Overlord

by David L. Golemon

  Lienanov could not believe what had just happened. He scanned the area in front of his speeding ship and saw one quarter of the saucer bob in the churning sea; then it sank into the Southern Atlantic and exploded below the surface.

  He quickly grabbed his binoculars and scanned the seas to his stern. His eyes widened in amazement as he saw the strangest sight he had ever seen in his twenty years in service. He lowered his glasses and said a silent prayer as he started to shake in near shock at seeing their savior for the first time.

  At the stern of the Pyotr Veliky, Ryan was actually smiling as he too spied the strange vessel emerging from the mist of battle. He dropped the restraining rope he was attempting to cut and grabbed Sarah and Anya and pointed. He shook his head as the rumors he had been hearing out of the Department of the Navy had been confirmed for the first time. The people that had been stationed here in the South Atlantic had finally came to their aid.

  “Thank God,” was all he could say.

  * * *

  The USS Zumwalt was unlike any destroyer that had ever plied the oceans of the world. It was the first of her class and the only warship that was completely stealth in nature. At $3.5 billion, it was also one of the most expensive weapons platforms ever invented and was one reason why the injured president of the United States had become embroiled in arguments over military spending. With its strange angled shape she was a sight to behold.

  The most amazing part of her design was the equally strange turret mounted on her angled decking. It was two-barreled and resembled two clear plastic ballpoint pens. The barrels were actually the twin alternating weapons that generated opposing electrical fields that launched an Argon-based projectile, or solid shot. In this case it had been what the U.S. Navy had dubbed “the Blossoming Rose,” a kinetic warhead that had been seen ripping the insides of the saucer apart.

  The weapon was called a rail gun, the latest in naval weaponry, and it had just saved the lives of over six hundred sailors onboard the Pyotr Veliky.

  The United States Navy had arrived on station.

  THE PENTAGON

  WASHINGTON, D. C.

  The situation room was unlike anything in the western world. Designed originally as a war room to administer American military conduct of a global world war, it was equipped with every piece of modern electronics tracking and communications available. It was staffed by over two hundred of the brightest military technicians in the American armed forces. Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marine personnel ran the communications boards that were connected directly to the heads of every foreign government in the world. It also provided real-time communications with the commanders of NATO and the Pacific, Indian Ocean, Mediterranean, and Atlantic areas of responsibility. The same mix of men and women operated the many situation boards spread along the walls that had every continent, every capital, and every city on the planet scanned into its computers and operated on holographic images to give the commanders, or in this case the remaining leaders of the allied coalition of Operation Overlord, the advantage of real-time data.

  The leaders of France, England, and Russia were joined by the representatives from China and Germany—men sent to take the place of the late chancellor and president. They sat with Acting President Camden as they watched the satellite imagery of the action in the southern Atlantic Ocean. The images from last night’s battle of Mumbai were weighing heavily on everyone’s minds. The bulk of the allied coalition was very concerned because of Camden’s stunned look. Utter shock had been etched on the face of the man ever since he had witnessed the massacre in India. The sight of seeing so many innocents being captured and led into the large saucer was hard enough that even the supporters of the Operation Overlord plan had cringed at the despicable turn of events.

  The men at the main conference table had watched in awed silence at the dramatic rescue of the Pyotr Veliky by the USS Zumwalt. The small man with the bow tie sitting next to the prime minister of Great Britain, Lord Durnsford, tired after his long flight from Honolulu, leaned over the PM’s shoulder.

  “Finally something went according to plan. Stationing the Zumwalt in the area has paid dividends. I’m glad something has worked in this bloody mess of a day.”

  The prime minister looked at his intelligence chief of MI6, raised his brows, and nodded toward Camden, who sat with a stern look on his face as he shot General Caulfield a cold and withering look.

  “I don’t think our newest member liked the fact that one of his warships was doing something he had no knowledge of, even if it was his predecessor’s idea and plan,” the PM whispered. “I think I’ll throw a line in the water and see how our new member reacts.”

  The prime minister cleared his throat and stood. A satellite image showed the USS Zumwalt holding station guard against another saucer attack as two American Perry-class frigates came alongside of the Pyotr Veliky to tie up and tow her to her destination. Her nuclear propulsion plant had scrammed and she was sitting there like a dead duck in the Atlantic, with only enough battery power to keep her out of the dark.

  “Mr. President, congratulations on a most satisfying conclusion to this dastardly attack by the enemy. Your newest weapons platform performed most admirably,” the PM said with a nod toward the man sitting at the head of the conference table.

  The men from Germany, France, and Russia rapped their knuckles on the tabletop in support of the comment. The new representative of China remained still as he eyed the group with something akin to suspicion.

  Camden looked at the men around the table. “I’m glad we could assist our friends at sea,” was all he said as he nodded toward his British ally.

  The prime minister remained standing as he returned the stiff reaction to his comment.

  “Now, gentlemen, we are close to the time that you will have a chance to speak directly with the asset that has provided this group with so much valuable intelligence. Who was also instrumental in formulating Operation Overlord, along with our good friends, the late Senator Garrison Lee, and Dr. Niles Compton. And by the way, we all pray for a speedy recovery of both Dr. Compton and the president. This esteemed gathering will miss their valuable guidance.”

  Again, all but Camden and the representative of China rapped their knuckles on the shiny tabletop. With a glance at the thick glass that separated the conference room from the frenzied activity below, the prime minister continued.

  “Gentlemen, the asset that is so very valuable to our efforts against the Grays has requested that his identity remain anonymous because of the very real chance that he would be tracked by the enemy to his secret location.” The PM looked at the faces around the room. He knew that the only people here who knew of Matchstick’s real heritage were he, the Russian president, and the leader of France. The gentleman from Germany and the new man from China were kept in the dark. No one was to know the Mahjtic secret but a very select few. “The ability of the enemy to track down our valuable assets has been demonstrated by the attack on the Iranian University, where the alien power plant was being tested. We will not challenge the enemy’s willingness to destroy anything that will help us survive this fight. As a group we have given this asset full cooperation in keeping his identity secret. Even his voice will be disguised, as will his person. He will be speaking through a computer-generated voice, but will answer any and all questions or concerns you may have.”

  “Let me understand this. You want full cooperation for this audacious plan that you have kept from certain members of this panel, and you are unwilling to supply us with his real identity?” Camden looked harshly again at his military advisor, General Caulfield, who held up admirably against the hate-filled glare of his new commander-in-chief.

  “Mr. President, I don’t even know, nor does Mr. Devinov, nor Mr. Arneu, the exact identity of the man that the president before you and the one before him, trusted implicitly,” the PM lied. “We trusted the president in his judgment, as I’m sure you, Mr. Klinghoffer, and Mr. Xiao, do also.”

  Camden
was maneuvered perfectly by the prime minister. What was he to say, that he despised the president who sat in this very chair and that he was the last man in the world he would trust? No, he was caught and had to nod his head at the man from Number Ten Downing Street, whom he knew to be extremely close to the former president.

  “We have a moment before our asset’s representative arrives to take part in the discussion, so why don’t we take a small break. I know I can use one after that dramatic rescue by your magnificent new warship.”

  Camden was cornered again by the praise and could do nothing but lean over and tell his aide to get in contact with the one of the only allies he had in Washington.

  “Get Assistant Director Peachtree in here immediately. I need him to sit in on this, and then I want the identity of this so-called asset on my desk after this meeting of the new order dismisses,” he hissed under his breath.

  * * *

  The acting director of the Event Group, Virginia Pollock, was standing outside the E ring of the Pentagon. She paced as she smoked a cigarette, a bad habit she had given up just after college twenty years before, but now found she needed the distraction—after all, it wasn’t every day that you came to see the president of the United States and knew beforehand that you would lie directly to his face. Virginia was a rabid constitutionalist and despised the idea of not allowing the chain of command to operate as it was designed. But she knew that this man Camden was an enemy of everything the Event Group stood for—their forward-thinking philosophy.

  She angrily mashed out the cigarette in the receptacle and then saw the man approaching that she had been waiting for.

  The gentleman was of medium height, black, and wore a tailored suit from Harrods’s of London. Virginia recognized him immediately as the former congressman from the state of Pennsylvania, Lee Stansfield Preston. She had heard he was in private law practice with a very select clientele. His briefcase was made of alligator skin, which depicted his extremely good taste in the finer things in life and immediately placed Virginia on edge. She didn’t admire anyone who used animals for decoration.

  Virginia had been ordered by phone from Pete Golding at Group Center to wait on this man to arrive, as he would be joining her before taking her place with the leaders of the coalition for their clandestine meeting with Matchstick.

  “Dr. Pollock?” he asked with his million-dollar Hollywood smile. His beard was expertly trimmed and he wore just enough jewelry to show his success.

  “Yes,” she said, becoming concerned.

  “Lee Preston.”

  “I know who you are, Congressman. I have seen you on television quite often since you left office.”

  “Yes, the camera does seem to seek me out on occasion.”

  “Mr. Preston, can you tell me why was I instructed to await your arrival before entering the situation room? It’s bad enough that I missed most of the meeting, but our new president is a bear and also a man that particularly despises my boss.”

  “So I understand. I have been retained by Mrs. Alice Hamilton, and she, Madam, is a particular friend of mine.” He mocked her slightly as he smiled. “So, President Camden has been ‘checked’ in that regard. He has his peculiar group of friends and so does Mrs. Hamilton. I am one of them.”

  “Just what are you doing here?” She removed a cigarette from her pocket and started to light it.

  “I am here to protect you and certain other people we both know from implicating yourselves in treason, Doctor.” He removed the cigarette from Virginia’s lips and tossed it away into the receptacle. “You will say nothing in that meeting unless I say to do so. You work clandestinely for the president; I, however, most assuredly do not. You are bound by your oath; I, again, am not. Stay silent and follow my lead, and Mrs. Hamilton can have her friends back in one piece after this mess is sorted out.”

  Virginia swallowed as she listened. If Alice Hamilton had sent this arrogant man to assist in getting Matchstick through this, then she had no choice but to allow Preston to do his work.

  “Now, shall we go see the great men of the world conducting the momentous work of our times?”

  Virginia stood rooted to the spot next to the former congressman.

  “I know, it’s mind-boggling to be so close to great men in perilous times.” He gestured toward the door and the Marine guard standing there.

  “Some of them inside are great. Others? Well…”

  “Who’s talking about them? I meant me.” Preston walked to the door and held it open for the shocked and staring Virginia.

  * * *

  Virginia and Preston were issued Pentagon identity cards and allowed past the posted Marine guards. They both noticed that the Marines were attired in battle dress and wore menacing sidearms in holsters strapped to their chests.

  “Makes one feel rather warm and cozy doesn’t it?” Preston said.

  He and Virginia were directed to two seats facing the table, but far enough away that they felt like eavesdroppers. “I haven’t had seats this bad since the Lakers-Celtics game in ’89.”

  They both sat and it was time for Virginia to ask herself if Alice Hamilton had made the right choice in selecting Lee Preston as her consul in this rather serious game of hiding the real truth from the new president.

  The members of the allied council had reconvened as still shots of the siege at Beijing and Mumbai flashed across the one-hundred-foot screen in the center of the situation room. As the members settled into their seats an Air Force officer and two men came into the room and set up a high-definition screen so all could see. Virginia wanted to smile as she saw the likeness of Pete Golding appear. He was in a suit and tie, clothing she had never once seen the computer genius wearing, and it looked as if he were about to crap his pants. The committee would never know that Europa, Pete’s supercomputer, was streaming the live feed from over one and a half miles below the desert sands of Nellis Air Force Base.

  It was the British prime minister who took the lead as he and the French and Russian presidents were the only members left inside the Pentagon besides Virginia who knew the full details of everything concerning Magic and Operation Overlord.

  “Gentlemen,” the prime minister started, and then in deference to Virginia’s presence, nodded her way. “And lady. I believe we are ready to begin our question-and-answer session with our main asset in this war against our Gray enemy. May I introduce Dr. Peter Golding of the Garrison Lee Institute of Strategic Science, a broad-based and voluntary group sanctioned by the office of the president of the United States for the gathering of intelligence on the hostile force we are now facing.”

  President Camden scribbled something on his notepad and slid it over to Daniel Peachtree, who had joined the meeting. The move had not gone unnoticed by Peachtree’s boss, Director Harlan Easterbrook, who knew Camden was starting to consolidate his power base and place people that only he trusted in certain key positions—replacing the director at the CIA was going to be one of his first moves in that regard.

  Peachtree quickly scanned the note.

  “It’s that damn clandestine group out west again. Find out who this Golding is.”

  Peachtree nodded and then sat back as the PM continued.

  “Dr. Golding will be acting as liaison with the subject, code-named Magic.”

  On the large monitor there was a picture of a blacked-out shape of a man as Pete’s image vanished.

  “Dr. Golding, is the subject ready?”

  “Yes, he is, Mr. Prime Minister. You may ask your questions.”

  Camden became uneasy as he was not used to having others run the show, especially a foreign national inside his country. This was proof the former president had gone too far in relinquishing the role of the United States as the leader of the world.

  “Magic, thank you for taking the time to answer some questions for our newest members of this esteemed council. Just be straightforward in your brief and we’ll try and let you return to your work as soon as possible.”


  “Thank you.” Europa spoke for Matchstick as he typed the answers on a keyboard with lightning-fast speed. The members of the allied coalition exchanged glances around the table as the synthesized voice of Marilyn Monroe came through the speakers.

  Virginia couldn’t help it, she had to smile as even Lee Preston’s brows rose at the sound of the synthesized voice program.

  “I think I would like to meet this Magic face-to-face.”

  “I think you two would make a good match,” she said as she finally got a brief moment of levity in on the arrogant but brilliant counselor. “You’re both very clinical in the things you do. Yes, I believe you and she would get along just fine.”

  Camden gave the two people sitting against the wall a look and then returned his eyes to the screen.

  “Magic, I would like to start out by asking what many here are desperately curious about.” The PM sat back down in his chair as he tried to guide the meeting in the direction he and the former president, along with Niles Compton, wanted. “We expected a full-scale invasion by the enemy. Why have they initiated full attacks in only two parts of the world?”

  Camden watched with interest along with Peachtree, who was guessing the video stream was coming in from that rumored base in Nevada. He didn’t mention this to Camden as of yet, as he wanted to know what game was being played by Niles Compton and the former president.

  “The extensive civilian population of those two cities and the density of that populace are the driving forces for their initial attacks. After the attacks have succeeded they will move on to another major population center for exploitation.”

  “Magic, why is the civilian population so important in a matter of world domination?” The PM watched the faces around the table, paying particular attention to Camden.

  There was a long pause as Matchstick needed urging from an off-camera Pete Golding to continue and tell the council the truth. Virginia could picture Matchstick at his small keyboard banging away and Europa synthetically reading his answers. She couldn’t help but smile at the simple subterfuge.