The Attack
At any rate, whether we expect another invasion or not, our views of the human future must be greatly modified by these events. We have learned now that we cannot regard this planet as being fenced in and a secure abiding
place for Man; we can never anticipate the unseen good or evil that may
come upon us suddenly out of space.
Excerpt from The War of the Worlds
H.G. Wells 1896
President George Baxter sat in the West Wing of the White House. He, however, was the only one sitting. The rest of the people in the room were all standing in front of his desk, trying to be heard above all the rest. Baxter looked around the room, the only person he could see not trying to talk to him was his Secret Service agent, Jack Mitchell. Baxter ran a hand through his short, jet black hair. He was always told that he looked younger than his fifty-two years, but gray was starting to creep into his hair at the temples. His one hundred eighty pound frame held almost no fat at all, and Baxter planed on keeping it that way. Again, Baxter looked over at Mitchell, who had the beginnings of an amused look on his face. Mitchell was tall, over six feet, with brown hair and mesmerizing green eyes. He was all muscle, all one hundred ninety pounds of him. Another different thing about Mitchell was that he shot primarily left handed, but could fire accurately with either hand. Baxter could see the pistol he carried on his left hip, but knew that he probably had other weapons on him. Especially now, Baxter thought. A sudden threat had called all of these people into the West Wing. The voices still scaled up higher, trying to be heard over on another, until finally Baxter had enough of the babble.
"Enough!" Baxter yelled. All conversation stopped. Baxter looked over the assembled people. His vice-president, Chief of Staff, Joints Chiefs, and top military advisors were present, along with the CIA Deputy Director and Secretary of Defense. Baxter cleared his throat.
"Now will one person, and I emphasize one, please tell me what the hell is going on that was so important that it brought all of you here and disturbed my morning chat with my agent?" He looked over the crowd of people, watching them look to each other wondering who would talk first.
"Seems like you all had a lot to say a minute ago. Secretary Haskins, can you tell me what is going on?"
"Yes sir." Baxter's Secretary of Defense stepped forward. Haskins was a big man, especially around the middle, with balding brown hair. "It appears that some unidentified objects have entered Earth's outer atmosphere."
"'Unidentified objects', Haskins? How do we not know what these 'objects' are? Are they satellites? Is part of the International Space Station coming down?"
"No sir. All satellites and all parts of the space station are present and accounted for."
"Then what are they?"
"We don't know, sir. But they appear to be moving under their own power."
"These are ships? Spacecraft? They aren't from Earth?"
"No sir. We detected them first on the far side of the moon, and then they moved towards us." The Secretary explained all this with a confused look on his face while Baxter sat back in utter shock.
"You said 'objects', Haskins. That's plural. How many are we talking about here?"
"Two, sir."
"Where are they headed?"
"One looks to be descending down over the Pacific Ocean, heading towards the Russian area, and on is descending over the Atlantic Ocean."
"Where is that one heading, Haskins?" The President asked, dreading the answer. Haskins turned to one of the generals in the room, General Novak, to carry out the rest of the briefing. Novak stepped forward.
"If the one over Pacific keeps on its current heading and direction, it will end up over Moscow."
"And the one over the Atlantic?"
"If it keeps its current heading, it is heading straight for us." The President looked shocked for a second, and then hung his head. "Of course," the General continued, "we have no indication that these ships have any hostile intent." Baxter looked around at the assembled people, and finally looked over at Mitchell. The agent looked deep in concentration, as if he was searching through his memory for something that was proving elusive. Suddenly, his face lit up as he found the memory. He turned to the President and mouthed two words, July Fourth. The President looked back, not comprehending, until those words set off an alarm bell in his mind.
"Independence Day." The President said.
"What sir? July fourth isn't for another week, sir."
"No, not the day, the movie, general. Independence Day, remember? The one with Will Smith? Remember what happened in that movie?"
"Yes sir. Alien ships came to Earth and attacked."
"Exactly. Evacuate the major cities, all of them."
"But, sir, we have no indication that these ships intend hostile action."
"Neither did the ones in Independence Day. I am still the Commander- in-Chief of the military, and I am still the President. Alert your men and evacuate the cities, General."
"Yes sir. Will we be evacuating the White House, sir?"
"Yes, after I address the nation on national television. Dalton?"
"Yes sir?" The President's press secretary stepped forward.
"Let the press know that I will be addressing the nation in thirty minutes. Tell them to be ready to carry a live broadcast."
"Yes sir." Dalton ran out of the West Wing to alert the press corp. that was always camped out in the press room.
"All right, the rest of you, listen up. I want you to get on the horn to all your military commanders. Get every valuable piece of military equipment out of all the major cities. Commanders of your general areas, I'll leave it up to you as to the place for the rendezvous point for all that material. That's all." The military commanders all turned to leave, along with the other presidential staff. "One last thing."
"Yes sir?"
"No celebrating until the fat lady sings, got it?"
"Excuse me sir?"
"No celebrating until the fat lady sings, or until we are sure victory is sure. Got it?"
"Yes sir." With that, everyone left the room except for Mitchell and the voices in the President's head.
Thirty minutes later, the President of the United States stood in front of the nation to announce the gravest news anyone would ever have to deliver. He walked up to the podium.
"My fellow Americans, today I come before you with the gravest of news. We have detected two unidentified flying objects descending through Earth's atmosphere. One is headed towards Moscow, the other, towards Washington, D.C. I am asking all Americans living in all major cities around the country to evacuate immediately, for your own safety. Police will be going house to house until they as well have to evacuate because of a threat. Please do not resist their authority, and follow their directions on where to evacuate to. May God be with us in this hour of strife, and may God bless America." The President nodded to the cameras, and then walked out of the press room before the press corp. could break out of their stunned silence and start firing questions at him. The President walked through the doors of the press room out into the hallway, leaving the dead silence behind him. He passed Mitchell who was standing just outside the door, and started walking down the hallway.
"Eagle is moving." Mitchell spoke into his small radio by his mouth. Mitchell walked along behind the president, alert, watching for any sign of a threat. Mitchell had been the president's main body guard ever since he had been announced as the Democratic Party's candidate for president. In their two years together, Mitchell had become one of the president's closest confidants. Every morning, Baxter and Mitchell talked about anything and everything. Baxter would ask Mitchell for advice on what to do with foreign affairs to bills in Congress. Mitchell would give the president his honest opinion, not as his Secret Service bodyguard, but as an American citizen and voter. Baxter took Mitchell's advice very seriously, and called him America's unknown president. Now, Mitchell was at his side, ready to offer his advice, protection, and his life for the president. Baxter burst through the door of the West Wing to find it filled with people for the second time that day. The president stood in the doorway to the West Wing, with Mitchell behind him.
"Well?" Baxter asked, "Has anything changed? Where is the spaceship now?"
"The spaceship has cleared the lower layers of Earth's atmosphere, and is headed directly for us." One of the generals said.
"Estimated time to arrival until it's reached the outskirts of the city?"
"ETA, if nothing changes, is thirty minutes."
"All right, sound a general alarm throughout Washington, D.C. I want as many people out of the District of Columbia as we can get in twenty-five minutes."
"Yes sir."
"And we are going to evacuate all government buildings. Gordon?" The president turned to his Vice President, Geoff Gordon.
"Yes, George?"
"I want you to take everyone in this room, including all the joint chiefs, secretaries, everyone like that, and take Air Force One, the 737 one. Head out for NORAD. I'm going alone on the Air Force One 747, with only my pilot, Mitchell, and my secretary, Jennifer Carson. We'll meet you there."
"Yes sir." As everyone turned to go, Tim McCoy, Deputy Director of the CIA, stepped forward.
"Mr. President, I'd like to go with you on the 747." Baxter opened his mouth to deny the Director's request, but looked over at Mitchell. Mitchell studied the Director suspiciously for a moment, before his curiosity won over and he shrugged and nodded to Baxter.
"All right, McCoy, you can come along with us." McCoy turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him. The president looked over at Mitchell, who shrugged again, and then stepped out the door himself, leaving the president alone with his thoughts for a few moments. A minute later, a knock came on the door.
"Enter." The president said.
"Sir, the limo is waiting out front." It was his secretary Jennifer Carson.
"I'll be right out, Jen."
"Yes sir.' The president took on last, long look around the Oval Office, and then sighed to himself.
"Let's roll." With those words, Baxter left the Oval Office behind and walked out to the waiting limo.
President George Baxter sat in the back seat of the limo. Jack Mitchell sat next to him, while the president's secretary, Jennifer Carson, and Tim McCoy, the CIA Deputy Director, sat across form them. They were probably some of the lucky few in the whole of Washington, D.C. that were sitting. Outside the limo, the president's announcement of aliens descending upon the city had caused utter panic, and Jack Mitchell thought the same was happening in every major U.S. city around the country. People were in cars, speeding down streets that they could before running into bumper-to-bumper traffic. He saw people running on foot, racing around, trying to get out of the city. Mitchell saw still others making handmade signs, ready to welcome the aliens. Mitchell shook his head as he raised his radio on his watch to his mouth,
"Driver, how much longer until we reach Andrews Air Force base?"
"We should reach the base in about five minutes, Agent."
"Thank you, driver." Mitchell leaned back into his seat. Remembering something, he sat up and pulled out his pistol at his hip.
"What the hell are you doing?" McCoy asked.
"Making sure that my weapon is fully loaded, Director. We could run into some nasty situations ahead, and I want to make sure I'm ready."
"Oh, ok." McCoy watched as Mitchell checked his weapon, and then looked visibly relieved when Mitchell shoved the Glock 21 back into its holster. Suddenly, Mitchell unbuttoned his jacket, revealing two shoulder holsters, each with a Mini Uzi submachine pistol in it. McCoy visibly recoiled at the weapons. Mitchell looked up strangely at him, stopping midway in the process of pulling the weapons out of their holsters.
"Something wrong, McCoy? You act like you've never seen a weapon before. Does the CIA only arm their agents with rubber-band and paintball guns?" Both the presidents and Jennifer Carson snickered at the comment.
"No, we give them real weapons," McCoy said, oblivious to the sarcasm, "I've just never had someone pull them out in such close proximity to me."
"Oh, well there's nothing to worry about, Little Timmy," said Mitchell, talking to McCoy much as a parent would talk to a newborn baby. "There is a little button on the side called a safe-tee switch. It doesn't let me fire the weapon until the switch is flicked to OFF," Mitchell flipped the safety to OFF, and got the amusement of watching McCoy shrink back into his seat. He flipped the weapon's safety back to ON. "Don't worry; the safety is always ON until there is a situation." Mitchell checked the weapons quickly, before moving to the USP-45 silenced pistol he had tucked in an ankle holster. After finishing checking that weapon and putting it back in its holster, his earpiece beeped, indicating an incoming message. He paused and pressed a finger to his ear to listen to the message. After he was done, President Baxter looked at him and raised his eyebrows, silently saying, 'Well?'.
"The alien ship has reached the outskirts of Washington, D.C. Two smaller objects have launched from the ship, and are heading towards the direction of Andrews Air Force base. Each is about the size of a B-52 bomber in length, and is about half as wide as it is long. We had better get to Andrews soon, sir, if we hope to take off before the ships get there." As if to answer his words, the limo passed through the gates in Andrews Air Force base, and started to drive down the runway towards Air Force One.
"Where is the Vice President's convoy?" Baxter asked.
"About five minute behind us, sir. They got caught in traffic." The presidential limo moved down the runway, racing towards Air Force One that was growing larger by the second. Behind them, the alien grew larger and larger on the horizon, as did the two smaller drop ships that were heading towards Andrews Air Force base. The limo driver pulled up in front of Air Force One with a squeal of brakes, throwing all the passengers forward. Baxter started to get out, when Mitchell put a hand on his shoulder.
"Sir, let me make sure the area is secure. We know that terrorists and crazy people just wait for moments like these to try and assassinate you." Mitchell pulled out his pistol, and started to step out the other side. With one foot out the door, he flicked the safety switch to OFF, and was pleased to hear an audible gasp from inside the limo. Looking around, Mitchell determined that there no immediate threat, however, he could see the two drop ships clearly now. As he watched, one veered down to land on the other side of Andrews Air Force base, where the Air Force One 737 was kept. Mitchell heard the ship land, and heard something rushing out of the craft. Mitchell could see the other one was only seconds away.
"Pilot!" He shouted into his radio, "Start the engines and be ready to get us out of here as soon as we board."
"Yes sir." Mitchell turned back to the limo.
"Mr. President, Jennifer, McCoy, get out now. The second alien drop ship will be here any second." All three people scrambled out of the limo and started to run towards Air Force One. Mitchell turned after everyone had gotten out and looked for the alien drop ship up in the sky, but couldn't see it. As he wondered how he could lose a ship as long as a B-52, he saw it land about two hundred yards away. The ship looked like an elongated teardrop, with a slight bulge at the front for the cockpit. It was a gray-green in color, and as Mitchell watched, a ramp lowered from its belly. As the ramp was still lowering, Mitchell pulled the USP-45 pistol out of his ankle holster. He saw something in the ship move, then charge down the ramp. Mitchell got his first look at the aliens, and froze. He had been trained to take on every single threat that could present itself to the President from terrorists to tanks, but all that he had trained for could never have prepared him for what was charging down the ramp of that alien ship. The aliens ran on four powerful legs, and each leg ended in a two-towed hoof. The aliens had no arms that Jack could see, but instead had two tentacles that each held some kind of gun. The aliens had two heads, and each head had one main eye and a mouth, as well as two more eyes on antenna on top of their head that swiveled to let them see in any direction. Jack just stood there; out in the open until he saw on of the aliens point one of their weapons at him. That shocked him back into motion.
"Run for the plane! Tell the pilot to take off immediately." Mitchell pointed his guns at the lead alien as he dove behind the car. The alien's gun spat hot energy towards Mitchell as he dove. There was a bright flash of light, and then Mitchell was gone.
President Baxter was sprinting towards Air Force One, with Jennifer Carson in front of him and Tim McCoy behind him. When he heard Mitchell yell, he turned just in time to see the flash of light from the alien's gun. A bolt of energy shot out from the gun, and flew towards Mitchell. Baxter saw an explosion of light near Mitchell, and when the light faded, he couldn't see Mitchell anymore. The alien that had shot Mitchell turned towards the President and the other two people.
"Run!" the President yelled. He pulled a Russian made Markov snub- nosed pistol from a secret pocket in his jacket and pointed it at the alien. He saw more aliens running down the ramp behind it, but focused on the alien that had been the first down the ramp. He raised the pistol and fired. He hit the alien in both of its heads with three shots each. The alien fell, screaming out loud in its alien tongue as the shots blew through its skull. The President turned and fired at the other aliens who were charging down the ramp. His first two shots missed, but he started getting more accurate as the aliens came closer. BANG, BANG, BANG. three shots, three hits, three kills. The President aimed at another group of aliens. BANG, BANG, CLICK, CLICK. Baxter's gun ran out of ammo. Looking up, he saw one of the aliens stop ten feet from him. The alien raised both of its tentacle arms, holding its energy guns pointed squarely at him. The tips of the tentacles squeezed the triggers, sending dual bolts of energy into the President's chest. Baxter felt a burning sensation in his chest as he watched it turn into a charred, blackened hole. He heard someone, maybe it was himself, he didn't know, scream, "No!" Then his vision swam, and George Baxter, President of the United States of America, was swept over by a wave of darkness blacker than anything ever seen before.
Jennifer Carson, secretary to the President of the United States, ran towards Air Force One. Her shoulder length, dirty blond hair flew out behind her as she ran. Her blue eyes were bright with adrenaline from the terror of the scene. She heard the President fire a gun, where he had found it, she didn't know, and heard one of the aliens scream in pain. She was reaching the stairs of Air Force One when she heard someone yell, "No!" behind her. She turned to see the President fall, a charred hole where his chest used to be. She froze; it was the first time she had ever seen someone die before, especially someone she knew. She knew that Mitchell was dead, but she didn't know him that well and she hadn't seen him die. But seeing the President die, that was a whole different story. She stood there, frozen in place, until an alien pointed one of their guns at her. Still frozen, Jennifer could do nothing to save herself, and prepared to die. The alien started to squeeze the trigger when a flurry of shots came from behind her and to the alien's left. The shots from behind her hit one of the alien's heads, but didn't kill it. The shots from the alien's left seemed to come from an automatic weapon. The shots blasted apart the aliens remaining head and the force from the other shots tossed the alien to his right. Jennifer looked behind her, seeing Air Force One's pilot standing at the top of the stairs, pistol in his hand. She couldn't figure out who had fired the other shots, since she could see McCoy scrambling up the stairs. She turned to look to the alien's left, and couldn't believe what she saw. Mitchell was behind the limo, using its bulk for cover, and firing an M- 16A1 rifle he had pulled out of the trunk of the limo. Jennifer suddenly realized that the trunk must be a hidden cache of weapons. She heard the M- 16 run out of ammo, saw Mitchell sling it over his back, before grabbing his Glock 21 and USP 45. He turned and saw her standing in the open, then turned and ran towards her. As he ran, he fired at the aliens with both hands, holding them at bay while he got to her. Jen saw two, three, four aliens fall under his barrage, and then Mitchell was to her, pushing her back towards the plane, trying to move her to safety. Jen got the hint and ran up the stairs and into the passenger section of the plane. Mitchell stopped for a second, dropped the M-16 along with the two pistols on the floor, and then turned to Jen.
"Jen, listen to me. Stay here and guard the door. McCoy should be doing it, but he's too much of a coward. There is still some ammo left in both those guns, if any aliens come close, shoot them. I'm going back out to get Baxter and as many guns as I can carry. If I drive them back, come out and help me, ok? If I get shot, though, tell the pilot to take off without me." Mitchell shrugged out of his jacket and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. He pulled out the two Mini Uzis from their shoulder holsters. "Got it?"
"Yes, Jack. Be careful."
"I will, pretty lady." With a final wink, Mitchell ran out the door, leaving Jen watching after him.
Jack Mitchell ran down the stairs outside Air Force One, a Mini Uzi in each hand. He had yelled out in anguish when he had seen his close friend, the president, get shot, and now he focused that anger on the aliens. He had one spare clip of ammo for each gun on his belt, and that would have to last him until he got back to the limo. He raised the guns, and pointed them at the now advancing aliens. He squeezed the triggers, sending death spitting out from the dual barrels. He saw four aliens go down under his assault. One got halfway up before another bullet slammed into it, while the other three did not move again. Mitchell saw two aliens aim at him out of the corner of his eye, and dove for the limo. The alien's shots splattered on the ground behind him as he rolled forward towards the limo. He came up on one knee and emptied the clips at the aliens. Both fell and did not get up. Mitchell pulled both clips from his belt and ejected the spent one from the guns. He shoved both of the new clips into the guns, and ran the last ten feet to the trunk of the limo. He tossed the Uzis into the trunk and pulled out a LAW rocket launcher. He picked it up and aimed at the hatch of the ship. Looking through the primitive sight, he targeted the opening at the top of the ramp. Then he squeezed the trigger, sending a rocket streaking out towards the ship. The missile hit the top of the ramp, not exploding right away, but glancing up further into the ship. Then the missile hit a bulkhead and exploded. The explosion ripped through the ship, exploding fuel cells and racing down hallways, incinerating the other alien crewmen in the blink of an eye. The fireball blew out the bridge windows, spitting fire out into the air. Holes were breached in the hull as fire spewed from them. In just a few seconds, the alien drop ship had turned from a vessel of terror crewed by dozens of aliens, to a flaming hulk. Only eight aliens remained outside the ship, while three that had been standing close to the ship when the missile exploded had also been killed. The remaining eight aliens charged towards Jack as he pulled out a Squad Automatic Weapon of the trunk. Mitchell aimed the SAW at the charging aliens and strafed burning death back and forth over the aliens. He didn't stop firing until the SAW ran out of ammo. Looking over the runway, he surveyed the burnt out hulk and the dead alien bodies. He turned to walk over to Baxter, who was still lying on the runway where he had fallen, steam still rising from his chest.
"Jack, look out!" a shout came from behind him. Jack turned a ducked, but saw one alien aiming at him with its gun. Somehow Jack must have missed him and it had faked playing dead. Even as he rolled away, Jack knew there was no way he could avoid the alien, it was too close. He stopped rolling, and looked directly into the alien's dual head. He heard the whine of the weapon powering up, then a bang of a weapon discharging. He felt no searing heat, felt no hammer blow to his chest. In fact, he felt no different than he had a minute ago. He looked up to see the alien to see it swaying like it was caught in the breeze. Then it fell to the ground, a bullet hole in its chest, squirting dark purple blood from the hole. The alien fell next to Jack, as he turned to see Jen standing at the top of the stairs, holding a pistol in a steady two-handed grip.
"Thanks for the save. Get McCoy's sorry butt out here to help get these weapons into the plane." Jen nodded and moved into the plane. Mark made sure that she was gone, and then walked over to where President Baxter was on the runway. As we walked over, it was clear that his friend was dead. Mitchell looked into the blank, staring eyes of a man that only an hour ago had been the leader of the most powerful nation in the world. Baxter was looking straight up, the expression on his face that of a child staring up in wonderment at the heavens. Tears forming in his eyes, Jack reached down and closed the eyes of George Baxter forever.
"So, what did you call me put here for?" McCoy walked out of the plane, speaking loudly. Mitchell felt a cold rage building inside him. It was all Jack could do to simply stand and walk over to Tim calmly.
"I called you out here to help me carry all the weapons from the limo's trunk into the plane. I have a feeling that we're going to need them later."
"Get them yourself, Mitchell. I'm the Deputy Director of the CIA. You don't tell me what to do." McCoy turned and started to walk away. Mitchell grabbed Tim's jacket and turned him around, bringing his face close to his.
"Listen, you pompous bastard, if not for me and Jen defending your sorry ass, it would be you lying here on the pavement right now. Now, your Commander-in-Chief died defending you, while it should have been the other way around, and the least you can do is help us take these weapons into Air Force One." Mitchell finally let go of McCoy. McCoy looked at him for a long moment, and then started to turn around to walk back to the plane. He turned right into the pistol Jen was holding. Tim was shocked, and involuntarily took a step back, right into a gun held by Jack to the small of his back.
"All right," Jen said, "help with these weapons, of I blow your brains out of your skull."
"You wouldn't do that," McCoy said defiantly, though staring at the gun, "You couldn't shoot me in cold blood."
"True, McCoy," Jack said, "but I could jam this gun into your kidney and cause you more pain that you ever want to go through. Now go and get those weapons." McCoy looked like he was going to defy Mitchell again and dare him to ram his gun into his kidney, then looked into Mitchell's eyes, and saw that he was dead serious. With a much put upon sigh, Tim turned and walked over to the limo. Jack turned to Jen,
"Pick up what he doesn't. I'll bring in all the heavy weaponry. There are a few rocket launchers and even two portable fifty caliber machine guns on tripods in there. Just take what you can carry. Oh, and see if the pilot can come out here and help, we have to move fast."
"Sure Jack."
"Thanks." Jack walked over to the President, and picked him up in his arms. Carrying him gently, Mitchell brought his friend up into the airplane. In the upper cabins, there was a table, which is where Jack laid him. Seeing an American flag on the wall, Jack took it down and covered his friend with it, much in the way the coffin of a soldier is. Stepping back, Jack saluted the dead President, then closed and locked the door, sealing the President in darkness.
Tim McCoy, Deputy Director of the CIA was not used to this kind of work, nor was he accustomed to being bossed around. His black hair was kept short and impeccably groomed, just like the rest of him. His ice blue eyes were a sharp contrast to his jet black hair. To think of him, Tim McCoy, doing something that would wrinkle his suit willingly was unheard of. And that was why he wasn't doing it willingly. He grumbled constantly as he picked up the smallest weapons he could find in the trunk, and carried the fewest number of them that he could back to the plane. He saw Jen giving him an unappreciative look as he walked past, but he didn't care. She had no more authority over him than Mitchell did. In fact, she had less. At least Mitchell was one of the President's advisors, while she was just his secretary. He didn't know where she had learned to shoot like that, or where she got her nerves of steel from, but frankly, he didn't care. He just wanted to get out of this whole mess. It all felt like a bad dream, a dream that he would wake up from at any minute, so that's why he didn't care. He thought that this was a dream. He slowly trooped up the walkway just in time to see Mitchell walk down, tears in his eyes. Mitchell walked down the stairs, staring straight ahead, not paying attention to him, for once. Mitchell walked towards the limo, and when he reached it, he just stopped. McCoy watched as Jen said something to him, and then gave him a hug. Mitchell hugged her back, and then went to work gathering weapons. Jen started walking towards the plane, carrying five M-16s on her back, as well as four more in her hands. She walked into the plane, looking scornfully at the three pistols he carried. Tim just shrugged and placed the pistols in the front seat, then went and sat down, feeling he had fulfilled his contribution. He heard footsteps coming from above and looked up to see the pilot, a major from the rank insignia on his sleeve, descending down the steps. The major looked at him, slightly confused.
"Problem, Major?"
"Yeah. Who are you and what are you doing on my plane and not helping the others?"
"I'm Tim McCoy, for your information, and I'm the director of the CIA."
"So, why are you just sitting here and not helping?"
"I did my part. See those three pistols?"
"Only three pistols? I just saw a lady walk by here carrying nine M- 16s, and you mean to tell me that you can only carry three pistols?"
"No, I can carry more, but I don't want to."
"You are a jerk, McCoy." With that, the major turned and walked off the plane, leaving McCoy alone the way he wanted to be.
Major Hank Johnson walked out into the bright sunlight outside Air Force One. It was the second time in ten minutes that he stood framed in the doorway of the plane, gun in hand. A few minute earlier he had helped save Jennifer Carson from the alien that had killed the President, while Jack Mitchell had actually taken it down. He then had gone back into the plane to prep it for take-off as he saw Mitchell start to run back towards the plane. He had been ready to start the engines when he saw Mitchell run outside again. Leaving the plane in standby mode, he now walked down the steps past Tim McCoy, the jerk who was the Deputy Director of the CIA. Outside Air Force One, the slight breeze blew across his bald head and made his dark blue tie on his light blue shirt flutter. Johnson wore dark blue slacks as well, completing his Air Force work uniform. His dark blue eyes that nearly matched his slacks scanned the airstrip and saw Mitchell pulling some larger weapons out of the limo's trunk. Seeing no other threat, Johnson re-holstered his pistol and walked out to the trunk. Hearing the footsteps, Mitchell looked up, a look on surprise on his face, like he thought McCoy was coming out to help him, but instead saw the major walking towards him. He smiled and stopped what he was doing when he saw Johnson approaching.
"Hello," he said, extending his hand, "I'm Jack Mitchell the leader of the President's" he paused as he chocked on the words, "the former President's security detail. You must be the pilot of Air Force One."
Johnson smiled as he shook Mitchell's hand. "You are right. I'm Major Hank Johnson, pilot of Air Force One. You look like you could use some help."
"Yeah, if you could just grab anything that you can carry, we might be able to get everything back to the plane in one trip, and then be able to take off."
"All right, let's get this show on the road." Johnson picked up as many things that he could carry. Johnson picked up the last remaining M-16, two SAWs, four LAWs, as well as an M-1 sniper rifle and a 60-mm mortar round. Turning around, he carried all this back to the plane, along with four pistols that he had stuffed into the front of his pants. Mitchell grabbed the two fifty caliber machine guns along with their tripods, two sixty caliber machine guns, the last two remaining SAWs, as well as four semi-automatic, and four automatic pistols. Mitchell struggled under the load as he walked back towards the plane, when suddenly his earpiece beeped. He climbed up the stairs as the agent on the other end spoke frantically.
"Mitchell? Where are you?" Quickly, Mitchell climbed up the rest of the stairs and dumped the weapons on the floor in front of him. "Mitchell?"
"What is it, Hasker?" Mitchell asked the voice on the other end.
"Where the hell are you?"
"On Air Force One."
"Get the President the hell out of there now! The alien ship is on the outskirts of D.C. and something on the outside has opened. It looks like some sort of missile tube."
"Roger that. Get clear, Hasker. You've done your duty."
"Yes sir. Good luck, sir." Mitchell shoved the stair away from the door and slammed it shut. He knew that there were a few more weapons in the trunk, but it was mostly small, semi-automatic guns, and they weren't worth risking his life over. He ran up the stairs, passing Jen on the way.
"Jack, what is it?" she asked. Mitchell said nothing, but kept running up the stairs into the communications center outside the cockpit. He heard Jen get up and follow him, but he ran until he hit the cockpit door, throwing it open.
"Hank, get us out of here. The alien ship is about to fire."
"Roger that, we're on our way." Mitchell jumped into the copilot's chair and slapped on a headset. He had been trained in preliminary flight when he had applied for a job in the Secret Service. He punched the buttons for the right engines to start up, and with a satisfying hum, they caught and started. Johnson nodded in approval and then keyed his headset to airport control.
"Andrews Tower One, this is Air Force One, requesting immediate emergency takeoff." Silence answered him. "Andrews Tower One?" Again, silence answered him.
"Just go!" Mitchell yelled. "They must have left. No one will get in the way of this 747. Let's just get out of here!" Johnson nodded and powered up the engines, maneuvering to take off. Mitchell worriedly looked out the rear camera on the back of the plane, watching the alien ship advance closer. He saw a glow near the missile tube Hasker had talked about. He looked back to Johnson and silently urged Johnson to hurry up.
Far behind, the alien ship fired its missile.
Air Force One rumbled down the runway, picking up speed. Though it was moving quickly, Mitchell knew that it wasn't fast enough.
The alien missile streaked over the city. People stopped running and pointed up at it, talking excitedly, not knowing that these were their final seconds of life. The projectile streaked past the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument, and the Capital Building. Sweeping in a wide turn, it raced back towards the Capital. It climbed into the air, and then dove straight down at the Capital. Then it detonated. Waves of radiation and heat poured out from the source of the blast. People were incinerated, leaving nothing but fading shadows of themselves in the afternoon air. The epicenter of the missile, directly over the Capital, did not produce the heat, only a massive shock wave pointed straight down. The blast blew through the Capital Building, ripping through the marble columns on the gondola and making it collapse down on the lobby below it a millisecond before the rest of the Capitol was turned into a pile of charred stone and dust. The shock waves churned out in all directions, and met the White House next. The front columns were blown backwards, slicing through windows and into the residence and the West Wing. In another millisecond, the entire White House was blown back off its foundation, charred and blackened. The Washington Monument was toppled, smashing itself it millions of pieces when it hit the ground. Abraham Lincoln sat in his chair inside the Lincoln Memorial, stonily watching the waves of heat that rolled unerringly towards him. A quarter second later, then blast raced through the Memorial, utterly destroying it. The blast moved out in a circular pattern over the landscape of Washington, D.C. The Jefferson Memorial was totally destroyed in less than a second, and the Vietnam Memorial and Korean Memorial soon followed suit. People trying to escape in cars were crushed by the force of the blast, and people on the outskirts of the city were dealt with lethal doses of radiation. Then the shock waves raced on towards Andrews Air Force Base unabated. In less than twenty seconds, a missile with the power three nuclear bombs turned Washington, D.C, the capital of the most powerful country in the world, into a pile of smoking, glowing rubble.
Mitchell watched in horrid fascination as the alien ship's missile incinerated Washington, D.C. He could see the shock waves racing towards Andrews by the trees and cars that were being overturned and exploding. Air Force One was more than halfway down the runway, but the shock waves were advancing quickly, too quickly. If they reached Air Force One before it took off, the shock waves would tear the wheels off the plane, leaving it unable to move before the other shock waves tore it to pieces. Mitchell looked back at the plane's engine readings. Johnson couldn't make the plane go faster; the plane's engines were already pushing the red lines. He turned to Johnson,
"At the first opportunity, take off. We just have to get above the first shock wave that is going at ground level." Johnson nodded, never taking his eyes off his instruments or the runway for a second. Mitchell saw the speed reading climb to over one hundred thirty miles per hour, and felt the plane start to struggle to get off the ground.
"Come on, baby. Come on, baby." Johnson was saying, almost as a prayer. The plane struggled more and started to lift off the ground. Behind them, Mitchell could see the shock waves had reached the edge of the runway. Only another second, maybe second and a half until it hits us, Mitchell thought. He watched as Johnson pulled the stick back almost to his chest, and Mitchell felt the plane almost jump off the ground. The nose of the plane pulled into the air, and the tail followed a half second after. The shock wave raced underneath Air Force One, missing the tail by about half a foot. Still in danger of a stall, Johnson lowered the nose and started to pull up at a ten degree angle. Mitchell breathes a quick sigh of relief before unbuckling himself and walking out to a window. Johnson made a wide bank over the city, careful to stay away from the alien ship. Mitchell was shocked at the destruction he saw below him. Only minutes before, Washington, D.C. had gleamed in the late morning sunlight. Now it was a pile of blackened rubble, and not a living thing could be seen. Nothing moved down below, and Mitchell knew that they were the only ones who had survived. He slowly walked downstairs to the coach section to find McCoy and Carson sitting on opposite sides of the plane. He sat on the bottom stair, looking at both of them. He rubbed his hands slowly over his face, trying to rub away the fatigue he felt. He felt McCoy's eyes on him and looked up.
"Well?" McCoy said, "Is this what you expected?"
"No." Mitchell said. "This is just the beginning."
At any rate, whether we expect another invasion or not, our views of the human future must be greatly modified by these events. We have learned now that we cannot regard this planet as being fenced in and a secure abiding
place for Man; we can never anticipate the unseen good or evil that may
come upon us suddenly out of space.
Excerpt from The War of the Worlds
H.G. Wells 1896
President George Baxter sat in the West Wing of the White House. He, however, was the only one sitting. The rest of the people in the room were all standing in front of his desk, trying to be heard above all the rest. Baxter looked around the room, the only person he could see not trying to talk to him was his Secret Service agent, Jack Mitchell. Baxter ran a hand through his short, jet black hair. He was always told that he looked younger than his fifty-two years, but gray was starting to creep into his hair at the temples. His one hundred eighty pound frame held almost no fat at all, and Baxter planed on keeping it that way. Again, Baxter looked over at Mitchell, who had the beginnings of an amused look on his face. Mitchell was tall, over six feet, with brown hair and mesmerizing green eyes. He was all muscle, all one hundred ninety pounds of him. Another different thing about Mitchell was that he shot primarily left handed, but could fire accurately with either hand. Baxter could see the pistol he carried on his left hip, but knew that he probably had other weapons on him. Especially now, Baxter thought. A sudden threat had called all of these people into the West Wing. The voices still scaled up higher, trying to be heard over on another, until finally Baxter had enough of the babble.
"Enough!" Baxter yelled. All conversation stopped. Baxter looked over the assembled people. His vice-president, Chief of Staff, Joints Chiefs, and top military advisors were present, along with the CIA Deputy Director and Secretary of Defense. Baxter cleared his throat.
"Now will one person, and I emphasize one, please tell me what the hell is going on that was so important that it brought all of you here and disturbed my morning chat with my agent?" He looked over the crowd of people, watching them look to each other wondering who would talk first.
"Seems like you all had a lot to say a minute ago. Secretary Haskins, can you tell me what is going on?"
"Yes sir." Baxter's Secretary of Defense stepped forward. Haskins was a big man, especially around the middle, with balding brown hair. "It appears that some unidentified objects have entered Earth's outer atmosphere."
"'Unidentified objects', Haskins? How do we not know what these 'objects' are? Are they satellites? Is part of the International Space Station coming down?"
"No sir. All satellites and all parts of the space station are present and accounted for."
"Then what are they?"
"We don't know, sir. But they appear to be moving under their own power."
"These are ships? Spacecraft? They aren't from Earth?"
"No sir. We detected them first on the far side of the moon, and then they moved towards us." The Secretary explained all this with a confused look on his face while Baxter sat back in utter shock.
"You said 'objects', Haskins. That's plural. How many are we talking about here?"
"Two, sir."
"Where are they headed?"
"One looks to be descending down over the Pacific Ocean, heading towards the Russian area, and on is descending over the Atlantic Ocean."
"Where is that one heading, Haskins?" The President asked, dreading the answer. Haskins turned to one of the generals in the room, General Novak, to carry out the rest of the briefing. Novak stepped forward.
"If the one over Pacific keeps on its current heading and direction, it will end up over Moscow."
"And the one over the Atlantic?"
"If it keeps its current heading, it is heading straight for us." The President looked shocked for a second, and then hung his head. "Of course," the General continued, "we have no indication that these ships have any hostile intent." Baxter looked around at the assembled people, and finally looked over at Mitchell. The agent looked deep in concentration, as if he was searching through his memory for something that was proving elusive. Suddenly, his face lit up as he found the memory. He turned to the President and mouthed two words, July Fourth. The President looked back, not comprehending, until those words set off an alarm bell in his mind.
"Independence Day." The President said.
"What sir? July fourth isn't for another week, sir."
"No, not the day, the movie, general. Independence Day, remember? The one with Will Smith? Remember what happened in that movie?"
"Yes sir. Alien ships came to Earth and attacked."
"Exactly. Evacuate the major cities, all of them."
"But, sir, we have no indication that these ships intend hostile action."
"Neither did the ones in Independence Day. I am still the Commander- in-Chief of the military, and I am still the President. Alert your men and evacuate the cities, General."
"Yes sir. Will we be evacuating the White House, sir?"
"Yes, after I address the nation on national television. Dalton?"
"Yes sir?" The President's press secretary stepped forward.
"Let the press know that I will be addressing the nation in thirty minutes. Tell them to be ready to carry a live broadcast."
"Yes sir." Dalton ran out of the West Wing to alert the press corp. that was always camped out in the press room.
"All right, the rest of you, listen up. I want you to get on the horn to all your military commanders. Get every valuable piece of military equipment out of all the major cities. Commanders of your general areas, I'll leave it up to you as to the place for the rendezvous point for all that material. That's all." The military commanders all turned to leave, along with the other presidential staff. "One last thing."
"Yes sir?"
"No celebrating until the fat lady sings, got it?"
"Excuse me sir?"
"No celebrating until the fat lady sings, or until we are sure victory is sure. Got it?"
"Yes sir." With that, everyone left the room except for Mitchell and the voices in the President's head.
Thirty minutes later, the President of the United States stood in front of the nation to announce the gravest news anyone would ever have to deliver. He walked up to the podium.
"My fellow Americans, today I come before you with the gravest of news. We have detected two unidentified flying objects descending through Earth's atmosphere. One is headed towards Moscow, the other, towards Washington, D.C. I am asking all Americans living in all major cities around the country to evacuate immediately, for your own safety. Police will be going house to house until they as well have to evacuate because of a threat. Please do not resist their authority, and follow their directions on where to evacuate to. May God be with us in this hour of strife, and may God bless America." The President nodded to the cameras, and then walked out of the press room before the press corp. could break out of their stunned silence and start firing questions at him. The President walked through the doors of the press room out into the hallway, leaving the dead silence behind him. He passed Mitchell who was standing just outside the door, and started walking down the hallway.
"Eagle is moving." Mitchell spoke into his small radio by his mouth. Mitchell walked along behind the president, alert, watching for any sign of a threat. Mitchell had been the president's main body guard ever since he had been announced as the Democratic Party's candidate for president. In their two years together, Mitchell had become one of the president's closest confidants. Every morning, Baxter and Mitchell talked about anything and everything. Baxter would ask Mitchell for advice on what to do with foreign affairs to bills in Congress. Mitchell would give the president his honest opinion, not as his Secret Service bodyguard, but as an American citizen and voter. Baxter took Mitchell's advice very seriously, and called him America's unknown president. Now, Mitchell was at his side, ready to offer his advice, protection, and his life for the president. Baxter burst through the door of the West Wing to find it filled with people for the second time that day. The president stood in the doorway to the West Wing, with Mitchell behind him.
"Well?" Baxter asked, "Has anything changed? Where is the spaceship now?"
"The spaceship has cleared the lower layers of Earth's atmosphere, and is headed directly for us." One of the generals said.
"Estimated time to arrival until it's reached the outskirts of the city?"
"ETA, if nothing changes, is thirty minutes."
"All right, sound a general alarm throughout Washington, D.C. I want as many people out of the District of Columbia as we can get in twenty-five minutes."
"Yes sir."
"And we are going to evacuate all government buildings. Gordon?" The president turned to his Vice President, Geoff Gordon.
"Yes, George?"
"I want you to take everyone in this room, including all the joint chiefs, secretaries, everyone like that, and take Air Force One, the 737 one. Head out for NORAD. I'm going alone on the Air Force One 747, with only my pilot, Mitchell, and my secretary, Jennifer Carson. We'll meet you there."
"Yes sir." As everyone turned to go, Tim McCoy, Deputy Director of the CIA, stepped forward.
"Mr. President, I'd like to go with you on the 747." Baxter opened his mouth to deny the Director's request, but looked over at Mitchell. Mitchell studied the Director suspiciously for a moment, before his curiosity won over and he shrugged and nodded to Baxter.
"All right, McCoy, you can come along with us." McCoy turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him. The president looked over at Mitchell, who shrugged again, and then stepped out the door himself, leaving the president alone with his thoughts for a few moments. A minute later, a knock came on the door.
"Enter." The president said.
"Sir, the limo is waiting out front." It was his secretary Jennifer Carson.
"I'll be right out, Jen."
"Yes sir.' The president took on last, long look around the Oval Office, and then sighed to himself.
"Let's roll." With those words, Baxter left the Oval Office behind and walked out to the waiting limo.
President George Baxter sat in the back seat of the limo. Jack Mitchell sat next to him, while the president's secretary, Jennifer Carson, and Tim McCoy, the CIA Deputy Director, sat across form them. They were probably some of the lucky few in the whole of Washington, D.C. that were sitting. Outside the limo, the president's announcement of aliens descending upon the city had caused utter panic, and Jack Mitchell thought the same was happening in every major U.S. city around the country. People were in cars, speeding down streets that they could before running into bumper-to-bumper traffic. He saw people running on foot, racing around, trying to get out of the city. Mitchell saw still others making handmade signs, ready to welcome the aliens. Mitchell shook his head as he raised his radio on his watch to his mouth,
"Driver, how much longer until we reach Andrews Air Force base?"
"We should reach the base in about five minutes, Agent."
"Thank you, driver." Mitchell leaned back into his seat. Remembering something, he sat up and pulled out his pistol at his hip.
"What the hell are you doing?" McCoy asked.
"Making sure that my weapon is fully loaded, Director. We could run into some nasty situations ahead, and I want to make sure I'm ready."
"Oh, ok." McCoy watched as Mitchell checked his weapon, and then looked visibly relieved when Mitchell shoved the Glock 21 back into its holster. Suddenly, Mitchell unbuttoned his jacket, revealing two shoulder holsters, each with a Mini Uzi submachine pistol in it. McCoy visibly recoiled at the weapons. Mitchell looked up strangely at him, stopping midway in the process of pulling the weapons out of their holsters.
"Something wrong, McCoy? You act like you've never seen a weapon before. Does the CIA only arm their agents with rubber-band and paintball guns?" Both the presidents and Jennifer Carson snickered at the comment.
"No, we give them real weapons," McCoy said, oblivious to the sarcasm, "I've just never had someone pull them out in such close proximity to me."
"Oh, well there's nothing to worry about, Little Timmy," said Mitchell, talking to McCoy much as a parent would talk to a newborn baby. "There is a little button on the side called a safe-tee switch. It doesn't let me fire the weapon until the switch is flicked to OFF," Mitchell flipped the safety to OFF, and got the amusement of watching McCoy shrink back into his seat. He flipped the weapon's safety back to ON. "Don't worry; the safety is always ON until there is a situation." Mitchell checked the weapons quickly, before moving to the USP-45 silenced pistol he had tucked in an ankle holster. After finishing checking that weapon and putting it back in its holster, his earpiece beeped, indicating an incoming message. He paused and pressed a finger to his ear to listen to the message. After he was done, President Baxter looked at him and raised his eyebrows, silently saying, 'Well?'.
"The alien ship has reached the outskirts of Washington, D.C. Two smaller objects have launched from the ship, and are heading towards the direction of Andrews Air Force base. Each is about the size of a B-52 bomber in length, and is about half as wide as it is long. We had better get to Andrews soon, sir, if we hope to take off before the ships get there." As if to answer his words, the limo passed through the gates in Andrews Air Force base, and started to drive down the runway towards Air Force One.
"Where is the Vice President's convoy?" Baxter asked.
"About five minute behind us, sir. They got caught in traffic." The presidential limo moved down the runway, racing towards Air Force One that was growing larger by the second. Behind them, the alien grew larger and larger on the horizon, as did the two smaller drop ships that were heading towards Andrews Air Force base. The limo driver pulled up in front of Air Force One with a squeal of brakes, throwing all the passengers forward. Baxter started to get out, when Mitchell put a hand on his shoulder.
"Sir, let me make sure the area is secure. We know that terrorists and crazy people just wait for moments like these to try and assassinate you." Mitchell pulled out his pistol, and started to step out the other side. With one foot out the door, he flicked the safety switch to OFF, and was pleased to hear an audible gasp from inside the limo. Looking around, Mitchell determined that there no immediate threat, however, he could see the two drop ships clearly now. As he watched, one veered down to land on the other side of Andrews Air Force base, where the Air Force One 737 was kept. Mitchell heard the ship land, and heard something rushing out of the craft. Mitchell could see the other one was only seconds away.
"Pilot!" He shouted into his radio, "Start the engines and be ready to get us out of here as soon as we board."
"Yes sir." Mitchell turned back to the limo.
"Mr. President, Jennifer, McCoy, get out now. The second alien drop ship will be here any second." All three people scrambled out of the limo and started to run towards Air Force One. Mitchell turned after everyone had gotten out and looked for the alien drop ship up in the sky, but couldn't see it. As he wondered how he could lose a ship as long as a B-52, he saw it land about two hundred yards away. The ship looked like an elongated teardrop, with a slight bulge at the front for the cockpit. It was a gray-green in color, and as Mitchell watched, a ramp lowered from its belly. As the ramp was still lowering, Mitchell pulled the USP-45 pistol out of his ankle holster. He saw something in the ship move, then charge down the ramp. Mitchell got his first look at the aliens, and froze. He had been trained to take on every single threat that could present itself to the President from terrorists to tanks, but all that he had trained for could never have prepared him for what was charging down the ramp of that alien ship. The aliens ran on four powerful legs, and each leg ended in a two-towed hoof. The aliens had no arms that Jack could see, but instead had two tentacles that each held some kind of gun. The aliens had two heads, and each head had one main eye and a mouth, as well as two more eyes on antenna on top of their head that swiveled to let them see in any direction. Jack just stood there; out in the open until he saw on of the aliens point one of their weapons at him. That shocked him back into motion.
"Run for the plane! Tell the pilot to take off immediately." Mitchell pointed his guns at the lead alien as he dove behind the car. The alien's gun spat hot energy towards Mitchell as he dove. There was a bright flash of light, and then Mitchell was gone.
President Baxter was sprinting towards Air Force One, with Jennifer Carson in front of him and Tim McCoy behind him. When he heard Mitchell yell, he turned just in time to see the flash of light from the alien's gun. A bolt of energy shot out from the gun, and flew towards Mitchell. Baxter saw an explosion of light near Mitchell, and when the light faded, he couldn't see Mitchell anymore. The alien that had shot Mitchell turned towards the President and the other two people.
"Run!" the President yelled. He pulled a Russian made Markov snub- nosed pistol from a secret pocket in his jacket and pointed it at the alien. He saw more aliens running down the ramp behind it, but focused on the alien that had been the first down the ramp. He raised the pistol and fired. He hit the alien in both of its heads with three shots each. The alien fell, screaming out loud in its alien tongue as the shots blew through its skull. The President turned and fired at the other aliens who were charging down the ramp. His first two shots missed, but he started getting more accurate as the aliens came closer. BANG, BANG, BANG. three shots, three hits, three kills. The President aimed at another group of aliens. BANG, BANG, CLICK, CLICK. Baxter's gun ran out of ammo. Looking up, he saw one of the aliens stop ten feet from him. The alien raised both of its tentacle arms, holding its energy guns pointed squarely at him. The tips of the tentacles squeezed the triggers, sending dual bolts of energy into the President's chest. Baxter felt a burning sensation in his chest as he watched it turn into a charred, blackened hole. He heard someone, maybe it was himself, he didn't know, scream, "No!" Then his vision swam, and George Baxter, President of the United States of America, was swept over by a wave of darkness blacker than anything ever seen before.
Jennifer Carson, secretary to the President of the United States, ran towards Air Force One. Her shoulder length, dirty blond hair flew out behind her as she ran. Her blue eyes were bright with adrenaline from the terror of the scene. She heard the President fire a gun, where he had found it, she didn't know, and heard one of the aliens scream in pain. She was reaching the stairs of Air Force One when she heard someone yell, "No!" behind her. She turned to see the President fall, a charred hole where his chest used to be. She froze; it was the first time she had ever seen someone die before, especially someone she knew. She knew that Mitchell was dead, but she didn't know him that well and she hadn't seen him die. But seeing the President die, that was a whole different story. She stood there, frozen in place, until an alien pointed one of their guns at her. Still frozen, Jennifer could do nothing to save herself, and prepared to die. The alien started to squeeze the trigger when a flurry of shots came from behind her and to the alien's left. The shots from behind her hit one of the alien's heads, but didn't kill it. The shots from the alien's left seemed to come from an automatic weapon. The shots blasted apart the aliens remaining head and the force from the other shots tossed the alien to his right. Jennifer looked behind her, seeing Air Force One's pilot standing at the top of the stairs, pistol in his hand. She couldn't figure out who had fired the other shots, since she could see McCoy scrambling up the stairs. She turned to look to the alien's left, and couldn't believe what she saw. Mitchell was behind the limo, using its bulk for cover, and firing an M- 16A1 rifle he had pulled out of the trunk of the limo. Jennifer suddenly realized that the trunk must be a hidden cache of weapons. She heard the M- 16 run out of ammo, saw Mitchell sling it over his back, before grabbing his Glock 21 and USP 45. He turned and saw her standing in the open, then turned and ran towards her. As he ran, he fired at the aliens with both hands, holding them at bay while he got to her. Jen saw two, three, four aliens fall under his barrage, and then Mitchell was to her, pushing her back towards the plane, trying to move her to safety. Jen got the hint and ran up the stairs and into the passenger section of the plane. Mitchell stopped for a second, dropped the M-16 along with the two pistols on the floor, and then turned to Jen.
"Jen, listen to me. Stay here and guard the door. McCoy should be doing it, but he's too much of a coward. There is still some ammo left in both those guns, if any aliens come close, shoot them. I'm going back out to get Baxter and as many guns as I can carry. If I drive them back, come out and help me, ok? If I get shot, though, tell the pilot to take off without me." Mitchell shrugged out of his jacket and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. He pulled out the two Mini Uzis from their shoulder holsters. "Got it?"
"Yes, Jack. Be careful."
"I will, pretty lady." With a final wink, Mitchell ran out the door, leaving Jen watching after him.
Jack Mitchell ran down the stairs outside Air Force One, a Mini Uzi in each hand. He had yelled out in anguish when he had seen his close friend, the president, get shot, and now he focused that anger on the aliens. He had one spare clip of ammo for each gun on his belt, and that would have to last him until he got back to the limo. He raised the guns, and pointed them at the now advancing aliens. He squeezed the triggers, sending death spitting out from the dual barrels. He saw four aliens go down under his assault. One got halfway up before another bullet slammed into it, while the other three did not move again. Mitchell saw two aliens aim at him out of the corner of his eye, and dove for the limo. The alien's shots splattered on the ground behind him as he rolled forward towards the limo. He came up on one knee and emptied the clips at the aliens. Both fell and did not get up. Mitchell pulled both clips from his belt and ejected the spent one from the guns. He shoved both of the new clips into the guns, and ran the last ten feet to the trunk of the limo. He tossed the Uzis into the trunk and pulled out a LAW rocket launcher. He picked it up and aimed at the hatch of the ship. Looking through the primitive sight, he targeted the opening at the top of the ramp. Then he squeezed the trigger, sending a rocket streaking out towards the ship. The missile hit the top of the ramp, not exploding right away, but glancing up further into the ship. Then the missile hit a bulkhead and exploded. The explosion ripped through the ship, exploding fuel cells and racing down hallways, incinerating the other alien crewmen in the blink of an eye. The fireball blew out the bridge windows, spitting fire out into the air. Holes were breached in the hull as fire spewed from them. In just a few seconds, the alien drop ship had turned from a vessel of terror crewed by dozens of aliens, to a flaming hulk. Only eight aliens remained outside the ship, while three that had been standing close to the ship when the missile exploded had also been killed. The remaining eight aliens charged towards Jack as he pulled out a Squad Automatic Weapon of the trunk. Mitchell aimed the SAW at the charging aliens and strafed burning death back and forth over the aliens. He didn't stop firing until the SAW ran out of ammo. Looking over the runway, he surveyed the burnt out hulk and the dead alien bodies. He turned to walk over to Baxter, who was still lying on the runway where he had fallen, steam still rising from his chest.
"Jack, look out!" a shout came from behind him. Jack turned a ducked, but saw one alien aiming at him with its gun. Somehow Jack must have missed him and it had faked playing dead. Even as he rolled away, Jack knew there was no way he could avoid the alien, it was too close. He stopped rolling, and looked directly into the alien's dual head. He heard the whine of the weapon powering up, then a bang of a weapon discharging. He felt no searing heat, felt no hammer blow to his chest. In fact, he felt no different than he had a minute ago. He looked up to see the alien to see it swaying like it was caught in the breeze. Then it fell to the ground, a bullet hole in its chest, squirting dark purple blood from the hole. The alien fell next to Jack, as he turned to see Jen standing at the top of the stairs, holding a pistol in a steady two-handed grip.
"Thanks for the save. Get McCoy's sorry butt out here to help get these weapons into the plane." Jen nodded and moved into the plane. Mark made sure that she was gone, and then walked over to where President Baxter was on the runway. As we walked over, it was clear that his friend was dead. Mitchell looked into the blank, staring eyes of a man that only an hour ago had been the leader of the most powerful nation in the world. Baxter was looking straight up, the expression on his face that of a child staring up in wonderment at the heavens. Tears forming in his eyes, Jack reached down and closed the eyes of George Baxter forever.
"So, what did you call me put here for?" McCoy walked out of the plane, speaking loudly. Mitchell felt a cold rage building inside him. It was all Jack could do to simply stand and walk over to Tim calmly.
"I called you out here to help me carry all the weapons from the limo's trunk into the plane. I have a feeling that we're going to need them later."
"Get them yourself, Mitchell. I'm the Deputy Director of the CIA. You don't tell me what to do." McCoy turned and started to walk away. Mitchell grabbed Tim's jacket and turned him around, bringing his face close to his.
"Listen, you pompous bastard, if not for me and Jen defending your sorry ass, it would be you lying here on the pavement right now. Now, your Commander-in-Chief died defending you, while it should have been the other way around, and the least you can do is help us take these weapons into Air Force One." Mitchell finally let go of McCoy. McCoy looked at him for a long moment, and then started to turn around to walk back to the plane. He turned right into the pistol Jen was holding. Tim was shocked, and involuntarily took a step back, right into a gun held by Jack to the small of his back.
"All right," Jen said, "help with these weapons, of I blow your brains out of your skull."
"You wouldn't do that," McCoy said defiantly, though staring at the gun, "You couldn't shoot me in cold blood."
"True, McCoy," Jack said, "but I could jam this gun into your kidney and cause you more pain that you ever want to go through. Now go and get those weapons." McCoy looked like he was going to defy Mitchell again and dare him to ram his gun into his kidney, then looked into Mitchell's eyes, and saw that he was dead serious. With a much put upon sigh, Tim turned and walked over to the limo. Jack turned to Jen,
"Pick up what he doesn't. I'll bring in all the heavy weaponry. There are a few rocket launchers and even two portable fifty caliber machine guns on tripods in there. Just take what you can carry. Oh, and see if the pilot can come out here and help, we have to move fast."
"Sure Jack."
"Thanks." Jack walked over to the President, and picked him up in his arms. Carrying him gently, Mitchell brought his friend up into the airplane. In the upper cabins, there was a table, which is where Jack laid him. Seeing an American flag on the wall, Jack took it down and covered his friend with it, much in the way the coffin of a soldier is. Stepping back, Jack saluted the dead President, then closed and locked the door, sealing the President in darkness.
Tim McCoy, Deputy Director of the CIA was not used to this kind of work, nor was he accustomed to being bossed around. His black hair was kept short and impeccably groomed, just like the rest of him. His ice blue eyes were a sharp contrast to his jet black hair. To think of him, Tim McCoy, doing something that would wrinkle his suit willingly was unheard of. And that was why he wasn't doing it willingly. He grumbled constantly as he picked up the smallest weapons he could find in the trunk, and carried the fewest number of them that he could back to the plane. He saw Jen giving him an unappreciative look as he walked past, but he didn't care. She had no more authority over him than Mitchell did. In fact, she had less. At least Mitchell was one of the President's advisors, while she was just his secretary. He didn't know where she had learned to shoot like that, or where she got her nerves of steel from, but frankly, he didn't care. He just wanted to get out of this whole mess. It all felt like a bad dream, a dream that he would wake up from at any minute, so that's why he didn't care. He thought that this was a dream. He slowly trooped up the walkway just in time to see Mitchell walk down, tears in his eyes. Mitchell walked down the stairs, staring straight ahead, not paying attention to him, for once. Mitchell walked towards the limo, and when he reached it, he just stopped. McCoy watched as Jen said something to him, and then gave him a hug. Mitchell hugged her back, and then went to work gathering weapons. Jen started walking towards the plane, carrying five M-16s on her back, as well as four more in her hands. She walked into the plane, looking scornfully at the three pistols he carried. Tim just shrugged and placed the pistols in the front seat, then went and sat down, feeling he had fulfilled his contribution. He heard footsteps coming from above and looked up to see the pilot, a major from the rank insignia on his sleeve, descending down the steps. The major looked at him, slightly confused.
"Problem, Major?"
"Yeah. Who are you and what are you doing on my plane and not helping the others?"
"I'm Tim McCoy, for your information, and I'm the director of the CIA."
"So, why are you just sitting here and not helping?"
"I did my part. See those three pistols?"
"Only three pistols? I just saw a lady walk by here carrying nine M- 16s, and you mean to tell me that you can only carry three pistols?"
"No, I can carry more, but I don't want to."
"You are a jerk, McCoy." With that, the major turned and walked off the plane, leaving McCoy alone the way he wanted to be.
Major Hank Johnson walked out into the bright sunlight outside Air Force One. It was the second time in ten minutes that he stood framed in the doorway of the plane, gun in hand. A few minute earlier he had helped save Jennifer Carson from the alien that had killed the President, while Jack Mitchell had actually taken it down. He then had gone back into the plane to prep it for take-off as he saw Mitchell start to run back towards the plane. He had been ready to start the engines when he saw Mitchell run outside again. Leaving the plane in standby mode, he now walked down the steps past Tim McCoy, the jerk who was the Deputy Director of the CIA. Outside Air Force One, the slight breeze blew across his bald head and made his dark blue tie on his light blue shirt flutter. Johnson wore dark blue slacks as well, completing his Air Force work uniform. His dark blue eyes that nearly matched his slacks scanned the airstrip and saw Mitchell pulling some larger weapons out of the limo's trunk. Seeing no other threat, Johnson re-holstered his pistol and walked out to the trunk. Hearing the footsteps, Mitchell looked up, a look on surprise on his face, like he thought McCoy was coming out to help him, but instead saw the major walking towards him. He smiled and stopped what he was doing when he saw Johnson approaching.
"Hello," he said, extending his hand, "I'm Jack Mitchell the leader of the President's" he paused as he chocked on the words, "the former President's security detail. You must be the pilot of Air Force One."
Johnson smiled as he shook Mitchell's hand. "You are right. I'm Major Hank Johnson, pilot of Air Force One. You look like you could use some help."
"Yeah, if you could just grab anything that you can carry, we might be able to get everything back to the plane in one trip, and then be able to take off."
"All right, let's get this show on the road." Johnson picked up as many things that he could carry. Johnson picked up the last remaining M-16, two SAWs, four LAWs, as well as an M-1 sniper rifle and a 60-mm mortar round. Turning around, he carried all this back to the plane, along with four pistols that he had stuffed into the front of his pants. Mitchell grabbed the two fifty caliber machine guns along with their tripods, two sixty caliber machine guns, the last two remaining SAWs, as well as four semi-automatic, and four automatic pistols. Mitchell struggled under the load as he walked back towards the plane, when suddenly his earpiece beeped. He climbed up the stairs as the agent on the other end spoke frantically.
"Mitchell? Where are you?" Quickly, Mitchell climbed up the rest of the stairs and dumped the weapons on the floor in front of him. "Mitchell?"
"What is it, Hasker?" Mitchell asked the voice on the other end.
"Where the hell are you?"
"On Air Force One."
"Get the President the hell out of there now! The alien ship is on the outskirts of D.C. and something on the outside has opened. It looks like some sort of missile tube."
"Roger that. Get clear, Hasker. You've done your duty."
"Yes sir. Good luck, sir." Mitchell shoved the stair away from the door and slammed it shut. He knew that there were a few more weapons in the trunk, but it was mostly small, semi-automatic guns, and they weren't worth risking his life over. He ran up the stairs, passing Jen on the way.
"Jack, what is it?" she asked. Mitchell said nothing, but kept running up the stairs into the communications center outside the cockpit. He heard Jen get up and follow him, but he ran until he hit the cockpit door, throwing it open.
"Hank, get us out of here. The alien ship is about to fire."
"Roger that, we're on our way." Mitchell jumped into the copilot's chair and slapped on a headset. He had been trained in preliminary flight when he had applied for a job in the Secret Service. He punched the buttons for the right engines to start up, and with a satisfying hum, they caught and started. Johnson nodded in approval and then keyed his headset to airport control.
"Andrews Tower One, this is Air Force One, requesting immediate emergency takeoff." Silence answered him. "Andrews Tower One?" Again, silence answered him.
"Just go!" Mitchell yelled. "They must have left. No one will get in the way of this 747. Let's just get out of here!" Johnson nodded and powered up the engines, maneuvering to take off. Mitchell worriedly looked out the rear camera on the back of the plane, watching the alien ship advance closer. He saw a glow near the missile tube Hasker had talked about. He looked back to Johnson and silently urged Johnson to hurry up.
Far behind, the alien ship fired its missile.
Air Force One rumbled down the runway, picking up speed. Though it was moving quickly, Mitchell knew that it wasn't fast enough.
The alien missile streaked over the city. People stopped running and pointed up at it, talking excitedly, not knowing that these were their final seconds of life. The projectile streaked past the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument, and the Capital Building. Sweeping in a wide turn, it raced back towards the Capital. It climbed into the air, and then dove straight down at the Capital. Then it detonated. Waves of radiation and heat poured out from the source of the blast. People were incinerated, leaving nothing but fading shadows of themselves in the afternoon air. The epicenter of the missile, directly over the Capital, did not produce the heat, only a massive shock wave pointed straight down. The blast blew through the Capital Building, ripping through the marble columns on the gondola and making it collapse down on the lobby below it a millisecond before the rest of the Capitol was turned into a pile of charred stone and dust. The shock waves churned out in all directions, and met the White House next. The front columns were blown backwards, slicing through windows and into the residence and the West Wing. In another millisecond, the entire White House was blown back off its foundation, charred and blackened. The Washington Monument was toppled, smashing itself it millions of pieces when it hit the ground. Abraham Lincoln sat in his chair inside the Lincoln Memorial, stonily watching the waves of heat that rolled unerringly towards him. A quarter second later, then blast raced through the Memorial, utterly destroying it. The blast moved out in a circular pattern over the landscape of Washington, D.C. The Jefferson Memorial was totally destroyed in less than a second, and the Vietnam Memorial and Korean Memorial soon followed suit. People trying to escape in cars were crushed by the force of the blast, and people on the outskirts of the city were dealt with lethal doses of radiation. Then the shock waves raced on towards Andrews Air Force Base unabated. In less than twenty seconds, a missile with the power three nuclear bombs turned Washington, D.C, the capital of the most powerful country in the world, into a pile of smoking, glowing rubble.
Mitchell watched in horrid fascination as the alien ship's missile incinerated Washington, D.C. He could see the shock waves racing towards Andrews by the trees and cars that were being overturned and exploding. Air Force One was more than halfway down the runway, but the shock waves were advancing quickly, too quickly. If they reached Air Force One before it took off, the shock waves would tear the wheels off the plane, leaving it unable to move before the other shock waves tore it to pieces. Mitchell looked back at the plane's engine readings. Johnson couldn't make the plane go faster; the plane's engines were already pushing the red lines. He turned to Johnson,
"At the first opportunity, take off. We just have to get above the first shock wave that is going at ground level." Johnson nodded, never taking his eyes off his instruments or the runway for a second. Mitchell saw the speed reading climb to over one hundred thirty miles per hour, and felt the plane start to struggle to get off the ground.
"Come on, baby. Come on, baby." Johnson was saying, almost as a prayer. The plane struggled more and started to lift off the ground. Behind them, Mitchell could see the shock waves had reached the edge of the runway. Only another second, maybe second and a half until it hits us, Mitchell thought. He watched as Johnson pulled the stick back almost to his chest, and Mitchell felt the plane almost jump off the ground. The nose of the plane pulled into the air, and the tail followed a half second after. The shock wave raced underneath Air Force One, missing the tail by about half a foot. Still in danger of a stall, Johnson lowered the nose and started to pull up at a ten degree angle. Mitchell breathes a quick sigh of relief before unbuckling himself and walking out to a window. Johnson made a wide bank over the city, careful to stay away from the alien ship. Mitchell was shocked at the destruction he saw below him. Only minutes before, Washington, D.C. had gleamed in the late morning sunlight. Now it was a pile of blackened rubble, and not a living thing could be seen. Nothing moved down below, and Mitchell knew that they were the only ones who had survived. He slowly walked downstairs to the coach section to find McCoy and Carson sitting on opposite sides of the plane. He sat on the bottom stair, looking at both of them. He rubbed his hands slowly over his face, trying to rub away the fatigue he felt. He felt McCoy's eyes on him and looked up.
"Well?" McCoy said, "Is this what you expected?"
"No." Mitchell said. "This is just the beginning."