by Lewis, Rykar
Tandy came up from the main level and asked, “What are you diving for now, fun?”
“Shhh. I have to concentrate,” the pilot snapped. “Co-pilot, go back and tell him what’s going on.”
The co-pilot obeyed but he did a horrible job of explaining. The way he told it to Tandy was that they would make the F/A-18s crash, not the other way around. It was a good thing that the co-pilot was rather ignorant – despite him being a lieutenant colonel – otherwise Tandy and his men would have been more prepared.
* * *
The F/A-18 pilots were doing a perfect job. They had made Air Force One descend very low. In a few moments, it would be forced into a controlled landing, then the FBI agents, following in attack helicopters, would bolt to it, and enter from the rear door, rush in, and rescue the President. It had to work. Everything depended on it.
“SPYGLASS, this is PAPA BRAVO TWO. Do you copy? Over,” the captain spoke into his headset.
“Go ahead PAPA BRAVO TWO. Over.” It was the general who was on the radio once again. He sounded pleased with the progress his planes were making.
“SPYGLASS, I’m taking her down,” the captain informed him. “Notify the agents in the field. Over.”
“Roger that PAPA BRAVO TWO. God go with you. Over and out.”
Thanks, the captain thought. He needed God’s help right now, and so did the FBI agents who were going to be carrying out part B of this operation.
4
Friday, January 17th – 0015 hours
The Situation Room
The entire National Security Council was impressed with the performance of the two F/A-18 pilots. They had successfully forced Air Force One almost to the ground, and word came from the general that they were going to make it land any second. The FBI agents were following the chase, and would be there the instant the “landing” occurred. So far everything was in order and working like a well-oiled machine. All eyes were glued to the video feed. Nobody spoke. The air in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The Vice President was compulsively wringing his hands as he watched the operation unfold. He looked like he’d aged ten years over the last couple hours, and he had a good reason for it. A lot of pressure was on him right now, but no one doubted his capability. And so far his plan was going smoothly. However, the critical moment would be when the agents on the ground became engaged. The success of the operation rose and fell on what happened during that time, which was estimated to only take three to five minutes. This was their last straw. Their last ditch effort to rescue the President. It had to work.
* * *
Inside Air Force One was total pandemonium. Tandy was flustered, as were the pilot and co-pilot. Tandy had finally figured out that they were the ones being forced to go down, not the F/A-18s, and he was not happy in the least.
“Tandy, I’m putting down the wheels; we’re going to land,” the pilot shouted back over his shoulder.
“No you fool, we can’t land,” Tandy retorted. “Bank left and climb, now.”
“I think that actually you’re the fool. If we bank left, we’ll still crash right into the F/A-18 above us. We have no choice but to land.”
“They’ll kill us!” Tandy fumed, his face turning beet red with anger.
“Maybe, maybe not. But at least we have a chance. If we crash into that F/A-18, there’s no hope. I’m landing, so buckle up.”
The instant the pilot spoke those words, Air Force One brushed the ground, sending everyone aboard flying, with the exception of the pilots. The plane had been flying over a forest, but the pilot found an open meadow where he crash landed. Before Tandy could even sit up, the front of Air Force One exploded, making the interior lights go out, and sending him tumbling down the stairs to the main level. Fortunately, Tandy had been far enough back at the time to escape the explosion’s destruction, unlike the pilots.
Above, the F/A-18s circled over the downed plane just as the FBI teams rushed toward the rear door. Over the captain’s radio, a message came from Lawington telling him that the agents had opened the door and were beginning to enter. Knowing that their job was done, both F/A-18 Delta Hornets climbed into the dark night sky.
The FBI team had opened Air Force One’s rear door and now several of them rolled inside, clicking on their night-vision goggles and searching for any sign of the President. They were going to have to sweep forward as fast as they could, checking every room and office.
Everything happened so suddenly for the terrorists that many of them could not even respond. None of them had night-vision goggles, so they could only depend on their sense of hearing, and the full moon, which only illuminated a small portion of the plane.
One of the agents bolted into the staff office area, followed by the rest of the team, and spied the President, sprawled out at the far corner of the room. The team had to get to him before the terrorists did. Every agent had the same idea. In Close Quarters Battle positions, five of them dashed for the President, firing bursts of automatic gunfire as they ran toward him. The leader of the team reached him first, and seeing one of the terrorists raising his pistol at him, swung up his own rifle, and fired off several rounds. While doing so, he simultaneously leaped on the President, shielding his body from the bullets flying about. The team leader knew he had hit his target, for the shadowy man was screeching wildly in pain. The other agents filled the room with bullets, several of which found their way into the terrorists. But the light of the moon gave the terrorists something to work with, and one of them rolled into the dark hallway. Tandy slid up beside him and the two made ready their pistols.
The room was quiet. The team leader didn’t dare try to move the President, lest someone unseen put a bullet through him. Nobody moved. The FBI team, now reinforced by the remaining agents who began pouring in, scanned the room for any hint of danger. A few seconds later, four of the agents went to check for pulses on the terrorists lying about, while the other agents covered them. Everyone appeared to be dead.
“Sir,” an agent told the team leader, “we can extract the President now.”
The leader peeled himself off of the President and let out a long-held breath. The President had made it out all right. As far as the agent could tell though, he’d been shot sometime before, possibly during the hijacking. He noticed the wound the President had was bandaged, although it was bleeding again.
“Give me a hand,” the leader ordered, slinging his rifle on his shoulder.
Two agents trotted over to help. As they began carrying the President out, two dark silhouettes popped out from the hallway. For a brief second, the team leader made direct eye contact with one of the men. In the next second, he felt gunfire tear into him. As he fell, the team leader again rolled on top of the President, ever mindful of his Commander-in-Chief’s safety, even in his own death.
The other FBI agents poured out endless bursts of gunfire until they were sure the terrorists were dead. Quickly they took the President outside, then the bodies of the dead were gathered.
Three FBI agents had fallen. One being the team leader, Clinton Lewis. He had been shot through the lung, which was the fatal shot, but he had also deflected three other rounds as he covered the President. He had saved the President’s life, and died a hero.
Marine One was called over to extract the President, and the fire department was on its way to see to the fire that was ignited by the explosion of Air Force One.
Back at the White House, the VP and the NSC were experiencing feelings of both joy and sorrow. They had seen everything. Almost too much. They were elated that the President was still alive after all that had happened, but they were horrified about the scenes that had unfolded.
Marine One carried President Winnfield back to Washington D.C., as the FBI agents stayed with Air Force One. Operation NOSE DIVE had been a success, but at a very high price.
5
Wednesday, March 12th – 1200 hours
Camp Lejeune, North Carolina
“Attention to orders,�
�� Colonel Johnson commanded. Every Marine in the colonel’s office stood ramrod straight. Johnson, the Commanding Officer of the 4th Marine Expeditionary Brigade’s Anti-Terrorism Battalion, was promoting one of his best Marines. That Marine was Captain Keith Parks, soon to be Major Parks.
The colonel read the commission, signed by the Commandant of the Marine Corps and the Secretary of the Navy, as Parks nervously stood beside him. Parks was not an anxious man, but he hated to speak in public, or stand in front of a crowd as he was now.
Colonel Johnson finished reading the commission, then instructed Parks to take the oath of office. Even though Parks was nervous, those present could never tell it by his actions or his voice. He calmly took the oath as instructed. Then the question came: “Who would you like to have pin them on?” The colonel was referring to the major’s insignia – a pair of golden oak leaves.
Parks responded to the question by simply saying, “You sir.” Johnson and Parks were good friends, and since Parks’ father was unable to make the ceremony, he wanted Johnson to pin on the rank in his dad’s stead.
“It’d be my honor,” the colonel accepted, stepping toward the ruler-straight Marine.
As he pinned the rank on, a wave of pride flooded over Parks. Major Keith Parks, the commander of Bravo Company, Anti-Terrorism Battalion, 4th MEB, was never happier than at this moment. He’d done so much for this promotion, and it had paid off. He’d been fifth on the list for promotion to major, so he’d found out the good news only a few weeks ago.
“Congratulations Major Parks,” Johnson said, extending his hand out to him. Parks relaxed his stance and shook his Commanding Officer’s hand. Everyone in the room then came forward to congratulate the newly appointed major.
Keith Parks was thirty-two years old, and was a tall man of 6’4’’. He weighed 210 lbs., had sandy brown hair, and deep blue eyes. He had inherited his mom’s hair color, but the eye color was from his father. He looked nearly identical to his dad, except he was taller and a bit more muscular. He was the second child his parents bore, his only sibling being a brother, Kyle, who had been fifteen years older. His brother had been a sergeant in the Army’s Green Berets, and had been killed by a grenade in Desert Storm when he was only twenty-three years old. So now Keith Parks was the only child his parents had left. Despite the drastic age gap, Kyle and Keith Parks had been close. When Big Brother went off to war, Parks was only a small boy. He had tried not to cry when the news of his brother’s death came; he knew his brother wouldn’t have wanted him to, but that was impossible for a kid whose best friend had departed forever.
Years later, Parks graduated from the University of Washington at the middle of his class – that not being too impressive considering the grades of the highest honor students, but the important part was he graduated. Between his junior and senior years, he had gone to OCS (Officer Candidate School) which consisted of the most rigorous training he had ever been through. Upon completion of OCS and college, he earned his commission as second lieutenant and finally fulfilled his dream of becoming a Marine Officer. His family had been so proud of his accomplishment, and quite frankly, he was too.
As a second lieutenant, Parks was stationed at Camp Pendleton, California, for a two-year assignment. He was assigned to command a platoon of Marines in the 1st Air Naval Gunfire Liaison Company (ANGLICO), which was attached to I Marine Expeditionary Force. Halfway through his assignment his company was deployed overseas to Iraq for six months, where Parks had his first taste of combat.
After his two years with ANGLICO he was promoted to first lieutenant. He was then assigned to the newly-remade 4th MEB’s Anti-Terrorism Battalion at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina, as a platoon leader in Alpha Company. He was bored with his job for the first year or so, as it was very uneventful. Then he was ordered overseas to help with the War on Terrorism. The entire Anti-Terrorism Battalion was deployed to Baghdad, Iraq for nine months. It was there Parks won the Silver Star for exceptional bravery in combat with dozens of terrorists and radical Islamic forces on the outskirts of Baghdad.
From there, Parks returned to the States, where he received a promotion to the rank of captain at the end of his three-year term with the 4th MEB. Not long after the promotion, he was stationed at the Army’s Fort Bliss, in El Paso, Texas, where he served with Joint Task Force North’s J3, which specialized in counterterrorism and counter-drug operations. He enjoyed the warm sunshine and mild winters of Texas for two years, and then he was again called back to Camp Lejeune, to serve as the commander of Bravo Company in the 4th MEB’s Anti-Terrorism Battalion.
The instant he arrived at the base, his company was deployed to Afghanistan to help fight the ever-growing terrorism there. Parks was a seasoned veteran who was greatly trusted by the battalion CO (Commanding Officer), Colonel Johnson. A dangerous chore awaited him when he finally arrived in the country. A terror training camp had been located and Parks was ordered to destroy it immediately. Colonel Johnson was unable to give any support for Parks’ company, as every other Marine in the battalion was needed for another job.
The mission began at midnight. Parks and his company had snuck up close to the camp and then began to storm it. Parks had been the first man into the camp, and had taken all the initial fire. One of the terrorists had thrown a grenade at him, but fortunately the grenade thrower had been unskilled and Parks had enough time to kick the grenade away as he dove on top of the two nearest Marines before it went off. Only moments after that incident, Parks saw a terrorist take aim at one of his Marines from the rear. Knowing there was no time to fire first, Parks leaped on the Marine, taking the bullet for him in the left shoulder. The wound was serious, and the onsite corpsman had instructed Parks not to move or he’d most likely bleed to death. But being a dedicated Marine Officer, Parks knew he had to lead his men. So he ordered the corpsman to patch him up, and continued the fight with just one good arm. In the end, he led his company to a successful operation.
From there the battalion was sent back to the United States, and Parks was awarded the Medal of Honor by the Commandant of the Marine Corps himself, by delegation of the President, and the Purple Heart for being wounded in the shoulder. He was one of the few men to receive the Medal of Honor and live to tell about it. Parks went on to be a highly decorated combat Marine, and today he had become a field grade officer.
After everybody had said “Oorah” and “Semper Fi,” Parks walked out of the office to his white, Ford F-350, dually, Super Duty, to grab some lunch and call his parents. Everyone in the company envied his truck. He had just recently bought it for a present to himself on his birthday. He didn’t really need a truck that size, but he had the money to spend on it, so why not? Parks wasn’t a rich man, but he was fairly well off. He had about $100,000 in savings, most of which he’d earned from the gold he’d just cashed in for well over $1,200 an ounce. He wasn’t a businessman, or some expert money maker, just a Marine trying to serve his country. And if he made a dollar or two on the side, great, but money was not something he greatly sought after.
Parks speed-dialed his parents on his cell phone. His dad had so badly wanted to see his promotion ceremony, but things just hadn’t worked out for him to attend. Parks’ parents lived in northern Nevada, so it would have been quite a trip for them to come all the way to North Carolina. So his dad had to settle for a phone call right after the ceremony instead.
“Hello Keith,” his dad answered happily after a couple of rings.
“Hey Dad, how’s it going?”
“Just fine. How’d it go?”
“Great. Just like the other promotions before it, only now I came out wearing golden oak leaves on my collar,” Parks explained.
“Congratulations. I wish I could have been there.” There was a slight pause then, “Any word on what base they’re going to move you to?”
Parks’ three-year assignment had expired with the 4th MEB, and he was waiting for his monitor to tell him where he was going to move to next. “Naw, nothin’ y
et. I should know soon though,” Parks said.
“Where do you hope you go?”
Parks cleared his throat and then responded, “Malmstrom Air Force Base in Great Falls, Montana.”
Parks was raised in Montana, and he loved everything about the state. He liked the hard winters, the cooler summers, the blue skies, the great hunting, and most of all, the open spaces. He had been eleven years old when his family had moved to Montana. It was shortly after his older brother’s death that his dad retired from the Marine Corps as a sergeant major with over twenty-five years under his belt. After his brother’s funeral, his dad and mom had decided that they were done with the military, and wanted to settle down in the Big Sky Country. They’d be there still, but after Parks left to join the Marines and they got a little older, they agreed that the cold winters were not pleasant. So they decided Nevada was the place for them. Parks still didn’t fully understand why they had chosen that state of all places, but they enjoyed living there.
“I bet you do,” his dad responded. “You sure loved the place when we lived there.”
“Yeah I did. I guess the Air Force has some new Joint Missile Defense Task Force going under way, and they need a few Marines on board. I fit the qualifications pretty well, but we’ll see.”
“I’m sure you’ll get to go.”
“I suppose it really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but it’d be nice. Well anyway, I’m headed home to grab some food, and then I’m going back to the office. I’ll call you guys when I get home this evening. I’ll talk to Mom then. Okay?”
“Sounds good. Talk to you later. Love you.”
“Yeah, you too. Bye.”
Parks started his truck and sped out of the parking lot, heading for his home. He enjoyed driving his big truck around the base, showing it off and looking cool. It was one of the finer things in his life.
