“This is STRATCOM airborne. Ma’am, the aircraft won’t respond to any direction other than from the president. The only way to stop them this close to their targets is to—”
Shoot them down. Keating Grierson broke in. “Ma’am, this is Admiral Grierson, NORTHCOM. I’ve ordered all fighters in the vicinity to proceed at max speed for the bombers. What are their rules of engagement?” If they can make it in time, he didn’t add.
“Stop the B-2s. Any means necessary.” Allison knew she’d just ordered Grierson to kill three aircrews, six highly trained airmen doing their duty. It wasn’t a pleasant thought. But she knew if the death of those airmen meant saving countless innocent lives on the ground, then there was no other choice. “Am I clear?”
“Clear, ma’am.”
“Admiral, I also need you to intercept Air Force One. Orders are to escort the aircraft back to Andrews AFB and keep it on the ground until the president can be taken to a secure area.”
Grierson didn’t want to ask the next question, but he had to. “If Air Force One doesn’t respond?” He knew what the answer would be.
“You are authorized to shoot down Air Force One, Admiral.”
CHAPTER 66
On board Air Force One, General Metzger received an urgent message from the cockpit crew.
“General, we’re being instructed to return to Andrews.”
“By whom?”
“The Northeast Air Defense Sector controller, sir.”
All of a sudden, Metzger knew exactly what the code phrase meant. Somehow, the phrase the president had spoken to Allison Perez had allowed her — no, authorized her — to subvert the president’s authority.
Are the Aussies on board with this?
— Are you under duress? ’Cause you’re acting kinda weird there, mister, dropping nukes all over the place. This is our little secret word game, remember?
Of course they are. The Aussies are on board.
— I’m in a world of shit right now, and you’d better do something about it as quickly as you can, little missy. Now, I have to get back to drooling all over myself. Thanks for the momentary wake-up call!
Smart girl, he thought. A dangerous adversary as well, which was somewhat surprising, considering she was just a fucking Coastie. He’d like to kill her himself, if he got the chance. With his bare hands.
Metzger knew if they were being ordered back to Andrews, they’d eventually — if they refused — be forced to land, by whatever means necessary. The writing was on the wall, and he had to act fast.
“Colonel Jepperson, we have reason to believe the vice president has usurped her authority because she was in disagreement with the president’s execution order for operation Three Kings. Disregard all further orders unless they come from the president, the national security advisor, or me. We may have a coup d’état on our hands, being led by the vice president.”
“Sir?”
Glancing over at Jessie Hruska, he said to the pilot, “And I want you to listen very closely to what I’m about to say…”
“Ripper flight is supersonic. Time to intercept, uh… seventeen minutes.”
Captain Brian Marshall, United States Air Force, had just pulled off a tanker, refilling his thirsty tanks after a strike against one of the areas of stationary ground wave casings, when he had received his orders, directly from Admiral Grierson himself.
He’d twice asked for confirmation before he realized the admiral was serious. Dead serious.
His flight — two F-35A Lightning II strike fighters — had immediately headed north toward Minneapolis-St. Paul to intercept the B-2 on its bombing run toward the city.
His two fighters were closest, and they’d drawn the short straw.
The bat-winged bomber was armed with a nuclear weapon.
His orders were to stop the B-2. To shoot it down before it dropped its bomb.
Kill two fellow airmen.
Maybe, two guys — or gals — he knew personally.
What a crappy day this was turning out to be.
An electronic voice sounded in his ears. “Ripper, this is Bandsaw. Target is at angels three-zero, heading zero-one-zero based on mission profile and last position report. I have no radar contact at this time. No response to mission abort order. Weapons free, I repeat, weapons free.”
“Ripper lead copies,” Captain Marshall said, answering the controller sitting in an orbiting E-3 Sentry roughly one hundred miles to the south.
If the E-3, with its gigantic rotating radar dome, couldn’t pick up the B-2, his smaller radar wouldn’t have a chance of finding it. The things were built to be invisible to radar in the first place. And they were.
He knew he’d have to spot it visually if he had any chance of killing it before it reached its drop point.
To keep the bomb from falling.
To keep Minneapolis-St. Paul from being obliterated.
He pushed his throttle to the max setting — it was already there, but he couldn’t help but push it. His fighter was slicing through the air at one and a half times the speed of sound, his wingman half a mile off to his right, slightly behind and above his position.
“Ripper Two, lead.”
“Two.”
“Keep your eyes peeled, Harv.”
“I’m lookin’, Brian, I’m lookin’.” A pause. “What the hell do you think is going on?”
“After what’s happened the last few days, this shit doesn’t surprise me one little bit.”
Far below the streaking F-35s, their sonic booms rolled across the landscape, their supersonic shock waves slapping against the ground like an unseen, gargantuan beast galloping wildly across the plains.
“I don’t like this, Brian.”
“Me neither, Harv. Me neither. Sixteen minutes to intercept…”
CHAPTER 67
“General, Air Force One is changing course.”
“What?”
“They’re heading one-seven-zero, descending through thirty thousand feet.”
“Damn. Any air assets in the vicinity?”
“Nothing in the air, sir.”
“Send a scramble order to the nearest air defense unit. Their orders are to escort Air Force One back to Andrews AFB. If Air Force One doesn’t comply, they’re to contact me personally for guidance. Got it?”
“Yes, sir!”
In less than a minute, the Northeast Air Defense Sector command director’s order was transmitted from the center. Ten minutes later, two Air National Guard F-15 Eagles leapt into the air armed for air-to-air combat, with orders to escort — or if it didn’t respond, to force down — the aircraft carrying the president of the United States.