The Fall (Burning Skies Book 1)
Page 20
Farrell and Valdez volunteered themselves to better arm the secret service team, breaking open the store room to them and handing out tactical clothing as well as six of the brand new HK416 CQB—or close quarter battle—models. These carried the full weight 5.56 NATO ammo, which came with red dot sights and were configured in ten-inch barrel mode for use in confined spaces. It was the modern peak of assault rifle technology coming in a sub-machine gun sized package. Troy found Dillon at their command center and introduced him to the head of the secret service detail.
“Dillon,” he said as he walked in, “this is Agent-in-charge Briar.” The two shook hands and Drew Briar tried to place Dillon’s role in the team. They were obviously Delta, that much was plain to any former serviceman given their irregular uniform and weapon choices, and made firm in his mind by the assortment of beards on display; no regular military unit would allow such a wild look. Dillon seemed different to him; smaller and more meticulous as he was the only one of the team who still shaved every day, even if he was wearing a day’s worth of stubble by that point.
“Drew,” he said, shaking Dillon’s hand as he rose from the chair to greet him. “Marine Corps, retired obviously.”
“Same, brother,” Dillon told him. “I was F.A.S.T,” he said, pronouncing it ‘fast.’ Drew’s eyebrows raised. The Fleet Antiterrorist Security Teams of the United States Marine Corps were a small unit tasked primarily with high-value target protection, and many in the services thought of them as privileged security guards. Drew had served with a guy who was recruited and never seen by his old unit again. Drew didn’t need to say that he was impressed by Dillon or any of others, and to say so out loud would make him seem like an excited kid. Troy left the two of them to run over the facts as they knew them and picked up the last message from the remaining elements of command. He had already heard the news, but reading the facts made it seem worse than he thought.
Endeavor eyes only:
Nuclear attacks confirmed on both eastern and western seaboards by missile and air bombardment. Targets of populations centers. Reports of aerial insertion from south America confirmed, all states not directly affected by nuclear attack are reporting hostile forces engaging civilians and officials. Await orders for targets and report all intelligence.
Drew knew this, and was eager to get back on the ground to test the resolve of these hostile forces to see if they could handle Endeavor as well as they could handle civilians. He confidently doubted they could. The second paragraph was what really took his breath. On a separate sheet were some printed words which he was to get Madeline Tanner to read aloud in the presence of all witnesses available.
Endeavor Actual:
Conduct inauguration ceremony of Pres. Tanner at your earliest possible.
Jesus, thought Troy, they want me to do it? But there wasn’t anyone else, least not anyone in charge and no Congress or White House to do it at any more. Their bunker was now effectively their nation’s capital. Turning to Dillon to ask him how to use the bunker’s announcement system, he grabbed up the mic and depressed his thumb on the switch.
“All personnel,” he said, his voice echoing out along the underground halls of their fortress, “meet in the canteen” —he flipped over his wrist to check his watch— “at nineteen-thirty hours. No exceptions. Gardner out.” Then he left to go and knock on the door of the rooms which should, in essence, be assigned to him.
~
“Come on in,” came the rich, accented voice from behind the wooden door.
He opened the handle and squeezed himself through the doorframe, feeling giant in the confined space with the two smaller women inside. Troy still hadn’t removed his full war gear, nor was he likely to unless he stood down for any length of time, which he guessed wouldn’t be any time soon.
“Ma’am,” he said formally, feeling brutish with his array of weapons and heavy body armor. “I’m sure you heard the announcement?”
“I did, Captain, and I thank you,” Madeline said as she rose to stand before him. She was not a short woman, but she had to crane her neck at that distance to meet the eyes of the man who stood at a shade over six foot two, but was just one of those generally big all over people.
“I need to give you this to read out in front of everyone,” he said, handing her the separate sheet of paper he had pulled from the printer. Her eyes scanned it, seeing the familiar words which she knew by heart but was sure she would forget if she had to read them herself for real, and thanked him again.
“Troy?” she said to his retreating back as it blocked the artificial light from the corridor.
“Ma’am?” he asked turning back, pleased that she had quickly learned to drop the formality of rank when talking to him.
She opened her mouth but no words came out. She seemed lost in thought for the right way to say what she meant, to convey all her feelings and emotions, but she couldn’t find the words.
“You’ll be fine, ma’am,” Troy reassured her. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see if any of my devils own a Bible.”
~
Troy knew exactly where he would find a Bible, and sure as anything their resident jumper produced it from a pouch and handed it to him as soon as he asked. Bruce, as he was known simply because his last name was Lee and he trained in martial arts, never went anywhere without the battered, leather-bound book. Where other soldiers would grab ten minute’s shut-eye whenever they could, Bruce liked to leaf through the thin pages carefully and find references to the everyday things he saw in the Scriptures. He said it gave him peace to know that he and Jesus saw the same things in life, even if Jesus didn’t specialize in jumping out of aircraft and finding new ways to get to earth safely in war zones.
With the book in one hand, he stood facing the smaller woman as their entire personnel gathered round them in the mess hall. He watched as she placed her left hand on the book and raised her right.
“I do solemnly swear,” she said, swallowing and continuing in a louder, more authoritative voice, “that I will faithfully execute the office of the President of the United States, and will do to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States of America.” She swallowed again, giving a tiny shake of her head to flick an errant strand of hair away from her eyes, and fixed Troy’s gaze with her own. “So help me God,” she finished.
And so help him, God, he believed her words and the conviction in her voice.
“Madame President,” he said solemnly.
“Captain,” she replied, a gleam in her eye.
~
At the northern tip of the state which now contained the first female president of the United States of America, four wet and shocked passengers drifted south on the Ohio river. The blood from their cuts, sustained when their truck had caught the full impact of the collision just aft of the rear tires and spun them out violently, had been washed away by their panicked flight into the river.
Of all the supplies they had successfully recovered and carefully stacked into the truck, they had only managed to salvage their weapons, a couple of bags of food and water, and, luckily, the cooler stacked with insulin, which Louise clung on to as though her life depended on it.
It does, thought Cal as he saw her shiver and moved closer to put his arm around her for warmth and comfort. Her grip on the box didn’t relax, but she rested her head on him.
The outboard motor which Ricky had managed to get running had lasted them for just over an hour before it spluttered into silence, and now they drifted as Jake tried to keep their slow course to the center of the wide waterway and away from the sides where other people and bad things were. Nobody spoke, because nobody knew what to say. They had been in the middle of a terror attack, seen the country devastated by nuclear explosions and bombing runs, seen anarchy and mob rule take over normal people and had now watched troops parachute to the ground where they tried to round up the population.
They were exhausted, scared, and they had little to no
clue where they were headed. For now, drifting south on the Ohio River with enough food and water to last maybe two days, they were just happy enough to be away from land.
THE
BEGINNING OF THE END
Sunday 00:03 a.m. Local Time, London
An emergency meeting of COBRA, or the UK’s Cabinet Office Briefing Room to be long-winded as the British liked to be, was called late in the evening. The prime minister was surrounded by senior politicians, as well as the entire raft of armed forces high-ranking officers and their advisors. The doors were sealed shut, and the noise quickly faded away.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the PM, “I’ll hand over to the intelligence community for an up-to-date briefing before we begin.”
A man stood and fastened the top button of his suit jacket smoothly with one hand; a practiced movement which was subconscious as much as it spoke of his upbringing in a polite, elitist society.
“As of yesterday, the North American continent is effectively cut off,” he began. “Twelve nuclear explosions have been detected and fallout has begun to disperse according to prevailing winds. Also, precision bombing strikes have neutralized the majority of the armed forces response and some internet footage has found its way out which shows that an advance invasion force has begun to seize control of infrastructure across the country. We have not yet received any communication from the American government, however satellite imagery.” He paused, glancing at another suited man who tapped at the keys of a laptop and brought up a picture to the large screen on the wall. “Shows that Washington D.C. has been destroyed.”
He stopped speaking and glanced back to the PM, who nodded for him to sit. Effortlessly unfastening the button of his jacket with finger and thumb again, he took his seat.
“Our allies are under attack,” the PM said, “and we do not yet know who is responsible. Can anyone answer that?”
Glances were exchanged and uniformed men shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The PM tried to retain some dignity and not snap at them for an answer, but luckily for them a young man cleared his throat.
“Yes?” she said, fixing him with her gaze.
“Hetherington, ma’am. MI6,” he said by way of introduction, before giving his explanation without further wasting anyone’s time. “Our satellites picked this up a few hours ago,” he said, hitting keys of his own computer and clicking through a series of low-resolution slides.
“Our intelligence sources indicate mass troop movement in both North Korea and China.”
Silence descended once more, and the PM steepled her fingers with her elbows on the polished mahogany table.
“Get me confirmation,” she said. “I need the UN on a conference call in an hour, and I want options to rescue citizens and discuss our ability to offer aid and counterstrikes.”
As one, the combined cabinet and advisors took a breath. They were preparing to go to war.
Sunday 7:03 a.m. Local Time, Beijing
Dressed in a fresh black suit again, the woman who wore no insignia or identification paced around the control room looking over shoulders at displays as she went. Her uncle, the president of the republic, had cautioned her that he didn’t want casualties. The reports she saw were not filling her with confidence that she would be able to report an inconsequential sum when she was next summoned to see him, and it seemed that all the meticulous planning had factored in every possibility bar one.
They had manipulated the rogue group of Americans into destabilizing the infrastructure and confusing any response to their initial attacks, and they had executed that first wave of devastation with close to a 100 percent success rate.
What they had failed to account for, what they should have realized was probably their biggest hurdle from the beginning, was one simple fact.
America would fight back.
About the Author
Devon C Ford is from the UK and lives in the Midlands. His career in public services started in his teens and has provided a wealth of experiences, both good and some very bad, which form the basis of the books ideas that cause regular insomnia.
You can find more about the author:
Facebook: @decvoncfordofficial
Twitter: @DevonFordAuthor
Website: www.devoncford.com
After it Happened by Devon C Ford
Set in the UK in the immediate aftermath of a mysterious illness which swept the country and left millions dead, the series follows the trials facing a reluctant hero, Dan, and the group that forms around him. They must battle the elements, find sufficient supplies and equipment to survive, and protect themselves against the most destructive force on the planet: other people.
www.vulpine-press.com/after-it-happened
Table of Contents
The Fall
Book 1
Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.
PROLOGUE
Friday 12:30 p.m. - New York Stock Exchange
SOLITUDE IS PLEASANT, LONELINESS IS NOT
Tuesday 10:30 a.m. - London Heathrow Airport, 74 hours earlier
Tuesday 10:40 a.m. – Near Underwood, Upstate New York
LIFE IS A MACHINE SET IN MOTION BY MONEY
Tuesday 2 p.m. – Steakhouse in Albany
Tuesday 8 p.m – Waldorf Astoria Hotel
CHANGE THE PLAN, NOT THE GOAL
Wednesday 7:30 a.m. - Washington, D.C.
Wednesday 9:30 a.m. - 5th Avenue
DUCKS IN A ROW
Thursday 6 a.m. - Free America Movement Headquarters
LIFE IS A ONE-TIME OFFER
Thursday 8:15 a.m. - Battery Park Ferry Terminal
ORGANIZED CHAOS
Thursday 10:20 a.m. - Manhattan South District
Thursday 11:10 a.m. - Empire State Building
TRY ANYTHING ONCE
Thursday 12:30 p.m. - Movement Headquarters
Thursday 9:15 p.m. - Chelsea District, NYC
Thursday 10:28 p.m. - Wall Street
Thursday 11.46 p.m. - Floyd Bennet Field, Brooklyn
PLANNING THE EXECUTION, EXECUTING THE PLAN
Friday 8:30 a.m. - Waldorf Astoria, NYC
Friday 9:45 a.m. - Waldorf Astoria, NYC
Friday 12:25 p.m. - Free America Movement Headquarters
Saturday 12:25 a.m. Local Time, Beijing
Friday 12:28 p.m. – Washington, D.C.
ORDO AB CHAO
Friday 12:30 p.m. - New York Stock Exchange
THE VALUE OF SUCCESS
Friday 12:58 p.m. - Free America Movement Headquarters
FALLING SKIES
Friday 1:07 p.m. - 3rd Avenue, NYC
REGULAR SUPERHERO
Friday 2:55 p.m. - 23rd Street, NYC
EXPECT NOTHING
Friday 5:20 p.m. - Free America Movement Headquarters
Saturday 5:20 a.m. Local Time, Beijing
Friday 6:40 p.m. – New York City
HOLDING PATTERN
Friday 6:58 p.m. - Ninety-Eight Hundred Feet Over NYC
Friday 7:20 p.m. – 13th Precinct Station House
ACTIVE SHOOTER
Friday 9:30 p.m. - Park Avenue
AS USELESS AS THE ‘G’ IN LASAGNE
Friday 9:30 p.m. – Washington, D.C.
Friday 9:38 p.m. - 17th Precinct, NYC
BRINGER OF DEATH
Friday 11:18 p.m. - Atlantic Ocean, off South America
Saturday 10:13 a.m. Local Time, Beijing
Friday 11:46 p.m. – Washington, D.C.
GO TO HELL
Saturday 12:10 a.m. – New York City
G.T.F.O.
Saturday 12:26 a.m. - Fort Campbell
A PERSON WITHOUT PRINCIPLES
Saturday 1:00 a.m. - Free America Movement Headquarters
RUN AND HIDE
Saturday 2:50 a.m. - Greenbrier Mountain, WV
THE GREATEST VICTORY
Saturday 6 p.m. Local Time, Beijing
SHOWS HOW MUCH YOU KNOW A PERSON
Saturday 5 a.m. - 79th St
reet Basin, NYC
Saturday 10 a.m. - Outside Newark, New Jersey
THE SYSTEMATIC APPROACH
Saturday 10:30 p.m. Local Time, Beijing
Saturday 10:40 a.m. - Highway 64, Outside Charlestown
Saturday 10:59 a.m. - Greenbrier Mountain, WV
HEADING OUT WEST
Saturday, 12:18 p.m. - Highway 78, Near Clinton
Saturday, 1:12 p.m. - Still Valley, NJ
Saturday 2 p.m. - Ripley, WV
SNATCH AND GRAB
Saturday 2:10 p.m. - Greenbrier Mountains
Saturday 2:34 p.m. - Outside Charlestown, WV
Saturday 3:04 p.m. - Ripley, WV
LONG ROAD AHEAD
Saturday 4:38 p.m. - Pennsylvania Turnpike, Somerset
Saturday, 5 p.m. - Cuba
Saturday 6:21 p.m. - Near Parkersburg, WV
SO HELP ME GOD
Saturday 7:08 p.m. - Bunker, Greenbrier Mountains
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
Sunday 00:03 a.m. Local Time, London
Sunday 7:03 a.m. Local Time, Beijing