by Bobby Akart
President Harman let out a deep breath in an attempt to calm her nerves. It didn’t work. A glass or two of wine might have helped, she thought to herself, but there wasn’t time for that.
Her chief of staff interrupted her thoughts as he asked a question. “Admiral Dasanti, have you deployed all of our missile defense protocols?”
As he answered, a second monitor in the room displayed a graphic depicting the nation’s missile defense system. The president had given it a cursory look before, but was now studying it intently.
“Yes, Mr. Acton, we have. The THAAD system and the Aegis ships are prepared to intercept. Our next step is up to the president. A returned nuclear strike, using the B-2 Spirits and our available B-52s, is on its way to the theater. This includes two specially equipped B-2s carrying the B-61 tactical nuclear gravity bombs, ideal for their accuracy and hitting underground targets. We have Ohio-class nuclear submarines awaiting your green light. Naturally, we have our Minuteman IIIs on standby throughout Montana and the Dakotas.”
“Have they attacked South Korea or Japan?” asked the president.
“Neither, Madam President. However, six minutes after the first Hwasong-15 launch was initiated, South Korean Defense ordered a retaliatory strike of Hyunmoo II missiles directed at DPRK missile batteries near the DMZ. Their warships and combat aircraft immediately began firing at the North.”
“Their attack was unprovoked?” asked DHS Secretary Pickering.
“That is unclear at this time,” replied Admiral Dasanti. “They were certainly quick to react.”
The president walked closer to the monitor and looked into the high-definition camera. “Admiral, a retaliatory strike, as you’ve said, will act to destroy their offensive capabilities, am I correct?”
“Madam President, on your order, we can destroy the entire country.”
President Harman turned and looked at her advisors in the room. Secretary Pickering spoke first.
“Madam President, total annihilation may not be necessary. There are innocent lives at stake. Perhaps we should focus on high-value military targets.”
“No, Carla. Not this time. Kim started this war, and I intend to finish it. I’m sorry for the loss of life of the innocents, but his mobile launchers could be anywhere, and I’m not willing to risk one more ICBM reaching our country.”
Major Patterson rose from his seat in the corner of the room, anticipating the president’s next request. She nodded to him as he set the briefcase on the conference table.
The president was wearing khaki slacks and a white blouse covered by a blue blazer. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small card. The acting Defense Secretary inched closer to Major Patterson, who indicated he was ready to begin the authentication process by opening the briefcase known as the nuclear football.
“Ready, Madam President,” said Major Patterson.
She read the eight two-letter codes aloud. “OL, HN, MI, BE, XM, OK.”
Major Patterson repeated the codes. “The president’s identification is confirmed. Admiral Dasanti, the launch codes are accurate and being transmitted to your attention at Cheyenne Mountain.”
The president’s encrypted launch order included targets, an immediate launch sequence and the necessary authentication codes to unlock missiles by air, sea, and land. Within five minutes, approximately fifteen minutes after the first missiles were fired from North Korea, the United States released thirty-nine nuclear warheads toward the northern half of the Korean Peninsula.
The missiles could not be recalled as they raced toward their military targets and large population centers, not that the president wanted to.
Kim Jong-un had crossed the line in the sand.
Chapter 3
December 1
Kingsbury Colony, Montana
“Are those nukes?” Riley screamed his question over the roar of the afterburners from the Minuteman III missiles headed for North Korea. The group was mesmerized by the spectacle of the twelve rockets lifting off into space. Cooper now understood what shock and awe felt like. The sheer power and force behind the magnificent missiles forced a nervous laugh out of him despite the ramifications of what was happening.
“If we’re firing at them, that means they fired at us first, I think,” yelled Cooper. “We’ve got to take cover.”
“Pacheco and I will take the food inside,” said Fiorella Schlossmacher, who had been so generous in opening up her home to care for Adriano Morales, who’d been shot. She turned to Eduardo Pacheco, the best friend of Morales and a fellow bull rider of Cooper’s. “Let’s gather everything and go inside. We have to move your friend to another room.”
“Do you have a root cellar or crawl space under any of your buildings?” asked Cooper.
“No, everything is built on a slab, except for the barn, of course,” replied Fiorella. “But we’ve taken some precautions.”
“Like what?” asked Palmer.
“I’ll tell you inside when we’re settled,” she replied as Pacheco stacked the trays of food on top of each other and headed toward the house. Fiorella grabbed the drinks and gestured toward the barn. “Go to the barn and retrieve the rolls of plastic and duct tape. It’s a thick plastic we keep on hand to protect tender plants in the event of a late spring freeze.”
Palmer added, “For the windows, right?”
“Yes. Get all of it, and look in my husband’s toolboxes for a handheld staple gun. Hurry. We may not have much time.”
Cooper led the way as the trio raced to the barn. It was dark inside and being unfamiliar with it didn’t help them. Palmer found the duct tape, and Cooper rustled through the tools until he located two staple guns.
“Check up in the loft,” Palmer suggested.
Riley climbed a ladder into the hayloft and found the rolls of plastic. There were four rolls of eight-millimeter-thick plastic sheeting. The label indicated they were ten feet wide and a hundred feet long.
“Watch out, you guys! These suckers are heavy.”
Palmer and Cooper backed away from the loft as Riley tossed the seventy-five-pound rolls over the edge. Each time they hit the ground, a combination of straw, dust, and dirt flew throughout the barn, which reminded Cooper to grab a woodworking mask he’d seen on the workbench.
Riley descended the ladder and swept his arms from side to side to wave away the floating debris.
“Come on, grab an end,” Cooper said to his brother. He reached down and lifted one side with a lot of effort and a loud grunt.
“Don’t bother, Coop,” said Riley as he kneeled down next to one of the rolls. “I’ve got this. The steers I wrestle weigh a lot more than these things.”
Riley squatted, gathered a roll up in his arms, and pushed himself upright using his powerful leg muscles. “Let’s go. I’ll carry in the rolls, and you guys start to cut them to fit. I assume that’s what the plan is, right?”
“Yep,” replied Palmer. “Can you get the rest?”
“Piece of cake,” he replied with a smile as he staggered out of the barn like a clown with oversized shoes. He picked up the pace. “C’mon, I’ll race ya.”
Palmer and Cooper laughed, temporarily enjoying the lighthearted moment. Riley was the most emotional of the three, but he had a way of making them forget their troubles.
As they approached the front door, Fiorella swung it open and motioned for them to come in. She’d already moved the furniture out of the center of the room with Pacheco’s assistance to make room for the project.
“I’ve turned on the emergency radio to get the broadcast out of Great Falls. It was repeating that mechanical-sounding voice warning. I’m afraid we are being attacked.”
The reality hit Palmer, leading to her nervous reaction as Riley set the plastic on the floor with a thud.
“Riley!” she protested, causing her brother to shy away and mutter an apology. She turned her attention to Fiorella. “Any details? You know, targets?”
“Nothing,” the woman replied. “The me
ssage simply confirmed this was not a drill and warned everyone to immediately take shelter until further notice.”
“Ma’am,” started a concerned Cooper, “how long have you lived here? I guess, I mean, um, do you think we’d be a target here?”
“Young man, we’re surrounded by nuclear missile silos. Nearby Malmstrom Air Force Base controls all of them. That said, I can comfortably say that Kingsbury Colony is not a target, but Malmstrom might be.”
Riley patted Cooper on the shoulder and headed out the front door. Before he left, he whispered something their granddaddy, Pops, used to say all the time when the kids were growing up on the Armstrong Ranch. “Talk while you work.”
Cooper set the staple guns down and began to unroll the plastic. He continued his thought. “Ma’am, how far is Malmstrom from here?”
Fiorella handed Palmer a notepad and pencil. With a tape measure in hand, she walked toward the first windows near the front door.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she began to respond. “The base is about a hundred miles from here, toward our southeast. Trust me, I’ve thought about this before. If the base got hit, it’s not likely we’d suffer damage, but we could potentially be exposed to the radiation fallout. That’s why we need to seal up all of the openings in the house. Quickly.”
She and Palmer measured the first two windows, and Cooper began to cut the plastic sheeting using sewing shears provided by Fiorella. He added four inches all the way around to allow for both stapling and sealing with the duct tape.
“I wish we had an inside room without external walls,” continued Fiorella. “I’ve read that any fallout that penetrates the outside walls will lose its intensity because it’s absorbed. My cloth furniture will help as well.”
Riley returned with another roll and immediately headed back to the barn for a third without comment. Cooper cut the first two window coverings and crumpled the excess, trimmed plastic sheeting into a ball.
“Save the scraps,” said Fiorella. “We’ll use them to cover the air vents to the HVAC system. I don’t know if that’s necessary, but it won’t hurt.”
The three of them continued to work together as Cooper thought of another question. “Would we be able to see the explosion if it hit the base?”
“Oh yeah, but we won’t be watching for it,” said Fiorella. We’ll pull my velvet drapes shut to help with blocking the fallout. Besides, I’m pretty sure we’ll feel it.”
“Like an earthquake?” quipped Palmer as Riley returned with the final roll and, due to exhaustion, dropped the heavy plastic with a thump that shook the floor. “Or from my brother’s rude arrival?”
They got a chuckle at Riley’s expense and continued the measuring and cutting process. Pacheco rejoined the group, and he began affixing the plastic to the windows with Riley’s help. With the group working together, they managed to seal the three exterior doors and twenty-one windows in the small farmhouse in less than twenty minutes. After the air ducts were secured, everyone collapsed into a chair and took a moment to relax.
Fiorella was the first to rise as she pulled her drapes together throughout the home. After the final curtains were closed, she picked up a photo frame with her husband’s picture in it and began to cry.
Cooper looked in Palmer’s direction and nodded. Palmer hopped off the sofa and went to comfort Fiorella. After a minute, she calmed down.
“I wasn’t afraid for my husband until now. His trip home would take him through major cities like Omaha and maybe Denver, depending on which route he chose. He’s a strong, smart man. The EMP attack wouldn’t faze him. He’d look at the power outage as an annoyance. But nuclear bombs flying around. That’s much different.”
Cooper rose and joined his sister by Fiorella’s side. “Ma’am, we’ll pray for his protection. He’ll find his way home through all of this. You have to stay strong.”
The group heard Morales coughing in the bedroom, so Palmer, Pacheco, and Fiorella rushed in there to check on him. This left Cooper alone with Riley.
Riley looked past Cooper until they were alone, and then he whispered, “Coop, shoot straight with me. Are we screwed?”
“I don’t know for certain. It ain’t good, that’s for sure. We’ll know real quick, though.”
“How?”
Cooper removed his hat and scruffed his hair. “Oh, we’ll feel the earth shake like it’s comin’ apart at the seams.”
Chapter 4
December 1
Sixty miles southeast of Hawaii
Pacific Ocean
Duncan Armstrong Jr. comforted his new friend as the two flew out of Yongsan Garrison in Seoul, South Korea, earlier in the day. The last forty-eight hours had been a whirlwind of activity reminiscent of an episode of 24, one of Duncan’s favorite shows as a teen. Sook let out the emotional loss of her family, and despite the third-world conditions she’d lived in, a part of her would always be fond of her familial home in Sinmi-do, North Korea.
Upon their arrival in Guam, Duncan overcame some resistance from Air Force personnel to allowing them a seat on the Boeing C-17 Globemaster destined for San Diego. The large military transport was full to capacity with troops and military supplies returning to the States to help with the EMP-recovery effort.
After a brief argument, the Air Force personnel were called away, allowing Duncan and Sook to board the C-17. Keeping to themselves, the two cuddled in the backseat of a Humvee being returned to the States. The EMP had disabled most operating vehicles, and the military was in dire need of transportation for their personnel.
The C-17 was capable of transporting one hundred thirty-four troops on sidewall seats, together with six armored security vehicles. This flight’s payload included two M1117 Armored Security Vehicles and four Humvees. The need for ASVs back home puzzled Duncan when he saw them on board. They were commonly used in war theaters because of their mine-resistant hulls and their weapons capabilities.
Are things so bad in America that we need to use armored vehicles to control people?
His mind wandered as Sook fell asleep in his arms. For the first time since he and Park had entered North Korea with the goal of assassinating Kim Jong-un, he allowed himself to think about his family.
While in the service, like a lot of the guys, he’d carried a picture of his mom and dad, as well as his siblings. Once he entered the black-ops world of the CIA, this was a risk he couldn’t afford. Were he to be captured, emotional ties would be used against him to extract information. His possessions, and his mind, had to be devoid of the Armstrong Ranch and his family.
Now, with this incredible young woman by his side, he started to envision a reunion with his folks. He knew they would be accepting of Sook and their relationship, whatever that meant. This was new territory for Duncan. He’d never found time for a steady girlfriend. While other guys his age were focused on hookups and conquests, he was absorbed with his military career and staying alive on the field of battle.
Arriving at Camp Pendleton just north of San Diego would present a challenge for the pair. He wasn’t exactly sure how far it was to the ranch, but he guessed a thousand miles would be pretty accurate. There were very few operating vehicles, he’d been told in Guam, and many of those were being confiscated by the government.
His brothers and Palmer would have found a way home on horseback, something he’d shunned as a teen but would quickly embrace now. His mind calculated walking a thousand miles—two months. He could do it, but he wasn’t sure if Sook had the strength. Plus, the journey would be fraught with danger. If the military was returning ASVs to the U.S. to deal with the EMP’s aftermath, then things must be pretty ugly on the streets.
Duncan was weighing the different options and scenarios, including reaching out to his handlers, the same ones who had abandoned him in North Korea. The least they could do was arrange a ride for him back to Texas or some location close by. In exchange, he’d promise not to kill them when he found them. Leaving him and Park in North Korea to die was an
unforgivable betrayal, one which he vowed to get revenge for on Park’s behalf.
A commotion outside the vehicle startled Duncan, which in turn caused Sook to stir awake. Shouts of look, look forced him to scoot up in his seat and poke his head out the Humvee’s rear window.
This new BC-17 variant of the Globemaster, initially proposed for civilian operators, had window portals scattered down both sides of the aircraft. Soldiers were huddled along the left side of the plane, taking turns pushing their faces against the window.
Based on his flight-time calculations and the gradual descent in altitude, he placed them nearing the California coast, almost home. He assumed everyone was enjoying a bird’s-eye view of their final destination.
Then someone exclaimed, “Oh my god!” Now Duncan had to see what was going on.
It was a cloudless evening, and at their cruising altitude of thirty-eight thousand feet, ordinarily the lights of most large cities could be seen flickering below them. He’d been told much of the continental U.S. had been impacted by the electromagnetic pulse inflicted by the Axis of Evil. California and its large population centers of San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego were no exception.
However, it was not California that had garnered the passengers’ attention. Duncan took his turn at the window. His eyes were immediately drawn to the anomaly in the darkening sky.
When an object enters Earth’s atmosphere, it experiences pressure from gravity and drag. Gravity pulls an object down to Earth’s surface, but the particles of air making up the atmosphere rub against the object, creating friction and drag. This friction causes intense heat, which creates the illusion of the object speeding earthward having a brilliant, fiery tail.
What Duncan observed could’ve been a meteorite, but it wasn’t. His eyes strained to make out the landscape miles below their aircraft. Camp Pendleton’s lights were barely visible as they flickered just beyond the Pacific Ocean.