Act of War

by Dale Brown

  The first salvo of rockets landed just south of The Mall between Fourteenth and Fifteenth Streets south of the Washington Monument, right along Independence Avenue, hitting just outside the Department of Agriculture Building and the Auditor’s Building. The second salvo landed along Seventeeth Street northwest of the White House near the New Executive Office Building, with one rocket making a direct hit. Fires erupted almost instantly from natural gas leaks and burning vehicles.

  The attacks did very little actual damage and did not hit the White House or any strategic or tactically important sites, but the fear and confusion factors were enormous. First responders reported the gas leaks as a chemical weapon attack and stayed away from the impact areas; panicked citizens clogged the streets, adding to the confusion. Soon the entire western Mall area was closed off as government buildings were evacuated and the streets filled with terrified citizens, confused politicians and government workers, and helpless police and firefighters.

  The attacks had one purpose: slow or stop any response from the two army bases in the Military District of Washington whose responsibility it was to respond to attacks in the capital region: Fort McNair in the District of Columbia, and Fort Myer adjacent to Arlington National Cemetery in Arlington, Virginia. Fort Myer was the headquarters of the Third U.S. Infantry Regiment, the Old Guard, the unit specifically tasked with defending and protecting the capital. Although the Old Guard’s day-to-day duties were mostly ceremonial, including providing honor guards at Arlington National Cemetery, marching in parades, and wearing Revolutionary War–era costumes in welcoming ceremonies for foreign dignitaries, the Old Guard’s primary mission was as a light infantry unit capable of defending the capital against attack, insurrection, or riots. Fort McNair is the home of First Battalion, Alpha Company, called the Commander in Chief’s Guard, an army rifle company specifically trained to respond to threats to the White House and Capitol; it also had several military police units capable of deploying in support of the Metropolitan Police Department’s Special Tactics Branch.

  The MRLS attacks would not stop the Old Guard or the Metropolitan Police Department of the District of Columbia for very long, but it didn’t have to—the second and third phases of the attack on the Capital were already underway.

  Two convoys of four Humvees left hiding places in Anacostia and traveled across the Anacostia River, one convoy taking the South Capitol Street Bridge and the other taking the Interstate 295 bridges to the Frontage Road off-ramp to Twelfth Street. Police and firefighters did not stop either convoy—the Capitol Street convoy even had a police escort for several blocks. Once on surface streets, both convoys made it to The Mall, then traveled westbound on Madison and Jefferson Drives, going off the paved roads if necessary to circumnavigate traffic and fleeing panicked pedestrians now clogging the streets and parks. Once at the Washington Monument, the two convoys headed north, one on Fifteenth Street and the other on Seventeenth Street, again going around traffic or obstructions by simply going onto the park itself—the Humvees even cleared curbs and short one meter walls with ease. They raced up through The Ellipse with National Park Police looking on in amazement before reaching for radios to report the military vehicles heading toward the White House.

  Their first significant barricade was at E Street and Executive Avenue, outside the South Lawn of the White House, where massive concrete planters had been placed to prevent anyone from parking near the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the South Lawn. But the lead Humvee in each convoy was equipped with a TOW missile launcher on the roof, and when the convoys came upon the barricades on E Street, they simply blew them apart with one TOW missile shot each. The wrought-iron fence was child’s play to breach with the Humvees.

  Once on the South Lawn, the Humvees maneuvered west and north around the South Lawn Fountain toward the White House. Except for the lead TOW-missile-equipped Humvees, each of the other Humvees was armed with either a 50-caliber machine gun, 7.62-millimeter machine gun, or an Mk19 automatic grenade launcher mounted on the roof cupola. The units equipped with grenade launchers started peppering guard units on the roof of the White House from long range, while the units equipped with machine guns began raking the South Portico of the White House and West Wing with bullets. One of the TOW gunners got off a shot at the West Wing, blowing apart the gracefully curved windows of the Oval Office itself.

  Shortly after the second salvo of MRLS rockets hit Seventeenth Street between the Old Executive Office Building and the Corcoran Art Gallery, four Secret Service Presidential Protection Detail agents burst into the Oval Office and escorted the President, Harold Kingman, and Chief of Staff Victoria Collins from the room. “What in hell is going on here?” Kingman thundered as he was half-pulled, half-dragged out of the office.

  “Just follow along, Harold,” the President said, the tension in his voice obvious. “Let the Secret Service do their jobs.”

  They were taken quickly along the south hallway through the West Wing, past the National Security Adviser’s office, and down a flight of stairs to the basement area of the West Wing. The Secret Service was busy clearing the area of nonessential personnel, so the group was escorted to the Situation Room to wait. The President immediately picked up a telephone and punched a button. “Robert? Where are you?”

  “Still in my office, sir. I’m getting the latest from the Secret Service right now on the other line.”

  “We’ve been brought down to the basement. Find out what in hell’s going on and then meet up with us in the Situation Room.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  The President hung up the phone…and at that moment they heard the first explosion of grenades hitting the roof of the White House. “Holy shit!” Wentworth exclaimed. “We’re under attack!”

  The President pushed another button, this one direct to the PPD. “What’s happening, Carl?” he asked.

  “A few minutes ago the Old Executive Office Building and The Mall near the Washington Monument were hit with heavy rocket fire, sir,” the chief of the Presidential Protection Detail said. “No reports of casualties or damage yet. Then the National Park Police reported military vehicles going across The Ellipse heading toward the White House. They—stand by, sir—” There was a long pause, then: “Mr. President, there appear to be six Humvees on the South Lawn. They blew up the barricades on E Street and crashed through the fences. They…sir, they are launching grenades at the White House. Our security forces on the rooftop are under attack. They…gunfire, they are hitting the Oval Office with machine gun fire…!”

  “My God,” the President breathed. “My family…?”

  “The First Lady was in the Correspondence Room—she’s being taken to the evacuation tunnel, sir.” A series of tunnels and emergency bunkers had been constructed under the White House during its expansion in the early years of the Cold War to protect the President from sneak attack. The tunnels were mostly used by the sixty-agent Secret Service Presidential Protection Detail to move in and out of the White House grounds but were also used by the staff on occasion, most notably on 9/11 to house the Vice President and National Security Adviser during the first confusing hours of the terrorist attacks. “The children are on their way to school but are being diverted to a secure location—no indications at all that they are targets. We’ll be ready to evac you all in just a few minutes, sir. We’re checking to see which egress routes are best. Please stand by.”

  The President hung up the phone, a worried expression on his face. “Well?” Kingman demanded. “What are they going to do?”

  “We’re evacuating the White House,” the President said.

  Collins gasped aloud. “My God…”

  “There are military vehicles up there on the South Lawn shooting at the White House.”

  “Don’t you have any goddamned security in this place?” Kingman thundered.

  “The army has sharpshooters and infantry units on the roof, but they’re under attack,” the President responded.

  “We
ll, how do we get out of here?”

  “There are pedestrian tunnels connecting the White House to several other government buildings,” the President said. “The Old Executive Office building was hit by a rocket, so that’s not an option…”

  “A rocket?”

  “There are other tunnels connecting the White House to the Treasury Building and the New Executive Office Building,” the President went on. “There’s also an underground rail system that connects the White House to the U.S. Naval Observatory and the Capitol. If necessary, we can get out via the Metro subway system, which we can access from the New Executive Office Building or the Treasury Building. We can be out of Washington in ten minutes.”

  “What if they have a nuke, like in San Francisco or Kingman City…?”

  “The Situation Room isn’t protected, but the bunker under the Treasury Building is protected against anything but a direct one-megaton hit,” the President said. “We’re safe, Harold. Relax.”

  A few minutes later, Robert Chamberlain came trotting into the Situation Room, wearing a dark gray trench coat and breathing heavily. “We’re ready to go, Mr. President. Follow me, please.” He hurried out of the Situation Room, past the White House dining facilities, and through the door to the tunnel system, which had already been unlocked.

  “Where are we headed, Robert?” Collins asked.

  “The New Executive Office Building,” Chamberlain replied.

  “I thought it was hit by a rocket!” Kingman exclaimed.

  “It was only slightly damaged,” Chamberlain said. Every ten meters or so there was a soldier in full combat gear standing at port arms in the tunnel or a man in a bulletproof vest marked POLICE or U.S. SECRET SERVICE. “There are a number of police and firefighters up there, and they’ll screen us as we come out.”

  “Why don’t we just go to the Treasury Building?” Victoria Collins asked.

  “That route’s been compromised,” Chamberlain said. “We need to hurry.”

  After a jog of about two blocks, they reached an elevator and a staircase, guarded by another soldier in black fatigues. He had a hand up to an earpiece; when Chamberlain reached out to touch the Up button for the elevator, the soldier stopped him. “Stand by, please, sir,” he said. “It’s not secure upstairs yet.” Into his sleeve microphone, he spoke, “Four protectees have arrived, we’re secure.”

  “Catch your breath,” Chamberlain said. All of them were breathing heavily, as much from the terror as the job. He turned to the soldier. “How long?”

  “Status?” he spoke into his microphone. A moment later: “Armored vehicle will be in place in sixty seconds, sir.”

  “How in hell could this have happened?” Harold Kingman asked hotly. “A rocket attack against Washington, D.C.? How could anyone get rockets into the capital?”

  “They were apparently launched from well outside the city, outside the Beltway near Knollwood,” Chamberlain said. “Mobile rocket launcher.”

  “But how can they get close enough to the White House to shoot grenades and machine guns…?”

  “We don’t know that yet, Harold,” Chamberlain said. The soldier reached out and touched the Up button on the elevator. “All right, follow me through the doors into the parking garage—the Suburban should be right there waiting for us.”

  “Where are the PPD guys?” the President asked as the doors to the elevator slid open. “Where’s Carl? I thought he’d be escorting me.”

  “He’s up above, sir,” Chamberlain said. “He’ll be right beside you all the way. He’s recommending we go to the Naval Observatory first, then fly out to Andrews and go airborne.”

  The President nodded and removed his tie. “This is a damned nightmare,” he said. “I want some answers, dammit, and I want then now.” The doors to the elevator slid open…

  …and they stepped into the center of an inferno. The entire parking garage was filled with smoke, and several vehicles were still on fire. Parts of the ceiling of the underground parking structure had collapsed, and bare wires and broken pipes were everywhere. “What in hell…Chamberlain, what did you do?” the President shouted. “The building was hit, and you led us right into it!”

  “It was the only way I could be certain we’d be alone, Mr. President,” a voice said through the crackle and roar of the fires all around them. They turned…and saw none other than Yegor Viktorvich Zakharov standing before them, his ever-present Dragunov sniper rifle cradled in his arms.

  “Welcome, all, welcome,” he said with a broad grin on his face. They turned and saw Pavel Khalimov standing behind them with an M-16 rifle at the ready. “Welcome to your worst nightmare.”

  The White House South Lawn

  That same time

  It took only a few minutes for the uniformed Secret Service and the National Park Police to respond to the attack on the White House, but they were far outgunned. After initially responding only with small arms fire, the Secret Service finally brought agents with assault rifles into the fight, but they were still no match for the armed Humvees. While the Humvees with the Mk19 grenade launchers continued to pummel the White House, the other Humvees turned their guns on the defenders, driving them to cover.

  But moments later heavier-caliber bullets started to hit their location. “From the roof of the Treasury Building!” one of the terrorists shouted. “Machine guns!” The Secret Service had finally retrieved their heavier weapons and were returning fire.

  “How much longer do we have to sit here like this?” another gunman shouted.

  “Just shut up and keep firing!” the first terrorist shouted. At that moment he received another radio call: “Here they come! Watch out!” They looked to the south from the area of the Washington Monument a saw a pair of Apache attack helicopters racing in from very low altitude. The gunners on the Humvees dropped down inside their vehicles, but they knew that if the Apaches’ thirty-millimeter cannon shells hit them, they’d be toast—the Humvees’ thin armor would never protect them against a devastating Chain Gun attack. The Apaches raced in and the Chain Gun in the chin turret opened fire…

  …but not on the Humvees, but on the Secret Service machine gun locations on the roof of the Treasury Building! One pass by both helicopters was enough to destroy the hastily formed Secret Service machine gun nest. After they finished that pass, the Apaches hovered over the White House and fired the Chain Gun and 2.75-inch Hydra rockets at the army and Secret Service positions on the roof.

  The terrorists in the Humvees were yelling and screaming in joy. “Yibis ana v rot!” one of them yelled in Russian. “Nail those…!”

  “Watch out!” someone yelled. “Off to the right! Get him!” The terrorist swung his gun right…and centered his sights on a large robot figure standing in the tree line between the South Lawn and the Treasury Building, about twenty meters away. Just as he began to squeeze the trigger to his machine gun, the muzzle of the cannon on the robot’s right shoulder flared…and the terrorist was blown completely apart by a forty-millimeter grenade fired at him from point-blank range.

  “Another robot, off to the west!” But just as the warnings started coming, the Humvees one by one were pummeled by grenades. Two Humvees were destroyed within seconds.

  “Splash two,” Captain Frank Falcone radioed. “Two Hummers burning!”

  “Move, Falcon!” Lieutenant Jennifer McCracken radioed. She was in CID Five near the Old Executive Office Building. “Those Apaches are on you!”

  “I got ’em, Jen,” Falcone said. He had been watching the Apaches approach with the help of the Goose drones orbiting over the White House. He ran several dozen meters south and fired a grenade at the first Apache, then dashed to the west. “Ready, Jen?”

  “Ready,” McCracken replied. She had fired grenades at two more Humvees in front of her, then started tracking the Apaches. The lead Apache helicopter fired a volley of Hydra rockets at the spot where Falcone had been moments earlier, then wheeled hard right to line up again as he ran west. But when the Apache
made its hard right turn it slowed considerably, making it a perfect target for McCracken. Two grenades hit precisely in the center of the Apache’s rotor disk, blowing it out of the sky easily. It landed in a fiery heap at the very southern edge of the South Lawn.

  The second Apache helicopter had enough. It kept on flying south, getting out of the kill zone as quickly as possible. It made it as far as the Tidal Basin…when it was shot down by an AIM-120 radar-guided missile fired from an F-22 Raptor jet fighter that had launched from Andrews Air Force Base just minutes earlier.

  “We need some prisoners, guys,” Ariadna Vega radioed from her command position in the Treasury Building. She had been up there for days, coordinating the task force’s defense against the expected attack on the capital.

  “Roger,” Falcone responded. Instead of destroying the other two Humvees, he and McCracken in CID Five simply walked over to them before they could flee and overturned them. The survivors were quickly apprehended by the Secret Service.

  “Thanks, guys,” Ari radioed. “Rendezvous with Jason at the New Executive Office Building on the double.”

  “Who in hell are you? Put that gun down!” Victoria Collins demanded.

  “That’s Colonel Yegor Zakharov,” the President said in a remarkably calm voice. He motioned over his shoulder. “The man behind us is certainly Captain Pavel Khalimov. The whole attack on the White House was a setup.” The President nodded as he saw the confusion on Zakharov’s face.

  “I should have known,” Harold Kingman said. “How could I be so damned blind?” He turned to National Security Adviser Chamberlain. “Now let me guess: who among us would be clever yet twisted enough to engineer something like this, just to get to me?”

  Robert Chamberlain smiled…and stepped over and stood beside Zakharov. “That would be me, Harold,” he said.