Fractured Nation

by Kurt Winans

  For the Sunday afternoon drive toward Dallas, the three women in the suburban’s could travel through the safety of Texas in formation if they so desired. They could take their time moving southeast along highway-287 toward the rendezvous point, and if all had gone well for their counterparts in the east, there would be a reunion of sorts during the coming night. As the vehicles were passing just to the south of the Amarillo International Airport and exiting interstate-40 onto 287, Courtney prepared to depart the area as well. While in the process of returning the rental car that she had used for the previous two weeks, she stewed over what might be going on with her husband. The women had only been in the country bar for thirty minutes before returning to their rooms, so it was fortunate that Courtney had not followed through with another possible course of action. She had wanted to go into each woman’s room and search for any evidence that might link them to an affair with Mason, but had she done so, their short visit to the bar would have left her vulnerable to being caught in the act.

  As Courtney attempted to dismiss the negative thoughts that swirled about in her head, she turned her attention to the Tillman Gulfstream G280. Per the prearranged plan Samuel had sent the jet to Amarillo for her retrieval, and she was looking forward to the comfort it would provide for the final leg of the trip home. When she arrived at the Tillman mansion and with Mason still in El Paso, Courtney planned to spend a quiet evening with her daughter Jennifer and niece Savanah. Knowing that she would be the lone passenger aboard, she also reasoned that the flight attendant Domonique would have some spare time to join her in a game of cards and friendly conversation. She was a pleasant woman that Courtney had always felt comfortable around, and perhaps one that she could also confide in. If the mood was right, perhaps she would ask Domonique her feelings on if Mason was fooling around.

  As President Harwell picked over his dinner in the residence at six o’clock before returning to the oval office, agent Heath Bishop was searching for something to do in his own apartment. After the long day of Saturday and the taxing session in the situation room that night, there was still the requirement for agent Bishop to file a report and be debriefed as to the emergency evacuation order he had issued in Seattle. Although every one of his superiors believed that his actions had been justified, and had once again verbally praised him for them, those events and how they unfolded needed to be recorded. That entire process, which could not commence until after President Harwell had dismissed him, had taken an additional two hours once he returned to the local field office.

  At the completion of those duties, agent Bishop was then notified that he would have the following two days off, and it was not optional. He was in no way being suspended or reprimanded for his actions; it was just felt by his immediate superior that Heath earned what would normally have been granted to him after the President’s trip to the Pacific Northwest. Additionally agent Bishop was informed, at the specific request of President Harwell, that he had been cleared of all other duties until further notice. Therefore come Tuesday morning at eight when he would report to the oval office, his lone responsibility was to be at the beckoned call of the Commander and Chief.

  Unfortunately for Heath, Tuesday morning seemed years away. He was never much good at sitting on the sidelines, and felt that he could be of assistance to the President now as opposed to waiting another thirty-eight hours before returning to duty. Due to the benefit derived from several restful hours of sleep and some solid nutrition, agent Bishop was ready to ignore that order and get back to work.

  Meanwhile at Fair Park in Dallas Texas, some of the vehicles returning from the two eastern attack sites had reported in. Having been slated with the most direct route back to Dallas, the car from Annapolis carrying the gunshot victim had been the first to arrive. After switching the license plates from Tennessee to those of Texas and departing the roadside rest area west of Memphis by seven thirty in the morning, the car then merged onto interstate-30 in Little Rock Arkansas for the final leg home. By eleven they were crossing the state line north of Texarkana where they could increase speed a little, and three hours later they were in the vast parking area that surrounded the old Cotton Bowl Stadium near the heart of Dallas. Unfortunately by the time of their arrival, the wounded man’s fingers had turned black, and the loss of all feeling had moved to slightly above his elbow. His traveling companions had offered to take him to an emergency room once they had re-entered Texas, but he had refused sighting the need for every member of the jumpers and drivers to report in before individual needs were addressed. Now that said requirement had been personally met, the man was taken to a nearby medical facility which was known to be sympathetic to the cause. Only time would tell if those doctors or others could save his arm.

  In the three hours that had elapsed since the triumphant return of that singular vehicle, the question on the mind of those who had escaped with the gunshot victim was if anyone from the New York attack had been injured as well. However when the first few vehicles from that team began to arrive, including the one driven by Ashley Tillman, the likelihood of said fate became less and less possible. What the occupants reported was that no one had been injured during the attack or while in the process of fleeing from West Point, but it was unknown what may have transpired along the journey home. Based on a more northerly and western trajectory across Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois before turning south toward Dallas, those remaining vehicles could have encountered weather issues. The group already safely in Dallas felt completely at ease with their absence however, even though the others were perhaps still a few hours out. It was also well-known that all cars, vans, and suburban’s used for ground support during each prong of the attack had maintained a strict code of cash only purchases for whatever services were needed. Therefore each vehicle and the occupants within had accomplished a vital and most challenging task for anyone to achieve in the modern world. They had all effectively stayed off the grid while leaving no tangible tracking evidence in their wake.

  The three black suburban’s coming in from Amarillo and the four vehicles from Annapolis that had escaped south into North Carolina had also arrived. In the case of the latter, once they had made their way from Charlotte across the northern portion of South Carolina and into Atlanta Georgia via interstate-85, they merged onto interstate-20 for the remainder of the journey. That route brought them through Birmingham Alabama, Jackson Mississippi, and Shreveport Louisiana before crossing into Texas.

  When rolling through the city of Shreveport, one of the drivers stated, “Well we just crossed over interstate forty-nine. Do you remember when we were on that highway?”

  Then the woman in the back seat replied, “Of course I remember. It was on Memorial Day weekend in late May, and we were on our way through this city toward Texarkana driving vans loaded with crates of weapons and ammunition.”

  With fond memories of that short but vital mission of nearly six months prior, the car they currently rode in soon crossed into Texas. Less than three hours later they joined many of the others at Fair Park, and within minutes after that, the last of the cars from West Point checked in as well.

  Unfortunately several more hours passed before the last of the vehicles from Annapolis reached Dallas. The medical condition of the wounded man in the back seat had continued to worsen, and in spite of numerous stops in western Tennessee and Arkansas in an attempt to keep his fever under control, he had finally lost the battle. The woman tending to his injuries believed that something within him had been punctured via a broken rib suffered during his beating. The resulting internal bleeding coupled with massive dehydration from the feverish sweats and vomiting had probably caused organ failure, and she felt helpless as her limited medical training could provide him with no discernable help. The man was provided with a last comforting thought however, as she woke him and softly said, “Hey, we just crossed the state line into Texas. Hang on just a little bit longer and we can get you to a doctor.”

  To which her patient dro
wsily replied, “Thanks for letting me know that. I wanted to hold on until we got back to the greatest land on earth, but I don’t think a doctor can help me now.”

  “Oh don’t be silly. A doctor can have you fixed up before you know it.”

  “You’re a sweet and caring woman, and I know you’re only trying to soften the blow, but my time has come. At least I will die in Texas.”

  Then looking up she asked the driver and the other two men in the car if they could stop at a hospital in west Texarkana, but it would serve no purpose. Before she could look back down at the face of her patient, she heard a deep exhaling sigh. The man had just released his final breath, and per his most personal desire, had died in Texas.

  After being announced, President Harwell moved toward the platform housing the central lectern, and was greeted with mixed levels of respect. Some, in typical childish behavior that can be exhibited in the political arena, did not applaud the man who was the supposed leader of the free world. Those within the assembled mass who chose that path of disrespect hadn’t done so for reasons of substance such as being personally and negatively impacted by actions of the man who was about to speak. Nor was it due to any lack of character that he may have exhibited by his treatment of others. Their dislike of President Harwell was instead based on nothing more than the ridiculous notion that it was acceptable for men and women representing the general populace of the nation to disregard the worth of someone simply because they were a member of the opposite political party. However to be fair, others who applauded him did so simply because the President was a member of their particular political party. In either case, the substance of Jordan Harwell as a leader, humanitarian, or simply a man who could have been their neighbor, was never a determining factor.

  When the chamber settled back into a state of anticipatory silence, President Harwell began his speech to the joint session of Congress. The focus of his address, although already known by the collective at least in part, would be to deliver grave news of the three pronged attack. The President would also provide them with accompanying statistics, and as he had learned Sunday afternoon in the oval office, civilian casualties were far worse than originally believed. When combined with the military casualties, the total death count from all three of the targeted military academies stood at eight thousand seven hundred forty-one with a potential increase of perhaps a handful more.

  When the President began to break down specific numbers, some within the chamber took notes. West Point had suffered the largest loss of life at three thousand six hundred fifty-two, with four hundred twenty-nine of those being media representatives and other civilian classifications. Another three hundred eighty-one were from the current corps of cadets, which left twenty eight hundred forty- two other active military personnel that had also been killed. That list of seventeen hundred twelve officers and eleven hundred thirty from the enlisted ranks included General Osborne from the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and by succumbing to multiple injuries Sunday morning, his principle aide. That information was received with a collective gasp and murmurs of disbelief, so the President decided to let that sink in a little bit before proceeding.

  Moving on to Annapolis, President Harwell reported a loss of three hundred sixty-four civilians, and a higher cadet number than that of West Point as four hundred three midshipmen were lost. As they had been nearer to the route used by the escaping terrorists than those at the other eastern site, the collective of young men and women had become even more vulnerable to harm. Turning to the fifteen hundred thirty-two officers and seven hundred seventeen within the enlisted ranks, the death total reached three thousand sixteen. Of that total, only two civilian deaths had come from apparently precisely aimed gunshot wounds, as one victim was found in a parking area just outside the stadium complex. Not far from his position, a Maryland State Trooper had also been killed via gunfire. Although the two deaths were most probably somehow associated with the terrorist act, what had happened to each of them was a momentary mystery. The initial belief was that the first man had been one of the attacking forces, and that somehow the two victims had killed each other during an old fashioned western shootout. That theory was soon put to rest however, as witnesses had come forth stating the horrific truth of what actually transpired. Additionally, their recollection of events was confirmed when ballistics revealed that separate weapons of a different model sidearm than the troopers 45-caliber Smith & Wesson had been used to slay them.

  Turning to the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, nearly a thousand less people had perished than at Annapolis. The breakdown of those killed however, was drastically different than in either of the two eastern locations. While one could take solace in that not a single member from the current corps of cadets had been killed, they could also be saddened by the increased loss of civilian life at seven hundred fifty-three. Medical examinations on the scene revealed that very few civilian deaths other than those of the media had been caused by fragments from exploding grenades or any flying debris as a result of them. Instead, nearly all could be attributed to various internal injuries as a result of being trampled by panicked masses. Unfortunately many of those were either children or the elderly out for nothing more than the joy of a football game and the pageantry surrounding it on an otherwise pleasant day. Their demise now meant that parents or family members believed to be somehow responsible for their welfare would inevitably battle inner demons as a result of self-blame and loathing.

  The officer casualties stood at one thousand forty-one, and included General Brooks from the Joint Chiefs of Staff and General Vickers who had been serving as the Commandant of the academy. Those from the enlisted ranks were minor compared to their counterparts from the Army and Navy, but two hundred seventy-nine had still been claimed. Included in that total were the three who had been mistakenly attacked by the corps of cadets as they parachuted onto the playing field.

  President Harwell reiterated to the collective that within the numbers from all three locations, two members from the Joint Chiefs had been killed while a third, Admiral Mendenhall, had suffered some minor injuries that would keep him in dry dock for the next week or two. What enraged President Harwell beyond the fate of those men and the loss of other military personnel in all three branches was the loss of civilian life. Because of that, he closed by asking Congress to consider voting for a declaration of war against whoever perpetrated the attacks. Although the identity of those scoundrels was not yet known, the President wanted to be prepared for action when their identity was learned.

  While taking precise notes throughout, a member of the United States House of Representatives waited patiently for the President to conclude his remarks and exit the chamber. Then soon after, while an hour long recess was being observed, the man walked to his office so that he could compare those notes to some taken by a staff member. When alone in his private office a few moments later, Democratic Representative Braden Donahue of Texas pulled a burn phone from his locked desk drawer and hit speed dial.

  A woman’s voice on the other end answered, “This is number twenty three. What do you have to report?”

  “This is number nineteen. I have the final tally as reported by President Harwell during his recent address.”

  “Very well, proceed.”

  “Total dead at all three locations is eight thousand seven hundred forty-one. Of that, fifteen hundred forty-six were civilians.”

  “Understood and thank you. I shall pass these totals onto number two.”

  Several hours before President Harwell delivered his address of sorrowful news to Congress and those citizens of the nation watching the live broadcast, Travis Connor from Centennial Airport suddenly bolted upright in bed. It was a few minutes after two in the morning, but he wouldn’t need to report for work until six. Unfortunately Travis would be kept awake for the entire time gap due to the revelation that had just occurred to him. The truth hit him hard like a brick, and he would discuss the possible ramifications of that truth with his
counterpart when reporting for work to relieve the man in less than four hours.

  When hearing of the multiple attacks after the conclusion of his Saturday shift, Travis hadn’t given them much thought other than that of sadness for those citizens who had been personally impacted. Throughout the remainder of the day and on into Sunday, he watched or listened to multiple news reports and pondered over how the terrorist action might impact the nation’s airports. The events that had transpired a quarter century before on September eleventh had been well documented and used as a case study for all air traffic controllers, as aside from issues of safety for the innocent, all planes needed to be cleared from the sky over the United States as quickly as possible. No such directive had been issued in the current situation, but something with regard to procedure would surely be updated by the FAA in the near future. It was thoughts of such an action while in a dream state that caused Travis to bolt upright from a sound sleep. What he realized was that the helicopter that exploded and melted on the end of the runway at Canon City may have been the same one that he and his graveyard shift counterpart cleared for departure during their shift change early Saturday morning.

  With an inability to fall back asleep, or to wait any longer before engaging in a discussion with regard to his belief, Travis finally gave in and left early for work. Once there, he ran up the stairs and bounded into the control tower at Centennial Airport thirty minutes before his scheduled start time. After looking in his direction and then at the digital clock on the wall, the graveyard shift supervisor said, “Well good morning. Are you here early to give me a jump start on my two days off, or for something else?”

  While experiencing a slight shortness of breath from his hurried entry, Travis replied, “I wish that it could be for the former, but I’m afraid it’s not. If you have a few minutes to spare, I do have something important to discuss with you.”