by Kurt Winans
Shocked by the questions of accusation, if not by how they had been asked, Major Bates replied, “Treason? What do you mean general?”
“You heard me Major, but I’ll spell it out for you very clearly if I must. The men who parachuted out of your two helicopters earlier today attacked Michie Stadium at West Point, and they probably killed hundreds if not thousands of people in the process!”
Still at a loss for understanding, the Major replied, “I don’t understand General. If what you say about West Point is true, then how did they do it and how severe is the damage?”
The lead agent of the FBI pair that had come from their Manhattan field office intervened by saying, “Thank you General Norgard, but we will take it from here.”
Although not pleased to do so, the general yielded his position to the agent. Then before leaving the room in disgust he said, “Very well. I no longer have any desire to look at or speak to such a treasonous man. The two of you do what you must, and keep the lot of them here all night if you have to.”
Realizing that the general had no authority to grant him such permission, and that his departure would expedite the progress of an interrogation, the agent was pleased that the gruff old officer wanted to leave. Then after the door slammed shut behind the general, he turned back toward the pilots and crews and said, “Well gentlemen, we have a lot to talk about.”
Major Bates replied, “With all respect, I think that the general is out of his mind. I know nothing of an attack on West Point.”
While taking a seat at one of the breakroom tables and motioning for the major to join him, the lead agent stated, “Major Bates, you can believe that what the general has told you about an attack is true, and preliminary reports suggest that the damage is extensive. As to how those who attacked the stadium were able to accomplish their devious act, that’s what we intend to discover. Since they all jumped from the two helicopters under your command, our investigation will begin with you!”
By the time Air Force One completed its transcontinental flight to Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland under the ever present fighter plane escort, and President Harwell had subsequently been shuttled over to the White House, Ashley Tillman and her three passengers had already traveled deep into western Pennsylvania. As one of the seven vehicles to successfully escape the area of West Point after the attack, they had only made one previous stop. After traveling for nearly fifty miles of non-toll assessed highways of New York and New Jersey before hooking up with interstate-80, and then heading westward on that super highway for an additional two hundred sixty miles, they used a roadside rest area just west of Snow Shoe for restrooms and the initial change of license plates.
Those rather intense first five hours to cover the three hundred ten miles had included only one location where the vehicle could have been photographed with ease, as there was a toll plaza for the crossing over the Delaware River from New Jersey into Pennsylvania. With the undetected changing of plates from New York to Ohio under the cover of darkness at the nearly vacant rest area, such a photograph, if one existed, had been made inconsequential.
With an additional fifty miles traveled beyond the rest area, Ashley had pulled into a gas station in the town of Falls Creek at mile marker ninety seven, and said, “Alright, let’s fill the tank and switch drivers.”
As one of the jumpers stepped inside with cash for the transaction, and the other prepared to fill the tank, the woman who had driven one of the vans used for the post attack changing facilities moved over into the driver’s seat. Then she said, “When should I wake you Ashley?”
Looking at her watch, Ashley replied, “Well it’s about eight thirty, so why don’t we say somewhere close to midnight when you come across a rest area. Remember to exit this interstate onto 76 just west of Youngstown before 80 becomes the Ohio Turnpike. That’s a toll road and we don’t want any more photo opportunities than is absolutely necessary. Interstate-76 will take you through Akron and you should merge onto south 71 sometime before midnight.”
“You got it Ashley, no problem. Now try to get some sleep.”
As they pulled back onto westbound interstate-80, what the group of four and those in the other six vehicles of the West Point contingent were unaware of, was how perfectly executed their aspect of the three pronged attack had been. After having caused the most damage and loss of life at any of the three academies, their escape had been so clean that there was not a soul in pursuit of them.
The flight from Boeing Field in Seattle to Andrews Air Force Base just outside of Washington D.C. had taken more than four hours. It was less than the generally required five hours for commercial traffic to travel between the two cities, but Air Force One had the advantage of being a faster aircraft when need be, and with priority landing privileges, she was never shuffled into a pecking order with other incoming aircraft. Another thirty minutes had passed before President Harwell, agent Bishop, and others from the entourage were transported via the Marine One helicopter to the south lawn of the White House where his Chief of Staff Christopher Westin was waiting. A moment later they, along with agent Bishop, left the entourage behind and descended into the underground bunker facility. With a three hour loss due to time zone changes from the west to east coast, President Harwell finally strode into the situation room just prior to eight forty-five eastern time.
Before all those present could rise, he motioned for them to remain seated and asked, “What do we know definitively?”
Vice President Sutherland replied, “Mr. President, we know that West Point took the worst hit in terms of loss of life. General Osborne from the Joint Chiefs was killed during the attack, and his principle aide is listed as critical. Many others in the officer ranks were also killed or injured, with the corps of cadets being hit hard as well. We don’t have specific numbers yet, but they should be coming in soon.”
Knowing that he had ordered General Osborne to attend the game, as well as the man’s counterparts from other branches of the military, President Harwell looked at his running mate and asked, “That is tragic news, as he served this country proudly for many years. What do you know about the other members of the Joint Chiefs?”
“Admiral Mendenhall, his aide, and the commandant of the Naval Academy have all sustained injuries, but none are life threatening. Unfortunately General Brooks and the Commandant at the Air Force Academy, General Vickers, have both been killed.”
“Yes, we already knew about Brooks and Vickers. A principle aide of the commandant contacted us via the FAA during our flight and reported their deaths.”
“Yes sir.”
“What about civilian casualties?”
“Reports confirm that civilian losses aside from those in the press box areas are comparatively light at all three locations. It would appear that the attacks were aimed primarily at military personnel.”
“Well I suppose that’s a small measure of good news. When can you get me an accurate count at each of the locations?”
“We have people working on that right now sir and the civilian count from each academy should be coming in before the military numbers are finalized.”
“Where are all the bodies of the dead being moved to?”
“For the present time sir, each of the three football fields is being used as a collecting point for identification purposes. Initially the more seriously injured were being treated on the field as well, but many of those have since been moved to local hospitals. Contact information has also been gathered on those with minor injuries, and after being cleared by local medical personnel, they were asked to return to their homes.”
After silently nodding with understanding, President Harwell then motioned toward the head of Homeland Security and asked, “What can you tell me about all of this?”
“Well sir, it’s obvious that the attack at each of the locations was well thought out. As the Vice President alluded to, civilian casualties were far too limited for this to have been a random act. Those assailants coming in via parachu
te knew exactly which area of each stadium to concentrate their fire upon.”
“So you are concurring with Vice President Sutherland that the attacks were aimed at our military forces.”
“Yes Mr. President I am. But they were also aimed at symbols of our military forces.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well sir, the stadiums were also attacked. Although one of them isn’t actually on academy grounds, they all serve as a facility of their respective academy. As such, it could be interpreted that the attacks were made upon three of our domestic military bases.”
“I see your point, and understand your position on such treachery. But for now, I want to maintain a focus on the human element of the attacks.”
“Yes sir.”
“So how did the attacking forces learn of where the military representatives in each location would be seated? Do you suspect an inside source of some kind?”
“There is no evidence to suggest that at this time sir. Besides, seating charts or photographs for most stadiums can be easily accessed via the internet. It would have been no problem for the attacking forces to formulate a plan of where to concentrate their firepower based on such readily available information.”
“I understand. So do we have any leads on who attacked us?”
“Nothing concrete sir, at this point everything would just be theoretical. There simply isn’t any evidence for us to build a case on yet.”
“No evidence? What about weapons, finger prints, or something like that?”
“I’m sorry Mr. President. As I said, the attack was well planned out. There were abandoned weapons on the playing field along with all of the parachutes at both West Point and Annapolis, and in Colorado Springs the same stockpile of gear and weaponry was discarded in an adjacent parking area. We do know that an identical arsenal was used at each of the locations, and some of it was foreign made.”
“And with all of that you have no evidence to suggest who attacked us?”
“No sir. The weapons they used can be purchased from some foreign governments with ease, and other elements of their arsenal are readily available on the black market. Forensic teams have been going over those weapons, empty shell casings, and anything else that has been recovered, but there are no finger prints as of now. Multiple witnesses stated that they caught a glimpse of the attackers, and their hands were white or cream colored. Based on that and the absence of fingerprints, they were all probably wearing surgical gloves.”
“What about their faces or body type?”
“The attacking forces all wore a helmet with dark face shields, which made identification impossible. As to body type sir, they were all described as average height with medium build. Unfortunately that doesn’t give us much to go on.”
Feeling dejected at the absence of true leads, the President turned to the Secretary of State and asked, “What about your teams? Is there any whiff of who might have done this?”
“Well Mr. President, no element or faction has taken credit for the attacks as of this time. We at state have good reason to believe that the attack was carried out by some group within the Middle East, and based on recent actions; the most likely candidate would be the Syrians. We have teams both here and in the region working that angle in search of tangible proof.”
“That’s good Mr. Secretary. Please keep me posted of whatever your teams may uncover.”
“Yes Mr. President.”
By eleven o’clock eastern time, and not long after the discussion in the situation room had ended for the night, one of the six escape vehicles from Annapolis had covered more than four hundred miles as it reached the town of Bristol Virginia on the Tennessee state line. The trip southwest along interstate-81 had gone smoothly except for one additional stop beyond that of restrooms or the recent need for fuel. That stop west of Washington D.C. along interstate-66 had been necessary to purchase some towels and bandages for the injured man in the backseat, as the gunshot wound he had received continued to cause bleeding and severe pain in his left arm. In the hours that followed he lost the feeling in his fingers, and the recent pale blueish appearance of his hand and forearm provided proof that blood flow to that region had been severely diminished.
Located in the middle seat to his immediate left, the woman who had been tending to his wound since they were riding in the white van thought that the man showed incredible bravery. The pain must have been excruciating for him, but he had never cried out in spite of having no more than a pencil from within the glove box to bite down on and a steady regiment of Tylenol. Knowing that additional medical attention beyond what she could provide would be needed long before their return to Texas; she feared that he could possibly lose the arm.
Meanwhile the second injured man was in another car roughly seventy miles behind on that same interstate near Wytheville Virginia. They, like the car in Bristol, had taken the northern loop around the Washington D.C. area before proceeding west on interstate-64 and then southwest along 91. What had slowed them down to create such a distance between was the need for a few extra stops, as the man who had been severely beaten and kicked several times in the midsection was not well. He was developing a fever, had vomited several times, and the latest such episode at a roadside rest area forty minutes earlier included some blood.
In both cases the men were in bad shape, but nothing could be done about that. Checking either of them into an emergency room or clinic anywhere along their intended route back home would have brought forth unwanted questions and an investigation as to how the injuries had been received. Such an investigation would undoubtedly lead to uncovering bits of personal information such as names, addresses, and medical history that could not be revealed. Although each of those could be falsified by use of the documents they each possessed, those documents claimed that the men were federal agents. If those were to be presented to medical personnel in place of authentic identification, the federal employee database would be accessed for verification. When it was discovered that no such persons actually existed, the standard blood sample taken in an emergency room environment would be scrutinized to reveal their true identity via DNA testing. That entire scenario was simply unacceptable to the successful completion of their mission, so the injured men would just have to endure their discomfort and pain.
Further to the east, the four cars that had left Londontown undetected from the rendezvous point and moved around the southern edge of Washington D.C. had driven nearly all the way through North Carolina. Once over the Potomac and then into Virginia they had turned south onto interstate-95 before using a roadside rest area south of Fredericksburg to change the Maryland license plates to North Carolina. Then while maintaining their spacing of a few miles between each vehicle, the uninjured collective of eight attackers and six drivers were able to maintain a quicker pace than the pair of cars further to the west. Upon reaching Petersburg south of Richmond Virginia they followed the more western option of interstate-85 toward the Tar Heel state, and had since rolled past the outskirts of Durham and Greensboro. As the dashboard clock turned to eleven o’clock when the lead of the western pair was in Bristol, the driver within the first of the four slowed to exit at a roadside rest area about twenty miles north of Charlotte.
President Harwell finished his hurried breakfast in the White House residence area at seven before briskly walking toward his office. On most mornings he enjoyed the short stroll along the adjoining outside patio area for a moment of fresh air, and on Sunday’s he usually slept in a little bit later than all other days. However as he and the nation were now painfully aware, this was not a typical day. The meeting in the situation room the previous night had been long and grueling, and the emotions created by it were a far cry from the joy that he felt during the morning hours while back home in Seattle. Now on this particular Sunday, and most assuredly during the days and weeks ahead, that joy would be further suppressed. The task of identifying who had committed the terrorist attack, and then determining the best course
of action toward that element, would be the most pressing issue on his agenda. Jordan Harwell knew that the subject matter would be more time consuming and draining than any other that he had experienced during his nearly two years in office, but such a necessity was part of the job for which he had been elected.
From the personal perspective of President Harwell, it had been comforting for him to learn during the briefing that he had not been a target of the terrorist attacks. That was proven via the thesis of agent Bishop when a lone helicopter scheduled to fly over Husky Stadium for a halftime parachute drop had aborted per the instructions to do so, and returned to base without incident. The crew and jumpers aboard were found to have no weapons of any kind on their persons, nor was the helicopter equipped with any explosive devices. The subsequent interviews conducted by the local FBI in Seattle of those aboard had been completed shortly after Air Force One had landed in Virginia, and revealed no malicious intent. An additional interview with the current University of Washington President had unearthed nothing tangible other than the man’s overall innocence, but he had been arrogant in his resounding displeasure of being questioned at all. Such a small bit of comfort at not being a target was perhaps the highpoint of the two hour briefing in the situation room, and although some progress and enlightenment on other fronts had come forth, there were still many questions left unanswered.
In most cases, several key members of the staff would either be enjoying a Sunday away from the office, or if not, would be engaged in a lighter workload than normal. That was not true on November fifteenth however, and Mrs. Dawson would be the first to prove it. While seated at his desk, President Harwell had a moment to reflect upon the memory of men from his joint chiefs of staff that he had personally, although inadvertently, sent to their death. Then while jotting a note of who he must call to send his condolences, his personal secretary of many years came into the oval office. With her customary professionalism she said, “Good morning Mr. President, what can I do to help?”
