Twenty-five meters behind, also moving in a wedge, were Ted Callahan and the MPs. Ranger Glickman was included in this group, which was heavily armed with M16s, SAWs, and M60s.
Since their encounter with the meth bootleggers, they were extra cautious to be on the lookout for booby traps, but this still didn’t keep them from moving at a blistering pace.
Thomas was starting to feel the fifty-five-pound rucksack that he wore on his back. The heat and humidity were fierce, and to slake his ever-present thirst, he took cautious sips on the plastic tube of the Camelbak water bladder that was stored in his ruck.
The sun had long since set, the fading hues of the midsummer twilight barely visible through the tree limbs. In the forest a gray darkness prevailed, and as his night vision sharpened, Thomas attempted to put to use some of the limited-visibility techniques he had learned in the Air Force. Even then, he stumbled over too many fallen branches to count, while saplings slapped his face, and sharp thorns tore at the rip-stop cloth of his camouflaged BDU pants.
He was ever thankful for the protective goggles the Sappers had given him, and as he wondered when he’d have time to utilize the NVGs that were stashed on his back, the soldiers in front of him raised their open palms overhead. The squad halted, and from the center of the wedge the PL could be seen slapping the cargo pocket of his BDUs.
Thomas moved forward to participate in the map check. He knelt beside the PL, and they were joined by both the compass men and the pace men, as well as the veteran walking point.
Sergeant Reed was the consummate professional soldier. As the senior Sapper leader course instructor, he was an expert at his unique craft, and Thomas could sense the respect that his fellow soldiers afforded him.
“If you didn’t know any better, you’d think we were back home at Leonard Wood,” commented Reed, who spat out a torrent of tobacco juice and pulled out a red-tinted flashlight to illuminate the PL’s map.
While they tried to decipher the detailed topographical map, the sound of footsteps foreshadowed the arrival of Ted Callahan, Captain Christian, and their U.S. Forest Service representative.
“Looks like that’s it for the last light of dusk,” was Callahan’s greeting.
“Anyone know the moon phase?”
“It’s a day away from the first quarter,” Reed answered.
“Since the sky is clear, and is forecast to remain that way throughout the night, we should have plenty of natural, ambient illumination.”
Thomas noted that Jody Glickman was carrying a full rucksack herself, and he watched her kneel beside the small knot of soldiers gathered around the map.
“We should be right about there,” she said, pointing to a quadrant near the center portion of the wilderness area.
“We’ve already passed Fiddler Spring, which puts us on the northern slope of Slash Bay Hollow, with Freeman the next hollow to the south.”
“How are you doing reading the trail. Sergeant?” asked Callahan.
Reed spat out more tobacco juice before answering.
“Right now, I’m following the dog tracks. There’s still seven individuals in the party, with one of them either a woman or a large child.
Because the soil’s getting increasingly rocky, and since it hasn’t rained in these parts for a while, with nightfall and all, it could get difficult.”
“Well, we don’t have much farther to go, since it’s obvious they’re headed into Freeman,” said Callahan.
“Sergeant Reed, you and your Sappers will continue to lead the way. Per our OPORD, I think it’s best if we move in a file formation from here on in and slow down the pace a bit. And for those who’ve got them, it’s time to deploy the NVGs. The army that can fight at night is the army that wins.”
Chapter 38
Friday, July 2
Freeman Hollow
“The more I think about it, the more I fear that Coach didn’t believe my warning,” said Andrew Chapman.
Vince was seated on the same fallen oak trunk as the VP, and he replied while gazing up at the ever-darkening portion of sky visible from this portion of the overlook.
“You’ve got to admit it was an earful, sir. It’s only natural for him to be cautious at first. And if he’s really the outstanding officer that you say, he’ll get over his initial skepticism and begin looking into the matter.”
“I’m beginning to have second thoughts myself,” mumbled Chapman, strain and frustration clearly visible on his tanned face.
From the other side of the clearing, Miriam could be heard talking with her father.
“Pa, I think I’ll go down and see if I can help Junior find Satan.”
“Absolutely not, young lady!” retorted Amos, who had been passing the time whittling a maple branch.
“I told your lame brained brother that we’re gonna skedaddle from these parts once night falls, and if he doesn’t hurry and get back up here, he, Tiny, and C.J. are gonna be traveling solo.”
“I sure hope they’re staying far away from Tater Hill,” offered Vince.
“Those boys don’t have any idea what they’re up against out there. Mariano’s a skilled tracker who’s specially trained to hunt down and kill his fellow humans.”
Amos peered across the clearing, and made it a point to slice off a thick piece of wood before responding to this warning.
“My boy might be a little short in the brains department, but one thing he can do is survive in the woods. Shit, I taught him myself, and Junior was stalking deer when most boys his age were still on the breast.”
A booming explosion sounded nearby, seemingly punctuating this bold comment, and after flinching, the occupants of the clearing nervously stood. They stared into the blackened hollow, vainly trying to see any visual aftereffects of this resonant blast, which Vince attributed to either a grenade or a mine.
“Junior!” exclaimed the worried parent, who dropped his knife and went sprinting into the woods, toward the direction of Tater Hill.
Miriam followed her father, and Vince cried out, “Damn it, Miriam, come back!”
She didn’t, and Vince listened as the VP beckoned toward the woods, saying, “We can’t go and abandon them now that there’s trouble afoot, Kellogg. Besides, one of those boys might be hurt, and could use our help.”
Vince could hardly believe his eyes when Chapman brazenly pursued Miriam into the forest, leaving him no alternative but to curse angrily and follow.
Friday, July 2 C.D.T.
Slash Bar Hollow
“Sounded to me like a claymore,” Sergeant Reed told Thomas and the other Sappers gathered at the head of the formation.
“And best guess is it blew a couple of klicks due south of here, smack in the heart of Freeman Hollow.”
Thomas nodded in agreement, listening carefully as the senior Sapper instructor began detailing the manner in which they’d proceed, now that yet another threat had to be contended with.
Chapter 39
Saturday, July 3, 0205
Zulu Nightwatch 676
Red somewhat halfheartedly prepared to initiate her computerized scan of the phone logs, unable to give this project her complete enthusiasm. Though she had a sincere respect for Coach, the bizarre warning that he had shared with both her and Commander Cooper sounded more like the disturbed rantings of a paranoid conspiracy buff. Of course, this was definitely not the type of behavior that one would expect from the senior pilot of one of the Air Force’s most important aircraft. She knew that Coach and his fellow flight crew members were subject to frequent, intensive physical examinations that included a comprehensive psychological evaluation. There was no way that he’d be allowed to command Nightwatch unless he passed these tests with flying colors, and Red supposed that a mental ailment was most likely out of the question.
Coach therefore deserved her support, and she felt a bit embarrassed for questioning his sanity. After all, it took immense courage on his part to even share this warning, and for him to pick Red showed how much he trus
ted her. To properly investigate an unthinkable event of this magnitude, an open mind was needed, and she decided to hold back further judgment until the facts were on the table.
To access the proper phone log, she needed to input the Chairman’s personal key number. Each crew member aboard Nightwatch had one of these numbers, which had to be fed into the computer before initiating either a telephone, radio, or data transmission. Because she was responsible for placing the majority of Warner’s calls. Red was most familiar with his key number, and she in putted the sequence 4-6-1-3-3 into her keyboard.
Before initiating her query, she looked up from the monitor and took a moment to scan the Operations Team Area to see which senior officers were present. She felt like a conspirator herself upon determining that neither the Chairman nor any members of his immediate staff were in the compartment. Across the aisle. Sergeant Schuster was busy with a systems diagnostic, with Colonel Pritchard last reported to be aft in Technical Control.
If she was going to proceed without being caught, now was the time to do so, and she took a series of deep, calming breaths before readdressing her keyboard.
She began her search on 2 July, at seventeen hundred hours.
This was the approximate time that Air Force One had landed in Simferopol, and if a coup were being attempted, this time segment would be all-important.
A list of over one hundred transmission transactions filled her screen. Most of these were individual phone calls, dialed on the Chairman’s behalf by either herself or Sergeant Schuster. The majority of the numbers were in the 703 area code, with the most frequent party being the Pentagon’s NMCC. Another frequently dialed number was STRATCOM operations, located outside Omaha, Nebraska.
It was hard not to miss the dozens of calls to the Russian Defense Ministry. Most of these Red had dialed, and though she knew the supposed reason they had been made, she couldn’t help but wonder if General Alexi Zhukov was part of the plot.
Iron Man One was yet another frequent contact point. General Spencer would be an ideal individual for the Chairman to be working with if a coup were being attempted, though Red was unable to forget the caustic nature of their conversations.
Most of them were characterized by intense arguments, not the type of cooperation one would expect from fellow coconspirators.
She came across a long series of calls that had apparently been dialed for the Chairman by Sergeant Schuster. They corresponded to a variety of military installations located throughout the United States, and Red recognized the numbers to COMSUBLANT, NORAD, SOCOM, COMSUBPAC, and a number of Air Force and Army installations, ranging from Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland to Georgia’s Fort Benning. Several calls to individual combat units had also been made, leading Red to wonder why the Chairman would bother taking the time for such conversations when his subordinates could surely handle them for him.
She was in the process of scanning the most recent series of calls when she looked up momentarily from the monitor, in time to see Major Hewlett headed her way from the direction of the briefing room. She immediately hit the keyboard’s escape button, the screen going blank just as the serious-faced Marine passed by her workstation. Red couldn’t fail to miss the way he seemed to intentionally turn his head in an effort to see what she was working on. She met his inquisitive gaze with her best smile, and the SIOP advisor redirected his glance to the rear of the compartment without acknowledging that she even existed.
Disturbed by this encounter. Red wondered if Hewlett had been sent to spy on them. Could he be part of the coup? Hewlett was a new addition to the Chairman’s battle staff, and as SIOP advisor, he would be an all-important ally if a coup effort were to succeed. Red supposed that his phone log could provide them with a wealth of information, and it was while wondering how she could get his access code that a sudden thought hit her. What proof did she really have that a coup d’etat was really being attempted?
Other than the wild tale that Coach had shared with them, she had yet to come across any solid evidence to support the Vice President’s bizarre accusations. All of the phone calls that Warner had made these past couple of hours could be attributed to his routine duties as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Surely she was only letting her imagination run wild, and becoming overly paranoid herself.
After another series of deep breaths. Red decided to exit the phone log and reassess her participation in this foolish, time wasting effort. To close the program, she had to reaccess the activity screen, and as the log reappeared on the monitor, her eyes were drawn to the very last entry. It referred to a phone number that had been placed sometime within the past minute from the Chairman’s personal stateroom.
Since it was out of the ordinary for Warner to make such a call on his own. Red took a closer look at the number he had dialed. The area code 573 was an unfamiliar one, and she fumbled through her directory in an attempt to identify it. When this effort failed, she debated whether or not she should contact an associate in the NMCC and have her look up the number.
Discretion overrode expediency, and Red decided to do the detective work herself. She addressed her keyboard, and accessed the INMARSAT communications satellite serving this portion of the mid-Atlantic. It was in this manner that she reached a computerized information operator back in the United States.
“What area of the CONUS does the area code five-seven three correspond to?” she queried via her keyboard.
Only a few seconds passed before her screen filled with the data — SOUTH-CENTRAL MISSOURI.
Red was unable to forget that Vice President Chapman’s SATCOM warning was supposedly broadcast from this same location, leading her to wonder who it was in the Missouri Ozarks that Admiral Trent Warner had just gotten off the phone with.
While Red was in the process of taking a closer look at the Chairman’s phone log, Brittany was seated in the briefing room, her open laptop before her. Now that Major Hewlett had left the compartment to join Colonel Pritchard in Technical Control, she was free to reinitiate her investigation into the possibility that a coup was being conducted from Nightwatch.
As it turned out, the Chairman’s SIOP advisor had just instructed Brittany to document in detail their reaction to the Russian missile launch that had occurred earlier in the day. This gave her the perfect opportunity to access the battle staffs tactical log and look for any suspicious deviations.
It was a joint staff decision that had brought them to DEFCON Two shortly after the initial warning from NORAD had arrived.
Brittany also couldn’t find fault with the decision to implement Counterforce package Zulu Tango in the event that the Russian missile had turned out to be an ICBM headed for the CONUS.
She noted with interest that the log stated that this was one of the rare instances, during these past couple of hours, when General Spencer aboard Iron Man One actually concurred with the Chairman. Normally the two commanders would be reading from the same page, and for a difference of opinion to be part of the official record was most unusual, as was the sealed folder she came upon at the end of the log. It contained their current SIOP options, and Brittany tried several different passwords to unlock it.
Knowing full well the Chairman’s penchant for using football slang for his passwords, she tried every such term she could think of. She typed in “pigskin,”
“gridiron,” and “quarterback sneak,” along with dozens of other words and phrases, all to no avail.
Since golf terminology was another one of his favorites, she was about to try this avenue of approach when the term “audible” popped into her head. She tried it, and the folder miraculously opened.
The targets listed were the exclusive responsibility of their Atlantic alert platform, the U.S.S. Rhode Island. Brittany needed an atlas to identify the corresponding longitude and latitude coordinates that the Trident warheads would be headed to in the event of war. Most of the targets were situated in central Russia and Siberia, with another scenario featuring a limited strike inside th
e People’s Republic of China.
The final scenario possibility demanded but two of the Rhode Island’s Tridents. Code-named Yankee Hotel, the targeting coordinates were vastly different from the previous strikes. Once again Brittany needed the atlas to determine that one of the submarine’s nuclear-tipped warheads was targeted at the airspace off the coast of Georgia, while strangely enough, the other was directed squarely at the Ozarks region of south-central Missouri.
Chapter 40
Friday, July 2, C.D.T
Freeman Hollow
Vince was able to catch up with the Vice President just as Chapman was in the process of reaching the bottom of the hollow.
Frantic voices sounded ahead, the encroaching night veiling all but the trees and scrub that immediately encircled them.
“Mr. Vice President, you’ve got to slow down and think about what you’re doing,” warned Vince.
“If that blast was a mine, it means that Mariano’s men will also be drawn there.”
“To hell with Mariano!” cursed Chapman, who was vainly attempting to extract his foot from a tangled snare of twisted branches.
“Those poor folks need our help, and I’m not going to abandon them.”
Vince realized it would be fruitless to argue his point further.
He merely knelt, pulled the branches apart, and as Chapman pulled out his foot, Vince had time to deliver one more passionate plea.
“At the very least, let me lead the way. If there are mines out here, I’ll be the one to trigger them. Keep a good five paces behind, and try to step only where I do.”
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