By now five of the eight missiles had already hit Israel, two more were still falling an and the third would be closing in on the carrier battlegroup faster than the mammoth ship could even begin to turn.
The Captain thumbed the mic again, “All hands, this is the Captain, brace for impact, I say again, brace for impact!”
The control room went silent…everyone held their breath. Was it a nuke? Was it air burst or ground-impact? Was it chemical or biological?
THERE SHE IS! called out Lt. Commander Riggs from the pilot’s seat of his F-35C. He could just make out the dark smudge on the horizon that marked the location of the Roosevelt. The little specks to the left and right of the smudge were the support vessels and other ships of the line that made up the battlegroup.
“Still hangin’ in there, Stackhouse?” he asked.
“Copy that, Hawk Lead, still here. It’ll take more than a lucky shot to drop this ol’ bird.”
Riggs grinned as he saw the wounded yet lethal looking Lightning bobble it’s wings in tandem with its pilot’s words. The rest of the Flight were spread out in a diamond pattern, designed to offer maximum protection to the wounded fighter.
“What the hell is that?” asked Jones from the next plane over. Riggs glanced at his wingman’s plane and saw the small form of his friend pointing to a bright point in the sky that quickly over took the Lightnings.
“Jesus, that’s a missile Jonesy—“
“Hawk Lead, Hawk Two—you see that? Looks like a Goddamn ICBM!”
“Where the hell did that come from?”
“Look! It’s heading for the carrier!”
Before Riggs could switch his frequencies to contact the Roosevelt, the missile gained speed and dropped from the sky, about halfway between the carrier and the returning fighters. It disappeared in a flash of sea foam and steam. A trail of smoke and steam pointed straight up into the sky like a giant spear thrust into the ocean.
“That was fuckin’ weird…”
“Hawk One, Nest—be ad—“ the incoming transmission simply stopped. At almost the same time, a huge white bulge appeared beneath the surface of the Mediterranean Sea faster than Riggs thought was possible. It was as if he had just watched a bad edit on a movie. One frame the ocean is fine, the next there’s a huge underwater explosion appears. The editor cut out the buildup. It was surreal.
The ball of vaporized seawater was big enough to swallow the carrier and half the battle group whole. The white-water circle of ocean seemed to swell upwards before suddenly exploding into the sky, throwing hundreds of thousands of tons of seawater up from beneath the surface. The explosion formed into a dirty-white giant ping pong ball on the surface of the ocean. There was a crown of boiling steam and smoke expanding at the very top of the giant ball.
“Oh my God—that was a nuke!”
“Christ! Evasive, evasive, evasive!” called out Riggs, not knowing or caring if his microphone still functioned. Nukes are supposed to have EMP effects that cripple electronics, so how are we still flying—the radiation, what about the radiation—God Almighty, that was a nuclear missile…the thoughts waterfalled through Riggs’ mind as he pulled his fighter into a hard turn to avoid the massive ball of vaporized water and smoke only a few miles ahead.
The F-35s scattered, each struggling to change direction and get the hell out of the way of the expanding ball of water vapor. The damaged Lightning followed the lead of Hawk One, pulling to port and pushing the engine to the limit to out run the…whatever…that might be coming towards them from the nuclear explosion.
In seconds, all the pilots had realized that the EMP must have been negated by the salinity of the seawater or that the nuke must have detonated deep enough beneath the surface not to drop their planes out of the skies. They still had voice transmissions between each plane, but they had lost contact with their carrier.
“Hawk Wing, form up on me, we’re going to go around this thing to the south,” called out Riggs, plotting a new course to steer clear of the now collapsing ball of fury hovering over the ocean. He couldn’t help but look at the morbid beauty of the thing. It was so symmetrical, so smooth…simply stunning. It was a moving, almost living, breathing thing. Riggs idly wondered how many fish and sharks had just been vaporized.
“Somebody just took a swipe at us!” called out Jones breathlessly.
If Stackhouse hadn’t been hit and we slowed down, we could have been right over that thing when it went off…Jesus Christ! A nuclear missile! Riggs’ hands began to tremble.
“Yeah…my guess is someone’s gonna pay for it too. The Old Man won’t take kindly to that shit,” replied another pilot’s voice. Their Admiral was old school. Vengeance would be top priority.
“Egypt?” asked Jones.
Riggs didn’t answer—he was still gazing with rapture on the steam cloud that had reached its expansion limits and was beginning to evaporate. The shockwave traveling along the surface of the roiling ocean beneath them was quickly racing away in all directions, dissipating on its own.
Finally Riggs spoke in a tired voice that sounded older than he was: “Don’t know…I don’t think it was very big though…look, it’s already starting to disappear. If it had been a big one, like one of the ICBMs the Air Force guys got…I think we’d be toast, Jonesy.”
“This just got real, man.”
SARASOTA
Foundations
FOR ALL INTENTS and purposes, it appears to this newsman that the United States is entering a period of Civil War. The United Nations have reiterated their request to send advisors to Washington, D.C. in an effort to help smooth relations between those living in the besieged cities of the American continent. An emergency session of the U.N. Security Council, now holding court at The Hague, authorized yesterday the use of International Peacekeepers in America, should the situation devolve any further.”
Erik closed his eyes, imagining what the reporter was talking about, leaning against the warm side of the apartment building as the sun faded in the west. He was listening to the shortwave emergency radio with Ted and Alfonse, waiting for the nightly meeting to get started. Tonight they would have many things to discuss.
First on the list was to inform the community of the votes of the Council, as they called themselves, and to decide on a form of self-government. Then they’d give the report on the food and water gathering from earlier in the morning. They’d have to discuss defensive measures. Erik concentrated on the British accent coming out of the radio again. The warmth coming from the building soothed the aching muscles in his back. He had pushed himself hard that morning in his sword practice.
“With rumors abounding about a nuclear missile launched from Iran towards an American aircraft carrier in the eastern Mediterranean and the start of a pan-Arab war against the Israelis, the situation in America has been pushed to the top of the list for the U.N. Security Council. Should the war in the Middle East spread, America’s role will be pivotal, as the last superpower. Should America dissolve into civil war, anything could happen. The Secretary General of the United Nations today issued a press release in which he claimed, and I quote, ‘America is our top priority at the moment. An unstable United States is the worst thing for the world at this delicate point in history. We are hoping for peace in the Middle East, and throwing every effort towards that singular goal, however, as long as America’s future is unknown, peace is threatened the world over.’”
Ted hissed and shook his head. “That’s bullshit man! We’re not threatening anyone, and if what this guy says is true about that nuke in the Med, we’re the ones being shot at!” Alfonse waved his arm to silence Ted—the news reporter from London was speaking again. Static crackled in the background a little more intense now as atmospheric conditions changed.
“For the moment, reports are coming in from our Tel Aviv bureau chief that the fighting in the Middle East has been limited to air battles for control over the skies of the beleaguered Jewish State. There was a missile attack, evidently la
unched from Iran or Iraq, leaving a trail of death across Israel as the missiles were tipped with chemical weapons of some kind. The pan-Arab army has met stiff resistance in the form of Israeli air attacks and ground assaults. The Pentagon has informed us that Allied air strikes in the form of F-18 Hornets from the U.S.S. Theodore Roosevelt…” static interrupted the broadcast. “…deep into Egypt in an attempt to draw off pressure. Casualties are estimated in the thousands at this point, but I must—“ a sharp burst of background noise completely drowned out the reporter for a few agonizing seconds.
“—stage in the undeclared war, reliable statistics are just not available. It is unclear if American ground forces will make an appearance in this war—conflicting reports are coming in from all over the world about a massive American military redeployment. However, Sky News is not yet confident enough to say whether the American soldiers are heading towards Israel or back home to the United States to try to stop a rumored civil war from…” the reporters voice faded into the static and finally disappeared. Erik shut the radio off reluctantly after a few moments.
“This is gonna be bad news for us, either way,” said Ted.
“What’s this about a civil war? I thought it was just rioting…” asked Alfonse.
“Looks like someone has decided to up the stakes. It could be the reporters just blowing things out of proportion…” offered Erik. The three men sat in silence for a few minutes, pondering the uncertain future. “But the more people hear this, the more they’ll believe a civil war is starting. Then things will go downhill fast.”
“It’s gonna be bad news for us, either way,” Ted repeated after a bit. “If they send our boys off to war, that’s going to give the rioters, or rebels, or whoever the hell is causing all the problems in the cities a big advantage. If they can get some outside help in the suburbs…”
“And if the military comes home to help put down the riots…or rebellion,” Erik shuddered at the thought. In High School, he had read just about every book on the Civil War he could get his knowledge-greedy hands on—he knew how bad things could get if Americans fought each other again. “If they come home, they’re going to have to use an iron fist all across the country to stop this…”
“Gonna be a lot of people trampled in the meantime,” said Alfonse sagely.
Erik saw Brin wave from the pool deck across the pond where most of the apartment dwellers had gathered. A light flashed. “I see Brin’s signal. Looks like they’re ready. Let’s get goin’.”
AND THAT’S HOW things went this morning when we got the food and water,” finished Ted, standing on the hot tub ‘stage’ by the pool. The crowd was silent, thinking things over. The small team of volunteers had indeed provided enough food and water with their raid in the morning that the people of Colonial Gardens could live comfortably for at least two weeks or so. No one need go without food or water for at the very least the next ten days. It was a vast improvement. The crowd erupted into clapping and cheering.
“Looks like you’re a success, Erik,” Ted grinned. He turned to point at Erik, the motivating factor behind the raid. The clapping and cheering grew in intensity as the grateful residents began to realize that Erik’s ideas were pretty good—after all, many of them had gone a day or two without food and now they had plenty.
Erik stepped up to the Stage and quieted down the crowd. “Ted’s encounter with the man who stole the cop car raises an important issue though—defense. There’s only a handful of us who have ever fired a weapon before and I’ve heard rumors that there’s a bunch of people downtown shooting up the place. Robert informed me this morning,” Erik said, nodding to a man in the crowd who beamed at the mention of his name. Someone patted him on the back. “Word has it in the surrounding neighborhoods that the folks up on the northeast side of town are getting real antsy.” Everyone knew that the Northeast, as it was called by long time Sarasota residents, was the proverbial wrong side of the tracks. Fears ratcheted up a notch.
“Someone came to the front gate today from the subdivision to our south. He said he heard on his radio that the National Guard is coming around to all the local communities to get people to go to the safety zones. There’s a lot of folks without food and water now,” someone in the back of the crowd said.
“I didn’t hear anything about shootings though…” said another voice in the crowd. Murmurs started as everyone chewed that new information.
Erik cursed inwardly. He hadn’t heard anything about that at all. “That’s another thing we have to take care of—The Council and I need to know about things like that! Whenever someone comes to our gates or talks with anyone in the community, we have to know about it, so that we can make use of whatever news they have.”
A few people questioned why the Council should be informed before the rest of the community.
“Because you have asked us to lead you—you asked me to lead you. And I am, and I hope I’m doing a good enough job to warrant your trust. But, I can’t do that without the best information possible. If I don’t know what’s going on or what the others around here are doing, how can I plan—and if I can’t plan out what we need to do, what gets done?
“Now I’m not saying you drop everything and tell me what’s going on, or what your friend in another neighborhood said when they rode past on their bicycle. But if you hear something new, or you find someone trying to get in, you’ve got to tell someone! Tell your building rep—that’s probably the easiest. If you can’t find your building rep, tell one of the others, or tell me. I’m appointing Alfonse as our Information Chief. Any news—get it to him.” Alfonse couldn’t help but smile. People nodded—it was sensible, because Alfonse probably knew more about electronics and they still associated technology with information. It was an easy adjustment.
“Which leads me back to the main subject we’ve got to handle tonight. Defense. We’ve got food and water taken care of for the next week or two. That gives us some time. I’m still working on finding a way to keep us in food and water permanently. For the time being, we’ll institute Alfonse’s plan of collecting rainwater. Find whatever you can and put it outside for the afternoon thunderstorms. Collect what you can and as much as you can then get it inside. Everyone is responsible for themselves in this. I don’t want someone complaining they don’t have enough water if they’re not setting out pots and pans to collect it and store it.”
“What do we do when those get full?” someone cried out.
“We’re going to be sending out another team of volunteers tomorrow to find stuff to hold the water and keep it safe. Don’t worry about where to store it, just worry about putting something out there to collect it,” said Alfonse.
“Now. Defense,” said Erik again. More murmurs and rumblings. “I know some of you don’t like to think about things like this, but whether we like it or not, we’re going to have to do something about it.” More than one set of female eyes turned to Brin and Susan, standing nearby Erik and Ted. They, if no one else, would remember the incident with the two escaped convicts. “So, I’ve asked Ted to start training a guard force.” More grumbles.
Erik raised his hands. “Look, folks we can’t all stay awake every night, nor can we all go to sleep at the same time. Someone’s got to watch out for us, twenty-four hours a day. Period. If we turn our backs or go to sleep for an instant, people who don’t give a damn about us or our survival might crawl over these walls…” he left the obvious threat unsaid. Some in the crowd shuffled uneasily. More than a few eyes were trained on his katana, lashed prominently to his hip. He still held their attention however, so Erik continued.
“We’re not drafting anyone, so don’t worry.” He paused for the chuckles and when he was met with silence, Erik cleared his throat and continued: “We’re asking for volunteers. And before anyone says it, I’m not going to ask anyone to do anything I wouldn’t do myself. So I’m volunteering first.”
Ted, Alfonse and Stan shared looks of concern. Erik had mentioned nothing about this to them
. They looked at the other Council members and got similar blank looks.
A hand shot up in the back. Erik pointed. “Yes…go ahead…”
“I’ll volunteer. I was in ROTC in college…never did much, but I’ll do my part.”
“Thank you.” Some more mumbling by the crowd. A few more hands went up. The number increased as more men saw what the brave ones were doing and either didn’t want to look bad in the eyes of others, or had their wives or girlfriends prod them into joining for their sake.
Erik smiled. “We don’t need to do this just right now. After the meeting, I want everyone interested to see Ted. He’s going to be our Defense Chief. I’m also going to ask anyone who has a gun or has ever fired a gun to see Ted. No, we’re not going to take your guns or draft you—“ Erik said to stem the wary looks he was getting. “We want your advice, and if you’re willing to volunteer, your service. But only if you’re willing to volunteer.
“This nation was founded on the spirit of volunteering for the cause of Independence. The Minute Men, the Militias. We’re going to protect and defend our own independence from any who threaten it by that same spirit of volunteering to take up arms.” Someone whooped in support.
“We’ll begin training tomorrow morning,” announced Ted, who stepped forward to join Erik. “After I get a list of who’s going to step up to the task. It’s not going to be easy, but it needs to be that way so we can make sure it’s not going to be easy for anyone to get in here and do us harm.”
Erik went through a list of things he wanted to lay before the residents. They formed a Procurement Team, lead by Old Bernie, to find things the complex needed—top priority was rainwater storage containers and a means of sterilizing them. Between the need for raiders and guards, a few of the men who volunteered after the meeting wound up being on more than one team, pulling double duty. Bernie and Ted got together to work up a schedule in order to make sure there were no conflicts. Alfonse got some volunteers together, mostly women, to man Erik’s emergency radio twenty-four hours a day to listen to news. He also found a woman who was a free-lance writer to become the ‘historian’ of the group, to write down meeting minutes and record the day to day activities of Colony Gardens for posterity. If nothing else, it was a way to keep one more person busy and keep them from feeling sorry for themselves.
Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) Page 32
