Nightwatch
Page 32
Nightwatch began to veer sharply to the right of the halogen lit centerline after seven of the remaining eight tires blew out.
They were quickly running out of runway, and Coach fought to put them back in the center of the reinforced concrete strip by utilizing the plane’s rudder.
They were still moving well over sixty knots when the last halogen light passed beneath them. This signaled the end of the main runway, and the plane bounded over the final section of concrete and headed smack into the thousand-foot-long overrun.
There was a violent lurch as what was left of their landing gear bit into the soft-soil concrete paving material. Coach and Lucky were thrown forward, and it was as their restraint harnesses pulled them back into their seats that they realized the airplane had stopped. Against all the odds, Nightwatch was safely on the ground once again!
A round of spirited high fives were traded, with Major Lassiter leaving the navigation console to celebrate along with Brittany and Red. It was with great relief that Coach unbuckled his harness to join Lassiter in the upper-deck rest area. Yet as he stepped out of the cockpit, he found his backup approaching the sealed fire door.
“No, Major Lassiter!” screamed Red, who looked on with shocked horror as Lassiter hit the large red switch that triggered the door’s unlock mechanism.
The door slipped open with a loud hiss, and in stormed Major Hewlett and the Chairman. Both of them carried pistols, and Lassiter quickly resealed the door the moment they were safely inside.
“Nice job with that landing. Major Foard,” said the Chairman to Coach while waving the barrel of his .45 toward the pilot.
“Too bad the medal will have to be delivered posthumously.”
Coach ignored this veiled threat, and turned his anger on Owen Lassiter.
“I can’t believe you’re one of them. Major. You’re a disgrace to your uniform.”
“Coach,” replied Lassiter with a snicker, “you’re just upset ‘cause you picked the wrong side.”
“That you did,” agreed the Chairman before expanding his gaze to take in Brittany and Red as well.
“All of you are part of a failed, morally bankrupt system. And though by its very nature revolution is painful, it’s the only way to get our country back in the right direction.”
For the first time ever, Brittany didn’t fear directly meeting Warner’s penetrating glance, and she addressed him forcefully.
“The only trouble is, if we do it your way. Admiral, it will mean the end of everything!”
There was a loud rending sound when the overworked left landing gear suddenly broke down, and the deck below unexpectedly tilted in that direction. Everyone standing was thrown off balance, and Red was able to lunge forward in an attempt to knock the gun out of Hewlett’s grasp.
In the resulting struggle, the Marine’s gun went tumbling to the deck, and Coach alertly retrieved it, while the Chairman trained his pistol on Red and fired. The bullet hit her in the back between her shoulder blades, and she collapsed in a bloody heap.
Brittany saw Warner now turn his gun on Coach, but before he could fire, she grabbed the flare gun, aimed the blunt barrel at the Chairman, and pulled the trigger. The red-hot Magnesium/ phosphorous round hit him squarely in the center of the chest.
There was a sickening, sizzling hiss as the chemicals in the flare began eating into Warner’s skin, and he let loose an anguished wail before falling to the deck himself, the bitter scent of burning flesh heavy in the air.
“We’ve got a Priority One transmission coming in on the FEMA emergency network!” informed Jake from the cockpit.
“It’s being simulcast on our video system.”
Only after making certain that both Red and the Chairman were beyond their help did Coach lead the shocked occupants of the flight deck over to the auxiliary comm console. With Lucky guarding their two prisoners. Coach activated the video screen and patched in the same real-time, live video broadcast that was being transmitted to every television and radio station in America.
The crystal-clear video picture was captioned — LIVE PROM FORT LEONARD WOOD, MISSOURI: THE SWEARING-IN OF OUR NEW PRESIDENT.
The setting was an operations center, with a group of civilians and high-ranking military officers gathered around a flag-draped podium. Standing next to this lectern was Andrew Chapman, looking a bit out of character dressed in a pair of wrinkled khakis and a white Harvard polo shirt. Leonard Wood’s immaculately attired Judge Advocate stood alongside him, and he held out a thick Bible, on which Chapman placed his right hand and then repeated an oath that came right out of Article II, Section I of the Constitution.
“I, Andrew Chapman, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States, so help me God.”
After holding on a close-up of the country’s new President, the camera slowly panned the faces of the various onlookers, which included the very somber-looking figure of Speaker of the House, Andrew Pierce.
“The Speaker sure doesn’t look very happy,” noted Jake.
“What else do you expect from a man who came within a life of being our next President?” Coach replied.
“A man for years denied his party’s nomination, and who will probably never get it.”
And as the camera momentarily remained on the determined faces of the two civilians standing beside the Speaker, Brittany let out an astonished gasp. On this tragic day that no American would soon forget, standing there at the new Chief Executive’s side were none other than her dear friends Thomas and Vince Kellogg.
Epilogue
Sunday, July 4 0003 Zulu
U.S.S. James K. Polk
It was with some trepidation that Brad Bodzin found himself knocking on his Captain’s stateroom door. The hour was late, his presence here the byproduct of a formal request on his part to the XO earlier in the evening.
The senior sonar technician found Benjamin Kram seated at his desk, immersed in a pile of paperwork. Bodzin had a genuine liking for the old man, as he was better known to the junior ratings, and he tried his best to shake off his nervousness as he cleared his throat in greeting.
“Good evening, sir. Thanks for agreeing to see me.”
“Not at all, Mr. Bodzin. And may I be the first to wish you a happy Independence Day.”
Bodzin had totally forgotten that it was already the Fourth of July, and he listened attentively as Kram added, “I gather that you saw the videotape of President Chapman’s swearing-in ceremony?”
“I caught a replay right before I began my last watch, sir. It was a very emotional moment.”
“That it was, for all of us,” said Kram, who pulled off his bifocals and set them down on his desk.
“Now, I know you’re tired and ready to hit the rack after your second watch of the day. So what can I help you with?”
“Sir, first off, I understand that scuttlebutt has it that this will be your last patrol with us. I wanted to personally say what a great honor it has been to have sailed with you.”
Kram grinned and shook his head in amazement.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Bodzin. And considering that I only just told the XO, COB, and Commander Gilbert that I’d be permanently leaving the Jimmy K when we get back to Norfolk, I’m impressed with your intelligence network. Is that all, son?”
“Actually, sir, it isn’t.” Bodzin took a deep breath before continuing.
“Captain, I’ve been playing that tape we made of Sierra Seven’s signature over and over. I know we didn’t get much to work with, but I was able to enhance the signal, and pulled off a decent segment both immediately before they collided with the Rhode Island and right after they took that potshot at us. I then filtered out the highs and lows, and ran it through the computer for a positive identification.”
“Don’t tell me,” interrupted Kram.
“My money says that Sierra Seven is an enhanced
Russian Akula.”
“Sir,” replied Bodzin while shaking his head that this wasn’t the case, “the computer shows that there’s a ninety-seven percent probability that Sierra Seven is a U.S. Navy 6881 attack sub.
Captain, that sub had to know we were fellow Americans. Why in the world would they do such a thing?”
Benjamin Kram was unable to reply. Until all the facts were in, and the entire cast of conspirators apprehended, knowledge of the coup attempt was to be restricted on a need-to-know basis.
Even in the world’s oldest practicing democracy, some questions were better left unanswered.
“The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.”
―THOMAS JEFFERSON
Acknowledgments
This novel would not have been possible without the invaluable assistance of the following:
Donald De Line and Jordi Ross of Disney’s Touchstone Pictures, who helped generate the creative spark that got this project off the ground;
Lou Aronica and Stephen S. Power of Avon Books;
Robert Gottlieb, Matt Bialer, Alan Gasmer, and Steven H. Kram of the William Morris Agency;
Philip M. Strub, U.S. Department of Defense;
Charles “Lucky” Davis of the U.S. Air Force;
General Eugene E. Habiger, Vice Admiral Dennis A. Jones, Captain Robert Pritchard, and Captain John Kennedy of U.S. Strategic Command;
Major General John G. Meyer Jr.” Colonel Robert E. Gaylord, Colonel Mark Brzozowski, and Lieutenant Colonel Richard Breen of U.S. Army Public Affairs;
Major General Bob Flowers, Lieutenant Colonel Stephen Rego, and G. Michael Warren, my hosts at Fort Leonard Wood, MO;
Brigadier General David W. Foley, Colonel Wcs Cox, and H.M. Chapman, my hosts at Fort McClellan, AL;
Captain Harold Christy and Robert Aylward of the U.S. Army Marksmanship Unit;
Terry Miller, Charlotte Wiggins, Ben Wyatt, Al Stevens, Jody Eberly, and Ron Asplin of the U.S. Forest Service;
Charles Jaco — my key to the Irish Wilderness;
Lieutenant Colonel Stu Pugh;
AFSOC’s Captain Ty “Monzo” Alexander;
Keith O’Leary;
Director John McGaw and Assistant Director Patrick D. Hynes of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms;
Bruce Blair, senior fellow, the Brookings Institution;
Commander Strategic Communications Wing One;
Lieutenant AA. “Flex” Plexico, USN;
The men and women of the 55th Air Wing and 1st Airborne Command and Control Squadron;
And last, but definitely not least, my dearest Carol Frances, for her patient love and constant support.
To all of you, my heartfelt thanks for sharing your fascinating worlds with me and my readers!
About the Author
Novelist and screenwriter Richard P. Henrick is the author of seventeen previous best-selling books, and a recognized master of the military techno-thriller. His latest novel, Nightwatch, has been optioned by Disney’s Touchstone Pictures. He co-wrote the original story for the blockbuster movie Crimson Tide, starring Denzel Washington and Gene Hackman, and wrote the popular novel of the same name that accompanied the film’s release. Mr. Henrick is a native of St. Louis, Missouri, where he still lives and works.
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