Beyond Borders: Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction (The Lone Star Series Book 2)

by Bobby Akart

  His first reaction was to look down at his Casio watch, and he pushed the timer. He knew the next few minutes would be the fastest of his life.

  “That’s Komdok-san in Mount Komdok,” the colonel muttered to himself. “Do you think we were fooled by your phony, beachfront resort?”

  Komdok-san was an underground missile base in a northeastern province of North Korea that had been used for Nodong missile tests. Years ago after his successful charm campaign in which his sister wowed the gullible media at the Winter Olympics, Kim had created a tourist area designed to soften their image and encourage international tourists to visit the DPRK. However, it was what lurked underground that was always an area of concern for the colonel and his team.

  Two of the colonel’s aides rushed into the room, carrying computer printouts. The battle cab was about to get busy.

  “Talk to me,” Colonel Klaus barked to no one in particular.

  “Confirmed by Constant Phoenix,” started one of his aides. Constant Phoenix, the Boeing WC-135 aircraft specifically designed and deployed to monitor missile launches, had been deployed to North Korea by Defense Secretary Montgomery Gregg before he left for Texas four days prior. “The missile has been launched from—”

  “Deploy defensive measures,” Klaus calmly instructed, interrupting the frantic aide. “Get me the acting defense secretary on the horn. Also—”

  “Second launch detection. Repeat. Second, no, correction. Second and third launch detections. Confirmed coordinates are thirty-nine degrees, zero-eight minutes, fifty-one seconds north latitude and one-hundred-twenty-seven degrees, twenty-six minutes, forty-six seconds east latitude.”

  “That’s Wonsan Missile base on the eastern side of the peninsula,” said one of his aides. “They’re using their fixed positions first.”

  Klaus took a deep breath. This was a high-stakes game of chess, and the next move would have to be made by the president.

  “Sir, we have the Defense Secretary on the phone.”

  Klaus reached for the phone and cupped the mouthpiece with increasingly sweaty palms. His heart was racing; now he understood why he should cut back on the stimulants. The side of his face was growing numb and his left arm began to ache, telltale signs of bad things to come. He encouraged himself to put the anxious thoughts out of his mind.

  “Bring these screens up to mirror the ops center. I wanna track these bogeys in real time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Klaus began to address the new Defense Secretary when his thoughts were interrupted once again.

  “Launch detected. Multiple launches detected. Eight. Nine. Strike that. Thirteen. Fourteen. Seventeen.”

  God help us.

  His mind was racing as he processed what was happening. Very clever, Kim. Exhaust your fixed missile locations first, and then fire off your road-mobile ballistic missiles. I bet the rest are scattering like cockroaches when the light turns on.

  The colonel didn’t wait for the final count. He pressed his left index finger into his ear to block out the airman’s announcement and turned his attention to the acting Defense Secretary.

  “Mr. Secretary, Kim’s bringing the house, sir. They’re sending everything they’ve got.”

  Chapter 2

  December 1

  Raven Rock Mountain Complex

  Liberty Township, Pennsylvania

  “When was the first launch?” asked President Alani Harman as she entered the Raven Rock operations center. Lieutenant Colonel Baker of the 1111th Signal Battalion was hustling from one computer station to the next, providing instructions to his communications team. The large wall-mounted monitors appeared to be showing a movie in fast-forward as data was displayed and maps constantly changed. The display that caught the president’s eyes first was a global satellite image focused on the Pacific Ocean as nearly two dozen flashing red beacons approached the continental U.S., Hawaii, and Guam.

  “Six minutes ago,” replied her chief of staff, James Acton. “Cheyenne Mountain has initiated nuclear missile defense protocols, but I’m afraid we missed an ICBM headed for Guam. The island will be struck within minutes.”

  She looked at Acton, dumbfounded. “What? We missed?”

  “Yes, Madam President. The focus is now on Hawaii, where the primary target would be Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam, ma’am.”

  “Can we knock it down?” she asked.

  “Intercepts are en route,” replied Acton. “There’s more on Hawaii, however.”

  “What?”

  “Former President Obama and his family are vacationing on Oahu as well.”

  “Good God. Has he been warned?”

  “Colonel Baker is coordinating that now, Madam President,” replied Acton. “It’s my understanding the president is golfing, and the rest of the family is shopping at the Ala Moana Center. The entire island has been warned, and necessary measures have been taken to assure them this is not a drill, unlike the 2018 debacle in which Hawaii issued a false alarm.”

  “James, how many are headed for us?”

  “Madam President, we need to have a conversation in the conference room, now,” said Acton without providing her a reply.

  He gently grasped her by the arm, leading her quickly out of the operations center into the conference room, where they joined Homeland Secretary Carla Pickering, acting Defense Secretary Clayton Evans, and Major Patterson, the keeper of the nuclear football.

  Appearing on a large monitor at the end of the room was the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Admiral Terrence Dasanti. He was located at Cheyenne Mountain and appeared via closed-circuit television. He was standing in front of a wall of televisions with an LED digital clock rolling through seconds and minutes behind him. The president surveyed the display, which showed over eight minutes and counting, referenced the firing of the first nukes.

  “Admiral, please tell me our current situation and then your recommendations,” the president instructed. As she finished her words, she remembered Top Gun’s admonition earlier in the day. He who hesitates is lost.

  “Madam President, nine minutes ago, two Hwasong-15 ICBMs were detected in liftoff stage from the east coast of North Korea. Trajectory and speed analysis confirm these missiles are destined for our East Coast locations, most likely Washington and New York.”

  “ETA?”

  “Less than thirty minutes, Madam President,” Admiral Dasanti replied before continuing. “Two minutes after this initial launch, the DPRK unleashed a barrage of road-mobile ICBMs toward Guam, Hawaii, and points on the mainland. At any moment, based upon trajectory analysis, Guam will be hit near the capital of Hagatna. Our B-2 Spirits have already been deployed from Guam, with nuclear weaponry awaiting your orders, Madam President.”

  “Admiral, is there any hope of bringing down the missile destined for Guam?”

  “Madam President, we have deployed our F-35 Joint Strike Fighters in an attempt to intercept the missile in midflight. It’s a last resort, ma’am.”

  President Harman let out a deep breath in an attempt to calm her nerves. It didn’t work. A glass or two of wine might have helped, she thought to herself, but there wasn’t time for that.

  Her chief of staff interrupted her thoughts as he asked a question. “Admiral Dasanti, have you deployed all of our missile defense protocols?”

  As he answered, a second monitor in the room displayed a graphic depicting the nation’s missile defense system. The president had given it a cursory look before, but was now studying it intently.

  “Yes, Mr. Acton, we have. The THAAD system and the Aegis ships are prepared to intercept. Our next step is up to the president. A returned nuclear strike, using the B-2 Spirits and our available B-52s, is on its way to the theater. This includes two specially equipped B-2s carrying the B-61 tactical nuclear gravity bombs, ideal for their accuracy and hitting underground targets. We have Ohio-class nuclear submarines awaiting your green light. Naturally, we have our Minuteman IIIs on standby throughout Montana and the Dakotas.”
/>   “Have they attacked South Korea or Japan?” asked the president.

  “Neither, Madam President. However, six minutes after the first Hwasong-15 launch was initiated, South Korean Defense ordered a retaliatory strike of Hyunmoo II missiles directed at DPRK missile batteries near the DMZ. Their warships and combat aircraft immediately began firing at the North.”

  “Their attack was unprovoked?” asked DHS Secretary Pickering.

  “That is unclear at this time,” replied Admiral Dasanti. “They were certainly quick to react.”

  The president walked closer to the monitor and looked into the high-definition camera. “Admiral, a retaliatory strike, as you’ve said, will act to destroy their offensive capabilities, am I correct?”

  “Madam President, on your order, we can destroy the entire country.”

  President Harman turned and looked at her advisors in the room. Secretary Pickering spoke first.

  “Madam President, total annihilation may not be necessary. There are innocent lives at stake. Perhaps we should focus on high-value military targets.”

  “No, Carla. Not this time. Kim started this war, and I intend to finish it. I’m sorry for the loss of life of the innocents, but his mobile launchers could be anywhere, and I’m not willing to risk one more ICBM reaching our country.”

  Major Patterson rose from his seat in the corner of the room, anticipating the president’s next request. She nodded to him as he set the briefcase on the conference table.

  The president was wearing khaki slacks and a white blouse covered by a blue blazer. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small card. The acting Defense Secretary inched closer to Major Patterson, who indicated he was ready to begin the authentication process by opening the briefcase known as the nuclear football.

  “Ready, Madam President,” said Major Patterson.

  She read the eight two-letter codes aloud. “OL, HN, MI, BE, XM, OK.”

  Major Patterson repeated the codes. “The president’s identification is confirmed. Admiral Dasanti, the launch codes are accurate and being transmitted to your attention at Cheyenne Mountain.”

  The president’s encrypted launch order included targets, an immediate launch sequence and the necessary authentication codes to unlock missiles by air, sea, and land. Within five minutes, approximately fifteen minutes after the first missiles were fired from North Korea, the United States released thirty-nine nuclear warheads toward the northern half of the Korean Peninsula.

  The missiles could not be recalled as they raced toward their military targets and large population centers, not that the president wanted to.

  Kim Jong-un had crossed the line in the sand.

  Chapter 3

  December 1

  Kingsbury Colony, Montana

  “Are those nukes?” Riley screamed his question over the roar of the afterburners from the Minuteman III missiles headed for North Korea. The group was mesmerized by the spectacle of the twelve rockets lifting off into space. Cooper now understood what shock and awe felt like. The sheer power and force behind the magnificent missiles forced a nervous laugh out of him despite the ramifications of what was happening.

  “If we’re firing at them, that means they fired at us first, I think,” yelled Cooper. “We’ve got to take cover.”

  “Pacheco and I will take the food inside,” said Fiorella Schlossmacher, who had been so generous in opening up her home to care for Adriano Morales, who’d been shot. She turned to Eduardo Pacheco, the best friend of Morales and a fellow bull rider of Cooper’s. “Let’s gather everything and go inside. We have to move your friend to another room.”

  “Do you have a root cellar or crawl space under any of your buildings?” asked Cooper.

  “No, everything is built on a slab, except for the barn, of course,” replied Fiorella. “But we’ve taken some precautions.”

  “Like what?” asked Palmer.

  “I’ll tell you inside when we’re settled,” she replied as Pacheco stacked the trays of food on top of each other and headed toward the house. Fiorella grabbed the drinks and gestured toward the barn. “Go to the barn and retrieve the rolls of plastic and duct tape. It’s a thick plastic we keep on hand to protect tender plants in the event of a late spring freeze.”

  Palmer added, “For the windows, right?”

  “Yes. Get all of it, and look in my husband’s toolboxes for a handheld staple gun. Hurry. We may not have much time.”

  Cooper led the way as the trio raced to the barn. It was dark inside and being unfamiliar with it didn’t help them. Palmer found the duct tape, and Cooper rustled through the tools until he located two staple guns.

  “Check up in the loft,” Palmer suggested.

  Riley climbed a ladder into the hayloft and found the rolls of plastic. There were four rolls of eight-millimeter-thick plastic sheeting. The label indicated they were ten feet wide and a hundred feet long.

  “Watch out, you guys! These suckers are heavy.”

  Palmer and Cooper backed away from the loft as Riley tossed the seventy-five-pound rolls over the edge. Each time they hit the ground, a combination of straw, dust, and dirt flew throughout the barn, which reminded Cooper to grab a woodworking mask he’d seen on the workbench.

  Riley descended the ladder and swept his arms from side to side to wave away the floating debris.

  “Come on, grab an end,” Cooper said to his brother. He reached down and lifted one side with a lot of effort and a loud grunt.

  “Don’t bother, Coop,” said Riley as he kneeled down next to one of the rolls. “I’ve got this. The steers I wrestle weigh a lot more than these things.”

  Riley squatted, gathered a roll up in his arms, and pushed himself upright using his powerful leg muscles. “Let’s go. I’ll carry in the rolls, and you guys start to cut them to fit. I assume that’s what the plan is, right?”

  “Yep,” replied Palmer. “Can you get the rest?”

  “Piece of cake,” he replied with a smile as he staggered out of the barn like a clown with oversized shoes. He picked up the pace. “C’mon, I’ll race ya.”

  Palmer and Cooper laughed, temporarily enjoying the lighthearted moment. Riley was the most emotional of the three, but he had a way of making them forget their troubles.

  As they approached the front door, Fiorella swung it open and motioned for them to come in. She’d already moved the furniture out of the center of the room with Pacheco’s assistance to make room for the project.

  “I’ve turned on the emergency radio to get the broadcast out of Great Falls. It was repeating that mechanical-sounding voice warning. I’m afraid we are being attacked.”

  The reality hit Palmer, leading to her nervous reaction as Riley set the plastic on the floor with a thud.

  “Riley!” she protested, causing her brother to shy away and mutter an apology. She turned her attention to Fiorella. “Any details? You know, targets?”

  “Nothing,” the woman replied. “The message simply confirmed this was not a drill and warned everyone to immediately take shelter until urthers notice.”

  “Ma’am,” started a concerned Cooper, “how long have you lived here? I guess, I mean, um, do you think we’d be a target here?”

  “Young man, we’re surrounded by nuclear missile silos. Nearby Malmstrom Air Force Base controls all of them. That said, I can comfortably say that Kingsbury Colony is not a target, but Malmstrom might be.”

  Riley patted Cooper on the shoulder and headed out the front door. Before he left, he whispered something their granddaddy, Pops, used to say all the time when the kids were growing up on the Armstrong Ranch. “Talk while you work.”

  Cooper set the staple guns down and began to unroll the plastic. He continued his thought. “Ma’am, how far is Malmstrom from here?”

  Fiorella handed Palmer a notepad and pencil. With a tape measure in hand, she walked toward the first windows near the front door.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she began to respond. “The base i
s about a hundred miles from here, toward our southeast. Trust me, I’ve thought about this before. If the base got hit, it’s not likely we’d suffer damage, but we could potentially be exposed to the radiation fallout. That’s why we need to seal up all of the openings in the house. Quickly.”

  She and Palmer measured the first two windows, and Cooper began to cut the plastic sheeting using sewing shears provided by Fiorella. He added four inches all the way around to allow for both stapling and sealing with the duct tape.

  “I wish we had an inside room without external walls,” continued Fiorella. “I’ve read that any fallout that penetrates the outside walls will lose its intensity because it’s absorbed. My cloth furniture will help as well.”

  Riley returned with another roll and immediately headed back to the barn for a third without comment. Cooper cut the first two window coverings and crumpled the excess, trimmed plastic sheeting into a ball.

  “Save the scraps,” said Fiorella. “We’ll use them to cover the air vents to the HVAC system. I don’t know if that’s necessary, but it won’t hurt.”

  The three of them continued to work together as Cooper thought of another question. “Would we be able to see the explosion if it hit the base?”

  “Oh yeah, but we won’t be watching for it,” said Fiorella. We’ll pull my velvet drapes shut to help with blocking the fallout. Besides, I’m pretty sure we’ll feel it.”

  “Like an earthquake?” quipped Palmer as Riley returned with the final roll and, due to exhaustion, dropped the heavy plastic with a thump that shook the floor. “Or from my brother’s rude arrival?”

  They got a chuckle at Riley’s expense and continued the measuring and cutting process. Pacheco rejoined the group, and he began affixing the plastic to the windows with Riley’s help. With the group working together, they managed to seal the three exterior doors and twenty-one windows in the small farmhouse in less than twenty minutes. After the air ducts were secured, everyone collapsed into a chair and took a moment to relax.