by Jack Strain
Sticking out his own finger, Schultz said, “You better watch where you put that finger, Baxter. There isn’t any Secret Service outside your door to protect you from me. And you can threaten me all you want, but I promise that I will take you down with me, that’s for damn sure. You may have his ear today, but I’m not going anywhere. Count on it.”
Schultz offered one last glare and slammed the door shut.
How in the hell did I ever let Douglas get mixed up with this bastard?
Chapter Fifteen
CBS News Special Report
“Good Afternoon, I’m Scott Pellegrino, and this is a CBS News Breaking Report. With the president scheduled to speak at a joint session of Congress in less than two hours, we have just received a copy of a video from a man claiming to be Bahadur Rahimi, the leader of the terror group Allah’s Soldiers for Unity and Vengeance.
“We know very little of the man who is responsible for the worst terror attack since 9/11. CBS and other news agencies have been trying to obtain more information on the man, but little is known of this new terror network. While it is virtually impossible for CBS News to independently verify that the man in the video is, in fact, Bahadur Rahimi, after careful consultation with other news agencies and security consultants, we have decided to release the video so the American public can see for themselves the face of the enemy, so to speak.
“Let’s cue up the video.”
The screen went from a grainy image then to a scene familiar to most viewers after various terrorist releases over the years. With a large white banner with words in Arabic and two green flags with the golden crescent of Islam clearly visible and arrayed in the background were half a dozen armed men, faces covered by black shrouds and dressed in an assortment of camouflage uniforms. Each of the men was holding his AK-74 rifle in his left hand, and what looked like the Koran in his right. Holy Warriors.
The bearded man in the foreground had a thin, drawn, bearded face, wore no mask, was unarmed, and simply wore traditional Arab headwear, black keffiyeh. Light-skinned with dark penetrating eyes, the man claiming to be Bahadur Rahimi closed his own well-worn Koran and calmly placed it on the table next to him and simply gazed intently into the camera, almost as if he were trying to personally connect with the tens of millions of viewers he clearly hoped were watching.
Speaking in an almost serene tone and in a measured yet direct manner, Rahimi began by saying, “To my fellow believers, I say to you my brothers and sisters, ‘As-salāmu ʿalaykum’ (peace be unto you). To the enemies of Islam, now you know that I bring anything but peace unto you. Now you know that my brave warriors are ready to wage jihad against the enemies of my brothers and sisters. I am but his vessel, his instrument for unity and justice and the bringer of death to the infidel and any who lay down like dogs and serve the Jews and unbelievers.
My brothers and I struck those who would betray Allah with their own weapons of death and suffering. I say to you my brothers and sisters, rise up, join our jihad and strike down the infidel wherever he is to be found.
Heed my call, my brothers and sisters, a great battle is coming. The “Great Satan” himself who bears the shame of his daughter’s death will soon cry out on this very night seeking to destroy our people, to destroy our cities, our mosques, our very faith. But we are strong in our belief of the power and glory of Allah and ready to give battle.
But we will be stronger still if we unite as one. All my brothers and sisters, both Shia and Sunni, must band together against the armies of Satan who relish in each drop of blood shed by a fellow Muslim brother or sister upon another. No more.”
Dramatically, Bahadur pulls out a short, curved blade from his belt, held up his left hand and swiftly sliced his left palm. As blood bubbled up from the wound and began to drip down his outstretched hand, he placed it to his heart and grasped his Koran with his right and with a strident voice proclaimed, “I will give the last drop of blood that runs in my veins for my people. ALL MUSLIM PEOPLE. SHIA. SUNNI. ONE GREAT FAITH. ONE GREAT PEOPLE.
“I call upon my fellow holy warriors to rise: Our brothers of Al Qaeda, the brave fighters of ISIS, the determined warriors of Hezbollah in Lebanon, our Palestinian brothers and sisters of Hamas, the Brotherhood in Egypt, our Somali believers of Al-Shabaab, the brave brothers of Boko Haram, the eternal warriors of the Taliban. I am calling for the entire Muslim world from North Africa to Indonesia to heed the call of jihad.
And a special prayer to my brothers and sisters in the United States and Europe: Strike the faithless where they sleep, where they eat, where they worship. Strike them down until they drown in their own blood as our brothers and sisters have died. Let them suffer and bury their children.
“Join me in the Holy War to come, seek death and glory in Allah’s name, but only after killing the unbeliever. Join Allah’s Soldiers for Unity and Vengeance, and together they will fear us. Together we shall bask in Allah’s graces and someday enjoy the fruits of peace and prosperity as one great faith. Goodbye, my brothers and sisters. Ma'aasalaama.”
Pellegrino had already seen the video three times but still felt chilled by the intensity of the charismatic mass murderer. Clearing his throat momentarily, he began, “Well as you can see the message is quite disturbing, but we at CBS News believe our viewers deserved to hear, in his own words, the hate and the threat this group poses not just to the United States, but to the world. Now let’s turn to Ryan Foley at the Pentagon.”
Chapter Sixteen
National Military Command Center, The Pentagon
Ninety minutes before the President’s speech
More than three hundred uniformed personnel manned their stations at the National Military Command Center. Tensions were high. The threat board was being updated every fifteen minutes. Planes and drones were in the air, ships were at sea, soldiers and marines were combat loading for the battles to come. U.S. military forces worldwide were being deployed to multiple theaters and preparing to initiate the most complex, synchronized strike in military history. Responsible for coordinating communication and EAMs - emergency action messages - were the men and women of the NMCC, but it was the Chiefs meeting in “The Tank” that were responsible for initiating the orders from National Command Authority to wage the war.
For the third time in the past hour, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, a visibly tense General Samuel Duncan, voiced his displeasure, “For Christ’s sake, Jimbo, this PR bullshit could get some of our people killed. The timing on this is tighter than a prom queen’s asshole, and you know it.”
Secretary of Defense Mahler knew how anxious everyone felt. Everything has been too rushed, but orders were orders. New age, new type of warfare. Taking off his glasses, Mahler rubbed his eyes and said, “Look, Dunc, it’s too damn late to bitch about what you can’t change. Hell, I don’t give a shit if our people miss the timeline here or there as long as we hit our main targets and bring our people home safe. But if we can pull it off . . . what a fucking show.
“Anyway, I told all of you that I will take the heat from the White House if it comes to it. The timeline stays as planned. Got it? Good. Now, Pat, give me a quick update on our deployments. I have to head out of here in twenty minutes and want to give the president a last-minute update.”
Vice Chair, Air Force General Pat Sullivan, silver-haired and tall, knew his service was playing a major role in the opening round, so he was understandably on edge. “I got planes crowding airfields all over the damn planet. Over the past seventy-two hours, we have flushed damn near every operational bomber we have to forward airbases, two-thirds of our F-22 Raptors, half of our Strike Eagle and Falcon squadrons are all combat loaded and ready to go. Hell, we even have two squadrons of our new F-35A Lightnings forward deployed.
“But - and this is a big goddamned “but,” Jimbo - this is all tooth and not nearly enough tail. We don’t have enough cargo planes to accomplish everything the president insists needs to happen within the first twenty-four hours. We need the president to aut
horize a Stage Three activation of the Civil Reserve Fleet; all five hundred and fifty planes, not a partial stage two. It won’t be enough.”
Nodding in agreement, Secretary Mahler said, “Already ahead of you, Pat. I just got the word thirty minutes ago. The airlines have already been notified. They raised holy hell, but the president ordered the Stage Three mobilization as of midnight tonight, so you get your hands on all five hundred plus birds for the duration of the crisis. Plus, don’t forget our NATO allies are already loading up prepositioned war stocks from our Euro bases and transporting them to our forward-operating bases. I promise you that our boys will have more than their peckers in hand in the days ahead.”
A grinning General William “Chooch” Nelson, Commandant of the Marine Corps, couldn’t help himself and burst out, “Now that reminds of a time in Manila, Jimbo, when you seemed perfectly fine to just have your pecker well in hand. I do believe you used it to piss on the Iranian embassy one late night. But what really upset those Iranian security guards, if I remember right, was when your lady friend that night started to join you.”
The sudden flashback instantly brought a smile and some laughs around the room. A red-faced and grinning Secretary Mahler added, “And if I remember right, Chooch here came down with a serious case of stage fright, so that gal felt obligated to do her part. She sure had some distance on her.”
General Nelson now had tears in his eyes and couldn’t help but add, “Jimbo, ‘bout time someone broke it to you: That wasn’t some lady. That gal of yours had an Adam’s apple the size of a golf ball.”
Well, that one brought loud laughs from everyone in the room. Even a few of the aides who were expected to be seen and not heard could not help themselves, and for about five minutes, men who bore such tremendous responsibility enjoyed a moment of levity that was welcomed like a cool shower on a hot day.
Finally, Secretary Mahler put both hands out to calm the room and get some control and said, “Thanks, Chooch, I’ll remember that one. But back to business. One last thing: Senator Mitchum called me on the drive over here to tell me that the Armed Services Committee has already approved a $100 billion emergency appropriations bill. I already sent the word to Boeing and the boys. They will be mobilizing production for damn near everything across the board, especially missiles and ordnance. So, don’t be afraid to use what we got, more is coming.
“Like I told all of you three days ago, the president means business. This is no bullshit. In about sixty minutes, we are going to war. Those fuckers have no idea the shitstorm we are about to unleash on them.”
Mahler came to his feet and ended with his favorite saying, “Time to break things and hurt people. Now get it done.”
Moments after Secretary Mahler left the room, the Chiefs sent the order to military commands across the world, all U.S. military assets were authorized to execute Operation Avenging Angel.
Seventy-Five Minutes before the President’s Speech
The president had been working the phones in the Oval Office for most of the past hour. He talked with several NATO allies, thanking them for their support. His conversation with Jordan’s King Abdullah did not go well. President Wolfe heard him out and tried to reassure him that all the U.S. wanted was peace and stability, but the king was extremely concerned about how his people would react to another Israeli and Western military intervention in the region. The horrors in Iraq and Syria rarely left his mind.
Next, the president thanked President Putin for his willingness to accede to the American overflight request and promises of general support. Usually very mindful of the press’s reactions to the allegations of Russian interference in the past election, tonight President Wolfe expressed his genuine gratitude and expressed his willingness to bring the two countries closer together. Wolfe tactfully reminded the Russian president that they had their own Muslim problems as the conversation came to a close. Then he turned to his last scheduled phone call, America’s strongest and most valued ally: Great Britain.
“Madame Prime Minister, your support these last few days have been most appreciated. I can’t tell you how moved our entire family was when the ambassador showed us a rendering of the proposed public gardens in Notting Hill to honor my Liliana. She fell in love with London when she studied at the London School of Economics. I look forward to taking my grandchildren to see it someday.”
Prime Minister May cast aside the personal discomfort she felt about the public man and instead spoke to the grieving father. “Please, Mr. President, you agreed; it’s Theresa.”
“Then to be fair, Theresa, it’s Douglas.”
“Yes, yes, of course, Douglas. I know that the hour is short, but is there anything Her Majesty’s Armed Forces can do further to carry some of the burden in the days and weeks ahead?”
“I don’t believe so, Theresa. You have already pledged more than any of our other so-called allies. Truly, the American people have no greater friends than our longtime British ally. I know what we plan to do will not be wildly popular on your side of the pond, so your support means all the more to me. I thank you again.”
“No need, Douglas, as I said from the beginning, this tragic attack must be answered and those guilty taken to account. Once again, on behalf of the British people, I offer you our sincere condolences for your loss. We shall endeavor to see this through until the end. On that, you have my word.”
Momentarily overcome with emotion at such support, Wolfe ignored an aide who was waving her hand, reminding him of the need to get moving. He nodded and said, “Theresa, I must be going but thank you once again. The American people won’t forget our friends who stood by us in our time of need. You will forever have my gratitude. Good night.”
With that said, the president stood and put on his suit jacket and headed out of the office.
◆◆◆
Meanwhile on the other side of the globe, three hundred feet below the surface, the USS Georgia, designated SSGN 729 - an Ohio-class ballistic missile submarine converted ten years ago to carry 154 Tomahawk cruise missiles - silently slipped through the warm waters in the Gulf of Oman. Originally built to carry twenty-four submarine-launched Trident D-5 intercontinental ballistic missiles, but in the wake of the end of the Cold War reconfigured and tasked with a new mission.
No longer part of the nation’s nuclear triad, but still playing a critical role, four converted Ohio-class SSGNs were fitted with new vertical launch capsules in twenty-two of its twenty-four silos, each fitted with seven BGM 109 TLAM C & D Tomahawk missiles. The C version carried a single 1,000 lb. high-explosive warhead while the D version was equipped with a submunitions dispenser packed with 166 individual bomblets. Capable of launching a total of 154 missiles at one time, Ohio-class missile subs could inflict enormous damage from up to seven hundred or more miles away.
The sonar team on the USS Georgia were kept busy by the procession of acoustic signatures of numerous cargo and tanker ships exiting the Strait of Hormuz over the past forty-eight hours. These highly skilled specialists could determine that many ships were either not full or entirely empty and now searching for safe harbor. Tensions in the region were high, and shipping agents from Lloyds of London cautioned ship owners to prepare for the potentiality of a wider conflict.
Additionally, Iranian naval activity was high at both at the entrance and exit points to the Strait of Hormuz. The threatening presence of so many Revolutionary Guards powerboats and fast-attack craft were disquieting to nervous ship captains who were now desperate to avoid any risks to their expensive tanker and cargo vessels. Although the Iranian Navy’s larger fleet ships were in protected berths, dozens of Revolutionary Guards powerboats and hovercraft were openly traveling in and out of the established international shipping lanes, almost daring American and their Gulf allies’ naval forces, but none reacted to the Iranian provocations.
For the past twelve hours, the USS Georgia sought out a less traveled part of the Gulf of Oman until they settled on a patch of ocean about sixty miles of
f Oman’s coast, opposite the city of Sur. The Ohio subs built a remarkable reputation during the Cold War, consistently avoiding Russian attack subs determined to capture the faint acoustic signature of the ultra-quiet American boomers. But the 16,000 ton, 560 feet long testament to American naval design ingenuity remained a black hole operating in the ocean, waiting to go to war.
A loud voice barked, “This is the Captain, and I have the conn. All engines stop and take us to missile launch depth.”
The Officer on Deck quickly repeated, “All engines stop. Helms, take us to firing depth.”
Both orders were quickly answered by two strong “Ayes.”
Captain Kenneth Napier looked down at the action orders again, though he practically had them memorized by now. He took his cap off and quickly wiped away some perspiration and keyed his mic, “Weps (Weapons Officer) prepare to initiate firing sequence, Alpha Zulu.”
“Aye Sir, Alpha Zulu firing sequence ready on your mark.”
Well here goes nothin’ . . .
Captain Napier looked at the clock one last time and ordered, “Weps, fire on my mark. One…two …three…FIRE! Repeat, FIRE!”
“Aye, aye Captain. Alpha Zulu sequence initiating . . . now . . .”
The indicator light above silo one on the weapons officer’s display panel went from red to green, and seconds later the submarine shuddered as highly compressed air forced out the first BGM 109 C Tomahawk missile. Just as the missile tip broke the water surface, a rocket booster engaged and propelled the land-attack missile up into the air along its target path and then the booster rocket fell off and dropped harmlessly into the warm Arabian Sea.
Once the main engine turned on, the onboard GPS was activated, seconds later made contact with the Global Orbiting Positioning System, verified the location, and then updated the attack profile and directed the missile along its nearly six-hundred-mile path to its target.