Fractured Nation

by Kurt Winans

  As many of the Texas A&M alumni had served in the military, and perhaps along with some of the current corps of cadets had at one time aspired to attend one of the impacted academies, they expressed more sorrow at the announcement than a typical civilian may have. That sorrow came without panic however, but the same could not be said for many civilians within the stadium. Samuel noticed that the stadium cleared out much faster than at the completion of most games, and he theorized that the traffic leading away from Kyle Field would soon become a nightmare as people attempted to reach the perceived safety of their homes. That didn’t much matter to Samuel and the rest of the Tillman family, as they usually stayed in their stadium suite for an hour or so after the game. Regardless of how others reacted in the current moment, Samuel had his answer to the question of if the attacks had transpired. The fact that news of the attack had not become national via the media for perhaps fifteen minutes was the bonus he and the other attack planners had hoped for, as those minutes would surely aid in the escape plans of those involved. What Samuel needed to do next over the course of the upcoming days was to observe and study the subsequent impact on American society. Would the events of November fourteenth bring the nation together with the demand of a reprisal toward some foreign entity as he hoped, and if so, would it remain that way for an extended length of time?

  As the getaway vehicles began their move from West Point toward eastern Pennsylvania, Major Bates and Captain Scribner continued their northbound mission by piloting the two helicopters toward the New York state capitol city of Albany. Their orders were to land in a remote area of the international airport just north of the city to refuel and pick up additional jumpers for another parachute drop. Based on the direction of their flight path, and having no reason to suspect any foul play in the distance behind them, they were unaware that three black suburban’s had melted to almost nothing behind a cluster of buildings at the Camp Smith Military Reservation. Those Fugas bomb explosions had been properly set for their timed detonation, as they had occurred within three minutes after the first of the attacking force launched grenades upon the unsuspecting masses at West Point. Much like the three vans in the mass of vehicles on the academy grounds, there had been little or nothing left to sift through for evidence. To balance the scales of ignorance in the current moment, the attacking force was also unaware that the helicopters hadn’t returned to a mass of melting suburban’s near the parade ground landing zone.

  The Governor of New York, in his most typical fashion, had expressed a desire to upstage his counterparts in the states that housed the other service academies. He had called in several favors, including one to his old friend General Norgard, so that he could carry out that intent. The plan was to have personnel from the New York National Guard duplicate the jump over West Point by landing in the Rockefeller Empire State Plaza that surrounded the State Capitol Complex. The Governor would then seize the opportunity to address the assembled crowd, and in so doing, remind them of how his presence in Albany had positively impacted the state of New York. Then a marching band would play some inspirational tunes, with a huge fireworks show to follow. It was well planned pomp and self-propaganda at its absolute worst to kick start his intended presidential run for 2028, but unfortunately for the governor, none of it would transpire.

  As Major Bates and Captain Scribner, having flown a northerly heading that for the most part kept them directly above the Hudson River, were now positioned high over the city of Albany, it was time to begin their approach into the international airport. At that same moment, the Governor had just completed what he initially felt to be an intrusive phone call from the White House Chief of Staff. Once he had heard why the call had been placed, he no longer felt that way. An act of terrorism had occurred within the state of New York, and with good reason, the plans for any continued celebration in the downtown area of Albany had suddenly been dashed. After hearing the news of West Point, and acting upon the directive from Washington D.C., the Governor contacted the awaiting National Guard personnel and the airport police. His order to them was clear and concise. They were to secure the helicopters from future flight, and detain the crews who flew them, until federal agents would arrive to begin an investigation.

  Seated within the luxury VIP suite on the south side of Husky Stadium, President Jordan Harwell had leaned forward in his seat at high noon when the referee signaled for play to begin. It had been many years since he had attended a game on the campus of his alma mater, and as the first President of the United States to hail from the Seattle area, President Harwell became a welcome an honored guest of the current University of Washington president.

  President Harwell had been lucky with the weather for his long awaited return to campus, as the cloudless day was unusual for mid-November in the Puget Sound area of western Washington. On such a day the views from Husky Stadium and the adjoining University of Washington campus were difficult to match, and President Harwell knew that all too well. Just to the east of the stadium stood Lake Washington, which had for decades been used by countless fans for access to the stadium. They would travel in, and then moor their various watercrafts near the shoreline, to enjoy a different style of tailgate festivities before coming on land for the game. Beyond the lake, the distant mountains of the Cascade Range could be seen with the snowcapped peaks revealing evidence of the oncoming winter. To the west beyond the city and Puget Sound suburbs was the region of Olympic National Park, which formed a magnificent towering rift of mountains and forested land between the sound and the vast Pacific Ocean. Finally to the south was Mount Rainer, which stood sentinel as the state’s highest peak at well over fourteen thousand feet. It didn’t much matter where you were located in the Seattle area, if the skies were clear, then the majesty of the mountain and the views in all directions were difficult to ignore.

  Throughout the years of his undergraduate studies at the University of Washington Jordan Harwell had attended many of the home games, but those opportunities faded when he continued on with the more time demanding law school at the same institution. Years later when finances and his work schedule would allow for it, he purchased season tickets to attend the games with members of the family whenever possible. Unfortunately, once he entered the political arena of state office in Olympia and then federal positions in Washington D.C., he could again no longer spare the time.

  As President Harwell sat back to relax while play was halted for an injured player, he remembered how those season seats, like the ones he had scrambled for during his years as a student, were far less luxurious than the VIP box to which he currently occupied. Now after many years, he could finally witness a Husky game in its entirety within the warm and hospitable climate of a comfortable suite. At least that’s what he thought. Not yet halfway through the first quarter of action, and with the home town team already staking a 3-0 advantage over the visiting California Golden Bears, a secret service man entered the suite to confer with the lead agent of the Presidential protective detail.

  After listening to a brief description of what had transpired, the lead agent, Heath Bishop, snapped his head to the right in order to look directly into his subordinate’s eyes. Then he quietly asked, “Has this information been confirmed?”

  Matching the quiet tone of his supervisor, the agent replied, “Yes sir. It has been confirmed.”

  “And how long ago did this happen?”

  “Information is sketchy, but I would say about twenty-five minutes ago sir.”

  “Twenty-five minutes ago?”

  “Yes sir, perhaps even longer ago than that.”

  After looking at his watch to learn that it was twelve fifteen, agent Bishop asked, “Why are we just hearing about it now?”

  “Sorry sir, but as I said, the information is sketchy.”

  With a stern grimace on his face, agent Bishop then spoke into the microphone hidden within the left wrist area of his suit. The tone was soft, but his words spoke loudly. He said, “We have a situation that requires
immediate attention. Have the car ready to move in less than two minutes, and notify Air Force One to prepare for emergency evacuation. We are on our way down with POTUS.”

  In his ear piece he heard the reply of, “Understood sir, POTUS will be moving to Air Force One for an emergency evacuation.”

  Then moving forward, agent Bishop reluctantly placed his hand on the right shoulder of the President and whispered, “Sir. I’m sorry to interrupt because I know how much you have been looking forward to this game, but we must leave immediately.”

  Understanding that the subject would not have been broached without just cause, President Harwell replied, “What’s wrong Heath?”

  “Sir I can brief you on the details once we get to the motorcade, but I feel that this location is no longer safe for you. Now please, let’s go right now!”

  Turning to look directly at agent Bishop who had been on his personal detail since before the election of two years prior, President Harwell could tell that the man originally from Lake Tahoe Nevada was deadly serious. Motioning him closer, the President said softly, “Alright Heath. I understand that you have a well-defined protocol to follow, and I trust you to do whatever is necessary to guarantee my safety. That being said, let’s keep this as quiet as possible to avoid a panic.”

  “I understand sir. Now please, let’s go.”

  Leaning to his left as he stood, President Harwell reached out a hand of thanks toward his host. Then he said softly, “This is probably nothing, but my security detail needs me to accompany them. I will return as soon as possible, or call you later to explain.”

  Now also standing, the befuddled and rather arrogant University of Washington President, Dr. Edward Plummer, struggled to reply. Then he said, “Well of course Mr. President, but whatever it is I encourage you to stay. I’m sure that the facilities within this VIP suite, or certainly those of my university, can provide you with whatever you may need.”

  Knowing full well that the statement was grievously incorrect for the present moment, agent Bishop whisked President Harwell out of the VIP suite and was soon joined by two other secret service agents. The four of them made their way through the superstructure of the facility and toward the awaiting motorcade at a brisk pace, while other agents that they passed along the way maintained a vigilant watch on their surroundings. Within minutes they were clear of Husky Stadium and the surrounding grounds without the majority of those in attendance being any the wiser. Unfortunately the safe haven of the President’s plane, Air Force One, was still several miles away at Boeing Field just south of downtown Seattle.

  The Boeing Field facility had the tremendous benefit of possessing a lengthy runway capable of satisfying the needs of any aircraft, as well as being a complete and separate entity from SEATAC, the region’s largest international airport just a few miles further to the south. Simply put, the facility was useful as the preferred site for certain private business or political needs in that substantial ground and air traffic could be avoided with relative ease. That of course meant nothing in the current situation if the motorcade didn’t get the President to the plane in one piece. Although he had sent advance word to begin the pre-flight sequencing for a departure that would be several hours prior to the intended plan, and in spite of the obvious benefits and the shorter distance to that field from their current location, agent Bishop wouldn’t begin to relax his posture until President Harwell was safely aboard and Air Force One had taken flight.

  Picking up speed at full throttle as it rolled down the runway toward takeoff, Air Force One was in defense mode. As a consequence of the need for a rapid escape and clear airspace to the south, a temporary hold had been placed on the scheduled departures from SEATAC and the Renton Municipal Airport. The pilot, Colonel Van Horn, with assistance from his co-pilot, Lieutenant Colonel Fleming, pulled back on the yoke to lift the nose of the plane. Within seconds the powerful jets of the modified Boeing-747 had freed Air Force One from an earthly grip at twelve forty-five, and she began a slow cumbersome climb into the sky.

  The navigator, Major Hopkins, pressed the headset close to his right ear and reported to his captain, “Sir, an Oregon Air National Guard escort of fighters has been deployed from Portland International Airport. They will be coming in from our right shortly.”

  “Coming in from Portland Oregon? Isn’t there a fighter base closer to us than that?”

  “No sir. Unfortunately McChord Air Force Base just south of Tacoma doesn’t have a fighter wing at the current time. Their aircraft are mostly cargo and recon.”

  “Roger that Hop. Can you try to get confirmation on how many fighters from Oregon we should expect, and when they will arrive?”

  “Yes sir. I’ll get that for you right away.”

  On the deck below, President Harwell attempted to process the limited information he had been given by agent Bishop while in transit from Husky Stadium. A few key members of his staff who had made the journey west with him were sifting through additional reports, as they would be required to provide insight as to what had transpired. Others had been out of position to meet with the motorcade when it departed the stadium abruptly, and had been left behind. Perhaps transportation back to Washington D.C. could be arranged for them via the FBI section chief in Seattle, but it was surely to be of minor significance in the coming hours and days.

  Agent Bishop had made a few calls of inquiry, and while in communication with his boss back in Washington D.C. to confirm the safety of the President, he felt the heavy jet banking to the left in order to obtain a more easterly heading. After listening to his verbal report, the woman praised agent Bishop for taking the initiative to evacuate the President based on the slow intelligence report he had received. Then she relayed word to him that Vice President Sutherland had been taken to a secure location. A moment after that call had ended, another agent approached him and said, “Excuse me agent Bishop, but POTUS has sent for you.”

  While standing to move past the woman, he replied, “Alright, thanks Carolyn.”

  In the nose section of Air Force One, President Harwell motioned for agent Bishop to enter his office. Then after hanging up the phone he said, “Heath, thanks for getting me out of Husky stadium without causing a panic.”

  “You’re welcome sir.”

  “And also for briefing me on what you knew about the West Point attack.”

  “Certainly sir, I’m glad to be of service.”

  “You always are Heath, and I won’t forget it.”

  “Thank you sir, I appreciate the thought.”

  “You’re welcome Heath. Now, I’m about to go into the conference room to discuss some rather bad news that goes beyond West Point, and I want you in there with me.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “This could turn into a very long day, and I want you by my side until we have figured out what the hell is going on.”

  “I understand sir, whatever you need me to do.”

  “Alright then, now come with me.”

  Within the conference room, staff members stood as President Harwell entered. Then when motioned to speak, one of them said, “Mr. President, at this time we know very little of what has happened at West Point other than that the assailants came in via parachute. I’m afraid that it will be several hours, perhaps even days, before an accurate count of the dead and wounded can be made available to us, but initial reports would seem to imply that the count will be in excess of a thousand.”

  With a sigh of dejection, President Harwell replied, “Alright, I understand. I’m aware that it will be difficult, but I would like to have those totals sooner than later if you please.”

  “Yes sir, I will keep you updated.”

  After motioning for everyone to sit down, and then pointing toward the next person at the table, President Harwell asked, “What do you have with regard to Annapolis?”

  “Annapolis? Don’t you mean West Point sir?”

  “No, I just got off the phone with someone who has confirmed that Annapolis was
also attacked.”

  Caught completely off guard by the news of Annapolis, the man had no information about that attack to give the President. He stood and said, “I’m sorry Mr. President, but if you will excuse me, I will find out what I can about Annapolis for you.”

  At that moment another staff member entered the conference room and said, “Excuse me for being late sir, but I have just received a report that the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs has been attacked as well.”

  All three of the military academies had suffered attacks simultaneously in what must have been a highly organized and well thought out plan, so agent Bishop knew that the President had correctly stated that this could turn into a very long day. Glancing in his direction, he took notice of an expression on the face of the President that was rarely ever seen. With just cause, the man was clearly pissed off. The room fell silent as President Jordan Harwell repeatedly clenched and unclenched his left hand. Then while glaring at the man who had just brought forth the additional bad news, he took a deep breath and broke the silence by asking him, “Has the attack on the Air Force Academy been confirmed?”

  The man’s voice cracked a little as he responded, “Yes Mr. President, that information has been confirmed.”

  Then aimed at no particular individual, President Harwell asked, “What about the University of Washington?”