Foreign & Domestic
Part III
By the Dawn’s Early Light
Foreign and Domestic, Part III: By the Dawn’s Early Light. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the Publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address DJK Publishing House at [email protected]
First DJK Publishing House edition published 2015.
Copyright © 2015 by David J. Kershner
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover Art designed by Pintado
Copyright © 2015 David J. Kershner
Disclaimer: There are several survival and sustainability concepts expressed in this work. These topics and descriptions are not meant as instructions for the construction, use, or tactic of any concept noted. Readers should seek proper training with regard best practices when employing any concepts noted herein especially with regard to the safe handling of weapons and explosive materials and, if at all possible, become certified from an accredited training facility or institution. Additionally, there are fictional elements regarding the release of nuclear weapons contained within Foreign and Domestic, Part III: By the Dawn’s Early Light. These are purely the figment of the author’s imagination given the limited resources available publicly and the highly classified nature of the topic.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by
DJK Publishing House
ISBN 978-0-692-57182-8
Printed by Create Space, an Amazon Company.
Electronic Distribution by Kindle Direct Publishing.
For my Mother who claimed
‘I never met a word I didn’t like…’
You will be missed
Foreign & Domestic
Part III
By the Dawn’s Early Light
By: David J. Kershner
Introduction
“We didn’t do it! Don’t return fire! They are set to detonate in the atmosphere! These are NOT, I repeat NOT, surface detonations!” President Rayburn screamed into the camera.
On the wide screen panel in front of him were the grim and haggard faces of his counterparts from seven of the eight nuclear nations. Only the English Prime Minister had the gall to refuse the call.
“What assurances do we have?” the Russian President asked. “We would be well within our rights to erect our launchers and return like for like.”
“Yes, you would,” he answered solemnly. “But I’m asking you not to!” he said more forcefully and directly. “We are currently tracking the man responsible. An Iranian terrorist named Abbas Esfahani.”
“You have not addressed President Tarlakov’s question, Rayburn,” the Indian Prime Minister stated as he rebuked the POTUS informally.
Rayburn sighed and decided to let the chips fall where they may and gave an abbreviated explanation of Gregg’s ordeal. After repeated interruptions, he snapped at the assembled Heads of State.
“Stop interrupting me! I’m trying to tell you that these lunatics shot our guy up with scopolamine. I think you can guess what happened next because our birds are inbound.”
“Again,” the Chinese leader said as he interrupted again. “How do you know that?”
“We have the man’s laptop, damn it!” President Rayburn replied forcefully. “According to the programming, each missile will reach apogee, jettison their warhead, and at an altitude of three hundred and seventy-five kilometers it’s going to detonate! That’s how!” he concluded as he growled the last.
Once he finished, Jim sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. I can’t tell them these things are MIRV’s or they’ll return fire for sure, he thought.
Resigned, Rayburn said, “We shot a Patriot at the one above the continental United States, but it was out of range. All we managed to do was hit the booster vehicle.” With a sigh, he added, “Unfortunately, the warhead had already been released. We’re screwed any way you cut it. I don’t have anything else to say. If I’m wrong, these two brothers started World War III and whether we knew or not, we fired first. If I’m wrong... then I guess you need to do what you feel is best for your nation.”
Rayburn slumped in his chair. In a resigned tone he said, “Fire away.” Dejectedly he concluded, “I don’t know.”
Chapter 1
January 28, 2023 – February 4, 2023
As soon as President Rayburn reviewed the satellite imagery of the English ships making their way toward Cleveland, he immediately ordered the platoon of combat engineers and the handful of members from Gregg’s former unit to hold in their current location. The men were to covertly guard the horde in the abandoned railroad line.
The day after the Moonville Tunnel was collapsed on top of over eight billion dollars’ worth of gold bullion, the remains of the Wrigley’s were interred in the family plot with little fanfare. It wasn’t until Josh and several others had dug the graves that they understood the late man’s eternal pain. The headstones told the tragic tale.
Junius and Martha Wrigley had produced five children in their sixty plus years of marriage. Circumstance, time, and history had cursed them to outlive all of them. Given the dates on the grave markers, it was clear that their daughter had passed away a few days after her birth, in 1959. Two of the four boys lost their lives before they were even twenty-one in the jungles of Vietnam. The third met his end in the late 80’s. The rumor around McArthur was that he had contracted AIDS.
The lone surviving son perished with two thousand six hundred other souls when the towers came down on 9/11. Now there was this. His grandson and his wife fell at the hands of terrorists too. It was a tragic tale that baby Declan would have to be told one day.
As a result, Emily and Gregg secured every piece of family history from the house. Whatever they found, wedding and photo albums, yearbooks, wartime correspondence; everything was packed in a box for when Declan came of age or became curious. Until that time, Em had sworn to never allow him to be put in harm’s way.
A new war had already started. However, most of America was just now waking up to this reality.
Josh and the group conferred with Sheriff Watson and decided to leave children services out it. With no living relatives, baby Declan would merely wind up in some state run facility or a foster home. With the English and their scheming, no one was confident in the long term viability of those options. If he were lucky, he could be adopted quickly by a family that was barren, but that option was already presenting itself. Being raised on the farm by Gregg and Emily Chastain was by far the best possible outcome available. Jim Watson was skeptical of the Abbas story, but gave the Chastain’s a week for it to come to fruition. If it didn’t, the child would be placed into ‘the system’.
It took some doing, but old man Wrigley was buried with full military honors. Most of the residents that knew the recluse and his wife were long since deceased. The rest had moved away years ago. As a result, the service was sparsely attended.
Lt. Stokes and Sheriff Watson managed to find a bugler while the engineers provided the three volley salute. Josh and Brent, dressed in their Marine dress blues, observed while Dallas and Alysin led a brief memorial. Emily and Gregg took turns holding their new son as each helped to lower the bodies into the grave. The grandson, his wife, and their newborn baby boy represented the only progeny the couple had left. Junius Wrigley was the last to be lowered.
As they were interred, an American flag, donated from the front porch
of the cabin, was neatly folded by James, Dallas, Josh, and Brent. General Howard then presented it to the Chastain’s and the infant child.
For Gregg, it seemed only fitting that the home the old man had built with his own two hands after the Korean War be turned into Suhrab’s own personal hell box.
* * *
No sooner had the transport touched down in Minot as Cecil Sullivan and Colonel James were hit with a barrage of information and updates. Cecil’s methodical and detailed description, coupled with an artist’s rendering, allowed base personnel to positively identify Abbas Esfahani as the Airman Hector Ortiz doppelganger.
While the pair was in flight, a security detachment had stealthily surrounded the dwelling shared by the imposter and his unknowing roommates. Thermal imaging proved useless as the ambient temperature inside the structure was approaching ninety degrees. It was apparent to the team leader that Abbas had turned up the thermostat.
The Base Commander met the transport on the flight line with a waiting Humvee. With Col. James’ blessing, he had received a rather useful phone call from the F.E. Warren installation. Greasing the wheels of the bureaucracy was deemed to be an added plus by the travelling pair. Cecil and his doctor were quickly spirited into the vehicle and driven to the rally point.
The armed detail held at the outer perimeter until the VIP’s arrived. No one was going to be given permission to breach until they had a confab. When they arrived, the force that had been sitting on the house for close to an hour was squawked by their commander. Once they were on the horn, they were ordered to pull back and debrief the new arrivals. A lone forward observer was left to monitor the structure. He was aided by the presence of an ultra-quiet drone from far above while the assault team regrouped and deliberated.
As the group arrived, the General, Cecil, and Col. James were brought up to speed. When they finished, the Colonel stated, “This Abbas character is one crafty SOB. He seems a touch smarter than his lunatic brother. Can you see anything in there… at all? Do you have another way to view the interior?”
“We’ve scanned it and viewed it with every imager we’ve got. There’s ‘no joy’ there. Our regular scopes are useless as well. All we do know is that there appears to be no movement. From the looks of it, two are in bed and one is watching TV. What we can’t see is if any of the three are alive,” the team leader replied.
“I think it’s safe to say they aren’t,” Cecil provided impassively.
Shaking off Cecil’s comments, the Base Commander inquired, “Based on what you have seen, what’s your best estimate?”
Before the man could respond, the former airmen asked, “Has anyone bothered to try and call?”
“The house received one from an Arizona number,” Lt. Carrigan answered. He continued to provide details by adding, “We traced it back to Hector’s mother. There was no movement toward the ringing phone observed… not that we could see a whole hell of a lot to begin with. It went to voicemail. What do you want us to do?” the Lieutenant asked the General, disregarding the Colonel and his patient.
“Breach it!” the fatigued Cecil blurted out startling the group. “I want this man dead!”
“Whoa! Hold on there, buddy,” the leader replied. “If this guy turned up the heat, he obviously knows we’re coming. At a minimum, he knew that we would come. That means he was most likely tipped off. Assuming he killed his three roommates, there’s no guaranteeing that the house isn’t rigged. What we need is an EOD unit.”
“Do you have a telescopic scope? Slide that under the door and take a peek. See if there are any wires, pressure plates, or whatever. Look at the doorjambs and knobs. From where I stand, all you have are three corpses. I’m telling you, he’s not in there. Abbas turned up the heat to slow us down so we’d waste time on this conversation. He could have executed those guys a couple of days ago. The heat is merely a mask to disguise the body temperature variations. How long are we going to stand here before we realize he’s in a launch facility (LF)? Check the duty logs if you don’t believe me.”
“We are checking. Answer this though, why would he be in one? He can’t fire anything without the keys and they’re held by flight officers in the launch control center (LCC),” the young team leader remarked.
Cecil slapped a stupid looking grin on his face while Colonel James just shook his head.
“Ahh, crap. Are you friggin’ serious?” Lt. Carrigan replied and then radioed the man he’d left behind to observe.
“Sioux 1 here,” came the immediate reply.
“Any movement from inside?”
“Negative.”
“Hold one, we’re on our way back.”
“Roger that.”
The Lieutenant then turned to Cecil and Col. James. “All right gentlemen, let’s go and see if you’re hunch is correct.”
The Base Commander and the other three men climbed into the General’s Humvee and returned to Abbas’ former home. The remaining members followed closely behind. Within minutes, the advanced team was reassembled and geared up.
The Lt. and his twelve-man group quickly dispersed to their assigned positions. Two four-person teams rapidly worked their way to the front and rear doors while covering fire was provided by an over watch for each to their six o’clock. Individual members were positioned to the remaining sides of the structure in case anyone opened up with small arms or jumped from a window. Cecil, Col. James, and the General sat patiently in their armored vehicle.
While they waited, the former POW remarked to the Base Commander, “Wow. Where did you get the pearl handled .45?”
“Oh, that,” he replied as he leaned and removed it from its holster. “My dad gave me that to me when I graduated from the Air Force Academy.” He held it for the pair to see. “My grandfather wore it in WWII while he was dropping ordnance all over Germany.”
“Do you mind,” the former Airman asked.
“Not at all,” the General replied and handed it back to Cecil.
As he felt the weight of the pistol in his grip, the three watched as Lt. Carrigan retracted the small whip like camera and nodded. They could see his lips moving with the countdown as he spoke into his mini mic. When he closed his fist, one of the four team members stood from his crouched position and slammed the battering device into the wooden obstacle next to the locking mechanism and handle. A similar scene unfolded at the back door. As both ingress points were thrust open, nothing happened. The building didn’t explode and erupt into a mountain of flames. Cecil had been correct.
The eight men entered the structure and cleared each room efficiently. Several tense seconds went by before they saw movement from the four members that remained outside. Eventually they too were called into to aid in the search. One man immediately came back out and puked over the front porch railing. The stench of death was too overwhelming.
* * *
After spending a number of days returning the months of numerous ‘favors’ Suhrab had bestowed upon him, Gregg was exhausted. The terrorist’s comment in the caves of Iran regarding his knowledge of torture and coercion resistance had proved true. However, he quickly discovered that understanding and practice were not always synonymous as the man was providing information, albeit slowly.
As he was about to resume, Emily burst through the door with Josh’s Beretta in hand.
“You’ve had your chance, dear,” she stated with enough inflection to almost be condescending. “Now it’s my turn!”
Before Gregg could get to her, she began to level the weapon at Suhrab. The man immediately started pleading. When she quickly pulled the trigger several times in rapid succession, he urinated on himself and the floor. Unfortunately for Emily, the handgun never discharged. She didn’t know that she needed to chamber a round.
As if flipping a switch from a psychotic bent on revenge to demur housewife, she said, “Honey, can you help me make this thing work please?”
Her husband stood there dumbfounded.
“Uh… I’m gonna go wit
h ‘no’ on that request, sweetie. You’re far too emotionally compromised to make decisions.”
“What did you say to me?”
Gregg had no reply.
“This man single handedly took everything away from me! I would have carried our child to term, I know it! How dare you call me that!”
Before the ‘discussion’ went any further, Josh came through the door out of breathe.
“Sorry, bud. I was playing with Declan and she must have taken it when I wasn’t looking.”
“It’s okay. We were just discussing why, as of right now, her decision making process is a bit –,” he started to reply but stopped when she glared at him. “Correction, might be ever so slightly, I mean it’s hardly perceptible, barely a skosh even, ah, disjointed?”
“I don’t know why you’re upset at me, Mrs. Chastain,” Suhrab interjected in a hardly audible horse-like whisper. “I saved your life.”
“Uh oh,” Josh mumbled.
She quickly whipped her head in his direction. Her hair defied gravity as it wrapped around her neck only to eventually settle into its natural position. “Give the man some water,” Emily ordered. “I want to hear what he has to say.”
“No, no you don’t,” Gregg stated. He then turned toward his host and said, “Do me a favor, please take her back to Three Sisters so she can cool off.”
“Don’t either of you sons a bitches touch me!” she growled as she step away from both. “I swear to Heaven Almighty I’ll start messin’ with this thing until I get the bullet thingies to go off! And don’t correct me! I know it’s not a thingy!”
“Okay,” he replied calmly, “Okay.” Then, in an extremely compassionate tone, her husband asked, “What do you think he’s going to tell you? No matter what he says, or does, it won’t bring our child back.”
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