Out of the Ashes

The White House resembled a besieged command post. Outside, the grounds were calm, but inside, controlled chaos. The press was screaming for information—receiving very little. Travee had received word that the Speaker of the House, upon hearing of the tragedy in America, had suffered a mild heart attack and relinquished his succession to the presidency to Secretary of State Rees.

Secretary of State Rees, now Acting President Rees, was showing signs of coming unglued. The presidency was the last job in the world he wanted. He had been, prior to becoming secretary of state, president of a bank in Des Moines.

Following the news that Ed Fayers had died on the operating table, after a massive cerebral hemorrhage, a message came in that the VP's plane, and the press plane, had been shot down over the Mediterranean Sea. No survivors.

Reports were conflicted as to just what had happened to the two planes. The Israeli Air Force spokeswoman said an American fighter-bomber had downed the planes.

Where had the fighter-bomber come from?

They didn't know.

The PLO screamed they didn't do it. Libya said they were delighted it had happened. The rest of the Mideast countries said they certainly didn't do it. Nothing was coming out of the Russian Embassy. The Chinese ambassador expressed profound regrets.

“Mr. President,” Sen. Hilton Logan said to the harried Rees, “I believe we should do something, immediately.”

Hilton Logan had never been known for his grace under pressure—or under anything else, for that matter—especially water.

Rees frosted him with a look. “Well, Senator ... that is just brilliant. The UN is running around in circles, screaming threats at each other. The world situation is deteriorating hourly. I am anticipating panic in the streets of America once the press learns all that is happening—and will, in all probability, happen. About twenty percent of the military is unresponsive to General Travee's commands; and mine, I might add. Now, Senator, with all that in mind, what would you have me do that is not already being done? Without your help, sir. And by the way, how in the hell did you get in here? You certainly were not invited.”

“Mr. President, I did not mean to be impertinent. But I might add that I have spoken again and again about those special troops being overtrained and being nothing more than animals. I—”

“Oh, shit, Logan,” General Travee shut him up. “Close your mouth. The special units are all right. Thank God,” he added. "They are all responding to my orders. I've got SEALs coming into the city from Camp A P Hill now, just in case the police need a hand. But that is not the immediate problem.” He waved a piece of paper, just handed him by an aide. “This is.”

“What is it?” Rees asked.

“China has ordered all troops ready for full-scale war. Massive build-up along the Russian border. Our snoops say Russia is gearing up for war. Silos ready. And,” he said, looking straight at Logan, “I have ordered ours to do the same.”

“I must protest that order!” Logan said. “I would like to convene Congress to discuss this.”

“Yeah, that's all we need,” Dowling growled.

“Then Brady was right,” Rees said.

“Brady who?” Logan flapped his arms.

“Sir?” An aide spoke to Travee. “The press is screaming for information. They're already on the air with a bunch of shit from overseas bureaus. What do I tell them?”

“Where is Fayers’ press secretary?” Logan demanded.

“Gone,” Dowling said. “He was one of the other side.”

“What other side?” Logan almost screamed the words.

He was ignored.

The general smiled. “Tell them...” His smile broadened. “Tell them with all the heartfelt sincerity you can muster, that General Travee is leveling with the members of the fourth estate when he says: ‘GO FUCK YOURSELVES!'” He roared.

The military in the room grinned—to a person. Someone among them finally got to convey to the press what they really felt about them.

“We must tell the American people what is going on,” Logan said. “We must.”

“Time,” President Rees said. “We have to buy a little more time.”

“Why?” Logan demanded.

“So the military can get set up in a defensive posture,” Travee said. “Clear the bases of all those men not loyal to the government.”

A colonel, in civilian clothes, walked into the Oval Office. “Sir, I've got General Graham from Fort Campbell on the horn.”

Travee grabbed up the phone. “Go, Mike.”

“I've had a little trouble here, C.H.” The sounds of gunfire were faint in the background. “But it's just about under control. Not too many men involved in the rebellion. I just spoke with Harrison down at Bragg, and Huval out at Carson. They're secure. Same with Lewis and Stewart. Fort Knox is a hot spot, C.H.—bad over there. You want my boys to go in?”

“Don't strip yourself bare, Mike. You got my message. You know the balloon is going up.”

“Yeah, I know. O.K., we'll secure Knox. I got some Green Bennies coming in from Bragg, along with the Rangers from the First, Seventy-fifth. Take care, C.H.”