The Omega Sanction by Andrew Scorah (urban books to read TXT) 📖

him the call was from security central.

“Fairfax.”

“Sir, we have a force incursion of unknown strength approaching, perimeter security is delta, I repeat security is delta, requesting activation of Shiva Star sir.”

A cold sweat broke out all over Fairfax’s body. He was a forty year veteran of the United States Air force, a career officer as was his father before him, and his father. He had started out as a fighter pilot, and had flown everything in the US aerial arsenal, even the legendary Aurora. Never once had he shown any signs of fear, but it gripped him now. He was the keeper of America’s deepest, darkest secrets, in a base that was supposedly impregnable, even a gnat could not breach the quad ringed security infrastructure. And now here it was happening, they were under attack.

He swallowed before answering. “Yes activate Shiva, sound the attack alarm.”

Shiva Star was Grooms primary defensive weapon, based around the MARAUDER system, which was an acronym for Magnetically Accelerated Ring to Achieve Ultra-high Directed Energy and Radiation. The weapon was able to produce doughnut shaped rings of plasma and balls of lightning that exploded with devastating effects when hitting its target.

The attack alarm began to sound. At the other end of the phone he heard the sound of several gunshots, a new voice came on the line.

“I’m sorry Colonel. Shiva will remain sleeping for now.”

The line went dead.

He was aghast, whoever was attacking had people on the inside. This was not good. That left him with only one option, Protocol Echo, the total destruction of the base by a thermonuclear detonation.

He called his second in command, Captain Andrew Bodane, told him to go to the shed right away.

He turned to his laptop and activated the Echo message. Informing Edwards Airforce Base they were compromised beyond recovery.

Fairfax looked at his hands, they were shaking, this was going to be worse than 9/11, he thought.He wondered whether the attackers were Al-Quada aiming for another 9/11.

Five minutes later he was exiting the Consolidated Services building where his office was situated. He slipped on a pair of sunglasses against the glare of the sun. A slight wind kicked up little whirlwinds of dust as he made his way along the paths between the dormitory buildings. He could hear the evac alarm sounding loud in the Nevada air. The shed was situated beyond the dormitories, at the other side of the old toxic waste burning pits. Only he and the Captain Bodane had access to the building for obvious reasons, it was exactly what its name said, a shed. Buried underneath was the Protocol Echo activation system. From there, they could descend to the tunnels and on to the Mag-Lev station which would take them to Edwards.

The dormitories looked like those found on any US base around the world, three storeys, flat roofed grey affairs of which there were fifty built to the rear of the hangers and the administrative buildings. The old pits were situated beyond the buildings, now no longer employed to burn toxic waste, since the court case back in the Eighties, brought by former employees and their families. All that was done now out towards the irradiated lands in S4.

Men and women were now exiting the buildings, hurrying towards the evac point. He paid no attention to them as he headed towards the shed. Fairfax heard the crack of automatic fire. He quickened his step.

Off in the distance, he could see Captain Bodane coming from the control hub, and heading towards the shed, which was now visible through the heat haze rising from the desert floor.

Bodane was waiting by the door when Fairfax arrived at the shed. Sweat patches caused by the day's heat and fear spread from both mens armpits.

“Are you sure we’re doing the right thing, sir?” Bodane asked.

Fairfax’s affirmative answer was punctuated by gunfire and several explosions from the direction of the 5000 metre runway, one of the longest in the world.

He took out a set of keys from his pocket, after a few seconds of fumbling he found the right key.

PSST!

Bodane looked around at the sound. He was thrown back against the timbered walls of the shed, a ragged bloody hole between his eyes.

Fairfax twisted going for his service pistol before realising in his haste he had left it behind in his office. A figure arose from the sand dune which had drifted into place a few metres away from the shed. As sand fell away, Fairfax saw the figure of a man in a sand coloured Gilly suit, a wicked looking Heckler & Koch G36A2 assault rifle in his hands. Aiming the weapon at Fairfax’s face, he approached.

“Don’t move an inch, Colonel Fairfax.”

His heart sank, who ever they were, they were not Arab terrorists as he had first thought. The man had a slight German accent. He realised they had won, and under his watch as well.

The man spoke into a wrist microphone.

“I have the Colonel secured, and am in possession of the two keys.”

 

Morgan watched as ten white busses came to a stop in front of the Janet Airlines terminal next to the huge edifice of Hanger 18. Black clad soldiers emerged, and disappeared into the terminal, and the other nearby buildings. He estimated their strength to be approximately 160-170, a large force indeed. An armoured half track, followed by six more busses arrived from the West side of the complex.

“Close in on the half-track, I have a feeling the head honcho may be in there.”

Trotsky moved to comply. Both were feeling numb at the events of the last hour. They knew there was nothing they could have done to stop it which only added to their feelings of helplessness.

More soldiers emerged from the newly arrived busses. The door at the rear of the half-track lowered, and a man emerged being held between two men in Gilly suits. Morgan concentrated on his own screen. He could see the man was Colonel Fairfax, the complex commander, looking like he was feeling very sorry for himself.

Another figure emerged from the vehicle. He was flanked by two huge shaven headed men who from their look were possibly related. This was likely to be the leader and his body guards. He was tall with closely cropped blond hair, aged about late thirties with heavy set features, and lips that looked like they were set in a perpetual sneer. He was wearing, of all things, a long leather coat,the type you always saw SS officers wearing, in old world war 2 films. Completing the look were high spit shined leather boots.

He signalled to someone in one of the busses. Ten men emerged, all dressed in white lab smocks. Another two emerged. Hands secured with cuffs. Morgan recognised them right away, the two missing Physicists. All of them disappeared into the terminal.

The helicopters had now thundered in from their holding positions. It looked as though they were providing over-watch of the base. Criss crossing the complex in a menacing show of force.

“I’m running facial now on blondie, did you see our two missing scientists?”

Morgans coms chimed, attracting his attention.

“Morgan here.”

“It’s Colonel Drake. Morgan, you and your boys better get the hell out of there, Colonel Fairfax is under instruction to initiate Protocol Echo, you're going to be in the middle of one hell of a nuclear blast.”

“Sir, I don’t think he had time, the enemy force has control of him, if he had set it off they’d be high tailing it by now.”

“Shit! We’ll have to do it the old fashioned way, I’ll inform the president, and Majestic. Are you okay to be our eyes in situ for now?”

“Yes sir, I have a better idea of their numbers now, approx 350 combatants, also sixteen gunships on over-watch, they also have in their possession two scientists we had been tasked to locate.”

“Okay, in the mean time I’m having the local police shut down all roads leading into the area, any change get in touch. Drake out.”

Morgan stared at the screen, six hours were a long time, anything could happen.This was probably the worst situation the US had faced since 9/11, and he had no doubt no one would ever know about it. All the deaths would be passed off as some kind of accident, or some other incident.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Gentlemen, talk to me, how could someone take control of our most secret asset, I want answers,” Barry Goldwater, Director for Operations, and Majestic liason officer said as he looked at the eight faces around the large T shaped table in the Joint Chiefs of Staff Conference Room. The National Military Command Center (NMCC) is located in the Joint Staff area of the Pentagon. The NMCC is responsible for generating Emergency Action Messages (EAMs) to launch control centers, nuclear submarines, recon aircraft and battlefield commanders worldwide.

The NMCC staff provides continuous operation monitoring, reporting, training, maintenance management, and coordination for all communications-electronics activities and systems supporting the NMCC to ensure minimum essential National Military Command System (NMCS) connectivity for the Single Integrated Operational Plan execution, worldwide situation monitoring, and crisis management. It also provides the Joint Staff with ADP operations, support and information relating to operational capabilities of the United States in the area of nuclear command and control, primarily missile warning systems of the Integrated Tactical Warning and Attack Assessment (ITW/AA) network.

They had assembled for what they termed daily prayers, the sharing of intelligence and action plans for ongoing operations, when the call came in from Edwards, informing them of the attack.

Goldwater took a sip of water from the cup in front of him before once again scanning the faces around the table. He could see no answers would be forthcoming. They had been caught with their pants down, and someone had nicked their belts.

“Do we actually know who has control of our base, do we know what they want?”

He stared directly at Robert Morgan, the CIA’s Intelligence Director. The man looked uncomfortable, and not a little embarrassed.

“Is this Al-Queda? Have you any idea at all?”

“To be fair sir, this came right out of the blue, having looked at the video I...”

Goldwater slammed his hand on the table.

“We’ve all seen the video feed, we can all tell it’s not Al-Queda, and things are not supposed to come out of the blue, that’s why we have a CIA, my God, what a cluster fuck.”

“Do we have a contingency plan to cope with this kind of situation?”

“Yes sir we do,” said General Robert Byrd, “I have SEAL Teams six and five, plus a detachment of Delta on standby, we can take it back.”

Goldwater sighed, rubbing his eyes as he settled back in his chair.

“It’ll have to be a hard take down, no survivors.”

A communications officer walked over to the table and whispered in Goldwater's ear before going back to his position.

“We have com link with Groom,” he said, “Put it on loud speaker.”

There was an audible click as the rooms speakers were activated.

“Good afternoon gentlemen, to whom am I speaking?” The voice was cultured with a German accent.

“Barry Goldwater, the Deputy Director for Operations, who’s this?”

“I am Oscar Koenig, Reich Fuhrer of the Geheime Staat.”

Looks passed around the table. Robert Morgan put his head in his hands.

“What is it you want, Mr Koenig?”

“Oh that will be revealed in good time, I want to warn you against any desire to use force against us, we do have control of all this base’s defences, including Shiva, the senator was most forthcoming in his information.”

“You need to give yourselves up now, Koenig, save you and your men a lot of trouble in the long run.”

“Oh why, oh why, do people like you have to have it spelled out to them, Mr Deputy Director, your men will die, and as a consequence to any hostile action on your part, we will destroy the nearest township, you know the capabilities of this base as well as I do, do not test me, gentlemen.”

The line was cut.

“I want to know everything about this Geheime Staat, about Oscar Koenig, and