Bobby Akart - First Strike

It was five o’clock when they pulled out of the driveway. The normally orange sun was setting as always. Only, on this evening, it cast a different hue. Tucker called it a halo. Owen recalled a visit to Saudi Arabia when he’d observed the sun rise in the throes of a sandstorm. Lacey described it the most accurately. It was if the sun were in fact setting in the Pacific Ocean, and its heat was sending vapor clouds into the sky all around it.

The soot, black carbon remnants of the fires and debris from India and Pakistan, had begun to cross the Pacific Ocean. The sun fell over the horizon, as always, but it was obscured by the smoky film that began to cover the Earth.

As the family zigzagged through back roads toward Sacramento and North Lake Tahoe beyond the state’s capital, night set in, and their view to the west was darkened. Had they been at home the next morning, they would’ve been awakened by the smell of charred wood, and their eyes would’ve watered from the soot.

And there would’ve been a noticeable chill in the air.

Their drive would’ve normally taken three and a half hours on Interstate 80. They liked to travel at night to avoid the rush-hour madness in San Francisco and Sacramento. Based on traffic reports indicating a mass exodus from the Bay Area, they chose small highways and county roads to make their trip, adding an extra hour or so to the drive.

Because they all slept until late morning, they were rested and in good spirits. None of them wanted to discuss the threat of nuclear Armageddon. They recalled past trips camping in the Tahoe National Forest or snowboarding at the ski resorts around Lake Tahoe. Even though they checked into a relatively inexpensive, $99 hotel room at the Biltmore Lodge & Casino, they rarely stayed in the room. It was merely a base of operations, as Owen called it, in the event of bad weather or, heaven forbid, an injury. Hotel rooms filled up quickly around Lake Tahoe, so Owen always made sure they had a place to stay besides their tents.

The drive soon grew tiresome for Owen. The amount of traffic headed eastbound away from the coastal region astonished them all. Tucker checked his disaster app from time to time, wondering if something had happened they were unaware of. Eventually, they turned on their satellite radio and even scrolled through some of the local news-talk radio stations.

People were afraid. They were looking for a safe harbor from the coming storm. A haven where they could seek sanctuary in the event of the unthinkable—nuclear missiles flying toward them.

As midnight approached, it had taken them several hours longer than on any normal day to get to Sacramento. News reports equated Interstate 80 with a parking lot. Owen, with Tucker’s navigational assistance, made their way around the south side of the city, hoping to pick up the interstate on the mountainous east side of the city near Auburn. From there, they could pick up the Eisenhower Highway toward Colfax, through Donner Pass, and into Nevada.

Well, you know what they say about the best-laid plans.

They often go awry.

Wednesday, October 23

The Pentagon

Peter roamed the Pentagon in search of anyone who’d speak to him about the North Korean threat. He was now intrigued about the special, albeit hidden relationship between the secretary of state and the president. He’d spent an hour at Foggy Bottom, scouring the State Department for leads, but nearly everyone of consequence had been instructed to shelter-in-place at home and work remotely on their laptops. He was finding the same type of skeleton crew working the Pentagon that afternoon.

He’d checked his watch continuously as he awaited Jenna’s exit from a meeting. She’d reported to him the night before that the vast majority of Pentagon top brass had been relocated to either Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado or to Raven Rock in Pennsylvania. Only a few members of the Joint Chiefs were traveling with the president to Mount Weather.

The meeting she was attending would be her last in the Pentagon until the crisis was over. She was being taken to the Raven Rock Mountain Complex, commonly known as Site R, although members of the media preferred calling it the Underground Pentagon.

Regardless of its moniker, the massive subterranean bunker was designed to be an alternate seat of government but later became dedicated to Pentagon operations. The multilevel, self-sufficient bunker had two underground water reservoirs, its own power plant, food reserves, and tunnels connecting the equivalent of several three-story freestanding buildings.

“Hey, Peter,” she greeted him from behind. He’d been deep in thought and was startled somewhat by her sudden appearance. He jumped slightly and then turned to meet her.

“Hey. How’d it go?”

Her response was simple. “Raven Rock.”

In that moment, Peter realized why he was in a melancholy mood. He and Jenna had never taken their relationship to the next level, and now he was faced with the reality they might never have that chance. The two young and attractive people were dedicated to rising the ladder of success within the Beltway rather than looking for their soul mates. The dour moods they emitted was an indicator they both felt the same way.

“When?” he asked, hoping for one more night with his best friend with benefits.

“Sixteen hundred.” Jenna looked down at the polished tile floor nervously. She looked around the hallway to see if anyone was eavesdropping on their conversation. “Um, Peter, there’s something else.”

He stepped closer with a concerned look on his face. “What is it?” Peter studied her eyes.

She moved closer and gripped him by the arm. “You need to find a safe place. Away from DC. Far away.”

“It’s happening, isn’t it?”

She grimaced and looked away. “Let’s put it this way. We’re as close as we were during that October of ’62. Only, Khrushchev was sane and predictable compared to Kim Jong Un.”

“Do you think he’ll fire on us?”

“Not necessarily. The war planners feel he could take a shot at Seoul. If he does, we’ll have to defend South Korea. That will necessarily result in an escalation that might bring in…” Her voice trailed off, so Peter completed her sentence.

“China,” he said just above a whisper. “Jenna, this is crazy out of control. Can’t they find a way to tamp all of this down?”

“Maybe. The president is conferring with the secretary of state this afternoon. The United Nations is one option. Moscow is another, if you can believe that.”

“What? Seriously? Why would they step in?”

“One, they have a lot of nukes pointed at us. While they tend to lean toward China from a geopolitical standpoint, they recognize the damage that would be caused by Washington and Beijing duking it out. There’s a belief in this building that Russia could convince cooler heads to prevail.”

Peter shrugged and shook his head. “That’s a long shot.”

“It is. The other pressure is from the UN, but they’ve had little influence over North Korea in the past.”

“Bribery,” quipped Peter. North Korea was notorious for demanding a king’s ransom from world powers for the mere promise of behaving like a civilized nation. It had always worked. For a while.

“Yes.” Jenna glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry. I don’t have much time. I need to meet with the rest of the communications team as we divide up our responsibilities. Others are being dispatched to Cheyenne Mountain and Mount Weather.”

Peter looked glum. “I know. You gotta go.”

Jenna spontaneously hugged and kissed him. They’d always made a point to avoid public displays of affection since they were technically on opposite sides of the podium.