Test Pilot's Daughter II: Dead Reckoning (31 page)

It was oddly warm on Christmas Day in Houston.
Hard to get in the spirit at 80 degrees,
Heather thought.
Feels more like summer.
Billy’s air-conditioner was on the blink, and his apartment was steamy. They had just opened their presents and talked with family. According to Christina’s instructions, Heather turned on the TV and tuned in to CBN at two o’clock in the afternoon.

Billy looked at her and shrugged his shoulders. “Same old shit, Red verses Blue on every issue. Protest marches in Washington, pro-life versus pro-choice. Some things will never change. Social Security is broke. At least marijuana is finally legal, hee hee. So, I guess when we get old and we’re bums on the street, at least we can smoke dope without goin’ to the pokey. What a country! Wonder what Christina expected us to see on the news?”

Billy picked up the remote to surf the channels. He turned up the volume and hesitated when he saw the words at the bottom of the screen:
NEWS FLASH.

“Hey Heather, look. Here we go.”

The female reporter had been discussing the history of the Santa Claus tradition, when someone handed her a note. She stopped talking for a moment and turned white as a sheet.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you are not going to believe this!”
Her voiced rose up to an unprofessional level of panic, and she looked back at the person who handed her the note with wide eyes. Finally she turned to the camera and read the words, “The United States of America is under nuclear attack. . .
uhughm
. . .Can this be right?” She looked to her right, then to her left for signs that someone was putting her on. Turning back to the camera, “Evacuation orders have been issued for Atlanta, Georgia, Detroit, Michigan, Las Vegas, Nevada, San Francisco and Washington, DC.” As though it finally sank in that the note was real, she virtually screamed into the microphone, “I repeat, we are under nuclear attack!” She stared into the camera, this time with a blank expression. Her eyes rolled back into the white orbs of a zombie. She wobbled sideways and dropped to the floor behind the news desk.

The scene was chaotic. Cameramen rushed into the picture, and no one seemed to know exactly what to do.

“Christ Almighty!” Billy gasped. “Can you believe that shit? CBN is coming apart at the seams.”

An unnamed program director stepped in front of the active camera and picked up a microphone. Charged with animation, he did his best to keep talking, “Major news flash, we have just learned the United States of America is under nuclear attack by Russia and the Republic of Iran. We repeat. . .target cities are Atlanta, Detroit, Las Vegas, San Francisco and Washington DC. For some viewers it may be too late, but for those who can get out quickly, evacuation orders have been issued by the Department of Homeland Security. What? We. . .we have more news. The Gleason Administration has abandoned the White House and moved to an undisclosed location. All Senators and Representatives have been evacuated from Capitol Hill.”

“For God’s sake,” said Heather.

The spokesman continued, “That’s all we have right now, but we are working to authenticate this story. As our studios are located in Atlanta, we’re unsure what. . . Yes, I am told we will remain on the air as long as possible unless forced to leave. God help us! Can’t believe what I’m saying. I repeat the United States of America is under attack.” He laid down the mike and ran out of the picture. CBN broke to a commercial.

General Pace, call name Big Daddy, sat beside President Gleason on Air Force One. An array of monitors allowed them to observe various aspects of the impending battle. Pace was on edge but ready, willing and able to defend his country. Satellite imagery was focused on northern Iran and western Siberia. The general location of Iranian silos had been compromised, and some twenty drones circled an area just south of the Caspian Sea. Pace had a direct line to every tier of defense. Defense commands were labeled according to their layer: Headquarters Iraq, DefCom 1, Headquarters Turkey, DefCom 2, NORAD, DefCom 3 and New Hope, DefCom 4.

Gleason’s defensive tactic was a huge gamble, but if successful, the four missile shields would prevent a worldwide nuclear catastrophe. Forty years prior, both the US and Russia had disclosed the location of silos and even offered tours to their former enemies. It was all part of the disarmament treaty of the 70s which had long been forgotten. The problem remained that Russia had so many ICBMs over such a vast terrain, it was impossible to monitor them all at the same time.

An anonymous voice from CIA, referred to as “Imaging,” was also active on the network. Imaging was the strategic centerpiece, the eyes of the operation.

The clock seemed to be running slow. Pace sat at his control console making small-talk with Gleason who was a pile of nerves. Gleason glanced at the Doomsday box by his side and tried to fathom the act of authorizing a nuclear counterstrike. He nibbled at one fingernail, eyes shifting back and forth across the monitors.

“What if one gets through?” he asked.

“If that happens sir, we’ll nuke ‘em ‘til they glow,”
Pace chortled.
“Light up their goddam way to paradise.”

Some fifteen minutes after Alpha-Bravo, the tension built to a climax. It was tough fighting a war by remote control. Outside of authorizing a preemptive strike, all Gleason could do was sit by and wait for the enemy to make a move.

Finally the call came. “Imaging. . .I mean. . .Big Daddy, sir, we’re sending you the video. We got action. . .Iran. . .Grid 2-d, we have a launch! Just outside of Sari. Check that. That would be two launch signatures, two birds out of the box.”

“Roger, Imaging. DefCom1, do we have assets in range?”

“Yes sir, four drones. We’re on it, all attacking, two on each missile. Target acquisition and heat seekers fired. Hold one, hold one. . .no joy, they went for the silo. Standby, all missiles released. . .they’re tracking. . .Woah! Big blast! Got one. . .hold. Yes sir, we did it, got ‘em both. Two ICBMs destroyed as they cleared the silo. That’ll teach those bastards!”

Bolstered with the thrill of success, Pace tried to stay calm. “DefCom 1, direct all active drones to that grid and standby.”

“Yes sir, but what if. . .”

“Big Daddy, this is Imaging. Oh my, God!
Sir, two more. . .we have two more launches, same area.”

“DefCom1 any assets?”

“Negative, Big Daddy. . .shot our wad. No armed drones in range. All remaining assets are on the way, ETA ten minutes.”

“Shit, that’s too late!
DefCom 1, does Patriot have the launch out of Sari? We got two more birds outta the cage accelerating through five-thousand.”

“Not yet sir, we’re moving radar imaging to that grid. Patriot’s armed and ready as soon as a signature pops up above the horizon.”

“It’s
foe
goddammit! Pull the fucking trigger!”

“Yes Sir, but Patriot won’t. . .wait one. . .there they go. Four AMMs--anti-missile-missiles--away.”

It was only a couple of minutes, but to Gleason it was an eternity. To think that nuclear warheads were actually on the way to the United States. Even with a lifetime of military training for just such a moment, Pace looked white as a sheet. Finally, the Iranian launch site appeared on the monitors. The pictures were replayed from the first drone to arrive on the scene.

“Look
!
” Pace exclaimed. “Those bastards had it under the fucking sports center in Sari,” he grumbled.

At long last the report came from Defcom 1 in Iraq, “Pariots engaged!”
A cheer came up in the background. “Yes sir, they’re tracking, ten seconds, five, four, three, two, one. Cablooee! Direct hit, both birds destroyed at 35,000 feet. Vaporized, goddammit, vaporized!”

Gleason and Pace joined the chorus of cheers. They yelped like drunken spectators at a soccer game. High-fives were flying everywhere.

“Four birds launched, and four destroyed. Not bad,” Gleason said with a fist raised.

“Attention DefComs, I want all local assets on that location. Defcom 3, I want MIRVs armed and ready to counter the Sari location. Defcom 1, get a B-2 in there with some two-thousand pounders.”

“Roger. On the way.”

“Big Daddy, DefCom 3, NORAD armed and assets at the ready. All we need is the President’s code release, over. They’ll take 1 hour 27 minutes to reach the target.”

“Shit, an hour and a half? I used to think that was damn fast; now it seems a snail’s pace.” Pace was mostly talking to himself.

“Big Daddy, Defcom 1, Stealth approaching Sari, ETA ten minutes.”

Gleason grabbed the mike, “All DefComs, this is President Gleason. Regardless what happens, I want that B-2 in there with deep penetrators. I want that goddam soccer stadium and the adjacent buildings turned into a massive crater. I wanna see some
shock and awe
.”

Pace looked at Gleason bewildered. It was common knowledge that the military called him “milk toast.” Pace lifted his eyebrows in wonderment and smiled at the President.

Gleason sucked in air and heaved out his chest. “So. . .what? I know how to fight.”

DefCom 1 came back, “Roger that, Mr. President. ETA seven minutes.”

Gleason was feeling much better about his tiered defense strategy. He slapped Pace on the back and said, “Keep ‘em comin’ General.” He jumped up and down like a kid in a candy store.

Pace gave him a sneer. “Gotta keep our heads, Sir. It ain’t over yet.”

“Hey, we’re four for four,” Gleason beamed.

“Yeah, but it only takes
one.
We haven’t seen the Russian threat. Better stay on our toes.”

“Yes sir, Spikes away. . .Mah Gawd. . . Look at that. Yes sir, got that one too!
Confirmation, fifth missile destroyed.”

Pace stared at the monitors nervously for the next several minutes expecting more launches from Sari, but none came. A beehive of drones circled the soccer field awaiting the arrival of the stealth bomber.

Chapter Twenty

General Pace worried about the accuracy of his intelligence.
He knew the Russians planned to launch two ICBMs, but the location of the silos and the intended targets were in doubt. He wondered why they were holding back.
Maybe, they don’t want to get their ass kicked like the Iranians,
he hoped. The day was off to a great start, the Iranian threat decimated, and their aggressive actions well documented for the UN. As a growing world power, Iran was history. There would be a total embargo including oil, and the economy would collapse under its own weight. No doubt, it was the stuff of revolution.