Thirty seconds after the epic blast, the air was still thick with smoke. Jimmy had been ordered to capture at least a full minute of “after shots.” So he waited. The only calm soul within a mile radius.
Tiny chunks of dirt and concrete sprayed the roof around him. How high had the debris been blown into the air that they just now fell back down? A stray something struck his shoulders. Hard. Jimmy maintained his focus and tried not to shake the camera too much. He completely lost that discipline when he reached up to pull the rubble away and wound up shaking someone’s hand.
He spun around in horror and drew his pistol, but no one waited in ambush behind him. Instead, a blackened hunk of meat fell from his shoulder and plopped on the ground. No blood; the stump was thoroughly cauterized. The only color he saw was the bling from a wedding ring.
Orders or not, Jimmy broke and ran. Puking the whole way back to the safe house.
Donaldson crossed his arms and cocked his head as one of Major Gorgas’s lieutenants started the executive cell briefing with whining. That’s all he ever heard nowadays.
“How bad is it? Sir, it’s a slaughter. Even our own people are starting to buy into the propaganda. We were bleeding members after Gorgas died, but now it’s a stampede. Everyone believes we’re in cahoots with those religious wack jobs bombing civilians. Don’t forget the president’s amnesty program too. That’s hurting us more than his army ever could.” The old soldier sat down in disgust, but kept on griping.
“Then there are the damn informants. All those people that once supported us, or at least tried to ignore our teams, now flip on the TV and see the senseless violence against civilians. They don’t care about the fine distinctions in our rules of engagement. They just don’t want war in their neighborhood. So they’re tipping off the Feds any chance they get. Resistance cells are dropping like flies. Take a look at the Panhandle. Used to be one of our strongholds, but between fighters turning themselves in and midnight raids fed by anonymous tips, we’ve lost every active member in the region in less than a week.”
Donaldson flipped on his computer, but ignored all the depressing reports. “Come on. Tone it down. We’ve been over this before. This situation is exactly what Major Gorgas worried about. Now we need to stop dancing around the issue. It’s time to take the war to a new level. We have to strike where it will really make a difference. While we still can.”
A short, but wiry Florida National Guard Special Forces team leader, Donaldson’s second in command, held up both hands. “Boss, I know exactly what you’re planning, but that’s not gonna happen. Major Gorgas once had the same fantasy of attacking the White House. I was one of the scouts he sent to DC. With all the assassination attempts in these last few months, security is insanely tight. Rivals the Green Zone back in the Iraq days.”
Donaldson fiddled with the zoom on his satellite view. Private satellite services, including Google, had long since been disabled to hinder guerrilla operations, but real-time Russian and Chinese feeds were still cheap. “No perimeter is impregnable.”
The Green Beret shook his head. “Of course, but this isn’t one line, or even a couple of cordons. We’re talking many layers of increasingly complicated defenses. Just getting in sight of the target is extremely high-risk. The whole city is under martial law. Every vehicle entering DC is searched by humans and dogs. Every pedestrian approaching half a mile of the White House is patted down. No vehicular traffic is allowed within a quarter-mile radius. If that’s not enough, the police also swab your hands for explosive residue and check your ID against their secret blacklist. There’s a checkpoint on every street corner, thousands of newly installed cameras, God knows how many snipers and roving patrols… there’s no way to infiltrate without being caught long before we get to the president.”
He slid his own computer over to Donaldson and brought up some terrifying photos of the White House lawn. Something straight out of a Hollywood flick. “And if we got close enough, by some stroke of luck? How do we deal with all this firepower? Look at that. Thirty or more Marines, concrete bunkers, LAV-25 armored vehicles and that’s not even counting the Secret Service detail with at least 40 more shooters, per shift. Come on, even if we pulled another miracle out of our asses and blew past them, they’d just squirrel the president away in the White House bunker while thousands of federal troops and para-military cops poured in and wiped out the strike team. For us, it’s a suicide mission. For them, the attack would only be a mild inconvenience.”
He closed Donaldson’s laptop lid and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Son, I admire your guts, but trust me when I say this is an idea best forgotten. Let’s aim for one of the regional military command posts instead. Something realistic.”
Donaldson slapped his hand away. “You still want to waste time fighting the Army? Kill a few random soldiers or blow up a bridge somewhere? None of that shit matters anymore! This is the only target that can make any difference. Sergeant, I’m not talking about a raid here. I’m talking about destroying the entire crooked regime. I want to level the Pentagon, Congress, the White House- the whole she-bang. I’m talking about ending this fucking war for good!”
The professional soldier, veteran of three wars, unconsciously stood at attention for this skinny guy 10 years his junior. Foolhardy or not, his passion was genuine. Donaldson didn’t even realize he had whipped out his command voice. It just came naturally.
“How many direct-action cell members do we have left?”
One of Gorgas’ old officers chimed in immediately. “800 on paper, sir, but only 402 still respond to orders.”
Donaldson smiled. “Good enough. Now, rumor has it you all cached more than just rifles and bombs when you went underground. Tell me there are some heavy weapons from the National Guard arsenals still around. I mean the really bad stuff.”
The older man grinned, unchained a flash drive from around his neck and stuck it into Donaldson’s computer. He gave the password and opened up a simple encrypted inventory spreadsheet. Donaldson’s eyes nearly popped out.
“Good God! You’ve had all this firepower the whole time and never used it! You could have slaughtered thousands of Feds!”
“Gorgas always said we should save them for a special occasion.”
Donaldson turned back to the frowning SF operator. “Master Sergeant, Washington is prepared for a lone assassin. I plan to bring an army. This isn’t some hit and run raid. We’re going to take the war to them! Either our whole organization will be wiped out to the last fighter or the president and every one of his flunkies will hang. Will you follow me?”
The SF man grinned savagely. “Fine speech… but who’s going to lead the attack?”
Donaldson met his dark gaze without the slightest hesitation. “I’m going to personally strangle the dictator with his own power tie. You can lead the Pentagon task force, but the White House is mine.”
Doubts or not, the whole room cheered. Desperation was a powerful weapon.
Chapter 10
“What the fuck is this? Are you trying to bribe me?” The Texas National Guard captain chucked an envelope over his shoulder, raining a cloud of hundred-dollar bills over his shocked troops.
The civilian just leaned against his BMW and stuck a hand in his pocket. “If you must be so crass, then yes. I thought it would be kinder than simply giving you a warning.” He casually pointed southwest, down the empty highway. “There’s a large URA armored task force coming this way. You have less than ten minutes before they get here. All you have to do is do nothing. Take your men on a patrol somewhere. Come back in an hour. They aren’t stopping. Just passing through.”