The Black Aura - 8. Wait For the Ricochet

If you've been bad
Lord, I bet you have
And you've not been hit
Oh, by a flying lead
You'd better close your eyes
Oh-oh, bow your head
Wait for the ricochet

Deep Purple - 1968

20

I really, really do hate waiting. Especially with the fates of close to sixty-thousand people now out of my hands. Hayden was watching the three video screens with me. Baxter came back in to monitor the situation with me. I was impatient.

"Status on San Diego?"

Referring to his tablet, "Still trying, Avery. We believe the target is Lemon Grove. Impact in approximately seven minutes."

I thought to myself, 'shit, Lemon Grove. Avery and his kids live there. Damn, can't think about that now.'

I asked, "White Screen?"

"Fifteen seconds to launch."

"Time to detonation?"

"Twenty-seven seconds later."

We turned our attention to Cortuna. I counted down in my head. I got to zero about a second before the heat wave hit. I may have just killed over nine thousand people.

Operation White Screen was a defense project left over from just before the ban on all of the traditional weaponry of the past. The United States promised not to use it, like nearly every other nation which destroyed all of theirs or also promised not to use that kind of weapon. I have no idea the number of wartime crimes I have just committed. My term as President may be in days countable on my fingers and toes. Possibly without taking both socks off.

Just then my video screen alerted.

"WHAT? I can't talk right now."

"Is that any way to talk to your new boss?"

It was Loof, "What? How?"

"Do you think I'd wait on that Island for something like that to happen? Tsk, tsk, and all that food you just sent, wasted."

I muted and turned away from the screen, "Find where that signal is coming from."

He guessed my motives, "You don't need to trace the call. I'll happily tell you where I am because there isn't a thing you can do about it. I felt it would add a touch of irony if I attacked the US from its own space station. My missiles will fly every two minutes now. Maybe faster. Goodbye, Mr. Noonan. I suspect the honorific of President will not apply to you for long. By the way, Washington DC will be one of the first large cities destroyed. I couldn't bear to have you suffering through over a thousand cities' deaths."

Loof disconnected.

"Hayden, get me Mason from NASA."

"Right away sir."

Answering my video screen I hear John's anger, "What the fuck is going on up there? Satellites overtaken?"

That last comment didn't register until a bit later.

"War, Mason."

"Oh, sorry Mr. President, I was told it was Sinclair calling."

"It was, on my behalf. Apology accepted. How many persons are on our space station, John?"

"Twenty-eight after the last transfer."

"Now! How many are there right now?"

"One moment."

It was a hell of a lot more than one unbearable moment, especially when every second counts.

"I had to double-check the data. There appears to be eight people there, but none have their med-kits attached. All twenty-eight kits show no signs of life."

"Can you enable internal cameras remotely?"

"Of course."

"Do it, and pipe any with people in sight to the Oval office."

"That will take authorization."

"And who the fuck better to authorize that than me?"

"Sorry, right away sir."

Two minutes later, right after Lemon Grove went up in smoke, three more views appeared on the surveillance screens. I had to keep my emotions in check, but it was difficult, knowing I probably just lost a son and his family.

"Do any of those people belong, John?"

"No. And there are quite a few cameras showing deceased astronauts."

"Can you disable life support?"

"But those eight people?"

"Just destroyed one city and more are immediately targeted."

"Oh, wow."

"Well, can you?"

"It would take too long to affect them. I can do better than that. I can open a couple exterior doors and depressurize the entire station."

"How long would that take?"

"Maybe two minutes. Once the doors open, the air and everything not battened down will leave explosively fast."

"Open them. Start with the doors closest to the tall gentleman wearing khakis."

Ten seconds later, everything not permanently attached in the control room was sucked out into space, including Loof and three of his entourage. Or so I thought. Each one of the door camera views were shared with us. Ten seconds later, a second door opened. Two more bodies and another billion dollars' worth of equipment became permanent residents of space. Mason opened the remaining doors, but none affected the two remaining Cortunans. My video screen alerted once again. Someone up there was making a call.

21

"Fuck. Did we miss him again?"

I answered.

"Oh, Noonan, Noonan, Noonan. Once again, I outsmart you. I and my ranking General are safe behind sealed doorways. The missiles will continue to fly. Goodbye."

He disconnected.

"John, what can we do?"

"I hate to even suggest this, but I don't believe we have a choice. Every room has a lethal gas storage compartment. Blowing it open will make that room unusable for as long as four years."

"It'll be that long before the rest of the station will be usable, blow it."

"Watch your screen, it should only take five seconds."

We did. Loof and his General started gasping for air immediately. Next, their skin started blackening, then they were still. Crisis over, hopefully.

"Bax, launch the micro-drones. I want to know what's left of Cortuna."

"Will do. Anything else?"

"Odds of saving Cleveland?"

"Wooster. Zero percent. It'll be gone in about a minute."

"Wooster? Fuck! Are there more missiles?"

This keeps getting worse. Madeline possibly gone too? Why the fuck is this idiot attacking my family?

"Four, sir."

"Where?"

"Again, likely suburbs, but Chicago, Knoxville, Corpus Christi, and DC."

'Noooooooooooo!'

"Chances of saving them?"

"We have a bead on the Chicago area missile, and DC. The others are too far away from a defensive center."

The Wooster screen just lit up like the fourth of July. Morristown, Tennessee and Kingsville, Texas followed within two minutes. Fucking great, my second son and mother-in-law. I'm barely keeping it together.

"Chicago missile eliminated, sir."

"DC?"

"A few more seconds... gone."

"Any idea on the specific targets?"

"West Chicago and College Park, Maryland."

"Loof did his homework. I spent many years in College Park. But why me? Hayden, get in touch with Hill. I need to talk to the people."

David Hill was the White House Press Secretary.

Baxter answered his phone, "What? How did that happen? Forget that; pipe current satellite imagery from all four sites to the Oval office. Fine, there's a twelve second delay."

I looked at Kramer.

"Um, apparently our satellite feeds have been hacked, sir."

"Hacked?"

Mason's comment about satellites being overtaken started to make sense. Just then, four more monitors became active.

Baxter spoke into his phone, "You're on speaker now, Teller."

Jim Teller, in Satellite Operations had news for us, "I saw some screens busy, so I sent the images to monitors nine through twelve."

My patience was wearing thin, "What are we looking at?"

"On nine is Lemon Grove..."

"This is real-time?"

"As close as we can get, sir, there is a twelve second delay."

David Hill walked in, expecting to prepare for a press conference, I nodded a greeting.

"You're telling me Lemon Grove is still there?"

"Um, yes sir. Wooster, Morristown, and Kingsville are on ten through twelve, respectively."

"Why would Loof do something like that? We saw fabricated videos of the explosions?"

"That's exactly what we saw, sir. I can't answer why."

"It was rhetorical, Jim. Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir."

Baxter disconnected.

"I'm not sure if the explosions were videos or what we're looking at now are. Can we get someone in each of those cities to confirm they're still there, if possible."

"Already working on that, sir."

"Thanks, Hayden. Call my family. Someone I care about lives in each of those cities. Fuck. Did I kill over nine thousand people because of a fucking joke? Baxter, micro-drone status?"

"They'll be over Cortuna in two minutes sir."

"Any way to get real-time imagery sent here?"

"No sir, those drones have no long-range transmission capabilities. We'll have to wait until they get back to the Williams."

"Cover as much as the island as they can in ten minutes and get a report."

"Right away, sir."

"Okay, everybody, clear out. I need a moment to myself."

They left, I called Lindy, "Hi, hon."

"Hi Avery. What's up?"

"I'm probably going to jail. But see if you can get in touch with all the kids, and your mother."

"What? Why?"

"It's a long story, but the Cliff notes are that I just killed nine thousand people in Cortuna because their asshole Prime Minister decided to play a joke on the US, and me."

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. I don't know when I'll be back to the apartment, shit's heavy right now."

"No worries. I'll come there and you can fill me in. I'll do whatever I can to help."

"Thanks."

I sat down with my head in my hands, my mind blank, my emotions buzzing like a swarm of bees. Lindy showed up, read my body language, and simply sat down quietly, waiting for me to come out of my daze. Almost twenty minutes later, my phone alerted. I considered not looking for an entire minute, but finally broke down. It was a message from General Kramer. My emotions took another roller coaster ride.

'You're not going to believe this, but the drones found ten very large pockets of heat signatures of roughly ninety-nine degrees in Cortuna.'

I noticed Lindy, "I'm a wreck. I don't know what's real anymore."

"What was the message?"

"Somehow, the residents of Cortuna, or at least a lot of them, survived a five-thousand-degree heat flash on the surface of the island."

"How is that possible?"

"I haven't a fucking clue."

My phone buzzed again. Bax, once more.

'There are few of us out in the lobby. Are you ready to see people yet?'

'Yeah. Come on in.'

General Kramer, Secretaries Vidant and Wagner, Vice President Thompson, and Hayden Sinclair walked in.

Baxter started, "How are you doing sir?"

"Aside from not knowing which way is up, what's real and what isn't, just fucking peachy."

"May I try to clear some of that up for you?"

"Please, Baxter."

"Before Prime Minister Loof apparently went off his rocker, the entire population of Cortuna was evacuated to underground bunkers. The ten pockets of thermal signatures actually encompassed one hundred bunkers. The four apparently bombed cities are indeed still whole. Inactive bombs hit near each city, triggering the faked videos."

"Were the images from the space station real?"

"As far as we can tell, yes."

"So, we'll never know what Loof's motives were."

"Um..."

"Fuck. Tell me."

"It was never Loof. He's safe in one of the bunkers. He knew what was coming. A renegade faction threatened to destroy the island. He called for the evacuation, and the impostor Loof did everything else."

"I didn't fry nine-thousand people?"

"No sir."

"I didn't have twenty-eight of our astronauts sucked out into space?"

"Only their bodies, sir."

"The other eight?"

"Leaders of the anti-Loof movement."

"I only killed eight murderers?"

"That is exactly correct."

"Contact the real Loof and let him know we will help them rebuild."

"I'll do that, sir."

"Anything else?"

Baxter looked hesitant. I raised my eyebrows, 'get on with it.'

"Just that we know how stressful these past few hours have been for you. We'd like to suggest you take a short vacation, um, perhaps talk to someone."

"That someone being a psychiatrist?"

"Or some type of mental health counselor."

I looked at Lindy, she nodded.

I broke. It was a long while before I actually talked to any doctors.