by James Rosone
Turning deadly serious, General Peterson pulled his cell phone down to his shoulder. “Washington was just hit by a barrage of cruise missiles, Mr. President. I’m still trying to get some details, but from what I’ve learned, they hit the Pentagon pretty hard as well as the Eisenhower Executive Building next to the White House. It was good to get you out of D.C., sir. They were clearly trying to hit you with one of those missiles.”
Turning beet red, the President felt his temper start to flare. He smacked his fist on the table so hard that it was a wonder nothing broke and let out a stream of obscenities. “Whose planes hit us?” he demanded.
General Peterson shook his head. “I don’t know yet. It doesn’t matter, Mr. President. We need to get you to the bunker, where we can find out what in the world is going on and organize a better response.”
Just as the President was about to demand that they get a move on, the Marine major and Bill both put a hand to their earpieces as if they were trying to hear a message better. Bill’s face became a bit pale as he looked at the Marine and just nodded.
Bill turned to General Peterson and the President. “We have to go now. We’ve got movement on the perimeter.”
“What the hell? Do they know we have the President here?” demanded Peterson. He looked nervously over at the naval officer who was carrying the nuclear football.
“I don’t know…let’s get going,” Bill replied. He motioned for the other agents to start moving.
The group headed for the door that led to the driveway. As soon as they exited the building, the President saw that two of their uparmored SUVs had just arrived. The vehicles would take them the short distance to the camp commander’s quarters, where the underground tram was located.
BAM, boom, BAM. Ratatat, ratatat, ratatat!
Out of nowhere, a series of loud explosions shook the ground, and machine guns roared to life. The President felt as though his stomach dropped out of his body.
*******
“Engage them now. Breach the perimeter!” shouted the German KSK commander, Oberstleutnant Rainer Hartbrod, over their secured radios.
Thump, thump, thump.
The mortar team started dropping rounds in the direction of the Aspen Lodge and pool area. Four separate squads of German Kommandos then rapidly advanced on the perimeter of the presidential retreat.
Several loud shots rang out as their snipers engaged the roving patrols of Secret Service and Marine guards on the perimeter. In seconds, the crescendo of gunfire picked up pace until it became a near-continuous roar of smaller popping sounds. Small-caliber pistols, American M4s, German HK416s, and the heavier chattering sounds of the German MG5 short-barreled light machine guns all added to the growing cacophony.
Shouts in German echoed through the barren woods as the various Kommando teams coordinated their firing lanes and covering maneuvers as they advanced on the small pockets of defenders at the perimeter.
Running to keep up with his forces, Oberstleutnant Hartbrod instinctively ducked just as a string of rounds flew right over his head. Pieces of a tree rained down on him as a Marine rifleman laid into his position.
“Lay down suppressive fire! This position is under attack!” he shouted to several of his soldiers nearby.
They heard his orders and instantly jumped up with their rifles at the ready, charging the two Marines that had pinned him and one of his other soldiers down.
“Grenade!” one of them shouted. A few seconds later, they heard a bang.
“They’re flanking us!” shouted one of the Marines. That yell was followed by a long string of automatic machine-gun fire.
Sticking his head above the fallen tree trunk where he had taken cover, Hartbrod brought his rifle to bear and sighted in on a Marine who appeared to be coordinating their defense. He depressed the trigger and swiftly sent several well-aimed rounds into the man’s chest. The Marine fell backwards from the hit and didn’t move or attempt to get back up.
“Fire!” he shouted as his guys bounded forward. Two guys laid into the American Marines, sending as much lead at them as they could, while four other guys advanced—two on each side of their flanks. Then those attackers fired a magazine’s worth of ammo at the American positions while the guys in the center advanced.
In short order, the German Kommandos had finally breached the perimeter of the camp along Park Central Road, near the skeet shooting range.
Crump, crump, crump.
Hartbrod’s mortar team fired off their third volley of mortars into the camp, hoping to cause further chaos and distract the defenders so they wouldn’t know exactly where the main attack was coming from.
With his first team advancing through the skeet shooting range, Hartbrod sent a message to his second team to advance swiftly and follow through the newly created hole in the perimeter before additional help could arrive and box them in.
Hartbrod pulled a flare gun out of his trouser pocket. He aimed it high in the air and fired off the blue flare, signaling that they had breached the perimeter.
Seconds later, more gunfire erupted—this time from the opposite side of the presidential retreat. Hartbrod smiled. The Russian Spetsnaz team had started their attack.
The entire camp was now a chaotic melee of machine-gun fire, explosions and shouting in English, German and Russian as three highly trained groups of soldiers and Secret Service agents fought over the life of the American President and control of the nuclear football.
*******
“Quickly! We have to move!” Bill shouted. He threw the President into the back of the uparmored Suburban SUV with a force that was almost violent. A handful of Marines ran ahead of the vehicle on either side of the road.
Machine-gun fire seemed to be erupting everywhere and nowhere all at once. The angry shouts for help in English and foreign languages and the noise of constant shooting echoed off the barren trees, intermixed with the sudden explosions that rocked the area.
“Holy crap, those are mortars!” shouted the driver. One of the agents jumped into the back of the vehicle with the President. Hot pieces of shrapnel bounced off the armor and splintered one of the passenger windows.
The naval officer with the nuclear football had been thrown in the chase vehicle, along with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. With everyone in the vehicles, the driver floored it and zoomed past the group of Marines who were doing their best to run ahead and clear a path for them.
Just as they rounded the corner in the road, placing them no more than one hundred meters from the building they needed to reach, a loud metal crunching sound overwhelmed their senses. A string of bullets had pounded the side of the armored vehicle.
Then the bulletproof glass of the windshield was suddenly turned into a series of spiderwebs. A cluster of bullets had pounded the brittle outer layer, shattering the outside of the window in circular patterns around the points of impact. So far, the inner layer of the windshield continued to absorb the energy of the impacts, but even the most bullet-resistant glass in the world would eventually reach a breaking point.
“Hold on!” shouted the driver. He instinctively ducked down a bit behind the steering wheel as he gunned the vehicle for all it was worth. The engine roared. Bill began to worry that the many bullets hitting the front of the vehicle would punch their way through the front armor and into the engine block.
As they zipped past whoever had been shooting at them, the side of their vehicle got stitched up by more rounds. Bullets peppered the armored doors and thudded into the bulletproof glass windows, partially shattering them but not yet breaching the vehicle.
Behind them, the squad of Marines that had been chasing after them down the road opened fire on the attackers, doing their best to provide covering fire for the Secret Service.
The vehicles came to a grinding halt less than twenty feet from the commander’s quarters as their engine suddenly gave out and their tires were completely shot to pieces. Once the vehicle stopped moving, four Marines spilled out of the buildi
ng, killing three of the attackers who were continuing to empty their magazines into the President’s vehicle.
More and more Kommandos converged on the building, tearing into the Marines who were doing their best to create a perimeter.
The driver of the vehicle looked at Bill. “I’ll cover you!” he shouted. “Get the President out of here!”
The man then pushed with all his body weight against the badly damaged driver’s-side door and hopped out of the vehicle. He quickly brought his FN P90 submachine gun to his shoulder and sprayed two surprised attackers at near point-blank range. With those assailants down, the agent swapped out the magazine and sprinted to the other side of the SUV to help cover the President.
One of the Marines nearby yelled, “Frag out!” He threw a grenade in the direction of several enemy soldiers who were doing their best to flank their position and get at the President.
The enemy Kommandos broke cover as they sought to dive away from the grenade. That brief moment of weakness was all the Secret Service driver needed to get a bead on one of them and lay into the enemy soldier with a short burst of fire. The Kommando fell to the ground like a dropped doll.
“Get the President inside!” yelled one of the agents. Three more Secret Service agents spilled out of the chase vehicle along with General Peterson and the naval officer, who was clutching the nuclear football for all his worth. The man ran like an All-Star halfback as he clutched at the leather-bound case. Dirt, pieces of pavement, snow and ice kicked up all around him as he ran for the door to the building that had been left open by the Marines.
“Covering fire!” shouted one of the Marines. Three of them jumped up from behind their covered position. They proceeded to empty their magazines at the attackers while two of the Secret Service agents joined in. Bill and the remaining three agents did their best to run with the President to the open door, shielding him with their bodies.
The enemy soldiers must have seen what was happening. They increased their fire and aimed right for the agents who were rushing the President to cover. One of the agents was hit multiple times in the back and stopped running. The body armor he wore was no match for the armor-piercing rounds the assault teams were using. In a desperate last act, he tried to straighten himself up so his body would continue to absorb more rounds and prevent them from hitting the President.
A somewhat large projectile flew past them and slammed into the wall of the building, ten feet to the left of the door, and exploded. The force of the blast knocked them backwards to the ground, showering them with shrapnel and debris. A huge chunk of the building was suddenly a gaping hole as fire and wreckage rained down on the ground.
*******
The group of Marines that had been running down the road behind them had finally caught up to them and opened fire on the attackers from the rear, catching them in a nasty crossfire from their front and rear positions.
One of the Marines saw the mass of bodies lying in the open area of the road, just in front of the building, and knew the President was among them, along with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He ran toward them, firing his rifle the entire way.
When he reached the pile of bodies, he threw two of the gravely wounded Secret Service agents off the President. He looked down and saw Sachs. He had a wild and bewildered look of fear and anger on his face, blood streaking down his cheeks and from his ears. The Marine reached down and grabbed the President by his jacket, practically yanking him off the ground and to his feet. He shoved the President hard toward the door, doing everything in his power to get Sachs inside the safety of the building while making sure his body, which was covered in his body armor, was between the President and the Kommandos trying to kill them.
Bullets continued to whip all around the two of them as they ran the last twenty feet to get inside the commander’s quarters. Another Marine from inside the structure jumped out and fired a string of rounds at an attacker behind them as he yelled, “Hurry up!”
The two of them jumped into the building and ducked down behind the wall as several bullets slapped into the structure, punching more holes through the wood. Suddenly, dozens of rounds hit the building, breaking the glass windows and showering them with chunks of broken glass and fragments of timber, plaster and drywall. The structure was being shredded by the relentless torrent of bullets.
“Where’s General Peterson?” shouted the President as he finally collected his wits.
“Crap!” yelled one of the Marines. He stuck his head around the door to look back at the pile of bodies twenty feet away. “I see him. He’s injured. Cover me!” shouted the Marine. He jumped back to his feet and ran at full speed for the general. Several of his buddies fired at the attackers as he rushed forward.
Bullets continued to fly at an enormous rate. A moment later, the Marine entered the door of the commander’s quarters with General Peterson’s arm over his shoulder. It was almost as if a guardian angel had somehow prevented them from getting hit during their mad dash back.
As soon as they made it back inside, they heard more shouting, and the volume of enemy fire seemed to increase. The attackers were clearly closing in on the building. Soon, they would breach it.
Crump. A grenade went off against the wall of the building, blowing even more holes in the structure and rattling them hard inside.
“We have to get the President to the tram now,” shouted the only Secret Service agent who had made it into the building. He was helping the naval officer with the nuclear football move down the hallway toward the secret room with the tunnel.
“You men cover the door and the hallway. I’ll help General Peterson,” the President said. He pulled the man’s arm over his shoulder and the two of them moved with a purpose down the hallway after the Secret Service agent.
“Hang in there, Austin. You aren’t dying on me today,” the President told his friend as they walked.
The three Marines left alive in the building were doing their best to shoot out of the windows at the attackers. The Kommandos had now made it up to the two armored SUVs, having killed the remaining Secret Service agents and Marine guards outside the building.
The group of Marines attacking from the rear section were doing their best to break through the attackers and get to the building, but they appeared to be heavily engaged and unable to get to their position. It was now up to these three Marines inside to hold the building long enough for the President to get away.
*******
The lone surviving Secret Service agent reached the entrance of the secret room that led down to the tunnel. He entered a passcode, which unlocked the door. Once it was opened, the four of them went inside and the agent turned around and pulled the door closed. He hit another code and the entrance automatically latched shut—several cylinder locks dropped into the top and bottom of the metal door, making it nearly impossible to easily breach.
A motion-activated light system came on and illuminated a set of stairs. The four of them walked down, with the echoes of gunfire and shouting still audible through the door, adding to their sense of urgency.
Because of General Peterson’s injuries, it took them a few minutes to get down to the bottom of the landing. When they walked into the next room, more lights turned on and they saw a tram-like vehicle sitting on a set of rail tracks. The inside had a total of ten seats. The Secret Service agent helped the naval officer with the football get strapped in while the President helped General Peterson. Then the Secret Service agent and the President took care of their own seat belts.
Looking at Sachs, the agent grinned and said, “Hold on, Mr. President. This is a very fast train ride.”
With that, he turned the system on. The tracks in front of them lit up. The agent applied power to the tram, and in the blink of an eye, the vehicle shot off at a speed of seventy miles per hour down the long, dark, damp tunnel. It would take them less than five minutes to travel the seven miles underground to the Raven Rock facility, where they would hopefully be safe.
> *******
Standing outside the building the Americans had rushed the President into, Oberstleutnant Rainer Hartbrod saw bodies everywhere. He had to give the Americans credit—they’d fought like devils against his men. They’d killed far more of his comrades than he’d thought possible, considering how few Marines and Secret Service agents were at the camp.
“My men are still clearing the rest of the camp and the other buildings,” said an imposing Russian colonel. “Did they get the President into the tunnel?”
Sporadic gunfire continued to ring out as the few remaining defenders were pinned down and finished off. Neither side was taking prisoners.
Smiling at the destruction their forces had just caused, Hartbrod turned to his Russian counterpart. “They did. It’s time to get out of here. Mission complete.”
The Russian Spetsnaz nodded in agreement. He spoke a few commands into his radio, letting his nearby vehicle team know it was time to come pick them up. Now they needed to do their best to fade away into the shadows and get ready for their next operation.
*******
El Paso County, Colorado
NORAD Facility
General Joseph Tibbets was not having a good day. As he walked into the main command room in the NORAD facility, he saw his worst fear starting to play out. Rather than launching the first attack and seizing the initiative from the enemy as they had planned to do in forty-eight hours, the UN force, under General Guy McKenzie, had beaten him to the punch. The aerial picture across the northern border of the country was starting to fill with combat aircraft. Worse, they had just received reports from the Navy that one of their carriers off the coast of Virginia was under attack, and a second carrier in the Pacific was reporting that they were being assailed as well.
I wasn’t even supposed to be here, Tibbets found himself thinking.
Just five months ago, General Tibbets had been on the verge of retiring after thirty-four years of service in the US Army. At that time, he had been tired and, more importantly, dejected after a tough assignment as the last ground commander for operations in Afghanistan and Syria as the US concluded those wars. He had felt like a lot of business had been left undone, but he’d also agreed that it was time to leave. There wasn’t a winning solution to those wars.