American Terrorist Trilogy

by Jeffrey Poston

  Lenore was about to take another step when a deep voice to her left said, “Drop the weapon.”

  She turned her head slightly but couldn’t see anyone or anything where the voice originated, so she slowly shifted the aim of her assault rifle in that direction. Her right thumb clicked the selector to single-shot. Clearly, though, the killer could see her.

  “I said, drop it! Or I kill the girl.”

  Lenore knew the man was going to kill her daughter anyway. That’s what these men did. Carl clearly reminded everyone in his briefing that Atlas and its hired killers cared nothing about collateral damage. They held absolutely zero regard for human life. Her only way to keep Lisette alive was to keep the man talking. As soon as he disarmed her, he’d kill her and then Lisette. Her only chance to save her daughter was to grab her sidearm and go for a kill shot…

  …at a shadow figure in the swirling smoke…

  …thirty feet away…

  “Okay, you win.” She let the assault rifle fall from her grasp. She’d just entertained the thought of executing her fastest fast-draw, the kind that every federal cop practices just in case, when she had a clear sight of the man holding her daughter. He had Lisette tight against his chest with his left arm around her neck. His right hand held a black handgun.

  Lenore drew her gun and saw the killer’s gun flash at the same instant. He shot her in the face.

  Chapter 38

  Three said, “Whatever we’re going to do, we better do it now.”

  There was a large Lexan, see-through, tactical display mounted ten feet in front of the two command chairs. It showed a three-hundred-sixty-degree radar view and thirteen missiles closing from the south.

  “Huh…” Carl mused. “No sweeping radar line rotating around the screen.”

  Commander Eckels replied, “We use phased-array radar. We can see and track targets simultaneously, in all directions. Those missiles are a couple hundred miles away.” She narrowed her eyes at Carl and then looked at the president. “There’s only one place those missiles could have originated from, and that’s Carrier Strike Group Nine. They’ve knowingly fired on a US military vessel.”

  Carl nodded. “Well, I thought there’d be more missiles.”

  “There will be, Mr. Johnson, so I’m going to need my officers at their stations.” Carl nodded at Eighteen, who stood aside while keeping a close eye on the navy people. Eckels turned to her officers. “Leave the captain! Lieutenant, tactical! Ensign, comm! Broadcast friendly identification and tell them to halt their attack. Tell them we have the president on board.”

  The commander took her seat in the captain’s chair and swiveled an armrest computer terminal in front of her lap. The lieutenant, a tall redhead with double bars on his shoulder epaulets, moved to a workstation along the left wall of the bridge. He glared at Carl as he passed within arm’s-length, and for a split-second Carl thought the young man was going to try to be a hero. The ensign, a short barrel-chested kid who barely topped the five-foot mark, took three careful paces around Merc Eighteen and tried to operate a communications console.

  “I’m locked out, Commander.”

  “So am I,” added the lieutenant.

  Carl nodded at Three, who tapped his earpiece. “Eight, grant limited computer access to the bridge. Comm and tactical.”

  After four seconds, Eight’s voice said, “Done.”

  Commander Eckels pivoted her command chair to face Carl where he had moved next to the president and Twelve at the aft bridge door. For a brief moment, Carl saw a vision of a woman every bit as no-nonsense as Captain Janeway from the fictional starship Voyager from the old Star Trek series.

  She said, “I’m going to need my enlisted people at their stations too, and even then, we are severely understaffed. We had a skeleton crew for the weekend and most of those were assigned to fight the dock fire.”

  To Merc Three, Carl said, “Can we take on thirteen missiles without the crew?”

  Three stood close to Eckels and Carl suspected it was to keep an eye on her activities. The merc waved an arm around the computer-automated bridge. “McGrath’s specs say the ship’s normal crew complement is half that of an Arleigh Burke-class destroyer’s crew of two hundred, seventy-six. This ship is so automated it can operate effectively with a crew of nineteen, but that doesn’t include fighting a war. Thirteen missiles is child’s play, but if Atlas controls the Carrier Strike Group Nine commander, they’re going to kick our ass, Boss. No doubt about that.”

  Eckels added, “A carrier strike group can put sixty planes in the air along with a few hundred long-distance anti-ship missiles. We’ll hold our own for a while, but that there…” She pointed a thumb behind her at the indicator of thirteen missiles on the Lexan display. “That’s just their opening salvo. This ship just finished sea trials, but it isn’t battle tested yet.”

  “Are you battle tested, Commander?”

  She nodded.

  “Good, so am I.”

  Merc Three interrupted. “And, Boss…”

  Carl wagged his fingers at the man. “Let’s have it.”

  “When the rest of the kitchen sink gets here, we’ll start taking hits. You don’t want the crew locked up below decks, drowning if we take a hard hit. The hull armor can only protect us so much. Besides, we’re gonna need a lot of damage control assistance.”

  Eckels glanced from Merc Three to Carl. “When they launch the next salvo, we’ll definitely take some hits. I recommend we relocate to the CIC.”

  “CIC?” Carl was unfamiliar with the term.

  “Combat Information Center. It’s deep in the ship, the most protected compartment except for the fuel and ammo bunkers.”

  “Intercom, please,” Carl said. Eckels pushed some buttons and Carl grabbed the wall handset. “Attention, please. This is Air Force Captain Carl Johnson.” He searched for the right words to say. “While it’s true I control this ship and its computer, you all have a decision to make. Will you believe me and protect your president, or will you believe the distant commander who has sent missiles to kill us. To kill your president.

  “Politics can be messy and corporate subterfuge is even messier. The people who want President Mallory dead won’t come and do it themselves. They will send your military brothers and sisters from a distant carrier group to do the deed. We’re all pawns in this game. You, me, this ship…we’re all expendable. My son was caught in the crossfire and now he’s dead. I’ve sent federal agents to their deaths too, so that Shirley Mallory has a fighting chance to survive.”

  Carl took a deep breath. “And now I’m going to ask the ultimate sacrifice of you. We’re going to war, folks, and this is for real. If we live, you’ll be able to tell your kids and grandkids about this battle, that you served on the first warship named after a woman and fought to defend the first woman president. Help me keep the Commander-in-Chief alive. When we unlock your doors, I want all hands to report to your battle stations. This is not a drill and I’m giving operational combat command back to the commander. Marines, make your way to the mess hall. I have a special assignment for you.”

  A serious voice challenged his order. “Negative, Mister. If we’re going to war, our place is on damage control teams.”

  Carl glanced at Three, who said, “That’s Lieutenant Nathaniel Hawkins, commander of the marine contingent on this ship. He has three marines under his command. The rest off-loaded to fight the dock fire.”

  “Normally, Lieutenant Hawkins, I would agree with you, but the president has no Secret Service contingent to protect her. Our enemy will attempt to disable the ship and then they’ll board and try to kill her, so your only job now is to provide security for President Mallory. Nothing else is more important. In the mess hall, you’ll find high-tech armored combat suits and advanced weapons. Get suited up and ready for combat. The president must live.”

  Hawkins hesitated, then said, “Copy that. Protect the president at all costs.”

  Carl hung up the handset and Eckels narro
wed her eyes. “You hijack this ship and you brought weapons and armor for the marines? You actually expected them to help you?”

  “Commander, I expect marines to do what marines are trained to do. I expect them to protect their president.” To Merc Three he said, “Make the computer unlock the brig, then get the captain down to the infirmary and make sure a medic meets you there to tend to his injury. Then have your team report to the aft deck. You know what to do.”

  Three assigned Eighteen and Twelve to carry the unconscious captain to the infirmary. “The navy chopper is already fueled, armed, and ready to deploy.” Three hesitated. “Boss, you know this ship can’t fight an aircraft carrier, right?”

  Carl smiled. “Well, we can fight.” He shrugged. “We don’t have to win. We just have to survive.”

  Three smiled. “If anybody else on the planet told me they had a plan to survive a war against an aircraft carrier fleet with a single boat, I’d call ’em crazy and jump ship A-S-A-P.”

  Carl chuckled. “Well, the crazy part is still up for a vote. How soon can you get that bird in the air?”

  “The pilot of the president’s transport helicopter didn’t make it out, but the copilot is available for service.”

  “Copy that. Get down there and get airborne. Code word to fire your missiles is ESCALATE. When you hear it, do it. If we lose comm for any reason at all, launch.”

  Merc Three started to turn away.

  “Mr. Engelhart,” Carl called.

  The mercenary turned.

  “Three, you’ve gone way beyond the call of duty.”

  “C’mon, Boss. Don’t go gettin’ all soft and start cryin’ and shit.”

  “I’m trying to say thank you.”

  Three smiled. “You’re one of a kind, Boss.”

  They bumped forearms and Three left the bridge.

  Carl stepped over to the command chair. “Commander Eckels, the ship is yours. Defend the president.”

  She nodded. “Lieutenant, sound General Quarters.”

  “General Quarters! General Quarters! To your battle stations! This is not a drill!”

  Eckels stood and said, “Madam President, if you’ll come with me now!”

  The ensign grabbed an intercom handset and made the announcement. “CIC, Bridge. POTUS is on the move, galley first, then your location.”

  “CIC, aye,” replied the voice of Merc Eight.

  A console beeped, and the three officers froze. They conferred with each other from different stations on the bridge.

  “Vampire, Vampire, Vampire! Multiple airborne contacts, bearing one-seven-five, speed four-five-two. Target is the Kestrel Andrus.” The lieutenant glanced over at Carl. “They have us, Captain.”

  Eckels grunted and looked at Carl. “The rest of your kitchen sink.”

  “How many missiles inbound, Lieutenant?” Carl said

  The young man shrugged. “Well, all of them, I think.” Fear hiked the lieutenant’s voice up a notch. “The computer is showing three hundred and twenty-six inbound.”

  Eckels said, “Stay calm, Lieutenant. We’ve trained for this. Are you reading EM?”

  “Negative radar emissions.”

  “Good,” Eckels said calmly. “That means they launched by satellite imagery and they’re not homing in on us just yet.”

  The ensign said, “They’ll have an E-2D Hawkeye searching for us, ma’am.”

  Eckels shook her head. “Even the Hawkeye’s advanced radar can’t see our miniscule radar return from that distance.” To Carl, she added, “Just so you know, those inbound missiles are not by any means the full complement of an aircraft carrier.”

  He pointed at the mass of blips following fifty miles behind the first wave of thirteen. “How many of this second wave can we engage?”

  “We can take out maybe twenty percent in the blue zone with the rail-gun. That’s at the horizon. We have long-range intercept missiles also, then we have the two lasers that can blind maybe half of the remaining missiles’ targeting optics in the yellow zone. That’s two to three miles away. We have short-range antimissile missiles for the red zone, within a mile. When they break through that perimeter, we’ll engage them the old-fashioned way…with deck guns.”

  Carl pointed at the Lexan display screen. “So this is over-the-horizon radar?” The horizon was twenty-some miles away, he recalled, but the first wave was still a couple hundred miles out.

  “That’s classified.”

  Carl grunted. It probably had more to do with radar imagery combined with imagery from military satellites McGrath had kept accessible to the Kestrel Andrus while denying access to their enemy. Carl had fought against police, FBI and TER agents, and even foreign military elements, but never in his wildest imagination had he ever considered the possibility that he’d go to war against the US Navy.

  Eckels continued. “Tactical computer simulations say we can pick off most of them, but we are still greatly outnumbered. We’ll run out of ammunition and missiles. That’s when they’ll send their boarding party.”

  Carl pointed at the display. “Is this enough to sink us?”

  She shook her head. “A few will get through. They’ll cripple us, but barring a lucky hit at the waterline or a deep penetration into the fuel bunker, we won’t sink.”

  Carl nodded as he repeated his mantra in his mind: We don’t have to win the fight. We just have to survive.

  “How long do we have?”

  “Twelve minutes until we engage the first wave. The second wave is eight minutes behind that.”

  Carl looked around the bridge. He eyed a white box with a big red plus sign mounted on the bulkhead beside him at shoulder height. “Things are happening a lot faster than I thought. I figured they’d hit us with some land-based planes or surface-to-ship missiles. I certainly didn’t think Atlas could send the whole goddamn navy after us.”

  The president stepped up beside Carl. “Did you have to shoot that officer?”

  “Yes, I quickly had to win their obedience.” He stepped around the president, expecting her to follow. “Let’s go meet the marines. When we get down to the CIC, I want to call that carrier’s admiral and discuss the terms of her surrender.”

  Chapter 39

  After leaving the bridge, the Naval officers went deeper into the ship toward the CIC. As Carl led President Mallory back to the galley to meet the marines, he sensed that she had stopped in the middle of a passageway. She seemed to study the ceiling overhead for a moment. It was then Carl noticed that every square inch of the ceiling and walls was filled with…something—a control panel, meter, tube, hose, conduit, insulated pipe, first-aid kit, fire extinguisher. There was absolutely no wasted real estate on the warship.

  What do you even call the ceiling or walls or windows in a warship?

  Mallory faced Carl, and he studied her for a moment. Her eyes looked gray, not blue as he remembered from his first meeting with her eight months ago. Back then, her eyes were filled with pain for her then-missing daughter. Now in her gaze, he saw resignation.

  He broke the ice. “You look pretty bad-ass all armored up like that.”

  “They’re going to kill everyone, aren’t they?”

  “They’re going to try.”

  Her gaze danced with his for a moment. “There’s something I haven’t told you, something you should know about me.”

  “That you’re part of Atlas?” He nodded as her eyes widened. “I’ve known for a couple days.”

  “I was a part of Atlas. I left. Tried to, anyway. How did you find out?”

  “Our mutual friend Hollis Koll was very talkative.”

  “Is he dead?”

  Carl shook his head. “I had a different plan for him.”

  Now it was the president’s turn to study him. “You have a plan for everything, don’t you? For every-one.”

  He nodded. “Back from my project management days. Having contingencies is great for risk management.”

  “Your unpredictability was what drove Aaron i
nsane last year.” Mallory looked at the floor, then said, “So what’s your plan for me, now that you know?”

  “The mission has not changed, Shirley. You’re the president. You must live.”

  “But—”

  “You’re a politician, and sometimes politicians do stupid shit. They follow the wrong leader, get seduced by the wrong promises. I get it. That’s the way of the corporate power game. Men like Grainger Koll know how to figure out what people want or need, and then he promises it.”

  Carl pointed at the floor. “You know why the navy paints the floors of the main corridors of the ships the way they do?” Under the durable epoxy non-skid coating, the floor was painted dark blue with speckles that Carl figured were representations of stars in the night sky. The destroyer’s motto was stenciled up the hallway floor: THE SPEAR OF THE NAVY.

  Mallory nodded. “Pride.”

  Carl shook his head. “The US military leadership is just like Koll, and the psychology of warfare is the same as psychology of corporate business. Military leaders tell these young kids what they want and need to hear so they feel they belong to something bigger than themselves, so they can feel special, so they can be heroes. It’s all just brainwashing, though. Good guys, bad guys. Doesn’t matter.

  “The navy higher-ups know most of these kids will spend their whole careers practicing for war. But in reality, it’s just a few years of scrubbing decks. Very few ever see real combat. Fewer still ever have a chance to be a hero. So, leadership reminds these kids every day that they’re part of something bigger, that their destroyer is the spear of the navy.”

  “And are you different, Carl?”

  He shook his head. “I’m no different. All these kids on this ship, they’re just like I was thirty years ago. They all took an oath to protect and defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. But I’m going to twist it and make it seem like their oath is to protect and defend you, the president. Because that’s my mission, and I need them to believe in my mission just for today. I’m going to give them what they want and need. Thirty years from now, they’ll tell their grandkids about this battle. They’ll be heroes. Real heroes.”