The Rising

by Eli Constant

  However, the designers never could have guessed that a situation would arise that would not allow for a safe landing somewhere, anywhere. They could only hope that eventually, they’d be directed somewhere that was safe, somewhere that they could rest AF1 and touch the earth again. For now, the plane cruised on auto pilot, in orbit, with a single National Guard KC-135 off its wing, waiting for someone to give her instructions.

  Willard Calhoun Winslow, mid-fifties with surprisingly thick hair that was, so far, untouched by grey, looked at the people surrounding him in his “Airborne” Oval Office. His eyes narrowed. So this is what is left. This is what I have to work with. He controlled his face, letting his eyelids part more naturally to frame his sable-hued eyes. Of the 23 men and women on his staff, only five had been within arm’s reach when the crisis hit. Fortunately, Harvey Munson, the Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces, had been in the office with him and the SecDef for a private meeting the day it had all started, otherwise no one from the military would have been there. Other than those two, the fiftieth President of the United States had the Secretary of State, Secretary of Energy, and the head of Homeland Security to rely on for advice and guidance to save his country. He worried it wouldn’t be enough.

  “All right, folks,” The President started, “we’ve been airborne for almost a week while the world is falling apart. I know everyone has been working hard with our limited resources, but it’s time for some answers and some serious decision making. Linda, let’s start with you, please.”

  “Mr. President…”

  “Linda, unless you want me to address you as Secretary of State, let’s cut the formalities. Time you call me Willard or Will, if you’d prefer. You can call me Mr. President when we get back on the ground. Okay?”

  “Yes, sir.” Linda was uncomfortable calling her boss and leader of the free world Willard, but an order was an order. She clasped her thin, wrinkled hands together and fought to ignore the strand of white hair that had escaped her low bun. “Willard, the situation hasn’t changed much since we were forced airborne. In fact, in some cases it’s gotten vastly worse. Most of the developing nations have been infected and the majority have lost control of the situation. Great Britain was hit the worst aside from us. We’ve lost communications with parliament and the Prime Minister. We can only assume it’s over for them. France isn’t much better, along with Spain and Portugal. The Mediterranean states are in chaos as are parts of Germany, Luxemburg and the rest. According to the information we have, just about everywhere but the Scandinavian countries are suffering.”

  “You mean like Finland and Norway?” Willard asked.

  “Yes. And Greenland; Iceland also in fact. From the data we’re, receiving the countries which are northern tier are reporting that the outbreaks are both limited in their scope, slow, and controllable.”

  “That would correlate with the information I’m getting, Willard.”

  The president turned to the speaker, Allen Chambers, Secretary of Defense. “Explain, Allen.”

  “Both our Air bases in Alaska, Eielson and Elmendorf, are stable, as well as the surrounding communities.”

  “Interesting,” Willard responded and then turned back to Linda. “Continue, please.”

  “Relief efforts are flying in and out of those countries to assist the mainland Europe, but the results are sketchy. Last we heard was that Finland has stopped all efforts after the loss of one of their aircrafts and its crew on the ground. We were negotiating with them for help, but nothing has come of it. That’s the good news.”

  “And the bad?” Willard wasn’t really sure he wanted to hear the bad, but he had to. It was his job. Linda continued.

  “It seems all of our enemies are disease free. North Korea, Iran, most of the Middle East actually. Things are iffy coming from Russia and China, but it seems that the outbreaks are negligible or non-existent there also.”

  “What are the sources of the information? Are we sure they’re reliable?” Willard was always very concerned with fact-checking, being sure of things before acting. He wasn’t what people could call a passionate button pusher. He liked to think things through, up until that point where a decision was absolutely necessary and a delay would cost lives.

  “Mostly from NOCs, Non-official Cover agents, sending it to the agency. It’s the best we’re going to get and, yes, it’s reliable. In fact, both the Russian and Chinese delegations have offered help in the form of troops and supplies. But if they’re not experiencing an outbreak, there has to be some reason. I’m not sure I would trust the offers.”

  “I’m not ready to allow a foreign nation to land an army on US soil. Not yet. Is there anyone out there who we can trust? Anyone who’s actually still capable of giving aid. Aside from—”

  “The UN can put a force together if we ask, but I don’t know how effective they will be. Most countries don’t have forces to supply and without the US military, it won’t be much of a contingency.”

  “Alright Linda, we will assume for now that the Cavalry isn’t on the way. Thanks. Priscilla, your turn.”

  Priscilla Westley looked down at her notes and then at the president; her long, slightly crooked nose the only imperfection in her otherwise flawless features. She fought to keep the fear out of her eyes. That was easier said than done though. She was the Secretary of Energy and, in a nutshell, she wasn’t in charge of much now. “Mr. President, I mean Willard, it’s simple. Without people, the grid will fail, nationally. Over the last few years, we have tied everything into a series of massive grids. Nothing is independent unless it’s military, government, or a few specialized research facilities. In fact, even most of those rely on the grid and only go to their independent power sources if nothing else is working.”

  “So what is running right now?” Willard asked, picking up a blue and silver pen and rolling it around in his fingers. It helped him concentrate, to fiddle with things. It helped him focus.

  “Not much. Most of the nuclear reactors were SCRAMed almost immediately at the news of the outbreak…” Priscilla’s voice trailed off.

  “And a SCRAM is?” Willard asked, clicking the top of the pen six times in quick succession. His staff was used to his ticks, used to how he operated.

  “Emergency shut down of the reactor. We determined that the danger of a meltdown if the crews were gone was too dangerous to take a chance. My office sent out the word. The only East coast reactor which wasn’t SCRAMed was the Savannah Nuclear Power Station.”

  “And why was that?” Willard felt like he was playing twenty questions, twenty questions to save the world. No pressure.

  “The quick answer? Security. It’s more isolated and very heavily guarded. No reports in that immediate area of any affected. Yet, at least. Many of the other reactors were in or around major cities or highly-populated areas. Just too dangerous. Unfortunately, the Savannah station doesn’t generate nearly enough power to support the grid it’s attached to, so all its power is going unused or solely supporting government systems. In the West, we have Hoover dam. It’s buttoned up tight, but with minimum security and staff. Our best guess is it will run about 6 months before that have to shut it down. Some barnacle or something binding the turbines. Any number of things. Regardless, everything else is petroleum or coal and the smaller dams are either isolated on the grid and producing rolling blackouts, or have been shut down to keep from doing more damage to the grid. It’s a mess.”

  “Any bright side?” Willard set down the pen. It wasn’t helping as much as he’d hoped and he was getting more and more frustrated with his uselessness in the crisis.

  “There is some. There’s always some thread of brightness, Willard.” Priscilla said it like she knew her President needed to hear it that way. “Dugway, Aberdeen, The CDC in Atlanta, Cheyenne Mountain, Offutt AFB, all under our control and running on their own independent power.”

  “Those are some of the places we sent the special forces teams from Bragg to provide structure,” Harvey Munson added.r />
  Willard glanced at Harvey and then back to Pricilla. “That’s it? The world’s most powerful Nation reduced to a few acres of light?” He debated picking the pen back up, giving it another shot as a stress reliever. It hadn’t failed him in the past. The past hadn’t been nearly so precarious though.

  “That’s about it, Mr. President, and without a lot of experts and people on the ground we are not turning the rest of the lights on…ever.”

  “Willard, Priscilla. Call me Willard.”

  “Yes. Sorry, Mr. Pres—” she stopped herself. “Yes, sorry, Willard.”

  “Well, I certainly get the picture in terms of our ability to power our nation. What does the Department of Homeland Security have to offer, George?”

  George Blakenship, a thin, reedy man with sparse hair and eyes so dark brown, they looked mostly black in any light, leaned back on the leather executive chair and shook his head. “I have less than a thousand people that I know of in the entire DHS network and that includes the Coast Guard and the only ones left in the Coast Guard are parked off shore in their ships. I managed to get fifty-six key people airlifted to Aberdeen also. But that’s it, Willard. Everyone else is either buttoned-up in their headquarters, pissing in buckets and drinking warm sodas, or unaccounted for. As far as state and local police go, I’ve pretty much lost contact with everyone.”

  “Jesus, George. What the hell?” Willard lifted his left hand and cradled his face for a moment, blocking out the sight of the people around him, the people he wanted to have all the answers so they could cure this fucking mess.

  “Nature of the beast, Willard,” George continued. “We were either in the field and totally vulnerable or behind a desk. There wasn’t much in between. I really have no hope for the field guys or anybody at their home when this hit. When it shakes, out we may have a few thousand more, but I’m not counting on it. This thing hit us blind and unprepared.”

  Willard couldn’t fathom what he was hearing. There had to be away to recover from this. “Alright, Harvey, you’re the Chief of Staff of the Military. Thomas, you’re the SecDef. Get my ass out of this wringer.” Willard didn’t really make it an order, but if they took it that way, more the better. He needed solutions. He had information. He knew the problem.

  He needed that answer that would cut through this mess and turn back the clock.

  Allen shifted in his seat and then looked at Harvey. It was a ‘you go first look, I’m thinking’. Harvey went first, words like gossamer pouring from his mouth. Faded gossamer that was part of a dress so old the age stains would never wash out.

  “Sir, when this began, I assumed we were under a biological attack that was well-organized and orchestrated. I assumed that we were going to lose the majority of our government and military, which would immediately leave us open to invasion. In that situation, the Joint Chiefs have a game plan set in place around a specific segment of our population to recover command and control and protect the borders till we can find a solution. The operation is called ‘Hail Mary’.” Harvey paused, waiting to make sure everyone was with him.

  “Go on, Harvey,” Willard prompted, seeing a flicker of hope in the dimness.

  “’Hail Mary’ is fairly simple in its initiation. It’s designed to deploy immediately, troops to predetermined secure locations or locations depending on the threat. They are only equipped with limited war fighting capabilities, but with a lot of varied skills. The ‘Hail Mary’ teams are pulled from all the services based on talent sets, but they’re primarily Army Special Forces, Navy SEALs, and MarSOC, with some Air force personal thrown in. They’re deployed with a series of specialized Aircraft Known as SOLL, Special Operations Low Level, supported by C-130 TALONS and Spectre Gunships. On the water, all of our Sub Forces goes to their predetermined points and go dark while any Battle Groups return to our waters. We activated ‘Hail Mary’ Fifteen minutes into the outbreak.”

  “And the success of it?” Again Willard didn’t know if he wanted to hear the answer.

  “Mixed, sir. The Navy, for their part, went off without a hitch. We had two carrier groups deployed. One each is now sitting off the East and West Coasts. All subs are in place awaiting orders.”

  “And the ground forces?

  “That’s a little more complicated. We diverted five of the teams to the places Pricilla mentioned as an immediate stop gap and to ‘hold the fort’ for lack of a better term.”

  “And the rest?” Willard was back to the game of twenty questions. It made him think of a movie he once watched with his father. Flash Gordon…we only have fourteen hours to save the earth! And something about love. I love you, but…Willard thought about Katherine, his wife. He’d tried to not think about her, tried not to go over everything that might have happened to her. All his resources as president, and they couldn’t find his damn wife. The goddam First Lady. He came back to the present slowly, realizing he’d missed a few of Harvey’s words.

  “—and we found that none of the pre-determined places were viable. We lost the first team at our kick-off place in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Kirkland to be exact. When we lost contact with them, they were fighting for their lives against the infected and couldn’t get the aircraft off the ground. We ordered the rest to rendezvous at an abandoned research and test facility known as Tonopah.”

  “You mean Area 51?” Willard asked, surprised

  “Yes, sir, Area 51. It’s a dry lake bed. We basically have eight hundred of the finest fighter in the world along with air support and some vehicles sitting in the desert waiting for orders.”

  “Only eight hundred? Seems like a small number.” Willard knew a novice might think eight hundred sounded like a lot, but it wasn’t, not in terms of war and loss.

  “Yes, sir, it is, but on a good day, they can average a seventy-five-to-one kill ratio against a modern enemy and that’s roughly 60,000 KIA. But there not there to win the war; their job is to secure an airbase so the rest of the troops can win it.”

  “And how many troops do we have to win this war, Harvey?”

  “We were able to secure close to 13,000 men and women, plus air support, and some light armor before we lost total control. They’re now sitting tight at Denver National Airport, again awaiting orders. We also have Eielson and Elmendorf to pull from. Everything else is a loss in my opinion.”

  “Christ, less than 20,000 people to take back a nation.” Willard did reach for his pen now, clicking it and clicking it and then rolling it in his hands so the coolness could press against his fingers.

  “Don’t discount the American soldier’s resolve, Willard.” This from Allen, who’d stayed quiet as Harvey spoke.

  “I’m not, Allen.” Willard nodded at Allen and then turned his attention once more to Harvey. “So, do you have a plan then?”

  “Albuquerque is still our best bet. It’s Isolated and has a major highway going both east and west. I want to take everything we have left and expand from there. Conscript everyone we run into and start to build our muscle one town at a time.”

  “How are you going to arm them?” Willard continued holding the pen, almost like it was a security blanket in his grip.

  “It’s America, sir, I’m counting on, not only our people, but on civilians being armed. I’m just going to organize them and put them under command of the deployed teams.”

  Willard closed his eyes a moment, trying to recall what he’d heard so far, and then he reopened them, a new question on his lips. “I thought you said Kirkland and the city was a loss?”

  “Yes, sir, it is. According to the reports we got before we lost the team and going by the limited satellite imagines we have, it’s overrun by the infected. With 90 percent of them being in or around Kirkland. We’re not sure what drew them there, but it’s good that they’re localized near a single point. We use Daisy Cutters to flatten it, Willard. We make a hole and make room. A safe place.”

  “Daisy Cutters, Harvey?” George interjected. “I thought we dropped the last BLU-82 years ago.�
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  “Yes, well,” Harvey’s face suddenly grinned, “that’s what we told the press. We still have a few and a couple of the birds at Tonopah already have the little eggs in their bellies. Should clear a path for the teams fairly effectively.”

  “It will. And it will leave us with a lot of empty space to land in, but no buildings to operate out of,” George responded, knowing the BLU-82 was one of the most powerful conventional bombs ever made.

  “So, you’re saying we destroy the base, Harvey. And it’s overrun. We won’t be killing a bunch of families or personnel?”

  “There may be some people still fighting there, Willard. It’s your call. However, I will tell you straight up. The longer we wait, the worse it will get and the lower my guys will be on supplies.”

  Willard leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. Not since Eisenhower and D-Day did a single individual have to make such an enormous decision. If he made the wrong one, he could lose the country. He thought of his wife, wishing she were by his side. He thought of his twelve-year-old son asleep in the stateroom just a few meters away. He thought of the future, of a child growing up without a country. And he made his decision. He sat back up, looking slowly at his remaining staff, and he squared his shoulders.

  “Alright, Harvey. Bomb Kirkland, kill every last one of them. Then get our men in there and let’s begin the process of taking back our damn country.” Willard stood, rubbing his eyes. The pen was still in his hand. He didn’t put it on the table, instead pushing it into his pocket.

  “Yes sir, Mr. President.” Harvey stood also. Willard did not bother correcting him over the ‘Mr. President’ title. No one spoke as Harvey left the room, headed to relay orders that might kill innocent lives. No, it would kill innocent lives.

  “Now, for the rest of you, I’m tired of flying. Someone tell the pilot to get me to Elmendorf. Allen, can you get Mr. Thomas on your way out and send him in; I want to figure out what we can do to talk to the nation.”