Foxtrot? Good grief, is that what you've been calling me?
The Suburban lurched into gear and peeled out of the underground parking garage, led by two other identical vehicles. Daniel, in the third vehicle, gawked out the bulletproof windows. Two more Suburbans followed, their headlights dim and murky through the heavily tinted glass.
"Sir, please stay down!" the agent next to him said, forcing the president to lay down. "We waited as long as possible, but we have reports there's widespread looting and violence already taking place in the northern suburbs."
"It's not safe anymore, sir. Just listen to us, and we'll get you out of here," said the agent from the front seat.
Daniel heard the telltale clatter of weapons being prepped for battle. The driver cursed, and the vehicle lurched left, tires chirping.
"Ow!" he complained as his head smacked the door frame. He listened to the agents talk amongst themselves as he rubbed the sore spot. The dash radio crackled constantly, relaying positions back and forth between the other vehicles.
"I'll take Two with me—turning left…now!"
Daniel peered through the windshield in time to see the first black Suburban disappear around the corner to the left as they passed a major intersection. Police cars blocked the road with flashing lights as mobs of civilians streamed across sidewalks. Daniel was shocked to see how many carried bags and suitcases.
They looked thin and hungry. They looked completely panicked. It's another evacuation.
"Two going left…" said another voice over the radio. "…now!"
Daniel watched the second Suburban cross the street under a hail of objects thrown from the civilians.
"Three going straight. Four and five, you're with me," said Daniel's driver. They barreled forward, smashing through a police barricade as frightened citizens jumped out of the way. Rocks and bottles smashed against the armored sides of the SUV.
"They're throwing—keep your eyes open for weapons," called out the man in the front seat.
Confirmations crackled over the radio, along with status updates from the other vehicles. Daniel heard squealing tires behind them and spotted one of the other Suburbans turn down a side street.
"What the hell is going on?" he demanded.
"Decoys, sir. The number of unsubstantiated threats we have against your person have been skyrocketing over the past week. And with Stapleton breathing down our necks, this is the safest way to get you out. We don't have air superiority, so we can't risk flying out on Marine One. We spotted drones in the air too—at least this way they won't know which one you're in," the agent said, gesturing at one of the trucks that disappeared down the last side street.
"Hang on, making a turn!" called out the driver. "Three, going left…now!" The big vehicle swerved around another police barricade, tires squealing. He heard screams and shrieks a split second before something impacted the side of the vehicle and made his teeth rattle.
"Jesus! You hit somebody!" he called out.
"That's their problem," replied the driver. "My job is to get you to safety, sir—no matter the cost."
"Mr. President, please stay down," begged his minder.
A high-pitched ping sounded from the rear the vehicle.
"Taking incoming small arms fire," warned the driver.
The radio crackled as other drivers reported coming under attack.
"They're shooting at us?" asked Daniel.
"It's got to be Stapleton's advance elements. They snuck in among the civilians!" replied the agent in the passenger seat.
My God, all those people out there will be trapped in the middle. "Wait—where's that pilot?"
"Sir?" asked the agent next to him.
"Edwards! The prisoner transfer?"
The agent in the passenger seat up front turned and looked over the rim of his sunglasses. "She's in vehicle six, sir—following us along a parallel street."
"No! She needs to be with us! Get that vehicle in line with us, right now!"
"Sir, I don't advise—”
"I don't give a damn what you advise! I'm the President of the United States!" Daniel exploded. "I order you to bring that vehicle in line with us right now! She's too high value to lose—we have to have her—she has to be with me!"
The agent held the president's gaze for a split-second longer than necessary, then slowly faced forward. He reached out for the radio. "Six, what's your status?"
"Heading west on Arlington."
"Divert to the main route—Foxtrot wants the HVT with us."
"You're kidding me!"
"Negative, this is a direct order. Get the HVT on the main route. We'll meet you at…" Daniel watched the agent pull up the GPS in the center console, he flicked through some screens with his fingers and tapped location. "Here. You got the location?"
After a brief pause, the reply came through, filled with static. "Yeah. I got it. Gimme 5 minutes."
"We're not waiting, so fall in line pronto and try to keep up."
Almost five minutes to the second later, Daniel heard squealing tires behind them. He looked over his shoulder as they merged onto the Custis Memorial Parkway to see a second black Suburban, decorated with busted headlights and bullet holes in the front quarter pane.
He slumped back into his seat, filled somewhat with relief. At least now if something happened, he'd have his get-out-of-jail-free card with him.
"Oh my God," said the driver. The vehicle slowed.
"What are you doing?" said the other agent. "Floor it!"
"There's too many of them," replied the driver.
Daniel leaned around the passenger seat and stared in horror through the windshield as the highway before them materialized through the smoke of the burning city. It was wall-to-wall people. He recognized a big banner held in the front ranks—a black flag, unfurled and flapping through the smoke with a crude white hand painted on it.
"The Rebels!" he exclaimed
“We’ve got weapons!" announced the agent in the passenger seat. "AKs and M4s! Get us out of here!"
"No, we have a truce—" Daniel argued.
"Six, stay on me," the driver called out as he spun the wheel hard to the left. They took the exit for North Glebe Road, narrowly avoiding the wave of humanity heading toward them. Bullets peppered the side of the vehicle.
Daniel screamed and covered his head. The agent next to him shoved him to the floorboards and dove on top of him.
"Stay down, sir!"
Daniel felt every pothole and every turn as the heavily armored SUV plowed its way through abandoned streets, the driver swerving back and forth like a drunken fool.
Daniel began to pray.
"Hang on! They’ve set up a barricade! We’re going through! Stay with me, Six!" yelled the driver
Daniel felt the impact before he heard it—all 17,000 pounds of armored car slammed into whatever it was the rebels had thrown up to block the road.
Time slowed. For a moment, Daniel thought he was going to throw up as he went seemingly weightless. His briefcase hit the door, smashing open and scattering papers everywhere. He was only able to get a quick glimpse of the chaos as he and the agent on top of him bounced around the back seat. Then it seemed like he was plucked away—as if by some giant’s hand—as he felt himself float up from the floor.
Oh my God, we're in the air.
It happened quicker than he could process the screams from the driver and the other agents in the vehicle. Smashing glass, screeching metal, the pull of gravity slamming him onto the door at a painful angle. A stab of pain shot through his neck and shoulders. The weight of the agent landing on top of him knocked the air out of his lungs. Something in his chest cracked, flashing pain through his system.
Daniel felt the SUV skid and roll, spinning his world around before it careened into something solid. He threw up. When it was finally over, he heard someone moan from the front. An obscene mixture of gasoline and vomit burned his nose.
The dead agent that landed on top of him had eff
ectively pinned his legs. Daniel was trapped.
So this is how it ends…
Chapter 32
The Pentagon
CAPTAIN DAVIS AND ADMIRAL Nella looked out the Sea King's porthole window. The Pentagon filled his view as the helicopter lowered.
"I almost forgot how big that thing is."
The Admiral grunted, wearing his bulbous headphones. "Don't expect this to be as easy as Oceana. The new SecDef swore allegiance to Suthby. He'll have packed the Pentagon full of loyal troops."
Davis watched as the main parking lot in front of the massive edifice to the American Military began to fill with people in orderly ranks. Soldiers.
"Well, they haven't shot us down yet, I guess that's something," he said into the mic attached to his own headset.
Nella nodded in agreement. "That's something."
"Admiral," said the pilot over the command frequency.
Davis and Nella looked at each other. "Yes," barked the old man.
"We're not getting anything on comms, sir. I know they see us—the parking lot is filling up with looky-loos, but I can't raise anyone."
"Understood. Carry on."
"Aye, sir. We'll be on the deck in two."
Davis half-expected the helicopter to explode around him any second. When the big dual-engined beast touched down, the slight bump of its wheels hitting the ground came as a pleasant surprise. A squad of marines opened the rear hatch and streamed out, taking up defensive positions at the rear of the helicopter.
Nella calmly stared straight ahead, waiting. Davis however, wanted to scream. He’d never felt so out of his element as he did at that moment. He was born for commanding a ship, feeling the thrum of the hull as it smashed through waves. He was used to being surrounded by thousands of tons of steel and might. The thin aluminum skin of the Sea King wouldn't stop a .45, let alone project strength and power.
He glanced out the open hatch on the other side of the admiral. A squad of marines in full battle rattle went a long way toward establishing power, but how many soldiers waited in the parking lot? How many hundreds more could be waiting inside?
Without warning, Nella stood. "Let's go see what's waiting for us, shall we?"
Davis got to his feet and followed his CO down the ramp through the prop wash. The pilot kept the rotors spinning in the event they needed to beat a hasty retreat. As Davis stepped out into the light and swept his eyes over the marines protecting their helicopter, he paused. There had to be at least a hundred servicemen and women out there, from all branches, all standing at attention.
Davis and Nella shared a look again. Davis leaned in next to one of the Marines. "I think we can have the pilot spin down now."
"Yes, sir—I'll let her know."
Davis stepped back next to Nella as the marine relayed the message to his commander and on to the pilot. After a few seconds, the drone of the engines faded, and the whine disappeared. Another minute and silence descended on the parking lot as the rotors slowed to a stop and hung limp from the Chinook.
"Who's in command here?" asked the old man.
A two-star general stepped forward in Air Force blues. He saluted Nella and smiled. "Major General Oliver Ross. As for who's in command, well…you are, Admiral Nella. But I can't guarantee for how long."
The two men shook hands. "What's the situation?"
Ross turned and walked toward the Pentagon's main entrance. The marines visibly relaxed and lowered their weapons as the sea of bodies in front of them parted to allow the officers room. Nella and Ross moved forward, followed by Davis and most of the marines. A few remained at the rear of the helicopter, warily watching the crowd.
"Where's SecDef Masterson?" Nella asked.
Ross shook his head. "He's in A ring. They all are—the loyalists."
Nella stopped to look at the exterior of the massive building as they reached the front door. "Damn, that's a lot of holes. What happened?"
Ross stood with his hands behind his back as he surveyed the damage. "When Suthby took power, some of us didn't agree with his decisions. I'm ashamed to say there was some fighting, but nothing serious. The more outspoken dissenters left and tried to retake the building from the loyalists by force of arms. They failed."
Nella waited for him to continue.
"When Jones took over, the rest of us finally saw the light of day. We captured the building from the inside—that's why SecDef Masterson is in A Ring with his supporters. They called in outside help, but we fought them off and took the Courtyard to prevent escape and resupply."
Nella put his hand in a hole in the door the size of his fist. "They brought some serious hardware."
Ross nodded. "They did. But after 9-11, we really did turn this place into a fortress." He held the door open. "We've been tracking what's going on out there and things appear to be getting ugly."
"Getting?" asked Nella as he and Davis stepped in to the dark interior of the world's largest office building. The air was cooler and held far less moisture than outside.
"No power, sir?" asked Davis.
"Yes and no," replied they general as they moved past a guard post built of sand bags and sheet metal, manned by a squad of soldiers in digital camo. They snapped to attention as the officers approached. Nella returned the salute and spent a minute shaking hands and slapping shoulders, thanking them for their bravery and loyalty to the Constitution.
"We have our own power supply here—besides a direct feed to the local nuke plant—plus emergency backup that can last a long time. We've simply shut down all non-essential areas to conserve power. This way, Admiral."
They walked through what felt like miles of corridors, many lined with cots and personnel going about their daily lives as if the E ring of the Pentagon was one giant barracks. As they descended deeper and deeper into the building, lighting became more prevalent.
By the time they reached C ring, Davis had to do a double take. The lights were on, the air conditioning was on, the servicemen and women wore clean, pressed uniforms. It looked like they'd stepped out of time and into a world where none of the insanity of the past six months had taken place. It was business as usual at the core of America’s military heart.
"Welcome to the War Room." The general opened a final door leading into B Ring guarded by two saluting Air Force security officers. Inside, a wall of noise pushed out like a stream flooding its banks.
Everywhere Davis looked, screens depicted unit locations and enemy positions with blinking lights. People shouted information across the room and hunched over terminals. Some had radios to their ears and dispatched orders. Organized chaos was an understatement—it was like the CIC back aboard Roosevelt, only an order of magnitude bigger.
As word spread of their arrival, the noise level slackened. Only a handful of people failed to turn from their tasks. Someone started clapping and in seconds the entire room was thundering with applause and tumultuous cheering.
General Ross beamed. "We've been watching Roosevelt for a while, sir. I thought you could hear the cheering in New York as we monitored the battle unfolding. Brilliant, sir. Simply brilliant."
Nella smiled—the first time Davis had seen that expression crack the Admiral's stony facade in months. He raised his hands and waved, trying to calm the room down.
Ross had to shout to be heard. "Admiral Nella, the Pentagon is yours, sir."
When the clapping and cheering died down Nella lowered his hands and waited as all eyes swiveled to him. The only sounds remaining that could be heard in the room was the occasional murmur of a printer in the background and a few radio operators with hands to their ears, bent over microphones. Nella cleared his throat and spoke.
"You all know why you're here—you know why we're all here. You know what your jobs are, you've been doing them to the best of your abilities. We have a perilous road before us. I'm going to ask each one of you to have faith in the Constitution and the principles this country was founded on." He paused to take the measure of the room. Grim f
aces stared back at him.
"We're going to restore this country—we're going to save it. The people demand it of us. I want to say right now, General Stapleton and I have decided—after extensive councils of war with our officers—that the only course of action we have left is to remove the current administration from power."
Nella clasped his hands behind his back and paced to and fro, frowning at the floor. No one spoke. Davis glanced around at the faces that watched the old man with rapt attention. At last he turned and stared at the Pentagon's War Room personnel again.
"I understand this may be an uncomfortable idea—perhaps crossing the line for some of you. There will be no hard feelings, no reprimands, and no reprisals—if there's anyone out here who does not wish to take part in this mission to restore our country, now’s your chance to leave. You may join the others locked up in the A Ring, or you may leave the building and go where you wish. We won't argue and we won't hinder you. We only ask you stay out of our way."
He paused, waiting to see if anyone took up his offer. No one moved.
"The last thing any of us wants to do is cause injury to our brothers and sisters in arms. That's why any prisoners that we capture will be taken into custody with the utmost respect and protection. At the end of the day we are all Americans. When this is settled, we'll let the politicians figure out what's to be done with those who supported Suthby and Jones and their illegitimate regimes."
Nella looked around the room and examined the force allocation maps of the walls. "The entire world is turned against us. You folks know that better than most—you've got it all right in front of you 24/7. But let me tell you, Captain Davis and I have been out there. We’ve been on the angry seas when friends became enemies. We lost too many to a world gone mad and I for one will not tolerate it any longer."
The room erupted into cheers and clapping again. Nella tried to calm them but was forced to wait until it died down. "So here's what's going to happen. We're going to take back Washington piece by piece if we have to, but we're taking it back. When Jones and his administration are removed from office and secured, we will call forth Congress. Once the true government is reestablished, we as the military will step down and gladly hand over the reins of government to those who govern. Legitimately." He raised his hands to forestall the clapping again.
Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) Page 18