Peacekeepers

by James Rosone

  As they left the parkway, they seamlessly slid into the remains of the morning commuters and drove the short distance to the intersection of Jessup and National Business Parkway. As they stopped at the red light, Zaitsev reached down and grabbed the black balaclava mask and placed it on the top of his head, ready to pull down and cover his face when the time came. When the light turned green, Lieutenant Kanakin also placed his balaclava on his head.

  After their vehicle passed the large blue water tower on the left-hand side of the road, they entered the traffic circle and headed down the home stretch to their target. At this point, Colonel Zaitsev turned to his nervous partner. “See? I told you…no checkpoints,” he said.

  The young officer sighed, and then he seemed to calm down a bit. After they rounded a bend in the road, they saw a cluster of three-to-eight-story-tall office buildings, intermixed with trees and parking garages for the army of contractors that worked in these secretive buildings.

  To the untrained eye, this was just a typical American business park. However, these were no ordinary office buildings. These structures were secured compartmentalized information facilities that belonged to companies that managed nearly half of the National Security Agency’s workload. This army of contractors and government service employees managed the offsite data management, storage, analysis, and intelligence capabilities for America’s electronic warriors. The main NSA building sat just across the highway.

  When the blacked-out passenger bus turned onto NSA Technology Drive, Zaitsev turned to his partner. “Be ready in case there’s trouble. When Starshina Dyachenko stops the bus, he will secure the door and get into our vehicle. Then we’ll race over to link up with Viper One.”

  Kanakin nodded, seeming much more prepared for the moment now.

  Checking his rearview mirror one last time, Zaitsev saw the BMW that carried his four other team members pull off to take up position at the next target. Looking back in front of him, the bus slowed down as it approached the pulloff in front of the Eagle Alliance building. There were no large-capacity commuter vans or buses ahead of them or behind them, so it looked like they’d be able to make the drop quickly and then get out of there.

  Starshina Dyachenko, the operator driving the bus, pulled into the specially designated spot and parked. As he turned the vehicle off, Zaitsev pulled his Chevy Suburban just in front of the bus and stopped. He depressed the unlock button on the door just as Dyachenko rounded the front of the bus and jumped into the SUV. Before anyone in the immediate area knew what had just happened, they sped off through the rest of the parking lot as they raced to get in position near the Booz Allen building a couple of blocks away.

  “When we round the next corner, I want you to detonate the bus,” Zaitsev ordered as he continued to hit the accelerator. “We need to get the other buildings to start evacuating their people for the next phase.”

  They whipped past nearby vehicles and the few pedestrians who were still straggling into the office. Zaitsev wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and the bomb they’d just parked. A few more seconds went by before they rounded the next corner, placing one of the large buildings between them and the bus.

  “It’s time,” Colonel Zaitsev announced.

  Starshina Dyachenko had a devilish look on his face. He moved his right thumb over the detonator button and depressed it, almost flinching at what was sure to be the loudest boom he’d ever heard.

  Unexpectedly, their worst fear came true. The bomb didn’t explode.

  Knowing something had just gone drastically wrong, Zaitsev slammed his foot on the brake, causing the Suburban’s tires to screech and the front of the vehicle to dive forward. They slid across the asphalt, nearly fishtailing in the process. When the Suburban came to a halt, he turned around to face Dyachenko.

  “What’s going on? Why is it not going off?” he yelled.

  After frantically hitting the button a couple more times, Dyachenko just shook his head in frustration and confusion.

  Lieutenant Kanakin pulled a small electronic device out of his pocket and hurriedly turned it on. His eyes went wide as he realized what the problem was. “They have the frequencies jammed. That’s why it won’t detonate.”

  Turning his wrath on Kanakin, Colonel Zaitsev screamed, “You had one job, Lieutenant! How could you have forgotten to check to make sure the Americans were not jamming the RFID frequencies when we got near the target?”

  Lieutenant Kanakin hung his head in shame. Had they known the frequencies were being jammed, Dyachenko would have initiated the manual fuse, which would burn down for three minutes before detonating the charges within the bus.

  Not wanting to waste any more time disciplining the inexperienced member of his team, Zaitsev threw the SUV into reverse, slamming his foot on the gas pedal. This threw the vehicle into a rapid, tight turn as he swung the vehicle around so they faced the road they had just raced down.

  “Starshina, when we get back to the bus, you know you need to go back inside and set the manual fuse, but don’t forget to relock the door. We can’t afford any more screwups!” he yelled. He slowed the vehicle down just enough to make the final turn that would bring them back to the bus.

  The Russian sergeant cursed at the young lieutenant as he readied his own AK-15K, knowing all too well he’d probably end up having to use it in another minute.

  “I sure hope you haven’t screwed up the mission for us,” he muttered.

  As they pulled around the corner, they spotted a federal police vehicle parked behind the bus with its flashing lights on. A couple of police officers were examining the bus when they looked up at them, their eyes wide as they realized the vehicle that had just roared around the corner was heading right for them.

  Sensing immediate danger, the two police officers moved to a defensible position near the open doors of their car and drew their sidearms. Zaitsev saw one of them reach for a radio.

  Pop, pop, crack!

  The front windshield of the Suburban took a couple of hits as Zaitsev and Kanakin instinctively ducked a bit to avoid getting hit. When they were maybe twenty meters from the police officers, Zaitsev slammed the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a hard halt.

  In the blink of an eye, Lieutenant Kanakin was out the door with his AK-15K in hand. Using the passenger door as a shield, he flicked the safety off and let loose a string of shots at the two cops. His 7.62mm rounds punched right through the driver’s-side door and the police officers’ body armor.

  While Kanakin was hammering the officer near the driver’s side of the vehicle, Colonel Zaitsev fired three well-placed shots into the other officer on his side, aiming two to the chest and one to the head, just as he’d done countless times over his twenty-eight years in the Russian Special Forces.

  Dyachenko darted past them and ran up to the bus. He fumbled with his keys for a second as he found the right one and proceeded to unlock the bus. He then dashed inside to set the manual fuse.

  Zaitsev turned to the front entrance of the building nearest the bus just in time to see half a dozen armed security guards burst out the front entrance. Moving his rifle to the new threats, the colonel let loose a long burst from his rifle as he attempted to rake as many of them with bullets as possible. The guards all dove for cover behind anything they could, but the barrage still struck a couple of them.

  Spent shell casings rained to the ground around Zaitsev’s feet, clinking and clanking as they hit the pavement. The rapid staccato reports of his rifle barked loudly in comparison to the guards’ pistols. The noise echoed off the buildings around them, adding to the chaos of this surreal scene.

  “Reloading!” Zaitsev shouted. He dropped his now empty magazine to the ground and grabbed for a fresh one from his front ammo pouch. He slapped the new magazine in place and charged the bolt, seating the new round in place.

  “Switching!” Kanakin yelled in reply. He advanced around the front hood of the Suburban, then proceeded to empty the rest of his magazine at the
security guards to cover Zaitsev while he reloaded.

  “Reloading!” Kanakin then shouted as he dropped his own empty magazine to the ground, essentially swapping positions with his colonel.

  With a fresh magazine slapped in place, Zaitsev resumed firing on the guards.

  Ping, crack, ping, crack!

  Bullets flew back at them, hitting the Suburban and shattering several of the vehicle’s windows. The bullets zipped past Zaitsev’s head like angry bees.

  Dropping to a knee, Zaitsev emptied his second magazine at three of the attackers who were trying to bound forward toward him. He hit two of them while the third one ducked behind something and shot back at him.

  Dyachenko finally finished with the fuse and emerged from the bus. He stopped just long enough to close the door and relock it. Their only hope at this point was to prevent the guards from getting inside long enough for the charges to go off.

  Dyachenko turned. As he took his first steps back toward his comrades, he was hit by half a dozen bullets from a new set of security guards that had appeared out of nowhere.

  Crap! They’ve flanked us, Zaitsev realized.

  The colonel grabbed one of the hand grenades from his vest and tossed it toward a group of guards that were hunkered down behind another police vehicle that had pulled forward to help provide them with some cover.

  “I’ve got two more security vehicles heading in our direction!” shouted Kanakin as he fired off a series of shots toward the new targets. The police cruisers swerved and came to a screeching halt a hundred meters away from them. The officers got out and returned fire.

  “We have to get out of here!” Zaitsev yelled before uttering a stream of particularly vulgar obscenities.

  The colonel jumped back into the Suburban, closing the door just as the driver’s-side window shattered in his face, hitting him with tiny shards of plexiglass. Kanakin also jumped in. Before the lieutenant could even get his door closed, Zaitsev had the SUV in drive and floored it. He sped down the road they had originally started down and raced to link up with the rest of his team, which was currently sitting in the other office park nearby.

  “Kanakin, keep shooting at them!” Zaitsev yelled. He tried to make himself small behind the wheel while still trying to see where he was going.

  All around them they could hear police sirens, angry shouts in English, gunshots, and the metallic crunching of bullets hitting their vehicle.

  Suddenly the radio crackled to life in his ear. “Viper Six. What’s going on?” asked Major Zlobin, his second-in-command.

  “Finally. At least the radios are working,” Kanakin muttered to himself as he swapped out a half-spent magazine with a fresh one.

  “Viper One, Viper Five is down,” he said, depressing the talk button. “They must’ve had a warlock turned on somewhere near the buildings. The remote detonator wouldn’t work, so we had to go back and set the manual charge. Our cover’s blown, so go ahead and start the party. We’re on our way to your position.”

  “Da!” came the reply.

  Zaitsev blew through the intersection as they raced to the next set of office buildings. As he rounded the next corner, he heard the loud ripping of a machine gun opening fire, followed by a small blast.

  He spotted the Suburban parked in the center of the road and gunned the engine toward them. One of Zaitsev’s soldiers had just finished placing another RPG round in his launcher. Zaitsev watched as the man aimed it at another one of the office buildings and fired. The RPG launched itself toward a glass window on the third floor of the nearby building, exploding in spectacular fashion and throwing shrapnel and glass in all directions.

  Another one of his soldiers had the bipod of his PKP MG set up on the rear trunk of a car. He proceeded to fire the machine-gun rounds into the ground level of one of the adjacent buildings in an attempt to kill as many of the people inside as possible.

  Zaitsev pulled his Suburban to a halt just to the side of the matching SUV. Colonel Zaitsev and Lieutenant Kanakin jumped out of their vehicle and joined the fray, shooting up the buildings all around them. They pumped as many rounds into the various buildings as they could, trying to kill or maim as many of the people working inside as possible.

  Glancing down the block, Zaitsev saw several police cars racing toward their position when suddenly he heard the loudest explosion of his lifetime. The earth shook and they all fell to the ground.

  As he sat on his butt, momentarily dazed, Colonel Zaitsev looked up and saw a massive orange-and-black fireball growing in the sky. Debris fell back to the ground like rain. As his eyes drifted below, Zaitsev saw that the explosion had been so massive, it had blown out all the windows of the buildings and vehicles around them.

  Zaitsev, who had now fully recovered his senses, yelled to the others. “Time to go! Head to the rally point and let’s swap out our vehicles. It’s time to get out of here!”

  With that, the soldiers of Spetsgruppa A climbed back in their vehicles and sped out of the corporate park. The men raced down the road at a high rate of speed in the two shot-up SUVs with blown-out windows, jumping onto the Baltimore-Washington Memorial Highway. They rushed along until they came upon the next off-ramp and speedily exited the freeway. Then they pulled into the parking lot of a Total Wine, where the next set of drop vehicles was waiting for them.

  The six surviving Russian Special Forces soldiers jumped out of the two Suburbans, grabbing their bags filled with gear—extra magazines, grenades and other supplies they might need. They swiftly threw the equipment and weapons into the new vehicles. Then Lieutenant Kanakin and one of the other soldiers pulled the pins on a couple of thermite grenades and tossed them into the shot-up remains of the SUVs, jumping into the new cars and speeding off.

  In the rearview mirror, Colonel Zaitsev watched as the thermite grenades exploded. They would start an intense fire that would eventually burn the vehicles all the way down to the frame, eliminating any forensic evidence they might have left behind.

  Now that they had their new rides, they pulled out onto Laurel Fort Meade Road and headed west. Their next goal was to get out into the countryside of Maryland and the next rally point, where they would once again change out cars before heading off to their safe house to prepare for the next mission.

  *******

  24 Hours Later

  Washington, D.C.

  White House, PEOC Bunker

  Acting President Luke Powers was typically a calm, mild-mannered man. He seldom lost his cool or even appeared angry in public, but after being stuck in the belly of the PEOC for nearly four days, his patience was running thin. The war was now entering its fourth day, and while some aspects of the conflict were finally breaking in their direction, others were not.

  It was nearly time for the impromptu meeting his generals had called, but before he left his sleeping quarters, Powers wanted to review the intelligence summary of the last few days to get caught up on all that had transpired. It was almost dizzying to think of how quickly the battle lines had changed; he’d never realized the fluid nature of a complex conflict before.

  By the end of the second day of the war, the UN forces had captured Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and most of New York. By the end of the third day, they’d captured half of Ohio, all of Michigan, the upper half of Indiana, northern Illinois, and the upper portion of Wisconsin.

  Yesterday was one of the few bright spots. In the upper Midwest, the UN force had been soundly defeated in a massive running tank battle along the North Dakota-Montana-Canadian border. The battle had gone on for nearly three days before it broke decidedly for the Americans. The 4th Infantry Division, which had been deployed to the upper Midwest, had officially crossed into Canada and was even now advancing on Winnipeg. They’d then move to capture Regina and Calgary as they sought to remove the UN forces in the west and threaten to divide Canada.

  In Washington state, a joint Canadian-Russian force had been stopped just south of Seattle. Unfortunately
, the 2nd Infantry Division lacked the manpower and resources to push them back across the border until additional help could arrive. Sadly, two of the National Guard divisions that had been slated to come to their assistance had to be diverted to deal with the uprisings in Oregon and California—the two states that had broken from the federal government and were actively working to support the UN force any way they could.

  In the Southwest, the Chinese continued to marshal their forces in Baja California and the Sonora Desert. While they hadn’t crossed the border or engaged the few National Guard and active duty forces along the border, they’d been hitting US forces with a number of cruise missiles, making air operations nearly impossible.

  However, the primary reasons for the impromptu meeting that would be happening in a few minutes were: to discuss the damage assessment from the attack on the NSA yesterday, and to strategize regarding how to respond to the large concentration of Russian, Cuban and Venezuelan forces being assembled in Cuba.

  There was a soft knock on Powers’s door. Rick, his lead Secret Service agent, announced, “Sir, it’s time to head over to the briefing room.”

  The acting President nodded, placed the report on a pad of paper and took it with him as he stood and exited his private quarters. The two of them walked through the hallway in silence.

  As they made a turn to walk down another identical hall, Luke Powers couldn’t help but feel like he had been down in this bunker for weeks. He’d already made two televised addresses to the nation from down there. It was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic.

  However, while he desperately wanted to go back to the residence and show the American people that it was safe to return to work and their daily lives, the Secret Service was having none of it until the Navy felt reasonably sure there were no enemy submarines lurking off the coast of Virginia that could hit the capital with submarine-launched cruise missiles. The country was still reeling from the loss of President Sachs and more than two hundred congressional leaders. They couldn’t risk losing the Vice President as well.