James Rosone - Battlefield Russia

This is a fictional story. All characters in this book are imagined, and any opinions that they express are simply that, fictional thoughts of literary characters. Although policies mentioned in the book may be similar to reality, they are by no means a factual representation of the news. Please enjoy this work as it is, a story to escape the part of life that can sometimes weigh us down in mundaneness or busyness.

Washington, D.C.

White House

Vice President Walter “Wally” Foss was finishing up his daily five-mile run on the treadmill at his residence at the Naval Observatory when a member of his Secret Service detail walked up to him and signaled somewhat frantically that he needed to speak with him. Wally hit the stop button on the treadmill and pressed the pause button on his smartphone, stopping the playback of an audiobook about Teddy Roosevelt.

Taking his earbuds out, he asked, “What’s going on, Jim?”

Just then, three other agents walked into the room, spreading out to sweep the room for any potential threats. This unsettled Foss a bit—he had never seen a Secret Service agent anything other than calm, and one of them was visibly sweaty as he searched the room.

The first Secret Service agent explained, “Mr. Vice President, we need to move you to the White House Situation Room. The vehicles should be pulling up in a few minutes.” The agent handed him a towel to wipe the sweat from his face.

Foss sighed as he stepped off the treadmill. “That’s fine. Just give me a couple of minutes to get a quick shower and put some more appropriate clothes on.”

Mike Morrel, the head of his Secret Service detail, shook his head. “Sir, there isn’t time,” he asserted. “We have to get you to the White House immediately. We were just informed a couple of minutes ago that there was an attempt on the President’s life at the rally in Michigan. We don’t know if the President was hit, but we do know the Secretary of State was shot, and it has been reported that he was killed.” Agent Morrel guided the VP out of the fitness room and toward the stairs that would lead them to the main entrance of the building.

Within minutes, the procession of agents in black suits, black sunglasses, and clear earbuds had the VP out of the building and into the waiting motorcade. While the sirens wailed, VP Foss’s mind raced. “ What the hell is going on? Did I really just hear what I think I did? ” he thought in shock.

They raced down the road at top speed. The Vice President started thinking more about how many traffic laws they were violating than anything else. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, the sea of Secret Service agents was ushering him out of the vehicle and borderline shoving him down the hall. Before Foss knew it, he was down in the White House bunker.

“So, now what happens?” he asked.

Agent Morrel replied, “I just received word that the President was indeed hit, although we don’t know his status yet. The Chief Justice is traveling here now. Until we know more, the Twenty-Fifth Amendment is going to be invoked.”

The weight of what had just been said sat on the Vice President’s chest like an elephant. He had always known he was a heartbeat away from the presidency, but truthfully, he’d never wanted to ascend to that office in such a dramatic way. “ Please let this be temporary …”

A few minutes went by with no new information. Foss started checking every possible source, turning the various televisions in the room to different news channels, hoping to find out something new.

His phone rang, startling him. He looked down and saw that the caller ID said Tom McMillan.

“How bad is the President, Tom?” Foss said, not waiting for the usual conversational cues.

“I don’t know yet,” said the National Security Advisor. “All I know is he was covered in blood and one of the doctors said they couldn’t feel a pulse, and then the elevator doors closed. I honestly don’t know, but I’m going to stay here until I do,” he replied.

The Vice President took a deep breath. “OK, keep me informed,” he said, trying to sound more positive about the situation than he felt. “The Secret Service has just taken me down to the bunker. The Chief Justice is also on his way. They are going to invoke the Twenty-Fifth Amendment for the time being until we know what the President’s status is.” Despite his best efforts, he recognized that his voice sounded a bit shaken as he spoke.

“You’ll do fine, Sir,” Tom McMillan said reassuringly. “We have a good team in place, and we’ll get through this. I’ll call you as soon as I know more.”

The phone clicked, and the call ended.

Almost twenty minutes went by. The Chief Justice still hadn’t arrived. Foss was getting really antsy. He started pacing the room.

Finally, he couldn’t take the anticipation any longer, and he got the attention of Agent Morrel. “Do we know how the President is doing yet?”

Lifting his cufflink to his mouth, Agent Morrel stated, “Hoosier wants a status update on POTUS.”

What seemed to Foss like an hour, but was really more like five seconds, dragged by. Suddenly, the Vice President noticed that the facial expressions and demeanor of Agent Morrel changed. He looked at the other agents—their faces were ashen. Morrel lowered his hand and then looked up at the VP with a look of sorrow in his eyes.

“We just got confirmation, Sir,” he finally said. “POTUS is dead. You are now the President.” He paused for a second, then added, “I’ve been instructed that we are to take you directly to the Oval Office. The Chief Justice just arrived at the White House to swear you in. The Secretary of Defense is also on his way here.”

The Vice President sat down in a chair for a moment, absorbing the information. He wasn’t sure what to say, or what to think for that matter. Forty minutes ago, he had been on his last leg of his five-mile run, just like any other day. The President was supposed to give a campaign endorsement in support of the GOP challenger in Michigan as they looked to flip that Senate seat. “ How could he have been assassinated? ” he wondered. It had been 55 years since a US president had been assassinated. It didn’t seem like this was really possible.

Given the situation, the agents did give him a moment. Then Agent Morrel put his hand on his shoulder. “Sir, we need to move,” he said gently.

Foss nodded and stood up. Soon, they rode the elevator out of the bunker, and he was quickly led down a series of hallways until they entered the Oval Office. The moment he walked in the door, everyone stood out of respect. A few people were wiping away tears; others were obviously still in a state of shock themselves. Before he could say anything, his wife walked in with another agent and his two children.

She gave him a quick hug and whispered, “I’m so sorry, Wally. Hang in there. You can do this, and we’re here to help you. We have your back.” His two children wrapped their arms around the two of them and they shared a family hug.

Just then, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court finally arrived. He gave a moment for the family reunion, then he walked over with his hand extended. “You have my deepest sympathies, Mr. Vice President,” he said. “I still can’t believe that someone would assassinate our President like this, but please, we have to get you sworn in. Do you have a Bible you want to use? If not, I brought my own.”

Wally’s wife, Dana, produced the Foss family Bible. In minutes, Vice President Walter Foss was sworn in as the 46th President of the United States of America. A handful of pictures were taken of the event, and someone from the White House communications department video-recorded the swearing in. Soon these images would be posted to the official government websites and social media accounts. It was imperative that people know the government was still functioning despite this horrific event.