by Andy Farman
Fire fighting foam was pumped across the deck, dousing the flames as the Mao’s ready KA-29 helicopter spooled up and took off, circling back to search for survivors. Captain Hong stood upon the bridge mentally hoping that the aircraft had been the one carrying the Admiral.
Forty minutes later the ‘T’ shaped tail fin of the crashed transport had been manhandled over the side and the second transport landed. Admiral Li’s face was expressionless as he ignored Vice Admiral Putchev’s salute to demand an explanation. Captain Hong had guessed the cause correctly when he witnessed the accident, the junior lieutenant in the arrester gear department had confirmed that the wrong settings had been made. The gear had been set for too great a weight, stopping the transport dead and over straining its airframe. The Admirals personal guard of marines had travelled with him and stood at his rear and sides, weapons at the ready, as if this had been a deliberate attack upon the man.
“My luggage was aboard that aircraft, Captain. Fetch me the man responsible and his officer.”
Hong gaped at him for a split second before barking orders to his First Lieutenant. His luggage? There were eighteen men aboard that transport, none had survived!
Five minutes later the young lieutenant and a rating in his 30s, a seaman of much experience appeared. The Admirals Flag Lieutenant and two marines dragged the men to the side of the flight deck where the aircraft had disappeared; neither man realised what was going on until the marines cocked their weapons. The young officers eyes grew large and the rating looked to his captain with an appeal on his lips when his body and that of the Ratings folded and fell backwards into the sea upon the impact of the marines almost point blank fire.
Washington D.C: 0847hrs, 30th March
The two Arab and two Americans were over an hour late getting to the chosen ambush site on Pennsylvania Avenue NW, two miles from the White House.
All in all it is quite admirable that of all those persons in the Situation Room when the president had burdened them with the need for secrecy, only one had broken that trust.
National media had broadcast the story of the exodus from Texas City. The O’Connor list had never been publicised so the nation as a whole had been on edge. The live pictures from Texas had triggered some, not all, into loading up their vehicles and heading out of the city. Panic begets panic and others joined the flight, jamming the roads with the heaviest outgoing traffic ever seen for this time of day.
The four Islamic extremists were still some half-mile distant from the outer cordons protecting the White House when they had sighted the van ahead and deliberately bumped the vans rear. The van driver had left the van, muttering away in annoyance as he went to inspect the damage. To his surprise, one of the occupants of the car that had hit the rear of his van wore the same company uniform. He was even more surprised when a handgun was pushed into his ribs and he was told to smile. Curious glances by onlookers and motorists did not note anything amiss when the two men in the company livery entered the rear of the van. Ahmed Mohazir jabbed the long needle of a syringe into the van drivers’ chest and depressed the plunger; injected in the heart with a massive dose of heroin it killed the legitimate driver instantly.
Ahmed had prepared himself for this day, considered himself honoured and blessed by Allah in being chosen, when the suitcase was slid into the back of the van Ahmed hid it amongst the produce before climbing into the driver’s seat. Reaching under his jacket, he removed the bulky remote control from where it was strapped; fully extending its antennae he dialled in the arming code and pressed transmit. The weapon was now armed and required only that he lift the spring-loaded arm that protected the switch and depress it. He pushed the remote out of sight beneath his jacket and reattached the straps holding it to his torso. With his friends following on behind he headed toward the first of the Police and National Guard checkpoints.
Ahmed sighted the checkpoint before 6th Street NW. The National Guardsmen were pulling over all vehicles that wanted to proceed and from what he could see most were turned away. The vehicles that remained were being searched thoroughly beside the road and they included two other vehicles that he knew from their reconnaissance, made regular deliveries at the end of this road. Something had changed since their last intelligence gathering foray a four days before, Ahmed wondered if they could have been betrayed?
Beyond the cement filled barrels and coils of barbed wire, two Humvee’s were parked at staggered angles, creating a chicane that cleared vehicles were forced to drive slowly around, insurance against vehicles crashing through. Ahmed saw the weak spot; both vehicles should have been positioned pointing into the centre of the street, the nearer of the two vehicles was not, its lighter rear end barred the way.
Ahmed counted six policemen and twelve soldiers at the checkpoint, one soldier was manning an M-60 machine gun atop the furthest Humvee, he was alone and did not have the weapon in his shoulder, ready to fire.
Using his cellular Ahmed called his friends in their car behind; he said few words before ending the call.
The line of vehicles before him shortened until he was next in line, a policeman approached him, and the circular motion he made with his hand meant he wanted the side window wound down before he reached Ahmed.
Ahmed stopped the van and smiled at the officer, reaching across for the clipboard on the dash as his friends exited their car behind the van. Their first target was the M-60 gunner who dropped away from his weapon when struck by the rounds fired from the passengers two AR-15s. The driver knelt beside his cars open door and fired short bursts from an elderly British made Sterling sub machine gun, hitting the officer at the vans window in the upper legs and scattering those others on his side of the vehicle.
With the threat from the M-60 removed Ahmed floored the accelerator, he had only forty yards to build up enough momentum to knock aside the nearer Humvee and aimed to deliver a glancing blow to its rear.
In the road behind him the initial shock had worn off those manning the checkpoint and fire was being returned at the three young Arabs beside the car.
Reality and Hollywood are two totally different worlds, as Ahmed discovered as the front end of the van struck the Humvee. The National Guard vehicle moved but only a few feet, the van however stopped dead and the engine stalled, Ahmed was flung forward against the steering wheel where the remote control box broke the lower two ribs either side of his sternum.
Two hundred yards ahead the next checkpoint had been alerted by the sound of firing, the soldiers and police officers there had taken up firing positions, sighting on the van.
Steam and water were pouring from the vans crushed radiator as a winded Ahmed tried to restart the van; he was cursing as he pumped the accelerator but ducked with a start as the windscreen shattered. High velocity rounds made a loud cracking sound as they passed close to him; he could feel the impact of the rounds hitting the van as the vibration was transmitted through the steering wheel.
He wished that the White House could have been closer but the government buildings either side of the van would have to suffice as he muttered.
“Allah Akbah!” and depressed the switch on the remote.
In the White House the president risen at 0800hrs with the benefit of just four hours’ sleep to top up his depleting internal batteries. His doctor, an Admiral, was concerned that his charge was approaching a collapse, the president’s caffeine intake was screwing up his system and he had been genuinely angry when he confiscated a packet of caffeine tablet’s from off the top of the Oval office desk.
This morning the president had showered and gone down to the kitchens to eat breakfast with the kitchen staff and his secret service bodyguards, he saw no point in the staff putting themselves out for a relatively empty residence.
They were all sat together in a quite informal relaxed atmosphere; one of the longest serving chefs was recounting a story about a banquet, during a previous administration and the antics of an extremely drunk Latin diplomat whose intake had rendered the
then president’s mother-in-law irresistible in his eyes.
“Jesus!” said the president at one point in the story.
“There is a photo of her around somewhere…she is truly scary!” The laughter around the table was at its height when the lights went out.
Belorussia, north-east of Minsk: Same time
The armed forces of the country had been arrayed along a roughly NW/SE line behind the Dnieper and Byerazino rivers. Unlike NATO armies the Belorussians had large stocks of both anti-tank and anti-personnel mines which they had spent the last two days planting in the earth on crossing approaches and near likely FUPs, forming up points, that an enemy might choose.
Since before the nomadic Khazari first wandered these lands in the 5th century the line of rivers had been a boundary and a defence. The rich, fertile earth had witnessed much conflict, the most recent being in the 1940’s. The Russians had defended from the east bank as the German Panzer armies sought ambitiously to conquer as far as the distant Bering Straits in 1941. Those same German Armies defended the opposite bank in 1943 when their enterprise failed and the Russians taught them the meaning of ‘pay back’.
Satellite Intel provided by NATO showed them three Army Groups coming their way. Amongst the mix of units opposing them were their own pro-Communist units now under Russian control, their defection had reduced the loyal Belorussian forces by 27% on the ground and 48% in the air.
Lithuania, Belorussia and Poland had requested NATO forces move forward into their countries to support them but NATO was in no position to go anywhere at present. Had NATO forces been suited and booted, ready to go, at that time they would probably have still chosen to make their stand in Germany anyway, where they knew the ground intimately. NATO offered the three countries more solid flanks to depend upon; if their forces fell back into Germany prior to the opening shots being fired. Not unexpectedly they all declined, choosing to defend their own soil. The NATO Commander did not press the offer more diligently, because as cold and callous as it may sound; the doomed country's armies would buy him a little time longer to organise. What NATO did promise was air support, intending where possible to thin out the New Red Army before their ground forces met east of Berlin.
When units of the 2nd Panzer Division, Armeegruppe ‘Mitte’ in 1943 had limped back to the west bank of the Dnieper River from their defeat in the biggest tank battle in history, Kursk, their soldiers had dug in at the exact spot where the Belorussian 1st Motor Rifle Regiment now waited. Radio intercepts in the night had warned them the enemy was now poised. The Belorussian soldiers stood-to in the pre-dawn darkness, glimpsing the shades of armies long gone in the river mists that coiled and flowed over their fighting positions.
The ghosts faded with the coming of the sun that burnt off the mists from the river. The night chill gave way to peaceful lulling warmth as morning gave way to afternoon.
Dozing soldiers came to wakefulness as three pairs of SU-25 ground attack aircraft screamed over at low level, heading west with under-slung ordnance in view.
The Commander of the Belorussian land forces was speaking with his staff as a printer in a nearby vehicle was noisily churning out a satellite photo being uploaded to them from Washington, after just a few seconds the printer stopped. An operator checked the equipment’s digital readout for error messages that would explain the interrupted down-feed, seeing none he slapped the side of the machine as one does with a misbehaving TV set. The data stream from America had stopped the moment Ahmed Mohazir had pressed the button in the crashed van with National Guardsmen firing on him.
Changi International Airport, Singapore: Same time
Sarah Mintakis and Nigel Curtis were making their way into Terminal 1 behind a trail of disgruntled, tired and argumentative passengers from their Boeing 747-400. Qantas flight QF320 wasn’t going anywhere tonight, certainly not on to Sydney until the engine fault that caused their return to the Terminal had been rectified.
Emerging into the main concourse the Qantas ground staff took charge of the passengers and began the business of arranging hotels and transport. As cabin crew they already knew when their transport would arrive, they had over an hour to kill and chose to head for the smoking lounge, passing the water feature with the bird song so real you found yourself gazing up toward the roof for a glimpse of brilliant plumage. The smoking lounge, the only place in the airport where nicotine addicts from around the globe could rub shoulders, share their first, or last cigarette for another few thousand miles. Even the generally reserved English would nod and smile amiably at total strangers in the lounge as they broke their enforced fast for the mild narcotic.
Pushing through the doors of the glass-enclosed refuge of the stubborn, they continued through to the outside platform. The heat of the day still lingered along with Changi’s unique aroma of humid jungle undergrowth and jet exhaust. Leaning over the guardrail sharing gossip and cigarettes, they had their backs to the terminal and missed seeing airport staff and police rushing about. It was only when Nigel stopped in mid-sentence, eyes fixed on something above that Sarah looked too. Masses of parachutes, hundreds of parachutes, were drifting earthwards.
Air Force One: 1430hrs, same day
General Shaw exited from the cabin where the vice president was cosseted and shook his head in annoyance. They had been aloft for over five hours’ now since the bomb had gone off. The armed forces were at DefCon One and the ROE worldwide was weapons free.
B-52s that had arrived in England the day before were uploading for their first mission, a strike against the new Red Army. At Ramstein AFB in Germany the first of several wild weasel missions was standing by for NATO to challenge for air superiority over Lithuanian and Belorussia.
Poland appeared to be being bypassed but four divisions of reservists were threatening their border and preventing them providing support for Lithuania or Belorussia. However, Shaw knew already that the Poles were preparing to attack, not defend.
In Australia, their navy had surprised a PLAN mini sub on the surface close in shore, there were marker beacons on board which they suspected were to assist a future amphibious landing. Two navy helicopters were presently prosecuting a faint contact, which may be the mother ship of the mini sub.
Russia's plan had been exposed and the Russians knew that that West had known. Of course it was only to be expected the Russians would bring their timetable forward, they had precious other choice.
Five goddamn hours’ up here and yet that wimpy little shit still wouldn’t let them land. The man doesn’t need more time to ‘Assess the situation’ he needs time to grow a backbone, thought Shaw.
Returning to the main cabin he sat down with the CSA and NSA director.
“What’s he say?” asked NSA.
“He says it’s too soon and wants hard Intel that there aren’t suitcases waiting to go off at every field big enough to accept us.”
“Well….” began NSA, “….he is in charge now, at least until the engineers have extracted the president.”
Air Force One had been orbiting above the Atlantic at 0900hrs local time in Washington in company with a flight of Navy F-14As and their own KC-131 tanker. The joint chiefs and civil emergency staffs were aboard another converted Boeing 747 several hundred miles away, known as ‘Kneecap’, the National Emergency Airborne Command Post’s communications were in a constant state of high volume traffic.
As far as the timing and target aspect of the terrorist attacks, as gleaned from the O’Connor female, it had seemed to have panned out. Granted that the Irish terrorist timetable had given them another four days grace, however the White House had lost its famous dome, along with a large portion of the roof. The wing nearest the explosion had completely collapsed, burying the kitchen level under tons of rubble. The Army Corps of Engineers were on scene and clearing the debris in order to rescue the president and staff who were the only ones at the White House that morning to escape with only minor injury.
Fires were still burning in Washington w
here the damage to America’s capital was massive. The FBI headquarters in the J. Edgar Hoover Building, Justice Department, National Archives along with the great museums and National Gallery were gone. Initial casualty estimates were four thousand, dead or missing and the hospitals were flooded with burn and blast injuries. The nuclear footprint, which is the shape of the fallout effected area, was to the northeast, effecting over forty city blocks but that number would increase as more of the irradiated dust filtered down from the stratosphere.
An air force sergeant handed the general a message sheet.
“Oh sweet lord…Taiwan and Japan are under long range conventional missile attack from China and an airborne assault is underway at Singapore!” He told them before striding purposefully toward the vice presidents compartment; he had not reached it before being handed three more sheets of bad news by another air force sergeant.
“Mr Vice President,” he began. “Both China and Russia have begun open hostilities. At 0930hrs Washington time, four nuclear devices, of approximately 6 kilotons yield each, were detonated off the North Cape. NATO had a submarine picket in place guarding against Russia and their allies SSN, SSGN and SSBN boats from breaking out into the Atlantic. As result we have lost contact with four of our boats, HMS Cutlass and HMS Debonair were almost on top of two of the devices. The Royal Norwegian Navies Ula and Poland’s Wilk are the other two boats. Three other NATO submarines suffered varying amounts of damage.” The vice president made no comment so General Shaw continued.