by CW Crowe
Regina smiled and looked around her at the men who were lounging in small groups, playing cards or reading. They were all in t-shirts, all in their early twenties, and all in great physical shape. "How many of them are you screwing?"
Ashley's face betrayed her surprise at this question, but she answered truthfully and fully - it was what her training required. "I'm not really into men, Commander."
That night, Regina had her assigned as the guard outside her stateroom door.
***
The pirates saw them lift their weapons and looks of horror appeared on their faces. As they prepared to stampede in panic, Regina called out, "Fire." Her voice was calm.
Three weapons instantly spit out death as bullets tore into the men. Almost like a single organism, seven pairs of legs crumpled. The women of the village, arrayed around the outside edge of the clearing, wailed in agony.
Regina inspected the carnage - there were no signs of life.
She turned and strode over to the women. Their crying stopped raggedly as she approached. Several put their hands over the mouths of children to keep them quiet. Regina had memorized what to say, "Hadda ka tag oo waxaad u tagtaan tuulo kale. U sheeg waxa halkan dhacay. U sheeg burcad mar dambena."
It meant, "Leave now and go to another village. Tell them what happened here. Tell them no more pirates."
They stood without moving until several of the Spartans herded them on their way. "Go on now. She said to leave." Their words were firm, but not threatening. The group of women and children started to move and the wailing began again as they passed the pile of bodies that had been their husbands, fathers, or brothers.
"Sergeant Major, bring those three to me." She pointed to three women and walked back over to her place beside the three Spartans who had volunteered.
The three chosen women started to wail and cry even louder as the larger group of women paused at the edge of the village, looking back. They were placed in front of Regina.
"Private Hamn, shoot them," she said. Her voice could be heard above the cries of the women, but it was calm.
Hamn raised her weapon and pointed it at the women. One fell to her knees, pointing to her stomach, obviously signing that she was pregnant. "But ma'am, they're women," said Ashley.
299 Spartans instantly became alert. The change in their posture was evident to the women, who fell silent. The air was still, the only sound a baby crying in the distance.
Regina looked deeply into the eyes of Ashley and then slowly turned to face her troops. When she spoke, her voice was softer. There was a tone of resignation in it. "Being a Spartan - a member of this team - means that we will often not know the reason why we are doing something. Today was a hard day, but there will be others in the future. Days where we will be ordered to do things we will not understand.
"But to us, that will make no difference because we all know, deep down inside, that whatever we are asked to do is for a reason - a good reason. We will trust that our actions will result in a better world. We will not hesitate, we will not question, we will only act because there is no other way. None."
With that, Regina unholstered her handgun and pointed it at Ashley Hamn's face. Ashley stood up straight and looked Regina right in the eyes. "Ma'am, I'm . . ."
Regina shot her and then shot the three women.
That night, all alone in her stateroom, she cried.
***
Colonel Edgemont, the present commander of the Spartans answered, "Yes, General. We're ready"
Regina brushed away those memories and took over. She was anxious to get the next part over with. "Tomorrow we start the vaccinations everywhere. It'll be a few days before we see the full effect." She closed a notebook in front of her and opened another.
"Our latest intelligence shows the Russians and Chinese are being relatively quiet - their forces are on alert, but with most of the world dark, there are not many places to send your press releases." She paused to let them appreciate her joke. "What is the opinion of the CIA, Director Brown - are their early warning systems coming back online?"
Brown was the Director of Intelligence for the CIA. He basically knew everything there was to know. "Our latest estimate is that they are 60% functional. As you know, both Russia and China were spared the worst of the EMP blast but the radars on their borders were affected. They can't see perfectly, but they are looking at hard as they can. Since we got hit harder than anyone, they believe we didn't cause the EMP attack. That leaves one of them, but each knows they didn't do it, so each thinks they know the other did. My guess is the one who comes back online first, will be tempted to strike the other."
"And their delivery systems?"
"We have assets inside the Russian government who claim they have as many as one hundred launch-capable nuclear ICBMs. I personally believe the real number is no more than half that. They have been affected by the EMP blast and they had large numbers of personnel on leave over Christmas.
"As to China, they are one of the few countries where the lights are on in most of their larger cities. Satellite evidence suggests that they are hard at work, fueling and arming missiles since they don't keep them ready to launch. Our EMP blast was successful in blinding all their satellites. They, of course, did not have large numbers of people off for the holiday, so we believe they are able to launch perhaps thirty missiles now and perhaps double that in twenty four hours."
General Martin broke in, "Any evidence as to who they are targeting?"
"Yes, General. We have strong evidence that they are targeting Moscow and Saint Petersburg, along with Novosibirsk. We think that with as many as sixty launchers, they'll target one or two missiles on each of Russia’s major cities."
"But none are aimed at us?"
"That's the way it appears, General. They believe we were the target for an attack by someone else - the Russians."
General Martin looked at Regina on his screen. She was two hundred miles away, but it was like she was in the room with him. He smiled at his daughter and said, "I'm sorry to be monopolizing the questions. As I should have expected, it looks like things are on track. I'll turn it back to our Commander. Go ahead, Regina."
***
She didn't mind her father calling her by her first name. The people in this meeting had been part of their group for a minimum of six years. Most of them attained their present positions based on the efforts of the others and they knew each other very well.
And even though their positions and rank outside the group were often well above hers as an owner of a medium sized company, Regina was the Commander. She was also the one that kept the plan on track. The Secretary of the Army, a four star Navy Admiral, the Director of Homeland Security, all looked to her to lead the way to their new world, their second chance. It had been that way since they were recruited and elevated, step by step, to where they were today. It was all her doing and they knew it.
"Mr. Speaker, can you tell us how our illustrious President and Vice President are doing?"
The political realm had always been one of the most challenging parts of her plan. While they could get most of their members in place fairly easily, trying to do the same thing with politicians was worse than herding cats. Regina had long planned on having the President as part of this team but, so far, that had not been possible.
This was one reason she needed the money from Jason. John Washington White was a congressional leader and rising star. He had charisma by the bucket, perfect teeth and an expensive toupee; but he was realistic enough to report that he only had about half the required votes to be elected Speaker of the House. Regina used almost all that very first check given her by Jason to buy him the position. A super PAC was set up and donations poured into it from hundreds of people; all with money supplied by Regina and Jason.
Congressman White then held meetings with each of his reluctant members. He told them he would be the next Speaker and they had two choices. First, they could fail to vote for him and he would make sure they were
relegated to back bencher status in the new Congress. Or, they could pledge their support and he would make a one million dollar donation to any of their campaign committees, super PACs - whatever they wanted.
Lying and downright treachery are like air in the Congress - everyone breathes the same stuff. But this type of offer, plainly stated with no room for misunderstandings, was sacrosanct. All offered and accepted bribes from other members had to be kept completely confidential and had to be paid as agreed - no exceptions were allowed. Everyone knew the rules and everyone followed them. He was elected speaker unanimously by the members of his party.
His election and Jason's money had started the countdown clock to the where they were now.
"Ah . . . His Highness is all snug inside Cheyenne Mountain. They're still trying to figure out what works and what doesn't - it's a typical government cluster fuck. I talked to him this morning - he's frustrated that no one can tell him who or even what did this, and that our missiles and planes have been badly compromised. He used that whiny, ‘Woe is me. It's so hard,’ voice of his. Makes me want to puke every time I hear it.
"As for his mini-me, the Vice President is flying around for the fourth day - safely up in one of the new Air Force One planes. My guess is that they'll land in a day or two - with The Spare on board, the liquor supply has got to be running low by now."
Regina knew that the Speaker was safe with thirty of his colleagues in a bunker in his home state of West Virginia. She didn't expect any missiles to rain down on Washington, but they had to be careful. Her Dad was in the deepest bowels of the Pentagon.
She asked, "Have they sealed the doors at Cheyenne?"
He liked to be called by his title and first two names. Speaker John Washington said, "No. They think they'll have enough warning if things get dicey. They're still trying to cram in last minute supplies and there's a long list of VIPs trying to get in. I hear our war hero senator is one of them. I told the President this morning that it would be a good idea to welcome him inside."
Regina smiled. Few deserved it more than that pompous ass, Senator John Canbridge.
Regina looked up and studied the faces of each member of her team. She could detect no signs of weakness or uncertainty. Each of them appeared to be calm, waiting for her to speak. "Then gentlemen, it's time to start World War Three. Hopefully, it'll be over by dinnertime."
They all went to work, lifting phones and issuing orders.
Regina was silent and still as she watched them. Her thoughts drifted to Jason and Ashley Hamn and to a host of others she had sacrificed to get to this point. Their ghosts tried to taunt her, but she pushed them away.
WWIII
The XO had a distressed look on his face as he walked towards Captain Joshua Jennings of the USS Pennsylvania. "The Penn," as its sailors called it, was a Boomer - an Ohio class submarine that had only two jobs. First, it had to be practically invisible and that meant being quiet - it could go just about anywhere and no enemy would know. In this instance, quiet was needed because they were in the Barents Sea just off shore from the Russian Northern fleet headquarters at Severomorsk. They had received orders to move to this location right after the EMP event.
Its second job was to be prepared to launch up to twenty four Trident nuclear missiles to any targets within their 9500 mile range.
"We have an action order, Captain." He handed a printed copy of the order to the Captain and looked to him for permission to pass out copies to the three other officers who would authenticate the orders. The Captain nodded his agreement.
The paper had only a series of letters and numbers on it in groups. All five officers had to look up the codes on their own. The codes changed on a random basis, sometimes twice in an hour, so that no enemy could send a launch command to a sub.
One by one, the four officers spoke, "I have an authentic action order." Captain Jennings looked them over and said, "I concur." It was the real thing. They had trained for this moment hundreds of times, but now it had arrived.
"Denote seven, eight and nine," the Captain ordered. This caused a ripple of activity to spread throughout the boat. Sailors input coordinates into guidance computers both onboard the Penn and in the brains of the missiles. The missiles were awakened from their slumber as internal gyros were brought to life. This happened early in the process since they took several minutes to spin up.
Systems were checked and double checked to make sure the missile was ready. If there was any kind of failure with any one of them, they would shut it down and choose another. Their orders called for the launch of three missiles at three different targets.
Almost in unison, the five officers removed a chain from their necks. On that chain was a key. Each of them had to insert their key to first unlock a metal box covering a switch and then again to activate the switch. If any of them failed to perform their part of the choreography, the launch could not happen.
All five keys were used. The status board in front of the Captain glowed green.
"Flood seven, eight and nine," he ordered. Normally the launch tubes were dry, but with sixty feet of sea water pressing down on the ship, the tubes had to be flooded in order to open the launch hatches.
Given their present position, this was a dangerous time. The sound of water filling the launch tubes could be heard - and since they were very, very close to most of the Russian Northern fleet it probably would be heard by someone. Captain Jennings hoped it would be some low ranked sailor, drowsy from lack of sleep and suffering from a hangover.
The XO announced, "All green, Captain."
This was his cue. "Fire Seven." They felt the ship shudder as a massive wave of compressed air forcibly ejected the missile away from the boat and upwards through the water until it broke the surface. At that time, its rocket motors ignited and it was on its way.
"Seven away, Captain."
"Fire eight."
All three Tridents were launched successfully. Captain Jennings ordered a crash dive to 300 feet and set a course that would take him away from the shore. The sound of missiles actually being launched would most certainly be heard. They needed to slip away and become invisible again.
***
It had become common for U.S. boomer subs to sail near this base. It was a confidence builder for the crew to find out, for real, just how quiet they were. Sailing around with Russians only a few hundred yards away was scary at first, but everyone on board soon learned they were indeed invisible. Also, once they left and were in the relative safety of the open sea, the captain authorized a "Kiss My Ass, Ivan" event where everyone on board celebrated with a holiday-style meal.
There would be no such party for the crew of the Pennsylvania this time. Russian Captain Ivan Redhov could hear the sounds of missiles being launched through the hull of his boat even without the sonar sweeps he had just ordered.
"Contact, Captain." He called out a course towards the intruder and ordered four torpedo tubes to be flooded.
The intruder tried to maneuver his boat in an attempt to escape, but Captain Redhov knew such attempts were in vain - the water was just too shallow this close to shore and there simply wasn't room to make a real run for it.
"Fire One," he ordered and then, seconds later, "Fire Two."
Seventeen seconds later the Fire Control Officer let out a yelp of delight. A few seconds passed before he did it again.
***
General Zhang had the duty tonight. As a member of the Chinese ruling Central Committee, his job was to monitor happenings in the world and communicate with the other members if the situation required. This night was likely to be quite busy with the crisis that had engulfed the world only a few days ago. He also had a second job as the Commander of the Second Artillery Corps - the command tasked with launching China's nuclear ICBM missiles.
China had fared much better than other countries, having suffered a loss of power only over about twenty percent of its land mass. Their satellites had been made unreliable, but, with the exception of
their very long range radars, their defenses were functional.
Zhang had attended a briefing only an hour ago in which it was reported that one of their assets inside the American government had confirmed that the attack had been initiated by Russia. The Americans were defeated, helpless; their super power status soon to be a memory.
It was agreed that perhaps the Russians had done the world a favor - and the lack of damage to China might be a sign that they saw the new world alignment as having two spheres of influence - an occidental one, and an oriental one. If so, it was an interesting gambit since a final clash between the two would be almost inevitable. It was obvious to the entire Committee that Russia would wait until they could strike China in the same way they'd done the Americans. One of their analysts suspected that they had already tried to bring China to its knees like they'd done America, but that their weapon had failed, only taking out satellites. It was a chilling theory, so the entire country was on high alert.
Zhang had just settled himself behind the polished wooden Commander’s desk when a radar operator called out, "Possible launch, Commander. Northern Russia. Momentary contacts reported by long range radar. Appeared to perhaps be three missiles on ascent. Screen now shows nothing."
Zhang felt irritation that their radar from the border was still not fully online, but the man was right to alert him even with this fragmentary report. "Watch carefully, comrades."
Seventeen minutes later, the same operator reported, "Confirmed three missiles passing our border. One seems to be targeted at Beijing," he paused as if trying to puzzle out what he was seeing. "The second looks to be on a course with . . . it looks like Hong Kong or Guangzhou."
Zhang felt his blood run cold. It was happening on his watch - they were under attack. "And . . . the third target. Can you estimate it?"
The radar operator’s voice was quiet, full of what sounded like wonder. "They are now descending, Commander. I can estimate the third target is . . . It is us, Commander! They are trying to make sure we will not be able to retaliate for this aggression!"