Bring this present home to Nuclear America, Johnny Boy!
FBI: "How soon can your air defenses engage?"
Security: "We have no realistic chance until the aircraft is less than a mile-and-a-half out."
FBI: "Jesus Christ! How long will it take him to cover that last mile-and-a-half?"
Air Controclass="underline" "At his current ground speed of 310 miles per hour, about twelve seconds, sir."
FBI: "Twelve fucking seconds? Even if you hit him you might still end up with hunks of airplane in your yard, just from the momentum! Twelve seconds! Jesus!"
Security: "Air control, give me a countdown to impact, starting at fifteen seconds."
Air controclass="underline" "Yessir."
Security: "Gunners: Lock laser sights on target. All guns begin firing on my mark."
It was silent in the control room. The reactors and their related pumps, fans, turbines and generators had all been shut down. The power plant was feeling more and more like a tomb.
Air Controclass="underline" "15 — 14 — 13."
Security: "Fire. Fire. Fire."
The sound of the plant antiaircraft batteries rattled and thudded a steady staccato.
One second later:
Air Controclass="underline" "Sir, the target is off the screen."
Security: "What? Keep firing. We can’t have hit it yet."
Firing controclass="underline" "We cannot locate the target, it has disappeared."
Security: "Keep firing. Best guess. Tower, do you see anything?"
Tower: "Big ball of purple flames in the air. Looks like an explosion."
Security: "Cease fire. Tower, do you see anything else. Any aircraft?"
Tower: "Holy shit! Excuse me sir. There was just an even bigger explosion when the debris hit the water. Looks like fucking fireworks out there. Just spewing up out of the river. The whole valley is lit up."
Air controclass="underline" "We still show no aircraft on the scope."
Everyone in the control room looked at one another. There was only static on the com link.
After nearly a full minute of tense silence:
Security: "Sit-rep. All units report to your supervisors. Stay alert. This could be a diversion. Air defense, hold fire. Remain at high alert, security level ‘Red.’"
NRC: "I think we just dodged one big fucking bullet!"
FBI: "No shit!"
Operator: "Maintenance. What’s your e-t-a on fixing that pump?"
Maintenance: "We need a part from Michigan. They’ll fly it in to Minneapolis yet tonight. Should be fixed by about noon today."
Operator: "Screen house. What’s the water level?"
Screen House: "Down eight feet and holding steady. We’re starting to suck mud though. Don’t know how long we can keep the screens clear."
FBI: "I’ll call the Army Corp and see if we can get more water released from Pool 2. They can open the gates at least part way to give us a couple feet of water in the channel. Is there anything you can do on site to increase cooling water flow?"
Plant Manager: "I don’t know. Can’t think of anything. Let me think. I don’t know. Huh?"
Operator: "We have enough fire hoses and portable pumps to draw water from the pond behind the plant. That will help some. We can also use the fire hydrants in the plant. And we can connect regular garden hoses to all the water faucets and add that in, too.
We should be okay until the pump is fixed, especially if the Corp can give us a little more water in the river. With the borinated cooling water in the fuel pool intact, we’ve theoretically got 26 hours before it boils off — even with no river water. If that pool water had emptied, though…."
NRC: Shaking his head. "State of the art nuclear technology and we’ve got to hold it together with duct tape and baling wire."
NRC turned to the Plant Manager: "Sir, you have a new job starting right now. I don’t know what it is. But you are no longer running this generating station, by order of the United States Government. Operator, you are in charge for the present."
Operator: "Yessir!"
CHAPTER 62
The BCA SWAT team maneuvered methodically through the airport hangars, gradually closing a ring around the terminal building. Soon the entire airport had been cleared. There were no further hostiles to be defeated.
Gunner radioed the Captain that the airport was secure and asked what had happened to the B24.
"We were too late to engage the B24, sir. Had it still been flying when we arrived in the area, shooting it down would have been our priority. As things stood, the best we could do was lend you a hand down there."
"Do you know what happened to the bomber?" Gunner asked.
"I am informed that it exploded in mid-flight and splashed down somewhere upstream."
"Any survivors?"
"Sorry, sir. That’s all I know."
"Thanks for the intel, Captain."
Gunner didn’t know if he should be relieved that the bomber hadn’t impacted the nuclear plant, or sad because he might have lost a friend.
"Will you be landing here so we can thank you properly?" Gunner asked finally.
"Sorry, sir," the Captain replied. "Just doing a favor for our C.O. Gotta get back to base. We’ve all got our regular tours at daylight."
"Well, please pass along one helluva big ‘Thank you’ to your C.O. from all of us down here on the ground. You sure saved our bacon." Gunner knew he spoke for everyone concerned.
"Roger that. Our pleasure to be of service.
"Oh, and one more thing, sir. My C.O. said you should say ‘Hi’ to somebody named ‘Beck’ for him.
"You have a nice night, sir."
With that, the two lethal war birds lifted and banked northwesterly, vanishing into the night sky.
The SWAT commander asked Gunner, "What the hell does that mean: ‘Say Hi to Beck?’ Who’s Beck?"
"Nobody you know," Gunner said, as he listened to the choppers echoing up the valley. "Good man, though."
CHAPTER 63
I was covered in mineral spirits, mud and river water. I looked bad and smelled worse. But I had a pulse. Thankfully, the parachute had performed as designed and my landing in the muddy river bottoms hadn’t been unduly abrupt.
Since the fireworks from the bomber’s explosive entry into the river had lit up the valley, I could see that my splashdown site was much closer to the Wisconsin side of the river than to Minnesota.
Shedding the parachute and any other unnecessary weight, I had swum and slogged my way to the Wisconsin shore. From there, a bewildered resident had allowed me to use his cell phone to contact Gunner, who had sounded pleased to hear from me. He had even sent a squad to retrieve my reeking remains.
Right now, it was 5:00 a.m., and I was getting Gunner’s vinyl side chair disgustingly dirty and smelly. Despite my condition, Gunner appeared uncharacteristically happy to see me in his office. Bull was there, too.
I thought Gunner might ask me some questions about my ordeal. But he was far too pumped-up about his own recent encounters to be thinking about mine.
"While you were busy joy riding in that plane," Gunner reported, "Bull and I captured two outlaws and defeated an army of very mean sons-of-bitches. Military types, with automatic weapons, grenades… the works. One helluva fight."
"I caught the crooks by myself," Bull said.
Gunner flashed him a dirty look, but continued with his story.
"Bull called me when he got your SOS," Gunner was saying. "We mobilized our forces and got our people over there tout de suite.
"Seems Bull arrived at the airport a bit before we did, though. On the way in, he found these two hicks" — Gunner showed me mug shots — "attempting to flee the scene in their pickup truck. He blocked their path with his Cherokee and convinced them to surrender."