Fractured Nation

by Kurt Winans

  “That sounds good to me. Ten minutes it is.”

  With each sedan having taken on four passengers, including one injured man per vehicle, the drivers who had been waiting for a few hours began the long trek westward. Moving back onto highway-50, they once again joined the semi thick traffic leading them toward the beltway. When they arrived at the busy intersection of freeways, the plan called for both sedans to follow the northerly portion of the loop around Washington D.C. to help disperse the six getaway cars. Like the four using the southern route, they would further disperse once into Virginia and clear of the greater Washington D.C. area. If all went according to the plan, none of the vehicles would ever be closer than a mile or two from any of the others until safely back in Texas.

  Shortly before reaching the beltway, the driver of the rear sedan glanced in her side mirror and said, “We have a state trooper coming up behind us.”

  From the back seat she heard, “It shouldn’t be a problem if we don’t do anything to attract his attention. Just remain calm, and nobody look back at him.”

  Then a few seconds later the trooper’s lights came on with the accompanying siren, and the driver began to tighten her grip on the wheel. Just as she began to shift lanes to the right, the trooper sped past hers and the other sedan. Everyone watched intently as the trooper increased the distance in front of them, and then breathed a collective sigh of relief when they saw the unit moving toward the closest exit ramp. The wounded man in the back said, “I wonder if someone has identified the van, and he is going back to investigate.”

  Looking at her watch while sandwiched between two men in the back seat, the woman who had driven the van and set the explosive charges of the Fugas bomb replied, “If that’s where he’s going, then it’s because someone has reported a melting van.”

  Although separated by several hundred miles as it snakes its way through seven different states between Maryland and Colorado, highway-50 would also play a role in the attackers escape from the Air Force Academy. At the junction of state highway-67, roughly five miles east of Canon City Colorado, the Fremont County Airport lay adjacent to that same nation crossing highway-50. What had been envisioned back in May by Samuel and his trusted group of attack planners was bold to be sure, but now it was moments away from either a beautiful realization or complete failure.

  Seated with a view of the airport from her northward facing position on a hillside road, the driver of the third black suburban could look through her binoculars to the west and plainly see a handful of single engine propeller driven aircraft and two Cessna Citation Latitude jets near the main building. While her driving sisters of the other two suburban’s had by now gained entry into Kansas and New Mexico for their respective mission assignments, she had been tasked with witnessing and reporting the upcoming transfer. Glancing at her burn phone, she realized that the time was near. Rolling down the window for added amplification, she then listened carefully while waiting for the helicopter to arrive.

  As anticipated, her wait was a short one. She first heard the reverberating echo of distant rotor blades coming from the canyon to the north, and then after grabbing the binoculars once again, verified that the two jets were beginning to taxi. Estimating that the first would need another minute to reach the end of the taxiway for a turn onto the runway, she began an intense search of the terrain for the incoming helicopter. The noise level of the pending arrival was beginning to magnify, so even though she couldn’t see it yet, the MIL MI-8 HIP-C had to be getting close. Having sped south over a sparsely populated mountain region just to the west of Pikes Peak, the camouflaged helicopter closed on the intended target east of Canon City. Just like the flight from the Centennial Airport earlier that morning, the bird had hugged the terrain as best as possible for added cover and the intent worked to perfection. The flight crew had achieved the upper hand in eluding any pursuers by moving away from the Air Force Academy within minutes after the attack, and their flight tactics had maintained an advantage that was hoped would last.

  What Mr. Capra and Mr. Fisk were unaware of as they were finally spotted by the woman in the suburban, was that they had more leeway than either of them thought. The two academy helicopters that also deployed fourteen parachutes over Falcon Stadium were unarmed and ill equipped for a chase, as they had planned on a short duration flight and simply didn’t have enough fuel. Unfortunately for those crews, by the time they could refuel and take flight, a chase would prove useless. The aircraft that had been called into a pursuit of the attacking force had lifted off from the nearby Schriever Air Force Base to the east of Colorado Springs, but the order to do so had taken several crucial minutes to be received and executed. That precious amount of time proved to be consequential, as while flying low and hugging the mountainous terrain, the camouflaged helicopter used for the escape could not be spotted from high above.

  After watching the HIP-C helicopter come in for a landing at the rendezvous point, then counting the fourteen attackers and the two pilots as they transitioned from it into the twin Cessna jets, the woman in the suburban smiled with delight. A moment after the hurried departure of the jets, she could see a bright flash from within the abandoned helicopter and then soon after the fuselage became engulfed with billowing smoke. The subsequent explosion a moment later meant that the extra fuel containers used as an accelerator had also been ignited by the Fugas bomb. As the only individual from the organization to witness those events, she had but one more duty to perform before beginning her drive back to Texas. After setting her binoculars on the seat beside her, she pulled the burn phone from her pocket once again and hit speed dial for the only pre-programed number that it contained.

  On the other end of the line a familiar voice said, “This is number twenty three, what do you have to report?”

  “Hello number twenty three. I’m confirming that the Canon City package was received, wrapped, and is being delivered according to the plan. Any possible evidence that may have been left behind is melting, and fire crews are just beginning to muster. Please repeat the message back for confirmation.”

  “You are understood to have confirmed successful landing, transfer, and departure, followed by the destruction of evidence. Is that correct?”

  “That is correct. Now please inform number two that all is well.”

  With that she made her way toward highway-50 and followed it eastbound to Pueblo and the junction of interstate-25. From there it would take several hours to traverse southeast to her destination of Amarillo, at which time her part in the overall plan would be complete.

  As Air Force One headed east toward Washington D.C., the flight path had taken it over the northern portion of Idaho and the western portion of Montana. If everyone onboard, including those few members of the press, hadn’t been so busy with discovering how and why the attacks could have happened, they would have enjoyed a marvelous view. The mountainous terrain, both vast and rugged, towered beneath the plane with early snows having blanketed the higher reaches of them. Those views had changed drastically however, as the current position of the jumbo jet was over a section of the country that transitioned from mountainous terrain to that of the Great Plains.

  While conferring with members of his staff, various reports from each of the three academies began to trickle in. Then an aide entered the conference room and reported, “Mr. President, the communication center on board has received a message from the FAA. They believe that there has been a sighting with regard to those who attacked the Air Force Academy. According to the report of a Major Fenton, the attack was perpetrated by a group of individuals who were picked up by a camouflaged military helicopter.”

  Understandably in a foul mood, President Harwell replied, “Well we already know that. Their escape by air is what made the attack different from those of West Point or Annapolis.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “So who is this Major Fenton, and why is he reporting information that is already known to us?”

  “Major Fento
n has identified himself as the principal aide for General Vickers, the commandant of the academy. And sir, he may be in shock and unaware that we already have that information.”

  After a deep breath, the President replied, “Alright, that’s fair enough I suppose. But why didn’t General Vickers report directly?”

  “The major has informed us that the general and the joint chief were both killed during the attack, so he is from an administrative standpoint in temporary command.”

  Agent Bishop noticed that the President was clenching and unclenching his left hand again after receiving that terrible news, but was unaware that General Brooks from the joint chiefs of staff had been ordered by President Harwell to attend the game. Then after a sorrowful exhale, the President said, “Alright, we will have to deal with their loss at a later time. Now, you were mentioning something about the FAA contacting our communications center.”

  “Yes sir. Based on their communication, we now have a lead on the helicopter.”

  After several long seconds of silence, his reply was sharp. “Well don’t keep me waiting, what has been discovered?”

  “Yes sir. The FAA claims they have an eyewitness report that such a helicopter landed at the Fremont County Airport in Canon City Colorado.”

  “Where is that? And more importantly, do we and the FAA consider the eyewitness to be a reliable source?”

  “By air it’s roughly fifty miles southwest of the academy sir. And yes, she works in the control tower of the regional airport so we believe her to be reliable.”

  “Alright, so has anything been done to capture those responsible for the attack?”

  “Not exactly sir. The eyewitness has informed the FAA that the helicopter landed without identification or clearance on the most distant few feet of the runway from the tower, but then things got weird. Just moments before the unexpected landing, she had given clearance for two small Cessna jets to taxi out toward that end of the runway. One was already in position to take off, while the other was pivoting from the taxiway.”

  “Is that somehow relevant to the helicopter?”

  “Yes sir it is. She reported seeing through her binoculars from the tower that each of the jets opened their doorway, and that several people ran over from the helicopter to climb inside both aircraft. When she attempted to contact the pilots to ask what was going on, they took off immediately without proper clearance. She further reported that while tracking their outbound course on radar, she warned a few other private planes in the area to be on the lookout for the jets as she had no idea of their intended flightpath. While focused on that safety measure, the helicopter suddenly lurched and became engulfed in a huge ball of smoke and fire. Apparently her airport fire crew and that of the community were attempting to contain the blaze when she contacted the FAA, but they were having little success.”

  “Alright, she sounds like somebody who really knows how to do her job. Does she, or anybody else, still have the jets on radar?”

  “Yes sir. The planes are both moving fast in a southerly direction, and based on their radar signature, they must have remained within visual contact of each other. The pair has already entered airspace over New Mexico, and it would appear they are headed for somewhere south of the border.”

  “Can we get somebody up there to stop them before they enter Mexican airspace?”

  “Yes sir, we can scramble some fighters. But unless you order the pilots to shoot them down, they will be out of the country very quickly.”

  Although the two Citation Latitude jets had set a course from Canon City that appeared to be of no significance other than heading south at their maximum speed of nearly five hundred miles per hour, there was a purpose to it. Once they had entered the airspace over New Mexico, and with knowledge that they had most certainly been tracked on radar for departing without clearance, that intentionally plotted course had lined them up to fly directly over the most populated areas of the state in low altitude. If the connections between the jets, the by now fully melted helicopter in Canon City, and the Air Force Academy attack had been identified, then they could be intercepted by aircraft with orders to shoot them down. With that in mind, the directional heading was imperative.

  Within the northern half of the state, Taos, the capitol city of Santa Fe, and Albuquerque were nearly in a direct line, so only minor course corrections were needed by the two pilots in order to remain above them. Frantic communications had come their way from the airport control tower of Albuquerque’s International Sunport asking them to avoid commercial traffic by diverting their course, but neither jet had adhered to the plea. A short time earlier, a black suburban parked at a good vantage point near Santa Fe had reported in. The driver within was pleased to disclose to number twenty three that the twin jets had just moved south of her location flying fast and low. They would not have done so if they hadn’t received at least some of the attackers that she had dropped off earlier that day some three hundred fifty miles to the north in Monument Colorado.

  As the Cessna jets continued over the southern half of the state directly above the traffic artery of interstate-25 that more or less followed the course of the Rio Grande, they flew over a series of smaller towns including Socorro and a place with a befitting name for their mission of Truth or Consequences. Then when approaching the city of Las Cruces near the southern reaches of the state and country, another plea for a course correction from a control tower below could be heard. As with before, it went unheeded by both jets. Closing on the area of the Texas state line and the city of El Paso to the near southeast, the planes veered slightly to the west. There would be a few miles of open terrain with almost zero human population below them, but that also meant that they would be in Mexican air space within minutes if not seconds. After making the latest course correction, the pilot of one jet turned to her current co-pilot who had been on the helicopter flight crew and said, “Well Mr. Fisk, if somebody from Fort Bliss doesn’t intercept us within the next few minutes, we should be home free.”

  “That’s true, but we should keep a sharp lookout. We could run into some commercial traffic that’s either inbound toward, or outward bound from, El Paso.”

  While keeping a vigilant watch for such aircraft, they were suddenly surprised when an Air Force fighter jet swooped down from above and assumed a formation position to their left. Mr. Fisk looked out the right window next to the co-pilots seat and could see another forming up on their sister jet. Then they both saw the military pilot to their own left give an unmistakable hand gesture. He was pointing straight down which could only mean that he wanted them to land immediately. With no reply, the fighter pilot repeated the gesture before holding two fingers upwards. It was their second warning to follow his instruction, and it was possible that there wouldn’t be another.

  Turning to Mr. Fisk, the pilot asked, “We are virtually over the border right now, should we call his bluff and make a run for it?”

  “We have no choice. None of us can be caught and you know it. Do what you must to elude him, but keep going south!”

  With that the pilot gave the fighter jet a friendly wave, and then pushed forward hard on the yoke. The plane took an immediate steep dive, and she yelled to the seven men in the back, “Hold on everyone, this could be a wild ride for the next few minutes.”

  The fighter jet dropped into a pursuit of her within an instant, and after a few twists and turns, had the Citation Latitude painted on radar. It had been foolish for the Cessna to try and outfly the fighter even for a moment, and the pilot while smiling with pleasure let his command at Fort Bliss know that he could fire at any second to blow his helpless target to bits. The other pair of jets had gone through a similar dance in the sky with that target now also painted, so all that was needed for both was the order to fire. Much to the dismay of the two fighter pilots who were primed for the rush of a kill, that order never came. President Harwell, per the observation commented upon by Samuel Tillman on President’s weekend back in mid-February, had once
again been lethargic with his decision making process. He had waited too long while in flight on Air Force One to order the deployment of pursuit aircraft into the sky with permission to shoot. By the time the fighters had engaged the twin Cessna jets, their enemy was already in Mexican airspace.

  Major Bates and his men had been waiting under guard in a hangar facility at the Albany International Airport for more than two hours before authentic federal agents arrived at seven o’clock eastern time to interrogate them. Although held in the relative comfort of an employee breakroom, none of the men had been allowed to speak with one another while being sequestered. Visits to the restroom were taken by one detainee at a time, and always under the gunpoint supervision of at least two New York National Guard troops. The young and eager Lieutenant who led the squad maintained a vigilant watch on Major Bates, and had been fighting the urge to begin his own brand of interrogation. It was a battle that he would have eventually lost if the agents hadn’t arrived, as he was concerned over the well-being of his cousin who was currently a first year plebe cadet at West Point.

  When the federal agents did arrive, they were accompanied by General Norgard, who was Major Bates commanding officer. After rising and coming to attention with a salute, the Major asked, “Sir, can you please tell me what is going on?”

  The two men had never really seen eye to eye on most things, so it wasn’t a surprise to Major Bates when his question had been greeted with a stern scowl. He held the salute until it had been reluctantly returned by the general, but the verbal response that followed was stunning. General Norgard drew in a deep breath and then loudly asked, “What the hell is the matter with you Major? Why have you committed treason against the United States by having your jumpers attack West Point?”