David Golemon - Legacy

“Yes,” he said as he finally received the soft tone telling him the scramble was complete.

“We have a breakthrough from Colonel Collins, and you won’t believe it.”

The president sat up in his seat when heard the voice of his friend Niles Compton.

“What?” he asked, waving the Marine steward away from his seat.

“Samuel Rawlins, the reverend, the evangelist.”

“What about that pain in the ass?”

“We think he may behind all of this,” Niles answered.

“I think you’ve lost your mind. He’s an idiot and has been chastised by every religion on the books-they all know he’s a fundamentalist fool.”

“Jack’s reporting that Rawlins’s father was a minister at Spandau Prison in 1947, and had access not only to the man they were looking for, this Nazi clerk named Zinsser, but also to Albert Speer. They may have divulged their knowledge of Operation Columbus to Rawlins’s father, a lieutenant colonel in the Army at the time. It’s all just circumstantial, but given recent events and the Reverend’s not so hidden disdain of yourself and the attempt to get to the Moon. I’m sure we have enough to get the FBI out in California to pay him a visit.”

The president was thinking. He had never known Niles Compton to run off half-cocked about anything. His guesses were as good as Einstein’s theories.

“Okay, I’ll order-”

Alarms started sounding inside of Marine One and the communications system was shut down without warning. The president looked up as the giant Sikorsky banked hard to the right and started a nose-down plunge just past the White House grounds. The president dropped the phone and held on as the helicopter’s hard maneuver threw him deep into his seat. He heard shouting from up front, but it was controlled as the pilot and copilot started an emergency procedure the president had always heard about but never experienced.

The Marine corporal leaned outward from his seat and looked at the president. The commander in chief saw the worry in the boy’s face.

“We’ve been locked on to with an infrared and radar system. The pilots are attempting to set us down.”

The president nodded as Marine One banked in the opposite direction. He was thrown to the right and painfully so, as his ribs dug into the armrest. He managed to look at his national security advisor and saw him cross himself. His lips were moving in prayer.

“Say one for me if you have the time, Tom.”

Lieutenant Colonel Wild Bill Lederman got the call just as his threat receiver told him that he was picking up a sweeping IR targeting of the area surrounding Marine One. His reactions were fast due to his training running the same kind of missions over Afghanistan while protecting attack and personnel helicopters as they flew into hostile territory. He quickly got a fix on the return of the radar and IR signatures and saw that they were emanating from the east at one mile. Without saying anything he rolled the F-22 over and dove for the deck. He just hoped the sky was as clear as his controllers said it was.

As the two F-22s rolled into the city, the lock on Marine One started a steady warbling in the colonel’s headphones. He glanced to his right as houses began to become large in his windscreen and vapor started to stream off his wingtips. He saw Marine One start firing off chaff and flares as the large Sikorsky lost altitude very quickly, giving Lederman hope that this attack would fail. As he thought this, he saw the first two fire trails of the missiles as they left their launchers. He knew immediately that the weapons were Stingers. He had seen enough of them in Afghanistan and Iraq. They had received a security report on the theft at Raytheon and he suspected that these may be from that theft. All of this flashed through his mind in the briefest of seconds.

“Gunslinger Two, this is Lead. Take out those launchers. Take them out now!” he said as calmly as he could, just as the third missile left its tube from the rooftop. “Have you acquired target?”

“Roger, Gunslinger Lead, Two is rolling in,” came the quick reply from Hollywood.

As Gunslinger One clicked the communication button on his stick, he rolled to the right, away from his wingman just as the first missile suddenly started falling from the sky. The exhaust trail stopped and the missile went down into the office buildings below. The second and third missiles still came on. The F-22 watched as they closed on Marine One. The chaff-little pieces of aluminum foil-and the flares being ejected from the tail boom of the Sikorsky were an attempt to get the Stingers to lock on to a false target, but the colonel knew that the advanced Stinger systems Raytheon produced were programmed to avoid the countermeasures and blast through to the real target.

He decided he had little choice. He turned as hard as he could while at the same time throwing the twin Pratt amp; Whitney F119-PW-100 turbofans into afterburner. The Lockheed jet responded faster than any fighter in the world could have. It streaked toward the lead missile, trying desperately to head it off.

As the flight lead was in the process of intercepting the assault on Marine One, his wingman locked on to the rooftop of the building. He saw a team of six men attempting to run for cover as his F-22 shot through the sky toward them. Long before their missiles came into proximity of the Sikorsky, the CAP found the weapons personnel. The piper on the heads-up display turned red as the small circle sought the first and second man in line. At the same time as the fleeing men were targeted, Hollywood made the call to his controller saying he was locked, but locked in a civilian neighborhood. He was given the all clear to engage the targets.

The Raptor screamed toward the rooftop and before the men knew they had company there was the short “buruppp” of the twenty-millimeter Gatling gun. The tracers streaked toward the first two men in the line trying to reach the rooftop exit. The explosive rounds struck and tore the two men to pieces. Hollywood touched the trigger one last time for exactly a half a second. The short time span of pressure sent 306 rounds toward the remaining men. The twenty-millimeter shells ripped into the tarpaper roof and then tracked the four men and their suspected path. The men joined their first two comrades in a shower of misted blood and flying flesh.

The F-22 climbed at the last moment, sending debris and gravel from the old rooftops surrounding the attack area. The Raptor climbed back into the evening sky.

Gunslinger knew that one of the missiles was going to get through no matter what he did. There was no time for thought and no time for a quick prayer. He jigged at the last minute and caught the first warhead fifteen hundred feet from Marine One. The Stinger caught the Raptor in the right wing and blew ten feet of the composite material free of the fuselage. Just as the impact occurred, Colonel Lederman called a Mayday and reached for the ejection handle over his head. The Raptor rolled to the left at a severe angle and then the fuel lines running from the composite wing that was no longer there ignited the aircraft into a fireball. The Lockheed-built plane came apart in view of Marine One and directly in the path of the third and final Stinger missile.

The Stinger actually struck the disintegrating body and ejection seat of Lieutenant Colonel Lederman as it passed through the cloud of burning debris. It ignored the last of the Sikorsky’s chaff and flares and then detonated three feet from the helicopter’s engine compartment. The warhead was a 3 kilogram penetrating hit-to-kill warhead type that sent shrapnel out in a perfect arc that punched holes into not only the turbine-driven engines but the composite rotor blades of the helicopter as well. The fifth rotor wobbled for the briefest moment and then it too disintegrated as the helicopter fell from the sky.