Phoenix Rising:

by William W. Johnstone

  “Yeah,” Deon said, a broad smile spreading across his face. “Yeah that’s right, I am an officer now, aren’t I? I had to work for a living for so long that sometimes I forget.”

  The steward brought coffee, and after he left, Virdin got down to business.

  “Okay,” he said. “I was told you would bring me up to speed once you were on board. You’re on board, so what’s going on?”

  Tom showed Stan the coordinates they had received from Chris Carmack.

  “We are to proceed to this place at flank speed. There we will intercept a fishing trawler, the Andre Pashkov, Russian flagged, 62 feet long, IMO number 8606862. The Pashkov plans to rendezvous at 0900 Zulu on 1 July with a Venezuelan destroyer called the Felipe Gomez at those coordinates. We are to interrupt that rendezvous and take on board the cargo being carried by the fishing trawler.”

  “Hmm, the cargo must be pretty important,” Virdin said.

  “Five nuclear warheads,” Tom said.

  “Damn! Nukes? Look, this isn’t a bunch of Islamic terrorists who are so eager to go see their seventy-two virgins that they’ll set one of those bombs off, are they? I mean, you did say they are Russians.”

  “Yes, they are Russians,” Tom said. Then he added, “We think.”

  Virdin walked over to a sideboard, opened a drawer, pulled out a bottle of liquor and poured a splash into his cup.

  “Since when were navy ships authorized liquor on board?” Tom asked.

  “Medicinal,” Virdin replied. “You think they are Russians?”

  “We’re pretty sure.”

  “Pretty sure?” he asked.

  Tom nodded. “Yeah, well, we’re pretty much sure.”

  Virdin drank his coffee. “That’s . . . reassuring,” he said.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Fort Morgan

  Although Abraham Lincoln used the technology of the telegraph to follow significant battles during the Civil War, he had to do so in the telegraph room of the War Department because the White House had no telegraph service. Franklin Roosevelt was the first president to actually have a war room. FDR’s war room, adjacent to the Diplomatic Reception Room, consisted of little more than tables, chairs, telephones, and maps with acetate covering to allow situation updates to be posted by grease pencil.

  Thanks to Willie Stark, and the geeks who had come on board since the freedom movement had started, the onetime Fort Morgan museum was filled with an array of technical equipment. President Bob Varney, General Jake Lantz, Willie Stark, Karen Lantz, Julie Norton, Sheri Jack, and Barbara Carter were in the improvised war room observing a live satellite video feed of the operation against the Pashkov and the Gomez. Over six large high-definition flat-screen television screens, they watched as the SH-60 lifted from the deck of the John Paul Jones.

  “Phoenix, John Paul Jones CIC, over.” The sound came, clearly, from a large speaker.

  “John Paul Jones CIC, this is Phoenix,” Willie Stark replied.

  “Call when you have visual from Mad Dog.” Mad Dog was the call sign from the Blackhawk helicopter.

  “Roger.”

  In addition to the video coming from the deck of the John Paul Jones, they could also see video coming from cameras mounted on the external stores service system of the helicopter, and they could hear the radio transmissions between the CIC (Command Information Center) and the strike force.

  “John Paul Jones, CIC, this is Phoenix. We have a visual.”

  Even as Willie Stark reported his visual, the TV screens that were displaying the video camera feeds from the helicopter showed the Russian trawler and the Venezuelan destroyer on the ocean below. The two vessels had come together.

  “Phoenix, this is Mad Dog, do you have the video?” Tom asked from the helicopter.

  “We have the video, Mad Dog,” Bob replied. “Ask your pilot to make one low pass over the two ships, then give me a freeze frame. I’d like to get a look at what they are carrying.”

  “Will do.”

  Then a moment later, Tom’s voice came back. “Beginning the pass now.”

  On the screen that was receiving video from the helicopter, the horizon suddenly tilted sharply to the left as the pilot made a ninety degree turn.

  For just a moment Bob had a flashback, and he could feel himself back in the right seat of a UH-1D. Subconsciously his hand moved the cyclic stick to the right, and, through a deeply imbedded ghost memory, his foot applied pressure to the right anti-torque pedal.

  Through the camera lens, Bob, Jake, and the others watching saw the aircraft level out, then head straight for the Russian trawler. The helicopter was so low that, when it approached the boat it had to climb, slightly, to keep from crashing into it. Then the horizon dropped away so that only sky could be seen, and Bob could practically feel the collective stick under his armpit as the pilot had put it into a rather steep climb.

  “Freeze frame coming up,” Captain Virdin said from the John Paul Jones.

  The picture on the screen changed from sky to a still picture of the deck of the boat. There were six men on the deck of the Pashkov and they could be seen so clearly that everyone who was watching the video could actually pick out moles and imperfections on their faces.

  “There they are, Bob!” Jake said.

  Bob saw, too, what they were looking for: five oblong tubes, each marked with the international symbol for radioactive material.

  “Do they look like soldiers to you?” Bob asked.

  “No, they don’t.”

  “Whoa! We’re taking fire here!” Tom’s voice suddenly called.

  “From the trawler?” Bob asked in surprise.

  “No, from the rendezvous ship . . . the Gomez!”

  “Captain Virdin, do you have the Gomez in sight?”

  “Aye, aye, Mr. President.” Virdin’s voice came back over the speaker.

  “Take it out. I say again, Take it out,” Bob ordered.

  Onboard the John Paul Jones

  “Lieutenant Lester, what kind of activity do you see?” Virdin asked.

  Lester was looking at the Venezuelan ship through his binoculars.

  “Sir, they’ve fired at the helo, and they’re clearing away their missile tubes.”

  “Sound general quarters,” Virdin ordered.

  Hitting a button that sounded a klaxon throughout the ship, the boatswain’s mate of the watch brought the silver call, cupped in his right hand, to his lips and let fly a long shrill whistle. His voice then barked over the 1MC.

  “Now general quarters! Now general quarters! All hands, man your battle stations!”

  Again, the klaxon sounded, and again the boatswain mate’s whistle rose in pitch, then fell.

  “Now general quarters! Now general quarters! All hands, man your battle stations!”

  The CIC, below decks just below the bridge, bristled with radar screens, infrared imaging screens, computer monitors, and an array of switches and dials. Virdin picked up the phone. “Weapons!” he barked.

  “Lieutenant Langley, sir. Weapons manned and ready!”

  “Missiles incoming, sir!” one of the CIC operators called out.

  “Weapons, engage!”

  The ship echoed with the sound of the four Phalanx weapons firing. Several thousand rounds per minute of forty millimeter shells lashed out toward the two incoming missiles. Both missiles were destroyed.

  Virdin picked up the phone.

  “Weapons?”

  “Weapons, aye. Lieutenant Langley, sir.”

  “Launch Tomahawk.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Fort Morgan

  Because of the live-feed video cameras, Bob, Jake, and the others were able to watch the attack from the helicopter’s perspective. They watched the Tomahawk missile, riding on a column of flame, streak toward the Venezuelan destroyer at supersonic speed.

  As the missile impacted, the ship exploded in a tremendous ball of fire. The explosion caused instantaneous condensation of the air around it, so that the shock wave
s that formed could actually be seen emanating out from the fireball. The helicopter flew through the smoke, then did a very sharp one-hundred-eighty degree turn to get another look.

  The ship was burning profusely, and going down by the bow.

  The helicopter then made another pass toward the fishing trawler and seven men could be seen standing on the deck with their hands over their heads.

  “General,” Bryan said. “If you can get me patched through to that boat, I think I can get them to cooperate.”

  “All right. Willie, can we do that?”

  “Yes, sir, we can do it through the John Paul Jones,” Willie replied.

  “Captain, Virdin, open your channel to us. We’re going to try and speak to the captain of the Russian trawler.”

  “Give me a couple of seconds, General. We’ll try and reach them on 156.8 megahertz, that’s the international distress.”

  “Captain, this is Bryan Gates. Open that channel and I’ll call them.”

  “All right,” Virdin said. Then, a moment later, “Mr. Gates, go ahead, the channel is open.”

  “ . . , .”

  Bryan translated for the others. “I told them that they must allow us to board their vessel. If they resist, they will be sunk.”

  The reply from the captain of the Pashkov came in English.

  “A fishing boat we are, in international waters. It is no right you have to come aboard.” The voice spoke with a Russian accent.

  “As you see, General, he speaks English. You can take it from here.”

  “Pashkov, we are coming aboard to relieve you of your cargo,” Jake said. “Make no resistance or your boat will be sunk. Commander Jack, are you on this push?”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “You can take over from here.”

  Onboard the helicopter

  “Captain of the Pashkov, this is the helicopter on your port side,” Tom said. “Move all of your men to the front of the boat. Stand there with your hands in the air. We are coming aboard. If any of you resist us, we will shoot all of you.”

  “We will not resist,” the heavily accented voice replied.

  “Good move,” Tom said. Then to the pilot, “Take us to the rear of the boat, then come to a hover so we can jump down.”

  The pilot followed Tom’s instructions, moving to the rear of the fishing trawler then holding it in a hover that allowed the door gunner to keep the crew of the boat covered while Tom, Deon, and the rest of his men dropped down onto the rear deck. When all were aboard, the helicopter pulled away.

  Tom and the others kept their weapons pointed toward the Russians.

  “All right, who was I talking to? Which one of you is the captain?”

  “He is Captain,” one of the crewmen said. “To me you were talking because English I can speak.”

  “Are you military?”

  “No. We are fishermen.”

  Tom pointed to the five enclosed tubes. “I suppose those are fishing poles.”

  “That is cargo we were to deliver.”

  “Cargo? Is that what you are calling it?”

  The interpreter said something to the man he had pointed out as the captain of the vessel. The captain spoke, then the interpreter translated.

  “We were paid to come to this place and meet the Gomez. There we were to transfer the medical cargo.”

  “Medical cargo? Is that what you think it is?”

  “Yes. As you can see, it has the medical markings.”

  “Have you opened one of the containers?”

  “We were told not to. There is,” he made a circular motion with his hand, “as in Chernobyl.”

  “Radioactive material. You’re damn right there is,” Tom said. He spoke into his radio. “John Paul Jones, come in.”

  “John Paul Jones.”

  “Send a gig over. You can take us and the cargo back.”

  Clicking off the radio, Tom walked over to look at the tubes. They did have both medical and radiological markings on them.

  “We are taking this with us.”

  “No,” the captain said, speaking in English.

  “Well now,” Tom said with smile. “So you do speak English. Playing a game with me, were you?”

  “I have taken money to deliver this. I cannot let you take it.”

  “Looks to me, Captain, like you don’t have any choice,” Tom said. “The ship you were supposed to give it to went down. What will you do with this if you take it back?”

  The captain and the others spoke among themselves for a moment, speaking in Russian so Tom had no idea what they were saying.

  “How much were you paid?” Tom asked.

  “Five hundred thousand rubles.”

  “That’s a lot of money just for delivering radioactive markers for medical use, don’t you think?”

  “We were told not to ask questions.”

  “Commander, the Captain’s gig is coming abeam,” one of Tom’s men said.

  “Captain, I have a solution to your problem,” Tom said. “All you have to do is tell your people that you did deliver your cargo to the Gomez. I’m sure that the sinking of the Gomez will be world news soon enough. Your people will just assume that the ship went down after you made your delivery. That way, you can keep the money you were given, and nobody need be the wiser.”

  The Russian captain spoke to the others, then there were smiles and affirmative nods. The Russian captain, also smiling, spoke to Tom.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, that is a good idea. Shall my men help you load the items?”

  Tom returned the smile. “Yes, thank you. I appreciate that.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Fort Morgan

  “Are you worried that only eight states are sending a delegation?” Karen Lantz asked, as she affixed stars to the collar of her husband’s khaki shirt. Although the others had been referring to him as general, it was not until today, that he would actually don the uniform and insignia of a general.

  “No, I’m not worried. I think that’s a good start, and I believe that as we began to organize, other states will join us,” Jake said easily.

  “I’m not so sure,” Karen replied.

  “Why aren’t you sure?”

  “Well, think about it, Jake. They just declared themselves free from one union, why would they want to enter another one?”

  “M.A.S.,” Jake said.

  “M.A.S.?”

  “Mutual assured survival,” Jake said. “If we all band together, it is much less likely that AIRE will be able to do anything.”

  “You are probably right. Here you go, General Lantz,” Karen said with a smile as she held the shirt out toward him.

  “What do you think about our new uniforms?” Jake asked.

  “They are sort of drab, aren’t they? Tan?”

  “Ha,” Jake said. “Bob said this is exactly like the khaki uniforms he used to wear when he was in the army. He’ll probably tear up with nostalgia when he sees me.”

  “We’re about to find out,” Karen said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Here’s Bob now.”

  Karen answered the door before Bob Varney could ring the bell.

  “Hi, Bob, come on in. Want some coffee?”

  “By inviting me for coffee, I assume you are telling me that Jake isn’t quite ready.”

  “Come on, Bob,” Jake said from just inside the house. “I’m a general now. Generals don’t have to hurry for anyone.”

  “So you mean that even now, when we have the opportunity to start everything all over, we’re still going to keep the tradition of Generals being late?” Bob asked with a little chuckle.

  “Not for too long. I’m ready now,” Jake said.

  “Are we flying over?”

  Jake shook his head. “Marc says we need a new pitch change link for the tail rotor, so I called Gary. He’s going to run us across the bay in his boat.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Is Tom Jack going with us?” Jake asked.
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  “Tom is chomping at the bit, I don’t think we can keep him away,” Bob said.

  “Tom, Deon, and the others did a good piece of work with that Russian trawler,” Jake said.

  “Yes, they did,” Bob said. “Willie and Marcus said the weapons aren’t armed, and I guess that makes sense. I don’t suppose you would want to take a chance on shipping them while they are armed.”

  Jake chuckled. “It’s not something I’d want to do. I wonder if that Russian crew actually knew what they were carrying.”

  “I don’t know,” Bob said. “But they were paid half a million rubles. They had to be a little suspicious.”

  “We’ve got them in one of the casements down at the fort, and we’ve sealed the casement shut. It’s going to take quite an effort to get any of them out,” Jake said.

  “Good. I think that by intercepting them, we may well have prevented any more detonations here, and by here, I’m referring to all of what was the USA,” Bob said.

  “I believe you are right.”

  “Now, the question is, do we let anyone know that we have them? Just having them is a tremendous projection of power, whether we use them or not,” Bob said. “At any rate, I’m not ready to let the secret out, yet. Not even to those who will be joining us.”

  “I agree. Besides, look at Israel. They have never acknowledged having nuclear weapons, but everyone knows they do have them,” Jake said.

  “Or at least, they think they have them. And so far, that has been just as effective.”

  Jake picked up his long narrow cap. “Did you wear this kind of hat?”

  “Oh yes,” Bob answered.

  “What do you call them?”

  Bob smiled. “They are garrison caps. The men had another, not quite so nice a word for them, and I’d rather not say it in front of a lady.”

  “Well, aren’t you a gentleman?” Karen said. “But I was in the army for six years, there aren’t many words I haven’t heard.”

  “I’m ready if you are,” Jake said as he put the cap on.

  “Knock ’em dead,” Karen said as she kissed Jake good-bye.

  “You’re sure you don’t want to come with me?”