As soon as the light from his bay door turned from green to red, he banked the aircraft hard to head toward home. Then he dropped back down to 40 meters above the water and increased speed to nearly Mach 2. His heart pumped wildly.
A painful minute went by. Suddenly, the radar warbling in his ear stopped. Orlov sighed in relief — they were in the clear again.
When he had placed a hundred kilometers between them and the spot where they had been detected by an enemy radar, he slowed the bomber down to its cruise speed to conserve fuel. Thankfully, a refueling tanker would be waiting for them once they entered the Barents Sea area and the safety of Russian airspace.
The following morning was relatively cool as the sun finally rose and burned away the remnant of the morning twilight. Anthony Chattem depressed the call button on the outdoor table of the Oxford and Cambridge Club. Despite being a senior member of the British government, he hadn’t been whisked away when the capital had been attacked, and for that, he was supremely irate. Seeing that he was considered not important enough to protect by the Tories, he opted to go have breakfast at one of his favorite private locations.
Mr. Chattem liked to eat breakfast at the exclusive club at least once a month. He particularly liked drinking his tea on the outside terrace. The cool morning air was always invigorating before a busy day.
His Chief of Staff greeted him somberly. “It’s a shame what happened last night, isn’t it, Mr. Chattem?” he remarked.
Chattem nodded, doing his best to conceal any hint of happiness at the misfortunes of others.
“The thing is — this is going to play well in the press and with my supporters,” he mused. He imagined a headline splashed across the front page of the paper. Tories Secretly Hope Labour Leader Gets Killed in Russian Raid.
Looking out into the city, Mr. Chattem could see the pillars of smoke still hanging in the air from the multiple cruise missiles that hit a series of defense and government buildings across the city. The maître-d’ opened the door to the terrace, and a colonel from the Ministry of Defence walked out to join them, along with a couple members of Chattem’s security detail.
The MOD colonel cleared his throat to gain Chattem’s attention. “Sir, it is highly recommended that we move you to a more secure facility,” he announced. “We’re not sure if the attack on London is over.”
Mr. Chattem stared him down with daggers. “Interesting how the government only deems it necessary for me to be moved to a protected bunker several hours after the attack, as opposed to before the missiles landed,” he replied angrily.
The colonel’s expression did not change, which further annoyed Chattem. “I think if the Russians were going to launch another surprise attack like they did last night, they would have done it already,” he replied.
The colonel remained stoic and unchanged. Chattem was boiling now. “Answer me this, Colonel — how was it the Russians were able to get close enough to hit us with cruise missiles and not be detected? How is it our defensive systems were unable to intercept these missiles, as they had in the past?”
The colonel stood there for a moment, looking as if he wanted to say something course, but he managed to hold his tongue. Instead, he let out a soft sigh and replied, “A Spetsnaz team disabled our early-warning system just as the enemy bombers fired their cruise missiles. By the time we were able to get other radar systems operational to fill in the gaps in coverage, the enemy missiles were raining down on our cities.”
Chattem grunted. “What targets were hit here in London, and what were the casualty figures?” he asked. He planned on using the information in his upcoming press conference he would call later in the day.
The colonel pulled a notepad out of his breast pocket and flipped it open. “The Ministry of Defence building, Her Majesty's Treasury, Scotland Yard, Houses of Parliament, Waterloo Station, Kings Cross Station, and the Lloyd’s Building were all severely damaged, along with several other buildings in the insurance district. The remaining five missiles hit Heathrow Airport, causing significant damage to Terminal 5 and Terminal 3.”
The colonel paused for a second before continuing. “It appears the intent of the Russian attack was twofold: first to damage our transportation system, which is why they targeted Waterloo, Kings Cross, and Heathrow, and second to go after our government centers to prove the MOD could not protect them and the population. As to casualties, fortunately, the attacks happened late in the evening, so it could have been worse. So far, there have been roughly two thousand people killed, and almost the same number injured. Most of those who perished died at Heathrow and the two train stations.”
“This is a disaster for the Tories,” thought Mr. Chattem. He had to work to keep his face calm as he realized that he might really have a legitimate chance of unseating PM Edwards. Then a sick feeling hit him in the pit of his stomach. “Could Max’s backers have caused this?” he wondered. He didn’t think it was possible that they were really that powerful and influential.
“Very well, Colonel. We’ll come with you to the bunker,” he conceded. “Please lead the way.” He got up and followed the colonel to a waiting vehicle.
Asian Rivals
General John Bennet grabbed his backpack from the overhead bin and headed toward the baggage claim. He was feeling a bit disoriented after his long flight from South Korea. Even though he had mastered the skill of sleeping anywhere, anytime — a necessity in the military — the time change was throwing him off. He wasn’t sure if it was day or nighttime anymore. It didn’t help that he still didn’t know why he had been called to meet with the President. He wasn’t sure if he should be happy or frightened about losing his job.
When he arrived at Carousel 3, he heard a familiar voice call to him, “John!”
He turned around. His wife, Stacy, and three youngest sons were standing there, waving to get his attention.
A flood of emotions washed over him. Bennet hadn’t seen his family for months, and he hadn’t been expecting to see them during this trip. Despite the tough guy persona, he shed a few tears as they all hugged each other.
General Bennet relaxed a bit as they all rode together in the black Chevy Suburban that had been sent to pick them up.
“They sent my family — this has to bode well for my meeting with Gates,” he thought.
Bennet allowed himself to chat with his sons about school, girls, and their sports teams. He held his wife’s hand and shot her a few smiles in between his sons’ chattiness; she never got a word in edgewise when they got together after a long break.
Meanwhile, he kept mulling over what he would possibly be discussing with the President. He secretly hoped that maybe this meeting might result in him finally getting what he really wanted, which was to get General Cutter’s Marines assigned to him for the invasion of China. They had already succeeded in securing the Russian Far East, pushing the Russian forces all the way back to Khabarovsk; he was certain that if he had been able to keep them in the fight for a few more months, they would have been able to reinvade China and push through to Shenyang. Maybe they could have even threatened Beijing… but his multiple requests to the SecDef had not gone in his favor. So far, General Cutter’s forces were being consolidated in the Northern Mariana Islands and Guam to retake the Philippines and Taiwan before the Chinese could turn them into island fortresses.