The Last Stand (Book 3) (The Repentant Demon Trilogy) (25 page)

But General Monahan was pretty sure he remembered that young engineer who worked on the horse barns.  He was no terrorist.  This promised to be a very interesting afternoon, he thought as he called to his wife, Sarah, telling her to pop some of those slice-and-bake cookies into the oven.  They were having company.

When Jerry and Abby arrived, landing in a field behind the house, the general rushed to greet them.  On seeing a pretty young woman, he knew for sure he wasn't being invaded by terrorists.  And he recognized Jerry's face once they got inside and he had a good look at him.

They quickly ran through their entire situation at Willow Creek Ranch and laid out their plans as well.  The General  asked for a pad and paper which Sarah ran to get.  He wanted to make a few modifications. And he told them that he personally knew the commanders at all the nearby bases.  He guaranteed they'd follow his direction rather than that jerk in the White House. 

Jerry and Abby waited while the General packed a bag.  Sarah sat with them, apparantly anxious about his leaving, especially considering the serious situation he faced. 

“You could come along,” offered Abby.  “All of us have our families together inside the facility.  Even our pets are with us.”

“Well I don't think you could fit three hundred head of horses into your plane,” she smiled, “and I don't want him to worry about his prized animals.  If they even
are
animals to him.  I'm used to keeping the home fires burning while he's gone.  And most of those times I've done so, it was with the understanding that he might not come back.  I know what an important man he is, and I'm not at all surprised that he would be part of saving the world some day.”

He came back in carrying a duffle bag like a simple recruit.  They kissed sweetly and hugged a good-bye.  Then the General was off with them heading back to Willow Creek.  As they soared over the desert, the he noticed a large wet spot on Abby’s blouse.

“My baby is less than a week old,” she explained.  “He was born there at the facility.  So I hope you don't mind if I go a little over the speed limit.  I'm anxious to feed him and hope he's hungry.”

He started to say that there wasn't any speed limit, then realized it was a joke and laughed a jolly laugh that was a joy to hear.  He asked about her not being military and how she was able fly a small jet.  She spent the rest of the flight telling him about how she inherited her plane then  about how Cal had diciphered the plans which foiled the terrorist plot at the Callaway Nuclear Plant.  She told him about everything except Cal's previous life.

“You deserve a medal, Miss Abby,” he said, “and when this is all over, I'm going to see about getting you one.”

“When this is all over, General,” she answered, “there may not be enough of us left for me to show it off to.”

By the time the General was able to meet with Rick and the others, Sebastian had patched together a network so that they could communicate with all the bases throughout the nation, including their sister stations in Colorado and Wyoming and their Canadian cousins at NORAD, who had been sitting in preparedness watching for Russian bombers who might come across their country.  This was something of which Russia was aware, so they did not try it. 

General Monahan was soon speaking with the bases in Southern California and Arizona by an Internet phone.  It was secure and allowed them to see his face.  He was accepted without reservation as the beloved general they had all missed so much.  They had been frustrated and angry about the lack of defense on the part of U.S. forces.  They got behind the plan one hundred per cent and awaited the order from Monahan to move out.

No sooner had Abby settled into a comfortable position to nurse Jonah, than Cal curled up beside them watching in awe.  Then the text signal came through on his phone.  He saw the words “game's afoot” on his screen.  Even though he didn't understand the reference to the Sherlock Holmes mysteries, he understood that it had begun.  He kissed his wife and baby son, then went to the conference room to join the others.

Sitting around the long oval polished teak table, they watched a tracking device on the big screen as green dots moved from Mexico into southern Arizona.  They inched up into the tip of southern California and toward Las Vegas.  Red dots appeared representing U.S. Bombers coming from the bases with which the General had been communicating.

As the dots merged in Las Vegas, they disappeared because the electronic signal became confused when interceptions occurred.  Such would be the display until the skirmish was over.  The room waited breathless until finally most of the red dots circled to fly back to their bases.  The green dots were gone, and everyone in the room cheered.

Sebastian turned up the sound for command central headquarters inside Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado and the base in Montana.  The cheers at those locations sounded amazing.  The U.S. had won.  At least the first battle.

“Now we wait for the phones to ring,” said Rick.  “Can we hear the conversation when it comes?” he asked Sebastian.  He received a thumbs up from the chubby man in glasses who seemed to be controlling the whole world from his laptop.  They would be able to eavesdrop on the President's call to the bases that attacked the invaders.  He had them on a conference call, dressing them down simultaneously.

“What the (bleep)  are you doing?” yelled a very angry President.  “No one gave orders for a strike.”

The faces around the table acknowledged somberly by their expressions that this, indeed, was the proof that the President was in direct communication with the enemy.  All communications networks connecting the bases with Washington had been blocked.  The connection between Willow Springs and those bases was securely innaccessible.  There was only one way for him to have learned of the attacks.

“We are at war, Mr. President,” said one of the commanders. “We have been invaded on our southern border, and we are combatting that attack on our homeland.  Would you like to explain on speakerphone why it is that you alone are not applauding our victory?  I'm sure everyone would like to hear your explanation.”

There was silence.  The President had no answer, and since he could be heard whispering something to someone, it was obvious that he was not alone in his treason.  What was he going to do now?  He had expected the takeover to complete itself in days or weeks as he waited it out in relative luxury.  When the time came he would emerge to lead a new United States—to be called the New Arab United States of America—NAUSA. 

He expected accolades, cheering, even parades in his honor.  He would immediately set up negotiations with Europe, Asia, and Africa to set up a map of Sharia regions.  There would be world-wide conversions... or convictions for those who did not convert, with a death penalty attached.  He would rule this new world in all his glory.  Then, when the time was right he would reveal his true identity and accept full honors, being worshipped as the Lord of Hell as well as all the earth.  Failure had not been an option.  He broke the telephone connection abruptly.

“Sebastian sent all the bases our files and maps,” said the General.  “along with an audio file of this conversation with their Commander in Chief, and a video of the battle of the red and green dots.  It shouldn't take them long to realize what's been happening.  There may be more of us left than we realize.”

Flashes of color from the giant screen suddenly demanded their attention.  They watched in horror as hundreds of red dots appeared on the giant screen—all headed toward them.  They came from dozens of bases in all the areas surrounding them.  It had happened too fast.

“How did they respond so quickly?” said Rick, in disbelief.  “They must have been sitting in the planes awaiting the order to go. We're done for.”

“Well of course they were ready,” said the General.  “They've been anxious to get into this war.  Somehow they didn't receive the information we sent.  How could American fighters so quickly and easily justify firing on American bases?  Wouldn't they question such an order?  Are our messages getting through?” the General asked Sebastian. 

“They are moving in succession, Sir,” he said, scared and sweating.  “They went to the east coast first and it will take a few minutes for them to reach all the bases.  I thought it would be faster to hit “send all” rather than choose through a list of all our bases.  And it would have taken longer to have done it that way.  With the planes in the air, is it already too late to stop them?”

“I hope not,” said the general, who looked away from the screen to see that every member of the team had bowed their heads in prayer—even Rick.  This was a sight he had never before seen around a conference table.  He realized they were right; all they could do at this point was to pray.

“What about our Patriot Missile defense system?” asked the General.  “You have one here.  Is it set up to fire?”

“No, sir,” answered Rick.  “We didn't have anyone trained to operate it.”

“You couldn't have hit all of them anyway,” said the General with a tone of despair.

He watched the red dots approaching their three major undergound locations in Montana, Wyoming, and Colorado as well as the bases that had attacked the invaders in Nevada.  Their underground communities could live for a while, he thought, maybe for a long time if the food and generators held out.  But they could only hope that when they emerged from their place of refuge the radiation had moved or dissipated.  There was no way of knowing if it would.  This was all theoretical.

Then amazingly, the General watched as some of the fighter jets began making wide turns to head back to their bases.  Then others began taking the same action.

“Look at this!” he cried out, to the praying people with heads bowed, “Look at what's happening.”

They saw the red dots moving away and began to cheer.  The messages had gotten through to their bases and new orders had been issued.  But three red dots continuted on course.  They watched the screen in horror as each one headed toward each of the three bases—theirs and the ones in Montana above them and Colorado below them.

“What's with that?” asked Cal.  “Did they not get the orders?”

“Either that, or they are disregarding orders,” said the General.  “These could be martyrs for their cause intent on fulfilling their mission.”

There was absolutely nothing anyone could do at this point.  They had no defense.  They had already prayed.  So they waited and watched.

“Look,” said Stephen, again permitted to attend the meeting.  “Look at what's happening now!”

Two of the three dots hit their targets.  The ones at Montana and Colorado, blowing up on impact and developing the familiar concentric circles which indicated radiation.  The third dot, the one headed for them, went poof.  It disappeared completely from the display.

“What does that mean?” asked Cal, speaking what all of them were thinking. “We weren't hit.  We would have felt something.”

“It's as if something shot it out of the air” Rick said.  “But there was nothing in the air and there couldn't possibly have been anything on the ground either.”

“Could we replay that, Sebastian?” asked the General, “and could you blow it up bigger?”

Sebastian typed vigorously on his keyboard.  They watched the red dot heading for them and again saw it just disappear.  Rick was very disturbed.  He was seeing something that was impossible.  Nothing could cause a jet plane to just vanish.  It hadn't been attacked by anything they could see.

“Again, please,” asked the General.  “Stop,” he said next. “Hold that view still.”

He walked closer to the screen, somehow forgetting that he could have asked Sebastian to zoom in on the graphic.

“Look,” he said, pointing to the area in front of the red dot.  “There's a disturbance in the space right there.  Can we zoom in further without too much distortion?”

As Sebastian worked his magic, they saw a faint outline in the background.  It looked like angels to Cal.  He was sure he saw creatures with wings appear in front of the aircraft.

“Well maybe we'll never know what happened,” said the General, giving up on it.  “Some Bermuda Triangle thing, maybe.  Or maybe it just blew up due to some mechanical malfunction.  We need to deal with some other issues now.  Contact Montana and Colorado.  See if there's anything we can do to help them. We just have to hope their resources hold out longer than the radiation.