by Jerry Ahern
The impacts were focused on the ground floor; support beams were blown apart; and from the outside, fires could be seen on all floors. Structural integrity was lost half way through the attack, as parts of the second and third floors sagged under their own weight; then fell, smashing into the first floor.
In less than five minutes, the building was in total ruin. Part of the North wall still stood, all three stories of it. The pile of debris belched tongues of fire and plumes of smoke in dozens of places. In ones and twos, people somehow crawled and clawed their way out of the debris. Torn, scraped and bleeding, they stumbled and crawled to safety... wherever that was. The stench of burning human flesh permeated the air and drifted across the streets. After the incredible sounds of explosions, gunfire and the building collapsing, the quiet was almost startling.
Then, in the distance, the first sirens could be heard headed that way.
People across the streets, around the residence, began picking themselves up off the ground and from behind cars where they had jumped for safety or been knocked by the concussions of rockets; at least the ones that could. Shrapnel had visited devastation not only inside the building, but outside. Many people still lay on the streets and in yards and passageways; most unmoving, with body parts missing. Their clothes were either on fire or missing. Blood ran down the streets of New Germany’s capital.
Chapter Forty
As intense and immediate as the pain in his head was, it was gone just as quickly. John Rourke couldn’t tell if he had passed out or not. The creature looked at him. My God, Rourke thought, I’ve never experienced anything like that.
Has... the... pain... left... you? a voice said in Rourke’s head. He turned to look at the creature.
“Is that you I hear?” Rourke said in a whisper. The creature gave what could have been seen as a slight nod of its large head.
Has... the... pain... left... you?
“Yes, it has,” Rourke said, weakly. “Will it come back?”
Not... as... long... as... the... device... is... in... place.
Rourke nodded. “That is good to know, I’ll leave it alone for right now. You are not speaking, are you?”
Not... as... your... people... do. This... will... suffice... will... it... not?
“Yes, it will suffice. How do you know my language?”
It... is... the... device. It... allows... us... to... communicate.
“Why am I here? What is it that you want from me?”
Understanding...
“Understanding of what?”
Understanding... of... what... is... real.
Stronger now, Rourke sat up. He stood slowly until he faced the creature, full on. “I understand that you are at war with my people. I understand you are war with my very world.”
This... is... not... accurate.
“I know this war started over forty thousand of our years ago. And your kind started it.”
This... is... not... accurate.
Rourke stared at the creature, he thought, Can you read my thoughts? There was no response. Can you read my thoughts? No response, he said aloud, “Can you read my thoughts?”
No... that... would... not... be... appropriate.
“But, I can hear you in my mind?”
Our... bodies... are... different... Your... people... communicate... verbally... mine... do... not. The... device... allows... you... to... hear... my... thoughts... it... does... not... allow... me... to... hear... yours.
Rourke tried to analyze the sound in his mind; it was somewhat mechanical, but not in the usual sense. It also had the characteristics of the chirping made by crickets in the evening. Not unpleasant, simply not human.
“Why am I here? What is it that you want from me?”
Understanding... there... is... no... purpose... in... conflict.
“You started this conflict, not us,” Rourke said, a hint of steel in his voice.
This... is... not... accurate.
“You started this by using those of our people you cloned from the Eden Mission. You used them to attack us,” Rourke said. “I was there; I have captured some of them. You used some kind of mind control on them.”
This... is... not... totally... accurate.
Rourke glared but the creature did not move. “Okay, tell me then, which parts are not accurate.”
My... attempts... to... establish... contact... between... our... races... was... misinterpreted... by... your... people... because... of... the... others.
“It failed because your clones were faulty? Is that what you want me to believe?”
Partially... but... that... is... not... accurate. I... speak... also... of... the... others... the... old... ones... who... came...before.
Rourke didn’t understand. “What others, which old ones?” The creature didn’t speak, instead it raised one arm and with one elongated finger pointed up. Rourke frowned. “I don’t understand?”
The... others... the... old... ones. Those... who... have... returned.
The creature, Rourke figured out, had not been pointing at the ceiling; it meant the sky. “Are the others, the old ones, the creatures we know as the KI?”
The creature gave a slight nod of its large head.
Rourke looked thoughtfully at the creature. “Our species are very different.”
Not... so... different. The creature laid its hand on the wall of the chamber. Something Rourke recognized as a hologram appeared. Do... you... know... this?
“It is the double helix we call DNA. It is the genetic map of our bodies.”
Accurate… this... is... the... one... for... your... species. A second hologram appeared. This... is... the... one... for... mine.
Rourke stared then walked to study the two rotating images. His mind began dredging up what he remembered about the structure, the gnome of life. After several minutes, he turned to the creature. “They appear very close and the general structure is identical. I assume the differences are at the chromosome level or sub-chromosome level,” he said, looking back at the hologram and studying it closer.
We... are... not... so... different... from... you. The... differences... are... small... in... comparison... to... our... similarities.
“But,” Rourke’s mind was spinning now. “How is that possible?”
It... is... simple. We... were... created... as... your... species... was. The... same... way. We... and... all... sentient... life... forms. More... similar... than... different.
Rourke thought a moment. “Our species is thought by some to have evolved. Others believe we were created by God. Are you familiar with that concept?”
God... that... is... accurate.
Rourke was stunned. “Are you saying God is real. Are you saying He also created your people?”
God... that... is... accurate. All... peoples... everywhere.
“Tell me,” Rourke said. “Why the invasion of my planet, and why now?”
Invasion… that... is... not... accurate.
Rourke thought for a moment. Semantics? Possibly, maybe another word would be more accurate. “Why did you come to my world now?”
That... is... not... accurate. We... have... always... been... here. Your... world... my... world... all... worlds... part... of... the... same... The creature did not finish the phrase.
Rourke tried, “Your world, my world, all worlds, part of the same, plan?”
That... is... accurate. All... peoples... all... different... all... the... same. We... each... world... each... individual... creature... chose... be... good... or... not... good. Our... choice.
“Free will?” Rourke asked. “You are saying, your people—my people—we all have free will?”
The creature gave a slight nod of its large head.
Chapter Forty-One
“What... What the hell did you say?” Michael Rourke screamed at his Press Secretary.
Paul Dunlap stood bracing himself and said, “Early reports are not good, Sir. About ten minutes ago, the Bellevue was hit by
a well-coordinated heavy attack using rockets and machine gunfire. The structure itself has mostly collapsed. First responders are on the scene and full medical is still arriving.”
“Son of a...” Michael caught himself. “Is there any word on Wolf?”
Dunlap shook his head. “There has been no word on President Mann as of yet. The number of survivors from the building itself is as yet unknown. Operations are being divided between rescue and recovery. Sir, right now, that is all we have. Part of it came from our embassy, but most we got off the newscasts.”
Michael took a deep breath. “Okay, Paul, I want you to personally stay on this and report directly to me. You say it is already on the TV?” Dunlap nodded. “Let the First Lady know, and tell her I want her here with me. Get in touch with Tim Shaw and tell him I want a blanket of security around my family. Tell the Joint Chiefs I want security at all of our bases upgraded immediately. Let Mid-Wake know and have them standing by. I want Combat Air Patrols over our Capital initiated immediately, and shut down all commercial air flights.”
Michael took a deep breath and picked up his desk phone and began dialing. “Paul, right now you have to excuse me, I have to notify my mother...” Dunlap turned and closed the door, just as he heard the President say, “Mom, please sit down, I need to tell you something...”
Chapter Forty-Two
Traffic had been rerouted and police had set up a six block cordon around the building, or what was left of it. When the first Emergency Responders screeched to a halt outside the Executive Mansion, at first, they just stood, staring. The devastation was more complete than any of them had imagined or expected. After a moment of disbelief and shock, training took over; they ran toward what little was left of the building.
The first Fire Captain on the scene called for all fire battalions to respond, except two on the outskirts of town. They would be responsible for handling any emergency of a normal nature that developed. He had Dispatch contact several construction companies and ordered them to respond with bulldozers, cranes and all the heavy equipment they had. Then he climbed down from his truck and stood there, looking.
Adjacent buildings and cars were on fire, pedestrians lay everywhere, either dead or wounded. Those who were ambulatory stumbled around in a state of shock, blank stares on their faces. Where the hell do we even start? he thought. Sadly, he decided it really didn’t make any difference, he just had to start. So he walked to the ruins with a bullhorn and started directing operations.
Mass casualty incidents can best be described as chaos, trying to be interrupted by action. Paramedics, first aid squads, emergency squads, rescue squads, ambulance service, not to mention police and fire had to establish a beginning place. The first goal was to gain control and keep more injuries and deaths from occurring.
Medical services focused on providing treatment for those in need of urgent medical care and transporting the injured to hospitals and emergency rooms. The sheer number of victims was overwhelming.
Crews were triaging the victims, taking no more than one minute per patient. Three things were checked: breathing, circulation, and consciousness and assigning one of four color-coded triage levels. The lowest level is called “Dead/Non-Salvageable” and were “Black Tagged.” These were obviously deceased, or had injuries so severe that care would require more effort than is practical.
Patients needing cardiopulmonary resuscitation would be “Black Tagged” because at least one responder would have to treat them and not be able to assist other people.
“Walking Wounded” or “Green Tagged,” had minor injuries and could get out of the incident area and to a treatment area under their own power. “Delayed Treatment” or “Yellow Tagged,” had non-life-threatening injuries, but couldn’t get to a treatment area under their own power.
“Immediate Treatment” or “Red Tagged” was the highest level of triage; it was for major life-threatening injuries but they are “salvageable.” These people need immediate advanced care, but could wait until additional crews arrive. Triage came down to decisions on who does and does not receive treatment, and started by the first two or three crews that arrived on-scene.
Not sure if there were chemical or biological hazards, the Fire Captain ordered a clean zone set up roughly two to three hundred yards from the incident, and uphill and upwind from the incident. This also held the incident command post. The entire immediate area around Bellevue was declared a “hot zone” until it was determined if it needed decontamination.
Within the first two hours, 237 were triaged. Forty-seven bodies were found on the streets and areas immediately adjacent to the residence. Trailers of heavy equipment arrived, and search teams tried to find victims in the rubble but fires hampered their efforts. It appeared that twelve of the people from inside Bellevue had escaped. They had literally clawed their way out of the building or had been blown physically out of the building by explosions before the top two floors collapsed.
Neither the President, nor his cabinet or any member of the Executive Mansion staff, had been found, yet.
Chapter Forty-Three
Sarah Rourke-Mann, First Lady of New Germany, gripped the overhead handles in Paul Rubenstein’s speeding vehicle; her knuckles as white as her drained complexion. “Paul, be careful,” she said. Rubenstein grunted and pressed his foot tighter to the floor, trying to keep up with the escort vehicle ahead of him. That vehicle was running with flashing lights and the siren at full blast, clearing a way to the Capital... and her son, Michael.
Michael Rourke sat in his office, surrounded by a cacophony of noise. In the corner was a television with the latest images of Bellevue, smoking and still. Tongues of several small fires still burned in the ruins. An army of humans and K-9s searched, climbing over the ruins like ants searching for sugar. A dozen cell phone conversations were going on simultaneously, each caller trying to make him or herself heard above other voices, the television, the beeping of laptops and the ringing of the President’s desk phone.
It was pandemonium.
The Marine Guard in the hallway opened the door to the office, caught the President’s eye and nodded once. Michael stood up and walked into the hall and straight into his mother’s arms.
“What do we know, Michael?” she asked.
“Come with me, Mother.” Michael guided her and Rubenstein into an empty office two doors down and closed the door. “Here’s what we know right now,” he said. “Bellevue was attacked by several vehicles that circled on the roundabout, firing rockets and machine guns. From everything I have seen and been told, the attack was... devastating. The top two floors collapsed, crushing the main floor.”
“Wolfgang...” tears jumped back into her eyes. “What about Wolf?”
Michael shook his head. “Nothing right now, first responders are trying to go through the rubble in a search for survivors. As of now, they haven’t found Wolf or anyone else.” Michael looked at Sarah and asked, “What’s that Dad always said, ‘While I breathe, I hope?’”
Sarah nodded stiffly.
“Then right now all we can do... all you can do is hope... and pray.”
Paul interjected, “Do we know who’s responsible?”
“Neo-Nazis, it appears,” Michael said, turning to Paul. “Photographic analysis indicates they probably were connected to the group that grabbed Mom at the school. We have identified Horst Burkholter, the older brother of Johann Burkholter and Helmut Freed. Freed’s brother, Franz, was the one who Dad shot through the elbow when he rescued Mom. Johann was the one Dad referred to as Woody the Wood Pecker. They were driving the first two vehicles; the other four drivers have not been identified, yet.”
Sarah moved and stood directly in front of Michael. “What are his chances, Michael? And tell me the truth.”
Michael put his hands on her shoulders, took a deep breath and said as softly as he could, “Mom, honestly it doesn’t look good. However, survivors are often found in collapsed buildings hours or even days afterward. Some injured
, some saved from being crushed by furniture, a stairwell... One woman survived last year after the attack on the Capitol because she was at a soft drink vending machine when part of the roof came down. The machine was partially crushed but there was a small area in which she survived. It was several hours, however, before the rescuers found her. Maybe we’ll be lucky.”
She smiled, fondly. “Lucky, you know what Wolf told me right before I left? He said at his age, getting lucky was remembering why he had walked into a particular room.” Through her smile, tears started down her cheeks and she hugged him tightly. Over her shoulder, Michael looked directly into Paul’s eyes. Paul shook his head slowly and Michael gave a small nod. Paul wrapped his arms around both of them.
Chapter Forty-Four
That evening, Michael walked to the podium in the briefing room. The quickly scheduled Press Conference was one he wished he didn’t have to make. In a suit as dark as his mood, he stood in front of the Presidential Seal. He looked at his notes for several seconds then directly at the television camera.
“My fellow Americans, today is a difficult one for the people of New Germany and my family. First of all let me say, our condolences... our sincere condolences go out to the families suffering through the loss of a loved one. We offer a prayer to those families waiting on word on friends and family members currently listed among the missing.”
“The First Lady of Germany, Sarah Rourke-Mann, my mother, is safe. In fact, she was staying with my wife and me following the rescue of my half-brother and sister, and my niece and nephew early this week. She asked that I speak directly to the citizens of her adopted country.”
