Peacekeepers

by James Rosone

  When he returned from that overseas assignment, he had been assigned to Fort McNair and the United States Army Center of Military History. He was supposed to spend the last year of his time in the Army writing up the final lessons learned from the wars and postulating what could have been done early on and throughout the war to change the outcome. For millennia, philosophers had thought of war as an extension of a political disagreement; however, in the day and age of non-state actors, that belief didn’t always hold true. Going back through all of his experiences honestly left him with more questions than answers, and he struggled with how to write or conclude his report.

  General Tibbets’s retirement had been set for November 11th—Veterans Day. He’d figured he’d end his military career on a day that honored the soldiers he’d fought with and led for the last thirty-four years. Then, the world around him had begun to implode as the nation he’d served so dutifully became rocked by terrorist attacks and marred by a coup d’état, and his retirement had been rescinded.

  Shortly before Christmas, Tibbets had been summoned to the White House and found himself sitting in the Oval Office with the President and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. They told him what was happening and then asked him one simple question: “How would you defend the country against the forces arrayed against America?”

  He’d spent the next two hours outlining his strategy and vision for how he’d handle the UN force and, more importantly, the Chinese. A couple of days later, he’d been informed that he would replace the US Northern Command, Commanding General and would be placed in charge of the defense of North America.

  It was a daunting task, further complicated by the fact that he had very little time to get himself familiar with his new command and to get the forces needed to win ready. However, like many generals who’d been given an insurmountable task, he determined that he would do his best and let the chips fall where they may.

  The red lights throughout the control room began to flash, and the missile launch alarms blared, pulling General Tibbets back to the present reality. One of the numerous screens zoomed in on a position just south of California, off the Mexican coast.

  “What type of missile just launched?” he bellowed. He rushed over to the Air Force technical sergeant who was monitoring that particular station.

  “It appears to be a ship-launched cruise missile, sir.” There was a brief pause as he looked at more of the data. “The missile count is now rising above twenty. They appear to be heading toward our naval facility in San Diego.”

  The missile alarm blared again as a new launch site was identified.

  “I’m showing a missile launch directed at the Stennis Carrier Strike Group from that cluster of Chinese ships there,” announced an Air Force captain who was manning one of the other stations.

  “Send flash warnings to those ships and naval facilities that we have confirmed cruise missile attacks heading for them,” General Tibbets ordered.

  Turning to Brigadier General Estrada, who was the watch commander for the floor, Tibbets ordered, “Bring us to DEFCON Two and alert the national military command center that we have confirmed cruise missile attacks underway against our capital assets and facilities. I want all alert aircraft across the country scrambled and additional air assets to get airborne. Send a flash message to the FAA that effective immediately, they’re to ground all air travel across the United States until further notice. All inbound flights to the United States are hereby denied unless the aircraft doesn’t have enough fuel to land somewhere else.”

  With all eyes now looking at him, he added, “For better or worse, people, our country is being invaded! It’s time to strap in and get ready for the fight of our lives.”

  The official proclamation by the commander of all forces in North America clearly sent a shiver down the spine of everyone in the room. Not since the War of 1812, more than two hundred years ago, had a foreign power invaded America.

  Fifteen tense minutes went by. The men and women in the command center watched as dozens upon dozens of US fighters took to the skies to meet the foreign aggressors, when suddenly, another missile alarm blared, this time alerting them of a missile attack off the coast of New York.

  “Where the hell did those missiles come from?” demanded General Tibbets as he made his way over to the officer covering the East Coast.

  Stammering for a minute, the officer replied, “They appear to have been launched from some strike aircraft.”

  “We’re getting a flash message from the destroyer USS Oscar Austin. They’re reporting contact with a group of Mirage 2000 fighters that just appeared off the coast of Long Island. They said the aircraft just fired off sixteen missiles. We’re still trying to figure out where they’re headed.”

  “Someone figure out what kind of missiles those fighters just launched and then start calculating what high-value targets are in range of those missiles,” Tibbets ordered.

  Then he turned to one of his Army officers. “Major, do we have any missile defense assets in the D.C. metro area, in case those missiles are headed there?”

  After taking a deep breath, the major replied, “The only assets we have in that area are the localized ones at the White House and the Pentagon. But that system can only engage, at most, eight targets. It’s really only meant to attack a single close-in air threat, not enemy missiles.”

  “Crap! What about any naval assets? Or do we have any fighters that can engage them?” asked Tibbets.

  “We can have the alert fighters out of Langley Air Force Base see if they can engage them. Although they are probably only armed with their standard air-to-air missiles, so I’m not sure how much luck they’ll have,” explained the Air Force major. He then reached for a phone to call the base command post to see if they could get in touch with those aircraft.

  A couple of minutes went by before one of the Air Force weapons analysts waved to get Tibbets’s attention. He quickly marched over to the young woman, who seemed to be chomping at the bit to speak.

  “Sir, I think I know what kind of missiles those are,” she explained. “The Oscar Austin said the fighters that launched them were Mirages. So that means they’re French fighters. The Mirage 2000D can carry one Storm Shadow cruise missile. The missile comes in three variants. One is nuclear, but since they fired sixteen of them, I believe we can rule out a nuclear attack as it wouldn’t make sense to fire sixteen of them at the same target. That leaves the other two types. One is a conventional, enhanced high-explosive warhead, and the other is an anti-runway cluster munition.”

  “What about targets? The missiles have dropped down to wave top levels once they were fired. Where do you think they’re heading?” he asked next.

  She furrowed her brow. “If I had to guess, I’d say they’re sending them to D.C. This whole UN mission is to remove the President, so what better way to remove him than to kill him while he’s in the White House or a meeting at the Pentagon? It’d send a powerful message to the world if they could successfully blow up the White House or hit some other high-value targets in the capital.” She spoke almost nonchalantly, as if she was describing the latest fictional thriller she had read and not a pending attack that was underway.

  The sudden realization that the President might be the target of the missile attack caused General Tibbets to reach out to find something to steady himself. He looked around for his watch officer. “General, where is the President?” he asked, barely managing to get the words out.

  Brigadier General Estrada walked over to find the red phone that connected them directly to a twenty-four-hour operator in the Secret Service office. That contact would know where the President was one hundred percent of the time. As soon as the person on the other end picked up, he handed the receiver to General Tibbets, who immediately snatched it.

  “This is General Tibbets at NORAD. Where is the President right now?” he asked gruffly.

  A short pause on the other end ensued before the voice on the other end replied, “This is
Agent Lorain. He’s in a meeting at the Pentagon. What’s going on, General?”

  “Agent Lorain, a cruise missile attack is headed to D.C., and we believe the President may be the target. You need to get the President out of the city now!”

  He heard a stream of cursing on the other end before the agent asked, “Is it safe to get the President to Air Force One, or do we need to evacuate him to one of the other bunkers?”

  “One moment, Lorain, while I find out what the air picture of the area looks like,” Tibbets responded. He placed his hand over the lower receiver.

  “Is it safe to have the President go airborne, or do we need him to go to ground?” he shouted out for anyone in the room to answer.

  General Estrada looked at that threat picture and turned back to Tibbets and shook his head. His face was pale. “Sir, there are hundreds of enemy fighters crossing the US border now. They’re either engaging American planes or forming up to attack. We can’t guarantee one or more of those clusters of fighters wouldn’t go after Air Force One if they saw it get airborne. It would be the prize of a lifetime to shoot it down.”

  “How would they know it was going airborne?” demanded Tibbets. He really wanted to get the President in the air so he could stay mobile.

  General Estrada, who was from the Air Force instead of the Army like Tibbets, explained, “Sir, the enemy has their own AWACS aircraft up. Plus, you can bet they have some spotters watching Andrews to see if they can spot that big fat presidential plane taking off. I wouldn’t have him go airborne, not yet.”

  Nodding at the logic, General Tibbets uncovered the mouthpiece to the phone. “Lorain, it’s our recommendation that the President go to ground. Do not go airborne. Not yet. Can you get him to Site R?”

  There was a short pause. “We’ll scramble Marine One and get him to Raven Rock. Please keep us apprised if the air situation changes while we get him there.”

  With the President’s immediate situation taken care of, Tibbets was ready to return his attention to the task at hand. Suddenly, one of the communications officers announced, “Sir, the Vice President is on an SVTC to speak with you. He’s down at the PEOC.”

  Tibbets cursed under his breath. The last thing on the godforsaken earth he wanted to do was to get sucked into a meeting right then. He started walking over to the communications terminal where the video conference was set up.

  Yet another alarm blared.

  “Sir, we have a new missile launch warning…oh, crap, this one’s in the Gulf of Mexico, sir!” shouted the same Air Force captain who’d been overseeing the missile warning screens.

  “What kind of missiles are these? What’s the target?” demanded General Estrada as he jogged over to the captain.

  “They look to be cruise missiles, like the other ones we saw being launched at San Diego and the Stennis…one batch of missiles appears to be heading toward Texas. We’ll have a probable target in another minute. Another batch is headed to Louisiana.”

  “Damn, they’re going after our bomber bases!” shouted an Air Force technical sergeant.

  General Tibbets ran his fingers through his hair nervously. The sergeant was right—the only military target of value in Louisiana was Barksdale Air Force Base, home of the 2nd Bomb Wing. Tibbets suddenly realized just how bad it would be if they lost most of those bombers on the ground.

  “How long until those missiles hit?” General Tibbets demanded.

  “If these are CJ-10 land-attack cruise missiles—which they most likely are—then they should reach Barksdale in roughly sixty minutes.”

  It was at that exact moment that Vice President Powers chose to ask him a question on the video teleconference.

  I don’t have time for this! he thought. He answered something that he almost instantly forgot, spitting out his words as rapidly as possible so that he could get back to issuing orders. The Vice President seemed to understand that he was in the thick of it and didn’t press further.

  Turning to look at General Estrada, Tibbets ordered, “Send a message to Barksdale and whatever bomber base they’re most likely attacking in Texas. Tell them they have less than fifty minutes to get their bombers airborne or in a covered facility before those cruise missiles start to arrive.”

  While they were busy trying to deal with the various cruise missile threats heading toward their facilities, another Air Force officer, who had been monitoring the air situation over the Northeast, suddenly yelped, “We have a problem!”

  “What’s going on?” General Estrada asked. He hastily walked over to handle the next fire that appeared to be rearing its ugly head.

  “We’ve got two pairs of Eurofighters that slipped past our air cover at Lake Erie. Our satellites are tracking them—they’re currently flying probably about one hundred feet above the ground and headed toward Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.”

  In a flash, the general suddenly seemed to realize the significance of what that meant. “Get the Secret Service on the phone now! Tell them we have enemy fighters headed for Marine One and the rest of the helicopters evacuating the Pentagon to Raven Rock!”

  “Dear God, get fighters over there to engage them now!” yelled General Tibbets, He realized there was a real possibility that the President and his entourage might be intercepted by these enemy planes.

  For the next ten minutes they watched as a flight of American F-16Vs were diverted from an attack along the US-Canadian border to speed across the state of Pennsylvania to try and intercept the four Eurofighters that were streaking toward the small convoy of helicopters escorting the Pentagon staff and the President to the Raven Rock facility.

  To their horror, they saw several missiles fired at the lead helicopters. Two of the choppers were destroyed before the fighters were engaged. The Secret Service immediately redirected Marine One to land at Camp David until the situation was resolved. They had a tunnel system they could use at Camp David to get the President to Raven Rock, so it wasn’t like he was going to be left helpless at the presidential retreat.

  The aerial battle above Raven Rock continued for another ten minutes as the remaining helicopters did their best to evade the enemy missiles and deliver the designated Pentagon staff to the command bunker.

  General Tibbets could feel his jaw clenching involuntarily. With two of the helicopters shot down, God only knew which of the critical personnel had made it to the facility and which had just died.

  “General Tibbets! We’re getting an emergency message from the Marine garrison at Camp David. They are reporting that they’re under attack by an unknown ground force. They’re requesting a QRF from anyone in the immediate vicinity of the camp.”

  “WTF! Who could possibly be attacking them? Where are the closest assets?” shouted General Estrada. He rushed over to the airman manning the emergency switchboard.

  “The nearest military force is a National Guard armory in Harrisburg,” replied one of the officers.

  “No! Call Andrews and tell them to saddle up the Air Force QRF they have on standby for Air Force One and get them on some choppers to Camp David now!” bellowed General Tibbets. “Tell them to drop everything they’re doing and get help to the camp ASAP.”

  With the Army units at Fort Myer already tasked with the evacuation of the Pentagon and the rest of the capital, they had to find another military unit that wasn’t already occupied—the Air Force security force’s QRF seemed like the best option. However, the challenge now was whether they could get to Camp David fast enough to make a difference. Until then, the task of defending the President fell on a small contingent of Secret Service agents and a detachment of Marines at the presidential retreat.

  The Vice President asked Tibbets another question on the SVTC. This time, he basically grabbed General Estrada and threw him at the screen so he could get back to work.

  Eight minutes after they’d made the call to Andrews, and ten minutes after they’d received the call for help from Camp David, the Air Force told them they had two helicopters’ worth of secu
rity forces airmen on the way to Camp David. Another four helicopters of airmen were being rounded up to head up there in another ten minutes.

  “Sir, I just received a message from Raven Rock,” announced one of the operations officers. “They said they just received a message from a Secret Service agent traveling with the President. They have him in the tunnel and they’re on the tram heading to the bunker now.”

  When they heard the news, the room erupted in shouts of joy. A few of them exchanged high fives, relieved that the President had survived the ambush.

  For his part, General Tibbets let out an audible sigh of relief. The thought of losing the President and the nuclear football had almost given him a heart attack. This new war wasn’t even an hour old and they had nearly lost Sachs in a decapitation strike.

  NUCFLASH – NUCFLASH – NUCFLASH.

  The warning alarms blared. The satellites indicated a possible nuclear detonation had just occurred. The one screen on the side of the big board that was dedicated to monitoring such events was brought up as the main screen, and he zoomed in on the site of the suspected nuclear detonation.

  “My God, they nuked Raven Rock!” someone shouted.

  *******

  Washington, D.C.

  White House, Presidential Emergency Operation Center

  Vice President Luke Powers had been listening to the meeting happening at the Pentagon in the Situation Room when the Secret Service busted in and demanded that he come with them to the PEOC bunker.

  A sense of panic washed over him. As they briskly walked through the White House to get to the elevator, he saw staffers and others who wouldn’t be going down to the bunker with him being guided out of the building, fear apparent in their eyes.