by C A Bird
He paused and took a sip of his scotch, his eyes shining as he gazed out the window across the tarmac. He turned back to Chris and Clay. “There are numerous shelters throughout the country. There’s a major one, actually more than one, available to the President and other government officials. Others include shelters in basements of public buildings, and they even have supplies in public caverns like Mitchell Caverns in the California desert. Mine is one of the largest civilian shelters in existence and was built entirely with private funds. Under the guise of a government project it was easier to keep secret. It took several years to complete and what started as a small project soon after your mother’s death became a large-scale serious endeavor that has only been completed in the last year. The shelter is in the mountains north of here. That’s why we’re here now. It’s almost unbelievable, but there’s a possibility of war at this very moment. The President and other important government officials are in the Command Plane, I assume that’s Air Force One, and will utilize their shelters when it’s appropriate. I’ve alerted selected people by means of a radio device that they should start toward the shelter.”
As the implications of Will’s words struck home, Clay sat up straighter, his eyes getting wider.
“You mean the possibility of a war is so great the government has already gone to bomb shelters?” This statement was too loud and Will held up his hand to quiet Clay.
“Shh, It isn’t general information yet. That is precisely why we’re here in this ‘lousy’ town as you put it.”
“Well let’s go now. We could get caught here!” Panic was beginning to creep into his voice.
“Take it easy, Clay,” Mark spoke for the first time. “We’ll have plenty of warning. The government’s been keeping us informed. After all, if anything happens they'll want as many of our citizens to be saved as possible.”
“You shut up!” Clay turned on Mark. “You always know so much. If they don’t have time to notify us we could die right here.”
Will grabbed his son’s arm.
“That’s enough Clay! Keep your voice down. We have a lot of friends that may be en route to this airport, including Jill and her family. We’re going to remain here until we hear of further developments.” He looked quickly around the lounge. “Mark’s right. They’ll let us know if anything significant happens. In the meantime, be quiet, you’re scaring Helen.” He turned to Helen and smiled, “Everything’s going to be fine Helen, don’t worry.”
Helen managed a weak smile. Whatever Mr. Hargraves said was all right with her. She had Ernest with her and that was all that was important to her in this world.
Chris said, “Dad, if the threat of a war is that great, shouldn’t people be warned so they can take steps to protect themselves? You can’t just sit back and let everyone die.”
“The general population will be informed the minute it’s confirmed that the U.S. is under attack. Some will have time to evacuate. You just can’t make that kind of announcement on a large scale without concrete proof. Besides, in the event of a war there isn’t much that most people can do. Some know where public shelters are, but the general public will be caught flatfooted.” He glanced at his watch. It was 1:45 pm Albuquerque time. He finished his drink.
They talked, killing time, while Mark nervously checked his watch every couple of minutes. The microbrewery was a sports bar with televisions in every corner and they’d paid the bartender to leave one tuned to Fox News Channel and were following the media’s account of the crisis.
The overhead speaker came on. “Ladies and gentlemen, now announcing the arrival of Delta Airlines flight 451 from Dallas, unloading at gate 7.”
Mark stood up, turned to Will. “I hope to God they made that flight. I’ll check it out and be right back.”
“Okay. After you get your sister meet us back here as soon as you can.” He walked with Mark a few feet from the table speaking in a whisper, “I need to make some more calls to find out what's happening overseas. It bothers me that we haven’t heard any more news from Chuck.”
“Okay, I’ll hurry.” Mark left the lounge and turned to the left toward gate 7 walking through the cool, pink adobe concourse. Sun and cloud symbols and artwork by local New Mexico artists decorated the wide corridor in a distinctive Southwest motif. Evenly spaced, large windows looked out on the runways and lent an airy, open feeling to the concourse.
He was passing a sandwich shop by the gate when the music coming from the overhead speaker stopped and the public address system crackled and then, louder than usual, blared out, “May I have your attention please? This is a special news bulletin from Washington, D.C. Ladies and Gentlemen, The President of the United States.”
Mark stopped in his tracks. “Uh oh,” he said out loud, knowing full well what was coming.
“My fellow citizens,” the president began, “I have some disturbing news. Nuclear devices have been detonated in Russia and in China and the North Koreans have retaliated against China for this morning’s attack on their country. My military advisors have warned that an attack on the U.S. is imminent although no incoming missiles have been detected at this time. Our administration is taking all steps possible to prevent escalation but we are issuing this warning to allow people time to proceed to shelters and evacuate major cities. In the event we are attacked, our armed forces will take all steps necessary to intercept incoming missiles. The American people have always shown immense courage in the face of danger. Please, I’m asking everyone to keep calm, return to your homes and prepare to evacuate if you live in a major metropolitan area or in proximity to military installations. If we are attacked it will be safer and your chances for survival increased if you are away from these probable targets. Proceed to your homes and begin evacuation. We will do whatever is necessary to protect our country and her citizens. Good luck and God bless you all and God bless the United States of America.”
It took a moment for the message to penetrate. At first the crowd began to just move quickly through the corridor and then suddenly they panicked and masses of people were pushing and shoving toward the exits of the airport, leaving their luggage behind which further obstructed pedestrian traffic. Mark was momentarily carried along with the crowd, struggling against the flow, until he managed to duck into an alcove where the restrooms were located. The door burst open and a woman rushed past him into the walkway and was immediately swallowed by the crowd.
An elderly man was jostled and fell to the tiled concourse floor where he was trampled by frantic people attempting to get around him. His wife, tugging at his arm, was buffeted by the panicked hoard and knocked to her knees. Mark caught the sight of blood and clutched at the old man, heaving him upright and pulling him into the alcove. The man’s wife, crying hysterically, managed to join them, though she was bleeding from a facial gash and limping badly.
Mark yelled above the screams of the crowd, “Stay here until the crowd thins out! Otherwise you’ll be killed!” He started back toward gate 7. When he arrived at the point where you weren’t supposed to be able to proceed to the gate he saw that the security personnel were gone so he kept going all the way to the arrival gate.
He fought against the crowd, which was beginning to thin as people headed for the intersection of Concourses A and B and descended the escalators in leaps and bounds. When he arrived at the gate, unscathed, the passengers had just started to disembark. He watched as each person entered the terminal and was informed about the President’s address. They were immediately swept up in the panic. By now the crowd was thinned out and he could see the few remaining passengers exiting the jetway. As they entered the terminal he could see that Jill’s family wasn’t among them. Bitterly disappointed he ran to a stewardess coming off the plane. “Are there any passengers left on the plane?”
“No, that’s everyone, what’s happening?”
“The government’s issued a warning of possible nuclear attack on the U.S.,” he threw over his shoulder, as he immediately started back toward
the bar, moving with the last of the crowd. He arrived back at the bar in a few minutes.
The bartender was gone and the lounge was empty with the exception of a longhaired young man behind the bar who was helping himself to the money in the register. He looked up at Mark, “Well hell, dude, this is it. You want a drink?”
“No. Have you seen some people; a bearded man in his sixties, a pretty woman around 30, a younger guy, an older couple? They were at that table by the window.” He advanced toward the bar and the other man backed away, his hands extended in front of him. Paranoia was already running rampant.
“No, man. When the bulletin came everyone split.”
Mark raced back into the corridor and ran for the central escalators. He flew down the moving staircase dangerously taking the steps two and three at a time, pushing by people that remained stationary. He hit the second level and continued down the next escalator to the lower level. He needed to get to the Fixed Based Operator hangar where the chopper was located. Running through the baggage claim area, pushing through the thinned out crowds, he came to a dead end where windows looked out on the runway. Looking in both directions, he couldn’t see any exits.
“Damn!” He realized it would detour him if he attempted to re-enter the crowded corridors so, instead, he hurried to the huge windows overlooking the landing area. There was approximately a four-foot drop to the concrete tarmac. Shedding the trappings of civilization, he grabbed a luggage cart and heaved it against the glass, leaping backward as it bounced back…but the glass had cracked. He swung it again with all his strength. The safety glass shattered explosively and he threw his arm up to shield his eyes as pieces cascaded over him. He kicked at the edges of the window to break off the remainder of the glass, stepped out on the ledge, and jumped to the concrete below, taking care to avoid large sheets of broken glass. He knew the others would have taken the SUV so he started running toward the flight school at his best race pace cutting across the taxiways and keeping a look out for planes and vehicles.
***
As the President’s announcement ended Chris jumped to her feet. “Dad, what happened? I thought we would be warned ahead of time!”
“I don’t know Babe! They obviously had no time. Damn! We’ve got to get to the chopper. Mark will know to meet us there.”
They plunged into the melee trying to locate an exit that lead in the direction they needed to go, across the airport at a distance of slightly over a mile. Ernest had hold of Helen’s arm to steady her. They beat most of the crowd to the escalators and quickly reached the lower level. Will was familiar with the layout of the “Sunport” and he led them to an exit where they burst out onto the tarmac. There was no time to get to the SUV in the VIP parking area. A small ground cart, used for transporting luggage and driven by a young man, was just starting away from the terminal. Will waved him down and threw himself in front of the cart, holding his arms in the air.
“Look, I need to get these people to High Desert Flight School. I’ll give you five hundred bucks for a ride.”
“Hop on bud, I’m going that way anyway. Show me the money.”
Will gestured for the others to jump on, reached in his pocket and drew out a money clip. He tossed it to the driver, who thumbed through it.
“There’s more than five hundred here,” he told Will.
“Keep it. Let’s move.”
They sped past the end of the terminal and in a couple of minutes had reached the area where the flight school was located. Will pointed out where he wanted to go and the young man swerved in that direction.
They jumped off the cart as it swung alongside the chopper, the young man continuing away from the airport. Will squinted, looking toward the terminal for signs of Mark.
“What the Hell are we standing here for? Let’s get out of here! Didn’t you here what the guy said? The missiles could be fired any minute.” Clay was pleading with his father.
“We’re waiting for Mark. I’m not leaving without him.”
“We don’t have time. We don’t need him. You know how to fly this… ”
Will turned on Clay, grabbed him by the arms and shook him. “I said we’re not leaving without Mark. Now get in the chopper before I throw you in!” He shoved Clay against the side of the large Bell helicopter.
Chris took Clay’s arm. “Come on Clay. You’d better get in.” She swung the door open and helped Helen climb into the back. The Bell 407 carried six passengers in addition to the pilot. If Mark’s sister and her family arrived it was going to be a tight fit. Ernest climbed aboard and Chris jumped up after him. Will opened the front, glared at Clay and pointed. Clay briefly hesitated, and then climbed in. Will turned back to the field and his heart leaped as he saw Mark sprinting from the terminal.
He was alone.
“Here he comes!” Will yelled to the others. Mark was gesturing toward the hangar and Will turned to see two men running toward them, one of them carrying what appeared to be a large wrench. Will jumped up behind the controls and fired the engines. It was a race between Mark and the other men. The engine started and the four-bladed rotor began to spin.
Mark won, but just barely. The man with the wrench threw it at Mark. It hit the ground and bounced up, smashing against his leg just as he reached the chopper door. His feet were knocked out from under him and he went down against the strut. One of the men caught up to him and kicked him hard in the gut. Mark groaned and curled up, grasping his abdomen. Will had slid over to allow Mark behind the controls but now scooted back and jumped out of the chopper.
The second man screamed at Will, above the roar of the whirling blades, “We want the bird! Get out of the way and you won’t get . . .”
Before he could continue, Chris threw the back door open against his back. He stumbled forward and Will shoved him into his companion. He tripped and fell hard to the ground. Mark staggered to his feet, gasping for air, as Chris picked up the wrench and waved it at the man still standing. The other man climbed to his feet, and both men, putting their hands up in surrender, backed away staring at Will.
He had a Sig forty-five caliber pistol pointed directly at them.
“Get the hell away from us, NOW!” The men turned, and looking fearfully back over their shoulders, ran back toward the hangar.
Will helped Mark aboard the chopper as Chris jumped back inside and secured the rear door. Mark was gasping, bent double and still having considerable difficulty breathing. He pulled back on the stick, lifting the chopper off the ground. They gained altitude and swung over the four level parking structure where a crash on one of the circular ramps had completely stopped the flow of traffic trying to exit. They passed over the terminal where Mark could see the traffic below horribly snarled as the mob surged into the streets, blocking vehicles. He tried the radio but no one was directing air traffic and he became concerned they might run into military planes since ABQ shared its runways with Kirtland Air Force Base. He banked hard, swung the helicopter around and headed north.
He yelled to Will over the noise of the engine, “Jill wasn’t on the flight. I hope to God they get here and can find a car.” His voice showed his frustration. He stared straight ahead, tears blurring his vision. There was no going back to that place.
August 21, 2:45 p.m.
Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado
Leroy had attempted to call in sick that morning but his commanding officer informed him that unless he wanted to be transferred to Minot, North Dakota he’d better get his black ass to work. He was so distressed he seriously considered disobeying orders and staying home, but he knew a guy stationed in Minot and it was truly the last place on Earth he wanted to be. His friend had worked in a very deep, narrow missile silo and told Leroy he hadn’t seen the light of day all winter. Leroy steeled himself and came to work.
When he left the day before it had been Defcon 3, and as he entered the NORAD Control Center from the access tunnel he automatically glanced over at the indicator on the wall. He immediately froze in sh
eer terror. His tongue thickened and he heard himself making a whining noise in the back of his throat. Struggling with himself, he gained sufficient control to get to his station but found himself completely unable to concentrate on his work.
Data was flowing in a steady stream; reports of U.S. troop movements, scrambling jets, ICBM preparations as nuclear warheads were armed, incoming reports from the DEW Line in Northern Canada, all requiring his attention. Sea Wolf Attack Subs were on their way toward the Far East and aircraft carriers, previously stationed in the Gulf of Oman were steaming across the Indian Ocean. Data was received from destroyers and frigates towing underwater sonar arrays trying to locate enemy submarines.
Using space-based infrared detectors, The “Theater Event System” of the MWC, Missile Warning Center, had detected the detonation of a nuclear device in Russia that morning and had since detected short-range missile firings from Russia toward China. So far, the “Strategic Ballistic Missile Warning system” hadn’t detected any long–range missile launches.
The United States’ fleet of over forty nuclear-powered submarines surrounded the East Asian continent, Long-range B-52 bombers, and more modern B1’s were en route toward Asia, and the Seventh Fleet with its hundreds of aircraft and tactical weapons, some nuclear, was ready for battle. The United States was fully prepared with a devastating retaliatory response if attacked by any foreign country.
Leroy would have attempted escape during lunch break had it been possible, but the facility was locked down, no one allowed to the surface during a Defcon 2 stage. He was so preoccupied with his work he actually began to think he might make it.