Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  “Sir, it’s true, most of our satellite capability has been shut down, but we’re working with the NSA to use some backdoors we re-discovered.”

  “’Backdoors’?” said the President with an arched eyebrow. He struggled to push a suggestive image of Jayne from his mind and cleared his throat. “’Re-discovered’?”

  “Yessir. Back in the ‘60s and ‘70s, we figured the Russkies would try some anti-satellite warfare, so we built in some emergency access systems into a select batch of civilian birds, like geostationary weather sats. If the Russians took out our military and spy satellites, we could tap into our weather sats and possibly neutral, international communication satellites to carry our own comm-links.”

  “You hacked international satellites? That doesn’t sound very diplomatic.” The President could just see the negative headlines flash across the screens.

  “Yes, sir,” said the Air Force general. He looked surprised that the President was surprised. “Uh…sir, England, France and Germany, among others—back in the early days—paid us to launch their satellites. We shouldered the risk, we designed and paid for the technology, we supplied the workers, and we supplied the launch facilities. Everything was on us. It wasn’t very hard for our techs to add some extra functionality to those satellites before launch.” He gave a weak shrug. “They never said we couldn’t add some extra communication functionality—and we never asked.”

  The President frowned. “Better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission, right?”

  “Yessir.”

  “All that being said,” growled the Secretary of Defense, “we still are nowhere near the capability we had just last week. We can get through to a few units and bases when these old clunker satellites pass overhead. After that, we have to wait until the next flyover. It’s primitive technology we’re working with, but it’s all we’ve got and it’s working. Barely. It’s leaving us pissing in the wind. If someone decides to take out a few of our forward bases in Iran…they could be wiped out before we even know what the hell is happening.”

  “Is that all we have?” asked the President in a gasp of disbelief.

  “At the moment, yessir,” said the Air Force general sadly. He sat down with a sigh.

  “So. Mr. President, as I said, we are blind, deaf, and mute,” the Secretary of Defense said. “We have North Korean troops taking ground in Los Angeles and—here’s the real kick in the balls—the last image we had over the Pacific is not good.” He stood up and passed a glossy 8 x 10 photo to the President.

  “Why isn’t this on the screens?” asked the President, motioning to the bank of monitors along the entire length of the far wall, displaying current information about the casualties in Atlanta, the fighting in Los Angeles and half a dozen other crises the nation currently was facing.

  “Ancient tech, sir,” offered the head of the National Security Agency with a dangerous glance at the Air Force Chief of Staff. She nodded at the photograph. “It’s the best we can do with these old satellites. They weren’t designed for the workload we’re asking of them. It’s a miracle they’re even still in orbit. If Space Command had actually taken command of space instead of just watching—”

  “Our hands were tied and you know it,” snapped the Air Force Chief, the sudden burst of venom in his voice shocking everyone. “The Star Wars program was scrapped decades ago,” said the Air Force General with an accusing finger at the NSA head. “We had no defensive capability or strategy in place because Congress defunded us to funnel money into your programs to spy on American citizens! And we all know how well that worked out…”

  “Let’s settle down people. This is not the time for infighting.” The President cut the political blame game short. He turned back to the Secretary of Defense. “So, what am I looking at?”

  In the image, a brownish coastline was on the right, or eastern side. The blue waters of the Pacific stretched far to the west and covered 3/4 of the photo. “That, is California and part of Oregon. Those,” said the Secretary of Defense, indicating the small oblong shapes with white lines trailing them, “are surface vessels. Cargo ships. Battleships. A massive fleet—we’re thinking just about everything North Korea has. God knows how may subs are with them. I would bet my career that there’s more than a few Chinese vessels mixed in there.” He shook his head. “Either way, they’re about a day from arrival.”

  “That’s…” he cleared his throat. “That’s a lot of boats,” the President said. He suddenly felt very inadequate at his new job. Reginald never said anything about a North Korean invasion. A very heavy weight seemed to settle on his shoulders and threatened to crush him into the plush chair in which he sat.

  “It’s a Goddamn armada,” grunted the Admiral.

  “I’m getting word from Beijing that it’s a routine merchant fleet,” offered the Secretary of State. She pushed designer glasses up her thin nose and sniffed as if the matter were closed. The President took an immediate dislike to the woman, one of Denton’s favorites.

  “Bullshit. This is an invasion,” said the Army Chief of Staff. He pointed at his own copy of the satellite image. “Hell, they could have two divisions—complete with support vehicles and materiel—on that number of ships. If we can’t get the Navy to take care of this or at least get some airstrikes launched…This is going to hurt.”

  “Why now?” asked Admiral Bennett. “They’re going to lose a lot of men to the flu when they land…” asked the Admiral.

  The President felt his anger rising. Reginald had said there would be an expedition from the Koreans, but nothing of this magnitude. The plan was that he would have his own private army, to hold the peace while the weaponized-flu burned itself out.

  Granted, the use of foreign troops on American soil was bitterly distasteful and he wished he could accomplish his goals without having to resort to such heavy-handed tactics, but the President’s plan to solidify his power for the coming changes required swift and resolute action.

  But, now the timetable was off. Way off. Denton got himself sick on some damned fool campaign stop and died. Harold frowned, his fingers caressing the polished edge of the great desk. He was supposed to enjoy a few months of solo control before the North Koreans arrived. Why had they moved so early? And what the hell were the damn North Koreans doing invading California? They were supposed to police it for him.

  He glanced at the red phone sitting on the desk in front of him. That would be the ultra-secure, untraceable phone that Reginald would contact him on in the future.

  The President looked up to see every face in the room focused on him. He had to throw them back on the defense. He deepened his frown and reached into his bag of tricks to pull up a stern, disapproving fatherly look.

  “How the hell did we let all this get past us? What about NORAD?” he barked.

  “Sir, without those satellites, NORAD is next to useless,” the Air Force general said. He shook his head. “We’re trying to establish landlines but…everything is dependent on geo-synchronous satellite communications these days. I can only imagine the chaos that is about to hit the rest of the country when people realize that there’s no more TV, cellphones, or Internet service.”

  The heads of the Air Force and the NSA started bickering again, blaming funding cuts on each other. The Secretary of Defense started to argue it had been Congress that had screwed things up—that the conservative minority had been trying to add money for Defense spending for years but the liberals had—

  “There’s plenty of blame to go around here, people,” said the President in his best mediator voice. Inside he was shuddering in revulsion. Once again, that innocent little code that he’d given to Reginald was proving to be a major problem coming home to roost.

  “Any word from State?” the President asked, desperate for anything to keep the military from attacking Reginald’s forces.

  The Secretary of State flipped through some the papers in her lap. “Sir, I have a message that came in just as we lost communications. It
states that the United Nations stands ready to assist us during the flu crisis.”

  “That’s it?” the President asked.

  “That’s it.”

  That son of a bitch…he thought, trying to keep his face calm as he looked at the picture of the East Coast again. Reginald took down our entire defense system, killed the satellites, launched the flu…he’s going to bring the whole country down! He could have at least had the decency to warn me about this…

  Okay, he told himself. He’ll get in touch with me soon. I just have to hold the military back until he calls. But he’d better call soon, before these puffed up bastards over-react and really screw up my plans…

  The President rubbed his eyes. That heavy, impossibly heavy weight that had settled on his shoulders was now threatening to drive him into the ground. All those Americans that had died in Atlanta…that he had killed…and that was just the opening act. The death toll was starting to trickle in from California, but he felt in his bones that number was about to skyrocket.

  What was he supposed to do? He could almost feel the lynch mob’s noose around his neck. He loosened his tie and undid the top button, getting air under his shirt. He needed to think. He needed to drink. He needed Jayne. But right now, I just need to keep the Joint Chiefs focused on blocking the Koreans, not wiping them out. I still need them until I can get the military on my side…

  “Sir,” said the Secretary of Homeland Security. The obese black man shifted awkwardly in his spot on the couch. “I have to ask you to assign priority-status to the mission to retrieve Chad Huntley.”

  The President shook his head. “Who?”

  “Sir, he’s the sole-remaining source of our vaccine that stopped The Pandemic ten years ago. I requisitioned a unit of Rangers to pull him out of Glacier National Park when the CDC…and Atlanta…” he paused and put his hands together, looking extremely nervous. He swallowed audibly, then continued: “We’ve confirmed the strain of flu that’s afflicting our nation is not the strain of H5N1 that caused The Pandemic, but we think—at least from what I’ve seen, it could be a mutation that—”

  “Oh hell, Tom, just say it! The Koreans weaponized it!” burst the Army Chief of Staff. He didn’t stand up like his counterparts but merely leaned forward, one arm on his knee. “Mr. President, this flu is no accident. Those bastards did this to us on purpose, to soften us up for the invasion. My boys found Huntley, and he was being chased by a platoon of North Korean SpecOps. They must know he’s the Source of our H5N1 vaccine and they’re trying to take him out of the equation.”

  “How the hell did they figure that out?” asked the Commandant of the Marines, a grim-looking whip of a man.

  “We’re working on that. The HD-GPS chip we implanted in his shoulder led us right to him, but somehow they got a hold of the info as well.”

  The President’s mind raced. That ‘somehow’ was the information he’d given to Reginald. That simple code had been used like a battering ram to crack open the entire American security mainframe.

  “HD-GPS chip?” he asked, trying to buy himself time to think. He could see by the irritated expression on the Admiral’s face, the Joint Chiefs thought worrying about Mr. Huntley was a waste of time.

  “Yessir,” said the head of Homeland Security. He pushed his glasses up his nose again. “He’s the Source. It was thought at the time in the best interests of national security to keep a close watch on him, but we couldn’t just arrest the man. He was a deep-blue hero in the Press—untouchable. We arranged a job for him with the CDC to keep him available, implanted the GPS locater chip in his shoulder and watched him 24/7 for the past ten years.”

  Harold ignored the explanation. He had known the flu was going to be loosed on America. He knew Reginald had a hand in that pretty mess. He had not known the North Koreans were going to capitalize on the havoc that Reginald was going to cause. Now it seems they were hellbent on trying to take out the one man that could help turn the tide against the infection. It alternately made no sense and yet scary-perfect sense to him. Either way, he could feel his options beginning to vanish.

  “Did they get him out?” he asked, after realizing that the room was quiet.

  “Of course,” said the General, looking offended. “Rangers do not fail, Mr. President. Even if our comms do,” he shot a withering look at the Air Force General. “We were able to re-task the extraction team to bring Huntley to Spokane, Washington before all communications were lost and NORAD went silent.”

  “Why Spokane?” asked Harold, hands on either side of his head, elbows on the desk.

  “Because the CDC has an extensive facility there with the right equipment to produce a new vaccine based on Mr. Huntley’s blood antibodies—outside of Atlanta, it’s our best bet. If the Rangers gets him there -” said the head of Homeland Security.

  “They will,” growled the General.

  “Then we have a better than even chance of beating the flu, at least. It could save millions of lives on the West Coast alone, provided they make it there.”

  “And if the Koreans take out Spokane?” asked Harold, seeing another ‘rogue’ submarine in his mind. “They seem to be a step ahead of us on this…”

  “They are, predictably, not in communication with us at the moment,” offered the Secretary of State. She smoothed the lines of her business skirt. “Since we lost our satellites, we are in the dark. We have secure landlines to Japan and have spread the word that we will retaliate with the very wrath of God if this goes any further.” She shrugged. “The North Koreans learned to ignore our threats a long time ago.”

  “I say we nuke the bastards,” said the Army general with a wolfish smile. “Let them ignore it when Pyongyang is turned into a glass parking lot.”

  “I concur, before their fleet gets close enough to launch theater capable missiles,” said the Admiral. He shook his head. “Hell, they could have a few nuclear capable subs off shore right now.”

  “We still have 100% combat effectiveness on all land-based ICBMs, sir,” said the Air Force Chief of Staff with no small amount of pride. “We could wipe North Korea off the map twenty times over…But I caution against using nuclear weapons at this point. I agree with Admiral Bennet: they may have subs off the coast already, just waiting to paste us when we launch. Without our comms, we can’t contact our fleets—if they’re still there; we just don’t know without those satellites.”

  “Don’t we have a missile-defense system?” asked the President.

  “Yes, sir, but it’s visual only thanks to the loss of our satellites. And the visual system is only 25% effective.”

  The Admiral harrumphed. “Even if there are subs waiting out there, the damn flu will likely cause as many casualties as any hypothetical Korean nuclear weapon. If our cities are hit with tactical nukes, at least the civilians will die quicker and in less pain.”

  “Jesus, Admiral,” said the President. “I am shocked you’d suggest—“

  “We have been attacked, Mr. President. The time for pussy-footing around and hand wringing and negotiations is over. This is our Pearl Harbor! Our defense systems have been hacked and compromised, one of our largest cities has been obliterated by a nuclear-fucking-weapon, and need I remind you—there are North Korean soldiers in the process of conquering Los Angeles! We have no choice but to declare total war and respond in kind!” The admiral took a breath, his chest heaving, and his face beet-red.

  “To that end, I will ask Congress to−” said the President.

  “There’s no time for asking Congress to act, sir,” barked the Admiral. “We need to take action now! Now is not the time to stand around with our dicks in our hands—”

  “And the sub that launched the nuke that destroyed Atlanta? Wasn’t that one of ours?” the President said icily.

  The Oval Office went silent, the Admiral’s face drained of blood and went ghostly pale. He nodded stiffly, his body at attention. “It was, sir.”

  “James McNeely was the skipper. A captain I respected,
one I would have trusted with my life…He was a lifer…he never would have done this willingly. It had to have been…I mean…if…”

  “Where is this Captain McNeely?” asked the President. “I want the full weight of the JAG corps dropped on his ass,” he said, furious. A little voice in the back of his mind chided him quietly: How brave of you…you’re going to go after a traitor? What will you do to yourself? Hmmm?

  “He has already judged himself, Mr. President.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” the President snapped. Frustrated, he ripped at the tie around his throat. His aide had put the damn thing on too tight.

  “Sir, he committed suicide this afternoon. His XO is in command of the sub and she’s bringing it home to Norfolk,” said the Admiral.

  The President cleared his throat in the awkward silence and tried to think of something to say. Is that what I will do one day when all the guilt gets to be too much?

  “Gentlemen,” the President said. He sighed. “What are your recommendations?”

  “We’re in quite the pickle, Mr. President. Our home guard units are stretched beyond thin. Losing contact with NORAD leaves us completely blind. The bulk of our armed forces are overseas and we’re out of contact with 90% of them. What we have left are mostly training units, reserves and the Guard. Not a whole hell of a lot of firepower to repel what’s coming.”

  “We have three SEAL Teams at home, one is already fighting in L.A., trying to get to President Denton—” offered the Admiral in a considerably more calm voice.

  “Admiral,” said Harold patiently, holding up a hand to stop the SecDef from talking. “Why are we wasting a SEAL Team on finding the President’s body?”

  The Admiral looked at his fellow Chiefs and said, “Sir, I wasn’t aware President Denton was dead.”