“Radio air support. Tell ’em we need a chopper. Now. We gotta get this lady and her baby out of here.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
Colonel Leggett had been a professing Christian all his life. But like so many professing Christians in America, the distractions of the world had cut into his prayer and Bible time, and he knew it. The looming radioactive cloud over Philadelphia, the panicked cries and screams of hundreds of thousands, drove him to pray silently now, even while attempting to look official in his army uniform. He was helpless to do anything other than depend on God.
Chop-chop-chop-chop-chop-chop-chop…
The colonel looked to his right. A Huey helicopter, green drab against the bright sky with the word ARMY painted in white, was circling and now headed in their direction.
The sight of the chopper sent hundreds of arms clamoring in the air. “This way. Over here!” Cries of desperation from the escaping throngs.
Standing on the hood of the Humvee, Leggett motioned for the chopper. The pilot responded and nosed the chopper toward the National Guard unit’s position.
“Take me! Take my child!” people were now yelling.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please get back!”
The crowd did not respond.
“Please! Please get back. The helicopter may have iodide tablets. Please get back.”
Still nothing.
“Please get back or we will have to fire!”
The crowd had not yet broken through the perimeter of troops surrounding the Humvee and the portable command post. Yet they were pressing against the perimeter.
Leggett could not fire on Americans. He knew that. He would never repeat the travesty of Kent State, when Ohio National Guard troops shot and killed college students on the Kent campus. Still, the chopper needed room to operate if he were to help these people.
“Company, don gas equipment. Sergeant, stand by to fire tear gas on my command.”
“Yes, sir.”
The chopper was now overhead, and communications were almost impossible under its deafening roar. A stretcher was being lowered from the chopper.
“Corporal! Get the baby in the stretcher. Ride up with her!” Leggett screamed.
“Yes, sir.”
At the sight of the corporal cradling the baby in his arms, then climbing into the metal grate stretcher, the crowd seemed to back off, if only for a moment. The corporal gave a thumbs-up, and the winch in the chopper began lifting him and the infant girl through the air. The basket stretcher dangled a bit into the air and then, moving up, was pulled into the chopper. An airman reached over, gave a thumbs-up down to the ground.
The stretcher was now over the Humvee again as the corporal headed back down toward the jeep. This led to more clamoring by the crowd.
The perimeter line broke and four men poured toward the jeep.
“Tear gas!”
A canister exploded in front of the advancing mob. Rising white smoke set off a wave of coughing and choking. The vanguard of advancing throngs turned away. “They shot them! They shot them!”
Angry screams. “Ladies and gentlemen! Back off.” Leggett yelled through the bullhorn. “We are trying to save a baby and her mother. The chopper has an additional supply of iodide. We’ll pass it out until it runs out. If you want us to help you, you have to back off now! I apologize for having to use tear gas, but we instructed these people to back off and they refused.”
“Killers!” A long-haired young man, earrings dangling, was shaking his fist in the air. “Just like Bush in Iraq!”
“Please,” Colonel Leggett pleaded. “We will fire more tear gas if you do not cooperate!”
Some were choking and now others crying. Still others, who were not affected downwind by the tear gas, backed off this time, providing a slight opportunity.
“Sergeant, Lieutenant. Get the lady in the stretcher.”
“Yes, sir.”
The soldiers strapped the woman into the stretcher, and in a moment, she too was dangling over the Humvee.
Inside his gas mask, Leggett watched as the chopper reeled the lady up, up to a place of temporary safety. At that moment, he realized that tears were running down his cheeks. But his tears were not from exposure to the gas.
The White House
11:45 a.m.
Ablur of activity dominated the Situation Room at the White House. Some TV monitors showed live images of a flame-engulfed Philadelphia. Others showed rapid response and military units aiding civilians rushing from the city. Still others showed reruns of the nuclear explosion on Gag Island half a world away. A few showed the oil slicks in Singapore, which seemed to be ancient history in the wake of all this. On several other screens, television reporters holding microphones were standing outside the White House, explaining whatever they could about the situation.
And even as he silently prayed for courage and wisdom to act decisively in a way to save as many American lives as possible, President Mack Williams could not get rid of the persistent question lurking in the back of his mind. Why?
Why had fate placed it upon him to become the first American president to absorb the brunt of a nuclear attack on American soil? Why?
Phones were ringing. Admiral Smith and several aides were on the phone with the Pentagon. Around the conference table, other members of the National Security Council were on the phone with their staffs.
And yet Mack Williams, president of the United States and the one who was regarded as the most powerful man in the world, suddenly felt as though he were the most lonely and helpless man in the room.
The words of Christ on the cross rang in his ears. My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?
“What’s our situation? Mr. Secretary?” The president snapped this question to the secretary of defense, who seemed like the proper person to demand information from at the moment. And anyway, it felt good just to snap at someone.
“Some good news from Indonesia, Mr. President,” Secretary Lopez said. “We’ve established radio contact with the crew of our lost chopper. The pilot brought them down in an emergency landing. Last report they were on the ground. Safe. Of course, I’m sure the Indonesians will be out hunting, sir.”
Mack exhaled. “Thank God for that much. What about Philly?”
“Iodide is part of the problem, sir. We have enough at various depositories around the country, but we can’t get it to the population in Philly fast enough. Plus, we’re not sure to what extent we need it and how many doses to administer.”
Mack considered the iodide issue for a second. “Don’t we need to administer it within an hour of an attack or a nuclear leak for it to do any good?”
“Your memory is correct, Mr. President. To protect against thyroid damage from radioactive fallout, iodide must be administered promptly. For thousands in Philadelphia, it’s already too late. And as deadly and devastating a blow as Philadelphia has suffered, this appears to be a smaller nuclear device. The jury is still out, but the radiation may not be as widespread as, say, a thermonuclear strike with a weapon like the Russians have.”
Mack thought about that. “So for those who weren’t incinerated by the bomb, best-case scenario…we could have a repeat of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster on our hands?”
“Possibly, sir. It’s too early to tell.”
“Well, is there any point in getting massive doses there from other parts of the country at this point?”
“Yes, I think so. People will continue to be exposed by residual radiation. We still may be able to help some people. Plus, the action would reassure the public, for what it’s worth.”
“Okay, let’s move fifty percent of our emergency iodide reserves on the West Coast to Philly, and pray that we don’t get struck again.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But, Mr. President, about the issue we discussed earlier…”
“I’m not leaving Washington.” Mack slammed his fist on the desk. “What kind of a message would it send to Americans if their president lacked such confidence in our military that he turned tail and ran?”