Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

“Some guy named Alpha-Four-Niner-Six wants to talk to you,” Radic said as he offered the sat phone. Her father wanted to speak with her? That was a surprise, and Victoria felt a growing sense of apprehension as she took the phone. “This is Alpha-Four-Niner-Seven.”

“There’s been a change of plans,” Bo Macintyre said flatly. “Get your team out of there by 0300. And when I say ‘out of there,’ I mean as far away as you can get… Oh, and one other thing… Your launcher is part of a new short-range antimissile screen that can blow our stuff out of the sky. We knew they were working on it but didn’t realize the system was being deployed. Think about what that means.” Victoria heard a click followed by static.

Victoria’s mind was racing. A change in plans… Get clear by 0300… Why? Because they’re going to drop some heavy-duty shit on Fort Leavenworth, Victoria thought to herself. Was one of the antimissile batteries located at the fort? Hell, yes.

Suddenly, Victoria understood. Because the Union was deploying a system that could intercept conventional and nuclear weapons, the Confederacy was determined to inflict some pain while they still could. Assuming it wasn’t too late. What was that her father had said down in Port St. Joe? “Victory always comes at a cost. And I think we should pay the price before the Union grows any stronger.”

Shit, shit, shit! Her own army was going to nuke her ass! Victoria jerked the door open. “Clay! Radic! Grab your stuff… We’re getting out of here. And I mean now !”

FORT RILEY MILITARY RESERVATION, NORTH CENTRAL KANSAS

Night exercises were a pain in the ass. But because a great deal of combat took place during the hours of darkness, such efforts were very important. And that was why Mac’s Marauders had been sent 130 miles west to Fort Riley where they could play hide-and-seek with other armored units and get what Sergeant Major Price called, “their get-go juice back.”

And that was important. Having lost half of Alpha Company, and with new people arriving every day, there was a need to strengthen unit cohesion. “Keep ’em busy,” Colonel Lassiter had advised. “Work their asses off.” And Mac had done her best to comply.

She found ways to test squads, platoons, and companies. How good were their leaders? How rusty were the soldiers who’d been in prison? And were their technical skills up to date?

Nor was the headquarters company spared. Wu and her people were expected to fight if it came to that, and had been tested along with everyone else.

So there the troops were, spaced out along the top of a steep embankment, waiting for an “enemy” convoy to pass below. But would it? According to the thermal images streaming in from one of the battalion’s drones, it would.

But what about the convoy’s drones? Their job was to spot concentrations of enemy troops so that the convoy’s commander could call in an air strike. Mac had a solution for that, however… Or hoped that she did. Thanks to countless years of erosion, a rock ledge had been exposed, and it hung rooflike over the embankment, giving Mac’s troops a place to hide. Hopefully, the partial “roof” would screen them from the convoy’s drone. That’s what Mac was thinking about when there was a bright flash of light, followed by a second flash, and overlapping explosions.

Mac’s initial assumption was that the officer in charge of the exercise was throwing them a curveball… Something he did on a frequent basis. But before she could give the possibility much thought, her RTO offered her a handset. “Warlord is on the horn, ma’am.”

Mac took the instrument and held it to her ear. The message was for all COs, and Warlord was in midsentence. “…I repeat, not a drill. The rebs fired two short-range missiles at us. Both were intercepted by Iron Shield launchers and destroyed in midair. We believe that the enemy missiles were armed with nuclear, repeat nuclear warheads. That means there could be some fallout. Especially in the aftermath of an airburst. Those who can shelter in their vehicles should do so. Those who can’t should seek whatever shelter is available and await orders. Decontamination units will be dispatched soon.

“We believe both warheads were relatively small and expect that the radiation will disperse in a week or two. In the meantime, monitor your troops for any signs of radiation sickness. Over.”

All of Mac’s people would fit into her Strykers, and all of the Strykers were equipped with a CBRN (chemical, biological, radiological, nuclear) warfare system, which would keep the crew compartments airtight and positively pressurized. So their course of action was clear.

After giving the necessary orders, Mac scrambled up the embankment and onto the flat area above. As troops hurried to board the trucks, Mac saw a flash of light off to the east. Fort Leavenworth? Mac hoped the interceptors had been able to protect that base as well. But were more missiles on the way? If so, one or more might get through.

Mac forced herself to wait next to the vic called HELL ON WHEELSuntil all of her personnel were accounted for. She ushered Tilly up the ramp before entering the Stryker herself.

The interior was crowded, and Mac felt a rising sense of claustrophobia as she sat down. Sergeant Major Price was seated across from her. He grinned. “I don’t know about you, Major, but I could use a beer.”

Mac nodded. “Me too… Put out the word. Off-duty personnel will assemble to complete mandatory beer training once we’re off duty. I will buy the first round.”

A cheer went up inside the vic. Mac’s Marauders were on the mend.

MCCONNELL AIR FORCE BASE, WICHITA, KANSAS

Sloan could have arrived in a black SUV or limo. But Press Secretary Doyle Besom was forever looking for ways to portray “the fighting president” as a man of action. So nothing less than a military vehicle would do. The flags flying from the Humvee’s antennas snapped in the breeze as the vehicle rolled past a long line of KC-135 Stratotankers that were parked next to the main runway. Sloan’s arrival would make a good picture when viewed from above, which it would be, since the TV networks had permission to fly camera drones over selected portions of the base.

An air force colonel was waiting to open the door and salute Sloan as he emerged from the vehicle. Sloan returned the gesture and shook hands with the officer. Cameras followed the two men up a flight of metal stairs to the top of a reviewing stand. Drones swooped in to capture tight shots of the president’s face as a general stepped in to greet him.

Then, after a formal introduction from the general, Sloan stood in front of the microphones. His eyes swept the mostly military crowd. “My fellow Americans… The oligarchs who rule the Confederacy attempted to destroy this base using two missiles fired from Texas. Each weapon was armed with a tactical nuclear warhead packing explosive power equal to seventy-two tons of TNT. Or, put another way, the equivalent of seventy-two two-thousand-pound bombs.

“Fortunately, our newly deployed Iron Shield system kept one of the weapons from striking this base. Sadly, the other missile fell on the town of Belle Plain, where more than a thousand people died.”

Sloan paused to let the words sink in. “Meanwhile, the Confederacy launched similar attacks on Fort Riley, Fort Leavenworth, and half a dozen other targets. I’m happy to say that all of those weapons, with the exception of the one that hit Belle Plain, were intercepted.