sir, over.”

  “Thanks Big Eye, can you give me a visual?”

  Compass Call responded, “Roger, ah, from Angels 10 (ten thousand feet) two zero miles southeast of the city, we see a mushroom cloud at about twenty thousand. Dense dust at five hundred about two miles wide around the blast point, nothing visible inside, over.”

  Peter replied, “Big Eye, this is Striker One, thanks, out.”

  Compass Call now initiated the call, “Striker One, Big Eye here, we got another track on the transmitter when the bomb blew. It’s a good cross point, over.”

  Peter replied, “Say again Big Eye, do you have a position, over.”

  Compass Call responded, “Ah, roger-that Striker One, we had a good vector from a new position in our orbit, a clear cross over the prior traces. Only one transmission this time, but it was long and clear. We have the grid, over.”

  Peter responded, “Big Eye, Striker One here. We are inside the dust cloud you described for reference, probably a mile or two from ground zero. Need to know distance to transmit point, over.”

  Compass Call replied, “Ah, roger that Striker One, hold one (pause); we compute about thirty air miles two six zero degrees from blast origin, can provide waypoints, over.”

  Peter responded, “Roger that. Will be in contact. Maintain surveillance, out.”

  Peter knew the blast had only been large enough for one bomb, and five remained. They still had a chance to stop annihilation of the entire city if they could neutralize the transmitter long enough to disarm the bombs. They would need helicopters. All ground transport in the city would be stopped. He made the call to HQ.

  Peter called The Illinois National Guard headquarters on the radio, “HQ, this is COL Shields, over.”

  The radio response was, “Copy Colonel, over.”

  Peter keyed the handset, “This is Shields, patch me to J3--expedite!”

  The headquarters’ response was, “Roger Colonel, please hold (pause). Go ahead, sir.”

  The transmission ended then resumed again, “This is Lt. Colonel Halstron, J3 OOD Illinois Army National Guard, over.”

  The J3 code stands for Domestic Operations under the Commanding General. Within the state military organization, this code is responsible for coordinating tactical resources within the state and coordinating with the Department of Defense
for broader military support to civilian authority.

  Peter said, “Colonel, this is LTC Peter Shields assigned to FBI Counter Terrorist Task Force-Chicago, over.”

  Halstron transmitted, “Yes Colonel, acknowledged and recognized, what is your situation? Over.”

  Peter responded, “The situation is piss poor. We just had a nuke go off in the city and need tactical support, over.”

  A new voice came back on the radio, “Colonel Shields, this is Brigadier General Brodie, J3, ready to support, what do you need? Over.”

  Peter talked into the handset, “Sir, we need air mobility and tactical assault capabilities on unknown number of terrorists located approximately fifty kilometers from downtown Chicago. Ground transport inop. Request minimum four Little Birds and one Longbow, armed with Hellfires and 30 mike mike (millimeter) cannon ammunition. As many Ranger-qualified forces equipped for urban assault as you can muster, plus two snipers. Staging should be two seven zero degrees at thirty klicks from Chicago. One Little Bird to fly into the city at my position for transport of three or four individuals. I request personal weaps including M4 and M9, seven mags each, plus NVGs for squad leaders, over.”

  Brodie responded, “HUA (heard understood acknowledged) Colonel, stay by your radio, this channel, for confirmation, over.”

  Peter answered, “Will do General. Also,