The Iran War

by Jack Strain

  Sayid flew the drone in a tight “S” pattern before a hail of gunfire exploded all around the UAV, but it was laser fire from an Iron Beam battery that struck the tank itself causing the remaining liquid in the holding tank to explode out in a wide arc splashing the concentrated chemical agent right into the heart of the crowd.

  The effects were nothing less than devastating.

  Control Room, CNN World Headquarters

  CNN cameras, along with cameras from every other news agency in the world, beamed a live feed for about two minutes, when it seemed as if every gun in the Israeli arsenal went off at once and fired upwards into the sky. Then the firing tapered off, and the light show came puttering to an end.

  Stephanie Brewer yelled out, “The firing has stopped. Is it over? Somebody get one of our people on the ground to report in!”

  A remote camera operator responsible for keeping the live feed on Liliana Wolfe was the first one to react to what was happening. He hollered loud enough for everyone in the control room to hear, “FOR FUCK’S SAKE! LOOK AT THEM! WHAT’S HAPPENING TO EVERYONE?”

  “Pull it up on the main monitor,” Stephanie instantly ordered.

  A mix of outbursts reacted to the gut-wrenching images on the 146-inch Hi-Def screen that were unlike anything anyone, anywhere had ever seen. It was the closest thing to looking at a real-life scene right out of Dante’s Inferno.

  Liliana and her husband along with five Secret Service agents filled the screen, and they were on the ground squirming on top of one another. Arms and legs and torsos and heads were making horrific uncontrolled jerking movements. The whole world was watching as Jason Rudman bravely struggled to sit up and reach out to his wife who suddenly let loose a violent stream of yellowish-green vomit. Then her neck snapped back suddenly, and she began shaking uncontrollably and struggled to breathe.

  Andy Garvey silently made the sign of the cross and whispered, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, those poor souls.”

  Another monitor brought up a wider angle that slowly scanned the square and depicted what can only be described as a massed killing ground. The entire world was collectively bearing witness to the first successful WMD (weapons of mass destruction) terror attack in history. Instead of flames and charred bodies, the ground was littered with heaps of bodies in various stages of their final death throes. The deadly rain of colorless and odorless Sarin droplets would leave in its wake the dead and the dying, staining the consecrated holy ground, sacred to the believers of three of the world’s great religions for an eternity.

  Ignoring the range of reactions breaking out all around, the single-minded professional within Brewer demanded that she get control of herself and her team. She sharply yelled, “Keep it together people! Keep it together! Our viewers need to know what is happening over there. We all know what we need to do, so let’s get to doing it. Jim, reach out to your contacts at the Pentagon. Shelly, try getting a hold of our people on the ground. I want to know if any of our people are hurt. Manny, get a hold of our terrorism experts and get us a rundown on what they think is happening.”

  While nearly everyone in the room still seemed almost paralyzed by the chilling images - they were literally watching the first daughter and her husband die on the screen! - Brewer slammed her fist down on her desk with a forceful blow and shouted, “GODDAMNIT, GET MOVING! I mean now! We have a job to do. We can cry later.”

  Each and every man and woman in that control room were professionals and knew they had a job to do, a sacred job: deliver the news to their viewers and guide them through both tragedy and triumph. There was a job to do, and news professionals around the globe had to set aside their feelings, find the strength to get the story and report it in a timely and responsible manner.

  Wolfe Villa Hotel

  Predictably, FOX News was granted the exclusive right to mic up Liliana Wolfe, so that she could broadcast this momentous occasion to the entire world. At the time, it seemed like a wonderful idea for the elegant and successful first daughter to highlight yet another remarkable accomplishment of her father. Liliana had already taken up so many duties of State for the Wolfe White House that it all seemed quite normal. The American people had gotten used to - and even looked forward to - seeing Liliana in the spotlight, allowing the very shy and private first lady to focus on her still-young son.

  Now that same mic that delightfully captured the wondrous opening of the ceremony was active and being carried live across the world as the first daughter was caught in this monstrous attack.

  In a loud voice filled with a mix of tears and pure terror, Liliana could be heard saying, “JASON! JASON! WHAT’S HAPPENING? IS IT OVER . . . IS IT OVER?”

  Jason Rudman’s voice was more muffled and could barely be heard over the screams from the trapped masses of people, “Honey . . . honey . . . it’s okay . . . it’s okay. The firing is slowing down. I got you. We’re going to be okay.”

  Liliana looked around and with wide eyes watched as one of the Secret Service agents on her detail suddenly drop her gun to the ground as her shoulders seized up and then quickly double over. Viewers watched the first daughter briefly leave her husband’s arms, went to the agent and started to grab her arms and could be heard saying, “Monica are you okay? Monica say something! MONICA, YOU’RE SCARING ME WHAT’S WRONG TALK TO ME!”

  Then without warning two more of the detail started making the same jerking movements, grabbing their throats and falling to the ground writhing in the green grass. Letting go of the female agent’s hand and now filled with sheer terror by what she was witnessing, Liliana unsteadily stood up and started taking small steps towards her husband when her eyes started to water uncontrollably, and her throat began to constrict.

  The microphone picked up some muffled groans as viewers watched her frantically reaching for her throat. Jason was struck down by the chemical agent at about the same moment and tried going towards his wife when his legs gave out, and he crashed to the ground, landing face first, shattering his front teeth and breaking his nose. Blood seeped down the front of his face, and he could be seen desperately trying to crawl to his wife. That’s when Liliana doubled over and began thrashing around on the ground.

  After she spewed a thick stream of mucus-laced vomit, she started crying out, “DADDY HELP US. . .. DADDY . . . DADDY HELP US. . .. HELP US. . .. help . . . h . . .”

  A mix of nearly inaudible sounds could be heard as Liliana and her husband, now together, were on the ground making final jerking movements. Her hair parted just enough to enable viewers to watch as her once beautiful eyes began to bulge wide open. Her brain was being deprived of oxygen, as she came to a final, frenzied death rattle and died thirty seconds later.

  To watch a child die is unimaginable. To watch your little girl, die in one of the most horrific of circumstances and to listen as she pleads for her father to save her goes far beyond what any man can handle. President Douglas Wolfe was no different.

  Overcome with shock and unrelenting agony, Wolfe felt his chest tighten, and he struggled to breathe as he tried to absorb what he had just seen unfold live on TV. Wolfe’s head dropped into his hands, and he began sobbing uncontrollably and kept saying, “Not my little girl, not my little Lily.” [Pause] “She can’t be gone, she just can’t be.” [Pause] “Why did I send you there…Oh God, I’m so sorry . . . I’m so sorry . . . Lil . . . Lil, I’m soooo sorry.”

  The entire Wolfe family and their shocked friends slowly coalesced together and wept in one’s another arms, pressing their bodies ever tighter together trying to block out the overwhelming collective grief they were all feeling.

  Dumbstruck by everything he had just witnessed, Agent Darnell Sanders quietly motioned for his team to melt away and allow the first family to mourn. It wasn’t only the first daughter who was lost today; Sanders also watched his mentor and the woman he almost married die while trying to defend their charges. Fighting back his own tears, he struggled to maintain composure, but guided by duty and his oath to protect the first
family in every way possible, Sanders carried on.

  Right now, President Wolfe needs to be just a man grieving with his family. The doc is on his way. He’ll check him out, make sure he can go back to being president again. Lord knows I wouldn’t have the strength. Sure hope he does.

  Chapter Six

  Wolfe Villa Hotel, NYC

  Forty minutes later, the president’s sons Duncan and Declan helped their father get to his bedroom to be examined by the traveling White House physician. The president had barely spoken a word for the past thirty minutes. The brothers, overcome with grief themselves, exchanged knowing glances, unsure of what to say as their father just sat blank-faced and stared almost through the wall. Lost.

  They watched as the doctor ran through his protocols, checking heart rate, blood pressure, etc. The Navy doctor, Commander Daniel Thornton, respectfully directed the president to answer a series of questions. After not finding any physical problems, Cdr. Thornton began probing for emotional shock related issues and asked, “Mr. President do you know where you are right now?”

  Wolfe just nodded. “Mr. President, Sir, would you please be able to give me a verbal response. No disrespect intended Sir.”

  The man who was proverbially sitting on top of the world an hour ago replied in a voice devoid of emotion, “I’m here at the Villa, in my own bedroom. I know where I am, and I know what just happened. Enough with the questions. Leave me be for now.”

  Commander Thornton stole a quick glance at the sons and hesitantly replied, “Look Mr. President, I promise to respect your wishes, but I really must make sure you are stable Sir.” He quickly added, “Both physically and … emotionally, Sir.”

  With a hint of a harder edge to it, Wolfe again said, “I know you’re doing your job, but please leave. Boys, show the doctor out. Now.”

  Thornton had seen his share of Marines and sailors coming out of the shock of combat after having observed a buddy get hit, so he saw the all too familiar symptoms. The president was clearly not right in the head at the moment, and no one should expect him to be. After today, the whole country will be reeling, but they didn’t watch their daughter die on TV.

  He quickly gathered his medical bag and was getting ready to leave when he made one last attempt to help the president and asked, “I’m leaving now Sir. You need your rest. I’m going to leave a prescription next to the bed here to help keep you calm and able to sleep. Take some; they’ll help you get through the next few days. And if I can do anything at all Mr. President, I will be on-call - literally five minutes away. Please don’t hesitate. And Sir, you have my deepest sympathies. She was a wonderful young woman. She will be missed by everyone.”

  Wolfe heard the words but didn’t react. He nodded his head ever so slightly and lifted his hand in a motion as if signaling them all to leave.

  With that said, Thornton and the boys left the room, dimmed the lights on the way out and were immediately greeted by Wolfe’s Chief of Staff, Dutch Schultz, who looked to have aged ten years as the enormity of what just happened to the first family and the nation at large began to sink in. His deeply crossed forehead and drawn expression belied a mix of intense sadness coupled with the dread of having to formulate a national response to the tragedy. Determining the well-being of the president was his first and foremost priority.

  Holding up his hands to stop the trio from heading back into the room where the family had gathered, Schultz asked with an edge of anticipation in his voice, “Okay Doc, how is he?”

  Fully aware of the gravity of the situation, Commander Thornton paused for a moment to word things just right and said, “Physically, the president is doing fine. Blood pressure and pulse rate are elevated but to be expected . . . certainly nothing dangerous, but worth watching. Emotionally, well that’s a different matter.”

  Schultz interjected, “What are you trying to say, Doctor? Is he coherent? Does he understand everything that’s happened? Look Doc I need to know if the president can execute the demands of the office. Is he able to discharge his duties?”

  Thornton carefully answered, “First off, he knows where he is, understands what happened, and in my opinion, he is in command of his faculties and after a period of rest should be able to carry out his duties. However, President Wolfe - as I am sure you will agree - is not the average man and his reactions can’t be weighed against a typical response after experiencing what he just witnessed.”

  Duncan, quick to defend the appeared affront to his father, cut in strongly, “What the hell does that mean, ‘not the typical man?’ He’s not what you see on the television.”

  Taking a small step backward, Commander Thornton answered in a very respectful tone, “I am certainly not trying to level a slur at your father. I apologize if it came off that way. He has suffered an emotional shock and needs time. However, he is the president and not afforded the same liberty as a typical person going through the grieving process.

  This is more akin to a combat soldier who, after witnessing a buddy die, must gear up and face the fighting the next day. The danger for your father is that at some point, no man can escape the emotional toll of the trauma he just went through. He will need to be closely watched and require long-term psychiatric support. When PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) hits, the strongest of people are often are brought down out of the blue . . . like a ticking time bomb.”

  Schultz shook the doctor’s hand who then quickly exited and immediately placed a call to his deputy, Andrea Scarsdale, at the White House. “Andrea, can’t talk long. Let me just say that the president is hanging in there. Tell everyone that he is tough as nails, but we are taking it hour by hour up here. I am jumping on a plane in twenty minutes. Convene a meeting in the Situation Room in two hours - principals only - and include Vice President Brentwood. Coordinate with her people; she’ll need to be kept up to speed on everything. Send me whatever intel you got now, and I will read everything on the go.”

  Wolfe heard muffled voices outside his door but ignored them. After the door closed, Wolfe ever so slowly slumped over and even when his head hit the pillow, his eyes never closed. His focus never wavered from a picture on the other side of the room that caught his eye the moment his sons and the doctor brought him back.

  Liliana’s graduation picture taken at his beloved NYU alma mater. Her graduation robe was partially open, and she held her cap high in the air with her right hand. Her eyes were beaming with that smile that graced the cover of dozens of magazines and seemed to look back and say, Look, Dad, I did it!

  Wolfe was numb. No more tears would come. He was left with but one, simple, all-consuming thought. Lily, I swear that I’ll hunt these animals to the ends of the earth. I’ll burn every shithole country in the whole fucking world if I have to, but they are going to suffer.

  Chapter Seven

  October 11th

  The White House Situation Room

  By nine a.m., all the national security principles and their key deputies arrived for what was sure to be a long and intense meeting to discuss the official United States response to the first successful NBC terror attack in history. The men and handful of women in attendance wore a mix of expressions ranging from pure fatigue to lingering anger as the effects of yesterday’s barbaric attack took a powerful emotional toll.

  This attack wasn’t some event from which these men and women could easily distance themselves. This wasn’t a shooting in Paris, a bombing in Brussels, or explosions in Istanbul. Every person in the room had viewed hundreds, if not thousands of grisly images from similar terror attacks, but no one had ever seen photos or viewed video clips depicting anything like the horror of yesterday’s attack in Jerusalem.

  The images of the dead piled on top of one another and laid in grotesque contortions on the ground were haunting. But it was the video feeds of the living, who wished they were dead that seemed to impact even the most hardened of professionals. The awful sounds coming from the victims who struggled not to drown in their own phlegm would take the
m a very long time to erase from their collective memories.

  What really brought it home to those in attendance was the fact that Secretary of State Randall Gittleson’s chair was empty this morning. Jason Rudman’s chair was also empty. Two senior undersecretaries for Defense and State who normally attended these NSC (National Security Council) meetings were also feared lost, not to mention nearly the entire U.S. diplomatic mission to Israel were either dead or near death. Plus, the obvious: the president was still deep in grief and unable to attend.

  Last night’s emergency NSC meeting lasted until two in the morning. Tempers flared at various points. Accusations were leveled, and fingers pointed. National Security Advisor Lt. General Michael Wright was quick to start leveling blame at the CIA and the National Security Agency for failing to pick up on the threat of a chemical attack. National Intelligence Director Daniel Cushing vigorously defended his intel agencies and leveled counter-charges at Wright for cherry picking the intel and for looking to find a scapegoat for the attack.

  Chief of Staff Dutch Schultz was forced to intervene several times to stop the bickering, but it was the man known as “the Prophet” to the Marines who served under him, Secretary of Defense General James Mahler, who ended the night with the following statement.

  “While you jackoffs were playing CYA (Washington speak for cover your ass), I have been sending operational orders to all U.S. military commands. As of midnight, all active duty military personnel have been ordered to report to their commands and prepare for deployment orders towards forward-operating bases in the Central Command AO (Area of Operations). You all better get your shit together and get me some good intel on targets, because I got planes in the air, ships on the ocean, and Army and Marine units mobilizing for action. In forty-eight hours, we are going to be locked and cocked. I’m getting us ready to break things and hurt people, so stop fucking around.”