by Tripp Ellis
“Where’d they go?” Earl asked.
“I don’t know.” Steele’s face was tense with concern. Tactically, they were in a vulnerable position. They could easily get flanked on either side of Fallout Circle. There could be a squad of soldiers waiting around the corner of the center junction of Fat Man and Little Boy. This could be an ambush waiting to happen.
For all Steele knew, the remaining Red Viper soldiers could have evacuated the structure. They could be long gone already. It was standard operating procedure to put an escape shaft that led to the surface in both the command & control room, as well as the communications center. The escape shaft was more than likely the route the Red Viper soldiers had used to flank the tank.
Steele grabbed two proximity mines from his tactical vest. He clicked the arming button on both of them. The units powered up, and the LED light flashed green. Steele rolled them down the hall in each direction of Fallout Circle. They clacked against the concrete and skidded to a stop about 30 yards away. The flashing green LED changed to solid red. The mines were fully armed. Nobody was going to flank him without getting a hell of a headache.
Steele pushed forward down Fat Man Boulevard. Cassandra Rawlings emerged from around the corner in the center junction. She had a 9mm to the president’s temple. Cassandra was using his body to shield herself.
The president’s white shirt was now grimy and stained with blood. His face was lumpy, and multiple shades of purple, blue, green, yellow, and red. He looked like he had gone 12 rounds with the heavyweight champion of the world, Lester Burke. (Lester was a wrecking machine. He made Mike Tyson, in his prime, look like a Sunday school teacher.)
“Put down your weapons, or he dies,” Cassandra said.
Steele’s face tightened. His eyes seared into her. A fraction of Cassandra's face poked out behind the president’s. Steele could take a shot. He didn’t like to lose. But it would be cutting it close. “I don’t think you realize what’s at stake here.”
“This isn’t a negotiation, ” Cassandra said.
“Go ahead, shoot him. Then my next shot is you.”
The president’s swollen eyes widened, as much as they could.
Cassandra cocked the hammer back, and her finger gripped tight around the trigger. This was a game of chicken. A test of wills. Who was going to buckle first?
Earl was frantically glancing between Steele and Cassandra. He had his weapon aimed straight for her. He was shifting his weight back and forth. Sweat coated his face. Earl really wasn’t cut out for high stress situations. Something caught his eye, and he glanced back down the hallway toward Fallout Circle. “Uh, Major. We have a situation.”
Steele kept the sights of his RK 709 lined up on Cassandra's eye. He desperately wanted to put a bullet through her skull—and he was about to do it. He didn’t take his eyes off her. “What kind of situation, Earl?” His voice was slow and annoyed.
Earl nodded down the hallway.
But Steele didn’t want to take his eyes off of Cassandra and the president.
“What he’s trying to say, is that you’re outnumbered,” Cassandra said.
Steele pursed his lips. The veins in his forehead bulged. His face flushed red with anger.
“There’s someone behind us, isn’t there?” Steele murmured to Earl.
Earl nodded. “Uh, huh.”
Two viper soldiers had somehow made it past the proximity mines and gotten the jump on them from behind. They were closing in on Steele, coming from Fallout Circle.
“Like I said, drop your weapons.” Cassandra had the smug glint of victory in her eye.
A stream of expletives flew through Steele’s mind. How did they get past the proximity mines, he thought? They must have had minesweepers. Steele released his grip on the trigger and slowly set his weapon down. He raised his hands in the air.
Earl followed suit.
Steele was pissed at himself. He had stormed through the front gate like a moron. He knew coming through the front door was never a good idea. The worst policy of all is to besiege walled cities—Sun Tzu, The Art of War.
30
Cassandra relaxed slightly. Her grip on the pistol, and the president, eased. The situation had been diffused. She took a breath and stepped aside, no longer crouching behind the president. There was a twinkle of victory in her eye, but her face was still hardened. The facility had been breached, and the majority of her men taken out.
“You’ve accomplished nothing,” Cassandra said.
Steele glanced around. This was it—just Cassandra and the two viper soldiers. There was no one else coming. No reinforcements spilling down the hallway. Steele thought he couldn’t have possibly taken out the entire Red Viper force, could he?
“This all you got left?” Steele asked.
Cassandra's treacherous eyes narrowed, and her face tightened. “I have thousands of loyal followers across the country. My revolution has already occurred.”
Steele chuckled. “Two of us took down your entire team.”
“And my team took down an entire country.”
Steele laughed. It only seemed to enrage her further.
“You find this amusing?”
“What I find amusing is that none of this is going to matter. Because of your activities, the Russians are preparing to launch tactical nuclear strikes to contain the virus.”
Cassandra's face went pale. It was an outcome she hadn’t anticipated. After a moment, she regrouped her thoughts. “I have more than enough supplies to ride out the initial attack. This facility was designed to withstand a direct hit.” She smiled. “This changes nothing. We will emerge when the dust settles and—“
BAM!
Her shoulder erupted in a geyser of blood. The force spun her around.
CRACK!
A second shot ripped through Cassandra's torso. She flopped to the ground.
Delroy stood in the stairwell at the blast door with Duke and McKay. Steele couldn’t be sure who fired the shot, but he thought it was McKay. Seemed like the old Marine still had it.
The two Viper soldiers were stunned. It took them a moment to respond. Steele used the distraction to strip the weapon from the Viper soldier that stood behind him. It all happened in a flash.
Several shots rang out in the process, ricocheting off the concrete walls. In less than a second, Steele had taken the weapon and was aiming it at the soldier. His finger gripped tight around the trigger.
CRACK! CRACK!
Two rounds burst through the soldier’s chest.
BAM!
Delroy blasted the last remaining soldier. His blood sprayed across Earl. Then his body smacked the concrete.
Earl was awestruck.
The two soldiers had gaping chest wounds. They died almost instantly.
Steele rushed to the president. “Are you okay, sir?”
Johnson nodded. He was far from okay, but he was alive. And he didn’t get hit by a stray bullet.
McKay whistled, and Buddy raced down the stairs to meet them at the blast door. They all made their way down the corridor and regrouped with Steele.
“You didn’t think I was going to let you have all the fun, did you, Major?” Delroy said with a grin.
Steele flashed him a rare smile. “Good timing.”
“I thought that was pretty damn fine shooting for an old Marine with a cataract,” McKay said.
“Damn fine, Gunny,” Steele said.
“When this is over, all of you are going to receive a medal,” the president said.
McKay snapped to attention and saluted the president. Johnson saluted back.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. President,” McKay said.
“Believe me, the honor is all mine.” Then the president turned to Steele. “Now we need to get to Black Rock. And I need to speak with President Petrov, immediately.”
Steele nodded.
“Look out,” Earl yelled. His eyes were bugging out of their sockets.
Cassandra dangled her arm off t
he ground. She was aiming her 9mm straight at the president. She was barely alive. Blood was dripping from her mouth. She heaved for air. It was taking her last bit of strength to lift up and aim the weapon. But her aim was dead solid perfect.
Her finger squeezed the trigger. The hammer dropped and muzzle flash lit up the end of the barrel. The bullet rocketed out amid a plume of smoke. The pistol’s report echoed off the concrete walls.
Steele watched the whole thing unfold as if it were happening in slow motion. There was nothing he could do about it. He lunged to push the president out of the way, but it was too late. The bullet streaked through the air heading straight for the president’s heart.
Steele heard the thud of the bullet hit flesh. He heard bone crackle and soft tissue tear. Blood spattered across him as he tackled the president to safety.
But it wasn’t the president’s blood.
It was Duke’s.
He had selflessly leapt in front of the bullet. Something he never thought he’d do. He lay on the dirty concrete floor, gasping for breath. His lungs were quickly filling with fluid.
Delroy fired a burst of rounds into Cassandra, putting her down for good.
Steele rushed to Duke after he realized the president hadn’t been hit. With his palms he applied pressure to the wound. No matter what he did, crimson blood seeped through his fingers. It pooled around his hands. “Hang in there, you’re going to be okay.”
Delroy grabbed his med-kit and pulled out some gauze and GS gel. The gel was an expandable biopolymer foam that was fantastic at plugging gunshot wounds and stopping bleeding. The wounded tissue would then leech regenerative compounds from the polymer, speeding recovery. It had saved the lives of many grunts in the field, keeping them stable until they reached a trauma facility.
Delroy applied the gel to the wound.
“Is the president okay?” Duke asked. He could barely choke out the words.
Steele nodded.
“Good.”
Tears streamed down Earl’s face as he watched in horror. Earl knelt beside him and took Duke’s hand. “You hang in there.”
Duke was heaving for breath. His lungs gurgled and wheezed. He coughed and spit blood.
“You can’t die on me,” Earl pleaded. “You’re the only friend I’ve got.” His face was red and his eyes were puffy slits. Rivers of tears rolled down his cheeks.
The GS gel stopped Duke’s external bleeding. But it was too little, too late. Duke was fading fast. His eyes were heavy and his face was pale.
“You’re the best friend I ever had,” Duke stammered. Then his body went limp. His eyes were fixed. His face took on a pale green pallor. The blood drained from his lips. He almost looked like a different person. Everything that had made him Duke was gone. The body on the concrete floor was just a shell. A container for the soul.
Earl sobbed uncontrollably. His body heaved and jerked. He felt like he had no one left in the world.
The others looked on with somber faces.
After a few moments, Earl pulled himself together. He stood up and wiped his eyes. He could hardly see out of them, they were so swollen now. His nose was stuffy from crying. When he talked, it sounded like somebody was pinching his nose shut. “Lets get the president to Black Rock.”
31
“The codes and the football,” the president said.
“Delroy,” Steele barked.
“On it, sir.”
“Start in the command & control room.”
Delroy nodded and scurried into the control room.
Steele marched to Cassandra's body and knelt down. He rummaged through her clothing. After digging into several pockets, he found the biscuit.
Delroy emerged from the control room a moment later. He carried the black emergency satchel and handed it to the president.
He set the case on the ground and opened it. Inside the case were a handful of documents and manuals. Detailed plans for the Continuity of Government. Military targets. The location of secure facilities. The Constitution. The football itself was essentially a glorified notebook computer. But this was no ordinary computer.
It had two, hinged panels of clear smart glass. The thing was bulletproof and virtually indestructible. It had no moving parts. Everything was hardcoded into the smart glass. Nanoparticles made up the microchip and circuit board. It was an impressive piece of technology.
The president placed his palm on the glass. The machine activated and booted up. Only the president, or someone in the successive line of government, could activate the device. A retinal scan further identified the president. Then the football said: begin voice print identification.
“President Bill Johnson.”
Authenticate.
“Bravo, india, golf, delta, alpha, whiskey, golf, zulu, kilo, zulu, x-ray.”
Identity confirmed.
The home screen appeared on the display. The keyboard and launch controls illuminated. After the three-step process of bio identification, the nuclear football was fully enabled. But it would still take the correct launch codes to initiate a strike.
The system was tied into the Strategic Defense Network. If there were incoming warheads, the football would display their trajectory, estimate time to impact, and calculate potential damage.
The device also allowed direct, secure communication with every world leader. Though, it was never used for this purpose—it meant you had your finger on the trigger.
Johnson selected Petrov from the list of possible contacts and initiated communication. After a few moments, Petrov appeared on the screen, presumably having gone through the same authentication steps on his end.
He was a stern looking bald man in his 50s. He had narrow, savage eyes and bushy eyebrows. His face was expressionless. “One might take it as a subtle threat, contacting me on this device,” Petrov said.
“Always good to speak with you, Mr. President.”
“My sources tell me you are no longer in control of the country. That your Vice President is in command.”
“That is a temporary situation.”
“I’m sure it is.” Petrov had a thin smirk. “We have lost contact with him.”
This was more confirmation that something had gone wrong at Black Rock.
“This is not something I wish I had to do,” Petrov said. He sounded insincere. There was an almost imperceptible sparkle in his eye. “But I have a unified coalition. I’m facing pressure from both the Canadian Prime Minister and the Mexican President to take action. This is a matter of global security.”
“I need more time,” Johnson said.
“I have given you plenty of time already. I see no real efforts on your part to contain the spread of infection.” Petrov sighed. “If you were in my position, what would you do?”
Johnson pursed his lips. “Give me two hours.”
“In two hours, infection could spread across your borders.”
“I need time to get to an emergency operation center. If you launch your attack, our automated system may respond.”
“In which case we will see how well our strategic defense system works,” Petrov said. He was sure the president was bluffing. “You have two hours.” His voice was grim. Petrov ended the transmission.
Johnson scrolled through the menu of options on the home screen. There were a myriad of launch plans to counter any potential threat. You could target a specific country with either a full scale or strategic assault. You could target multiple countries. You could select individual cities. Or you could specify a unique launch plan. The number of possible launch targets and sequences was mind numbing.
Johnson selected every major metropolitan area along the border between the United States and Canada, as well as the southern border between the US and Mexico.
Launch code authentication required, the football said.
“You’re not really going to launch nukes on American soil, are you?” Earl asked.
President Johnson fumbled for the biscuit. He ignored Earl. Swe
at dripped down his forehead, and his bruised face went pale. It was the first time that he had really shown the appearance of being under stress.
He looked over the sequence of numbers and alphanumeric characters. Each day, he had to memorize a specific sequence of codes to read from the card. The biscuit was practically useless to anyone else but the president. Only he knew what sequences were valid and which ones weren’t.
Johnson read from the card. It shook in his hand from nerves. “Yankee, Hotel, Foxtrot, Six, Niner, Five, Alpha, Victor, Zulu, Echo, Niner, Bravo, Charlie, X-ray, Lima, Tango, Mike, November, Romeo, Sierra, Victor, Kilo, Zulu, Juliet.”
Code invalid. Launch access denied.
Johnson looked bewildered. That was the right code, he was sure of it. He repeated the code one more time, with the same result.
Second failed attempt. System access will terminate on next failure.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” Johnson muttered to himself.
Steele looked at him with curiosity.
“My codes became invalid the minute Radcliffe assumed control.”
“Were you really going to launch nukes on American targets?” Earl asked.
“I don’t know, Earl… I don’t know.” Johnson took a deep breath. “I can tell you this, Petrov won’t launch a strategic strike. He’ll obliterate the whole damn country.”
32
An infected man staggered down the stairway and stumbled in through the blast door. It was the first lurker anyone had seen in a few hours.
“I’ll be damned, that’s Ed,” McKay said.
“Friend of yours?” Steele asked.
“We play poker on Wednesday nights.”
“Sorry, Gunny.” Steele raised his weapon and took aim. He squeezed the trigger and Ed’s head shattered. Chunks of his skull blasted against the concrete wall. His body toppled to the ground.
