“Colonel Callahan, I’m Sergeant First Class Joanna Blair, and I’ll be escorting you down to the EOC.” Looking at Thomas, she added, “I don’t believe we were expecting a civilian, sir.”
“Special Agent Kellogg is with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, and I’ll personally vouch for him. Sergeant.”
SFC Blair didn’t dare challenge this endorsement, and she led the way down a wide stairway. The modern glass, steel, and polished wood interior could easily pass for the headquarters of a Fortune 500 company. Great expense had been dedicated to its design and construction, a factor no doubt reflected by the Engineering Center that was housed here.
At the bottom of the stairs, their escort conveyed them down a long, carpeted corridor. The pictures on the walls showed various scenes depicting the history of the Corps of Engineers. It was a rich legacy that went all the way back to the Revolutionary War, and continued on to Desert Storm and beyond.
Beside a stylized painting of today’s engineers at work on the modern battlefield was an adjoining hallway into which the MP led them. The walls here were lined with sound-absorbent tile, and Thomas noted the open entryway was protected by a thick, steel, blast-proof door.
The muffled sound of voices signaled their arrival in the EOC.
It was a large, ten-thousand-square-foot room, with a theater style briefing area that faced a series of seven computer workstations, with four consoles currently manned. A podium was positioned to the side, and three immense projection screens dominated the room’s forward wall.
The first four rows of seats in the briefing area were completely filled with officers of Major rank or above. All were dressed in BDUs, and Thomas felt conspicuous in his khakis, polo shirt, and lightweight aTF windbreaker.
No sooner did Thomas join Ted in the vacant fifth row than the overhead lights dimmed. The middle projection screen flickered alive with a rich royal blue background surrounding the official crest of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. This backdrop faded, to be replaced by the Chairman himself. Admiral Trent Warner was standing behind a podium, dressed in a green flight suit. The silver-haired flag officer appeared uncharacteristically tense as he stared into the camera and began speaking.
“My fellow Americans and members of the Armed Forces, I am coming to you live from the National Airborne Operations Center, high above Eastern Europe. This unprecedented alert brief has been generated by a tragedy of immense proportions that started off several hours ago, when our President landed in the Crimea for what was to be a secret nuclear-arms negotiating session with the leaders of Russia and Ukraine.
“I regret to inform you that our Commanderin-Chief never made it to that summit. Approximately one hour ago, while transiting Ukrainian soil, the President’s motorcade was attacked, and he was unmercifully gunned down by yet unknown assailants.
Rest assured, this cold-blooded murder will not go unavenged!”
The Chairman paused, and a murmur of shocked disbelief filled the EOC. Thomas found himself too stunned to talk, and he traded astounded glances with Ted Callahan, who incredulously whispered, “I don’t believe what I’m hearing!”
Thomas found himself thinking about the other government personnel in the President’s motorcade. His brother, Vince, had been previously assigned to the same detail, and he listened as the Chairman continued.
“Per the continuity of government protocol, I have assumed supreme leadership of America’s Armed Forces. I have also activated the alternative codes to our strategic arsenal, and have ordered these forces to an alert stage of DEFCON Four.
“The very fact that I’m addressing you now speaks well for our continued command and control capabilities. This broadcast is being simultaneously transmitted to U.S. military command posts worldwide, but not the general public so as to avoid needless panic. Until the Vice President, or his successor, has been duly sworn into office as President, I will continue to fulfill my sworn duty as senior ranking military officer of the National Command Authority.
“With your continued support, cooperation, and assistance, we shall prevail in this hour of darkness. Our great nation has undergone many great hardships in a little over two hundred years of existence, and this one, too, shall test the fabric of Lady Liberty’s will to prevail. It is up to the proud men and women of the United States military to take up the torch of liberty, to ease the nation’s fears, and to give our people hope for a brave new tomorrow. America’s best days are yet to come. God bless …”
Before the Chairman could complete this time-honored affirmation, the floor beneath him suddenly bucked steeply to the left, then dove sharply downward. He grabbed onto the shaking podium as a water glass tumbled off it. And for a sobering moment, Thomas saw fear in Warner’s steely gaze as the Chairman looked to the still-rocking, tripod-mounted camera for one last second before the picture went unceremoniously blank.
Chapter 14
“Break left! Break left! Incoming missile!”
Coach listened to his copilot’s shout of warning, and immediately turned the yoke hard aport. The 747 reacted almost instantaneously, and in the center of the instrument panel, the Altitude Director Indicator rolled hard in the direction that the plane was now turning. Coach could feel the strain on his shoulder harness, and he listened as Lucky anxiously cried out:
“Radar shows a single air-to-air missile headed our way, compliments of that Red bastard in the lead MiG. It’s gonna be close, gents!”
Nightwatch was still in the midst of its steeply banked turn when the cockpit filled with a resounding explosive crack. This was accompanied by a blinding streak of white-hot light that shot past them at supersonic velocity, a mere one hundred yards away from their right wing tip. In the blink of an eye, the eastern horizon lit up with a blazing fireball, and Coach and his copilot found themselves diverting their glances to keep their night vision intact.
“American military 747,” intoned a Slavic-accented voice over the radio.
“This is Colonel Anatoly Dubrinski of the Ukrainian Air Force in Foxbat One. You are hereby ordered to return at once to Simferopol Airfield, to answer to the charges of crimes of treason against the Ukrainian people. And be forewarned, next time I won’t intentionally miss!”
“What in the blazes is he talking about?” quizzed Coach, ever hesitant to return to the eastern heading that they had previously been traveling.
“Lucky, get Colonel Pritchard on the horn. Inform him of the situation, and find out how in hell he wants us to respond to this threat.”
“Don’t forget to remind him that we’ve got no defensive countermeasures,” interjected Jake Lasky, clearly shaken by the near miss.
“And that we’re a virtual sitting duck up here!”
Lucky’s call caught Colonel Pritchard in the briefing room.
The compartment was filled with fallen debris, including two airmen who had been thrown to the deck during the unexpected turn.
“Captain Davis,” said Pritchard into an intercom headset.
“Hold our present course, and I’ll get back to you.”
The Operations team CO ripped off his headphones and met Trent Warner’s icy stare.
“Sir, the air-to-air missile responsible for that evasive maneuver originated from the lead Foxbat. A Colonel Dubrinski of the Ukrainian Air Force has just ordered us to return to Simferopol, to answer to charges of treason. And if we don’t, he’s threatened to shoot at us again, and this time he says he won’t miss.”