by CW Crowe
Zhang thought of all those western children, going to sleep still hugging their stuffed animals and dreaming of the toys built for them by Chinese labor. Their country had put all their efforts into making things for the west in exchange for peace and money. Now the damned Russians had taken it all. In minutes China would be naked with no ability to fire the land based ICBMs that he commanded. He was ashamed that they had only twenty six missiles ready to launch.
He ordered them into the sky with Russian cities and military bases as their targets.
He sat and waited with his men.
***
Zhang's Russian counterpart was named Kostava. He was a General of the Russian Army, though he thought of himself as a General of the Soviet Union. Things had become smaller over the years - their empire and their aspirations. The people had been lured away with western jeans and that stupid hip-hop music. Today, it seemed that all the Russian women dressed like whores and all the Russian young men acted like Mexican cartel leaders. The women wanted the men and would do literally anything to get them, and the men wanted money and cars and western currency - and drugs, of course.
General Kostava wondered for the thousandth time if they were worthy of himself and his men. He thought of his command as pure - his men all real Russians, dedicated to socialism and equality. But the people only wanted their iPads and smart phones - service to the motherland was not even a second thought for them.
That explained his happiness at the intelligence reports that he had heard today. An asset deep in the US government had told them that the Americans were likely damaged beyond repair - the rumor was that the President would soon broadcast their surrender to whoever had attacked them and beg to be allowed to begin the long process of rebuilding. So the Americans had finally been made to grovel, to beg. That part felt indescribably good.
However, that same asset had disturbing news. They knew they had not launched an attack against the United States and that the logical culprit was China, but to hear it confirmed was still a shock. The asset said that the Chinese had tried to take out Russia in the same way, but their EMP weapon had malfunctioned. He warned that they might now try using "conventional" nuclear weapons.
And so when General Kostava received word of a massive launch from six separate sites inside China, he was not particularly surprised. This type of treachery was exactly what the damned slant-eyed bastards would do.
As soon as it was obvious that Chinese missiles were on their way, he ordered their own launch, along with launches from their three boomer submarines that were capable of responding.
All the missiles were targeted at China.
China saw them coming and responded with their remaining assets.
***
Pakistan managed to detect many missiles in the atmosphere, but not their precise targets. It seemed to them that at least some must have come from India. They fired their missiles in response and India followed suit.
Iran sent a massive armada of aircraft towards Israel, who responded with an armada of her own - a nuclear tipped armada of over eighty weapons.
North Korea detonated two warheads on their own soil. No one knew why.
***
That night, just as she sat down alone for dinner, Regina called her father. They agreed to detonate additional EMP explosions in space so that the rest of the world would go almost instantly dark. She also ordered drones, equipped with top secret chemical laser weapons to take off and patrol the skies. As of now, no aircraft except those under her control would be allowed to fly.
***
Somewhere over Kansas, the Vice President was crying. The latest reports were that ICBMs had been launched from Russia. Their estimates were that they were heading towards targets in China. Their communications with both Russia and China had been sketchy at best, but a few minutes ago they abruptly stopped altogether.
He hated the nickname "The Spare," but being number two meant that number one was the one who had to make all the hard decisions. His hand shook as he refilled his glass with expensive scotch and looked out the window on the almost brand new 747-8 jet. This plane was easily twice the size of the previous plane that was used as Air Force Two. It had every luxury you could want, but right now The Spare wanted to take a walk in his garden in the country. He wanted to look out over the Georgia hills and spot a deer in the distance. He wanted anything except to pick up that red phone and be told that the missiles were on the way towards the U.S.
Just five minutes ago, he had been informed that the President had ordered the sealing of Cheyenne Mountain. That was, at least, welcome news. It meant number one was safe and number two could finally land and get out of this gilded prison.
He looked outside and could see moonlight glint off the wing of one of the two escort planes that were flying in formation with his. The Spare had asked how they were able to cycle these fighter jets into the sky for days, but could not get decent communications back online. No one could provide an answer. "The EMP burst was bigger than we planned for. It'll likely take a few more days," is the only answer he got.
He took a sip and was thinking about landing in Atlanta when he saw a bright flash. He blinked his eyes to clear them of the ghost images of the light. Everything appeared to be normal outside.
And then he realized there was a difference. The escort plane was gone.
Almost instantly, the giant Boeing rolled to the right and went into a steep dive. Another flash occurred outside and then another. The Spare watched in horror as both engines on the left side of the great plane burst into flames. He realized they were under attack.
He sat back, took another sip and thought of his wife, his kids and Georgia.
***
The news of the launches of nuclear weapons was more than enough for the President to decide to close the door on Cheyenne Mountain. From start to finish it took four minutes to close the giant blast doors that provided the only entrance to the facility. Before that task could be started, sixty one people had to be loaded on buses and driven back towards Peterson Air Force base outside Colorado Springs. These were maintenance people, delivery and internal security people that weren't needed once the twenty five ton double doors were closed for real.
Inventory Control Specialist Kevin Haywood was one of the group that was leaving. He'd been assigned here for the last few months and slept in guest quarters inside the mountain. His job was to constantly update the computers with everything that came in, went out or was consumed. He personally logged every case of spaghetti, every can of beans, every bottle of booze that entered or was used. When a bottle was empty and discarded, he recorded that fact in his database so that it could be quickly replaced.
Now that the balloon had gone up, the inhabitants would have to make due with only the supplies they had inside. There was enough for at least two years.
Just as he was boarding the bus, Kevin pulled out his Game Boy 3D and brought up a game. To anyone watching, he was looking for a distraction during the ride back to base. This particular game was one he'd never played before, but he knew exactly what to do. In less than a minute, the happy creature that had been smiling on his screen was replaced by a grinning skull.
Everything was set.
***
Inside, safe from all but a direct hit from a large nuclear weapon, the President had everything he needed to lead the country into retaliation against whoever had done this, and then, to start the rebuilding of their great country.
Breaking protocol, his Chief of Staff burst into his private office without knocking. "Mr. President, we've lost contact with Air Force Two."
These were chilling words. "Are we under attack again?"
"Unknown, sir. There will be a meeting in ten minutes in the Command Center. Hopefully, we'll know more by then."
As the assorted military and civilian brass tried to understand all that was suddenly happening, a large box of seeds received a signal from the Game Boy and sprang to life in the massive storage a
rea. On the outside the four foot box was marked, "Live Seeds! Do not disturb or open! Moisture Will Ruin!" The inventory entry showed them to be examples of over sixty different kinds of seeds that could be used to restart civilization if the worst happened.
Those sixty types of seeds were indeed inside the 240 pound box, but they shared the space with something else - a Russian made RA-115 "suitcase" nuclear bomb. During the cold war, these had been made in significant quantities and had often been the weapon of last resort stored in Russian embassies all over the world. US intelligence estimated that at least fifteen of them had been "lost."
Regina had spent one hundred million dollars of Jason's money to get one.
***
As inventory control specialist Kevin Haywood looked out the window of the bus, he felt the ground shudder. At the back of the bus, someone asked about earthquakes. Kevin thought of his new home in the rolling hills of Virginia.
***
Regina took the call while finishing her coffee. She nodded her head into the phone even though her father couldn't see her acknowledgment. She smiled at herself and thanked him for the news. "No Dad, I'll do it," she said.
She touched the buttons to call Speaker of the House, John Washington White. He answered on the first ring. "Mr. Speaker, is the Chief Justice there with you?"
His voice started out almost with a croak as he answered, "Yes, he's here."
"Then go ahead with the oath." She paused. "And congratulations, Mr. President."
***
Regina finished the last of her coffee and allowed herself to relax. Literally years of work and planning had gone into creating this moment and she deserved a few minutes to savor it. She knew that years more effort lay ahead, but a wave of satisfaction made that seem distant. It was something to think about tomorrow, not tonight.
She called for her security guard. At night, one was stationed outside her door.
He came in, hands behind his back, at ease, waiting. "Yes, ma'am?" She knew his name was Mendez.
Regina studied him. His rolled up sleeves allowed her to see his biceps. She thought of herself as a bicep girl. She loved the big muscles on men; the shoulders, the biceps, the thighs. They were so strong - almost like an alien race. She wanted to get up and lick those biceps right now, to feel first hand just how hard they could be against her body, but she restrained herself.
"Is Lieutenant Klein on duty?"
"No ma'am. He's off tonight."
"I see. Do you think you can find him, Sergeant?"
"Yes ma'am, probably. He said he was going to the gym."
"Fine Sergeant. Go get him and bring him here. He doesn't need to change into uniform."
"Ay, ma'am," he said as he turned to leave.
"Oh, and Sergeant," she said. He stopped and turned back to her. "When you get back, both of you come into my bedroom. I have something I want you both to see."
He nodded and left. At that moment, Regina thought her need was the greatest it had ever been. She hoped the two of them would be enough for tonight at least.
Part Five: Now It Gets Hard
Priest
Neither Hoppie nor Sarabeth knew they had a new President when they got up early and went to see the priest at Our Lady of the Snows. Like before, they decided to walk the half mile to the church. Along the way, Hoppie found a kid's wagon sitting in a neighboring yard, partially covered with snow. She brushed it off and took it.
"You don't know who that belongs to," said Sarabeth with a note of accusation in her voice. Hoppie shook her head silently in wonder; sometimes her friend was so straight-laced it drove her nuts.
Hoppie responded to that accusation with aggression. She snapped at Sarabeth, "I know there isn't anyone staying in this house and I know we want to be able to carry as much food as they'll give us. And I know we'll return it when we're done with it." Hoppie had awakened in a bad mood today. The two or three days before her period were what she called her "Watch out for the bitch" time.
They walked in silence down the hill, the frost between them as cold as the air. As they approached the church, Sarabeth said in a quiet voice, "I'm sorry, Hop. You were right."
Hoppie's smile lit up her face. "I'm sorry too, SeeBee." They held each other’s gloved hand as they walked. "But you should have waited two more seconds and I would have apologized first."
They laughed together as the entered the church parking lot.
***
As they arrived, they found the priest talking to a man and a woman. He was animated, talking with his hands. He was also young - probably about thirty five and looked to be fit. He wore a black jacket and shirt with his Roman collar. He had a close cropped beard and sandy hair.
Hoppie whispered to Sarabeth, "Not bad. I'd give that an eight."
"Hoppie, stop! He'll hear you."
"He's a man SeeBee. Like all men, he loves for woman to admire how tall and strong he looks. He might not do anything about it, but trust me, he's a man."
"Will you PLEASE stop? He will totally hear you."
He must have heard something because he looked up and said his farewells to the couple he'd been talking to. They lifted a box of supplies and left.
As Hoppie and Sarabeth approached him, the priest said, "I don't think we've met. I'm Father Francis, Robert Francis. You can call me Rob or Father - I like them both a lot."
His smile was warm and welcoming. Hoppie took the lead, "Father, I'm Emily Ingram and this is my friend SeeBee . . . I mean Sarabeth Hepburn. We're here on vacation; we were supposed to leave in two days, but I guess that's out of the question now. We were hoping to get some supplies."
He led them into the church where people were packing cardboard cartons with canned goods, cereal, fruit, bread and even meat. In the corner was a stack of green boxes.
"Certainly, ladies. We're trying to use our perishable items first, so I hope you don't mind a couple of steaks."
Hoppie knew that Sarabeth's favorite was steak, so she wasn't surprised when she spoke up, "Sure, Father. That sounds fine."
He helped them load the wagon full of supplies and then went over to the stack of green boxes. "A military truck dropped these off yesterday. I told them we weren't in any need for supplies yet, but the soldiers said they had orders. I suspect the food in these boxes isn't as good as those steaks, but the important thing is the flu vaccine. That's why they left these - one for everyone in town. They said they'd be back in a few days with enough supplies to last the winter.
"You just follow the directions and spray the vaccine in your nose. There aren't any needles and it's quick and easy. With the cold and the lack of power, we sure don't want people getting sick. I'm surprised they had the foresight to include the vaccine, but I'm thankful they did."
Hoppie was focused on something he'd said. "Rob, do you think we'll be stuck here . . . I mean do you think we won't be able to leave until spring?"
He looked from one of them to the other. "I'm sorry if this is bad news, but yes, I think we'll be here until then. Sooner or later, we'll get a real snowstorm and it'll get deep. I don't think they'll be able to keep the roads open - most of the plows aren’t working and there aren't any spare parts. We'll probably have to pull together and support each other until the roads melt out."
They took turns pulling the wagon during their bittersweet walk home. On the one hand, they had supplies and the priest was very nice. But on the other, they were stuck in a small town for the duration of the winter with Ryan Rogers.
***
When they arrived back at Huang's place, Sarabeth put their perishable items outside on the deck to keep them cold. Hoppie built up the fire. The stack of firewood was still looking healthy. Sarabeth got the two inhalers and offered one to Hoppie. "Time for your medicine," she said in a sing song voice. They gave each other the dose.
Later, they both lay reading on the large leather couch that was positioned in front of the fireplace. Their heads were at opposite ends. Their socked feet touched i
n the middle. They had changed and Sarabeth was wearing a sheer T-shirt with no bra. Hoppie had been studying the outline of her breasts for the last few minutes as they thrust out and retreated with her breathing. If there was one part of Sarabeth that she was envious of, it was her boobs. Hoppie's were cute and most men liked them a lot judging from how much they wanted to kiss and play with them, but Sarabeth had some serious boobage going on.
Finally, she spoke. "Uh . . . SeeBee. It's hot in here, don't you think?"
At first, Sarabeth stared at her friend. It was warm and comfortable, but not hot.
Then she understood. She smiled and sat up, expecting Hoppie to meet her in the middle.
But before she could, Hoppie sneezed.
***
As he arrived at the church, the mayor noticed two figures in the distance pulling a wagon. It looked to be full of supplies. With him were Carl and Marge Bumgardner - two leading citizens of the town and the owners of a local restaurant.
Father Francis looked up and smiled. He had known all three of them since he'd been assigned to the church almost three years ago. It was a plum assignment, almost like being on permanent vacation. "How is Sue doing? I heard she was visiting over the holidays." Sue was the Bumgardner's twenty four year old daughter. "She's with us. Doing okay." They didn't smile back.
"Let's walk over here so we can talk," said the mayor, taking the priest by the sleeve and leading him towards a far corner of the chapel.
"It's bad news, Father. Real bad. I just got off the radio with the Governor's staff. There was another attack. The President and Vice-President are both dead. The Speaker took the oath and we've now got President White - for all the good it'll do."
Father Francis was stunned, almost overwhelmed by the shock, but Mayor Preston wasn't done. "President White has declared Martial Law for the country and so has the Governor for the state. I'm going to declare it for our town."