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  The men got up and began heading out the door. The President stopped General Black and asked him to stay behind a moment. As the room cleared he called for Captain Butler. By the time Butler arrived the two men were seated together at one end of the table. The President motioned for the Captain to join them. Black was the first to stand and offer his hand. “I figured you weren’t like these other guys,” he said with a grin. His handshake was firm, almost bone crushing.

  “I just filled the General in on what you told me last night and this morning,” the President said. “Now let’s brainstorm a little. If we had to do something right now, how could we do it?” he asked.

  The General sat back and looked at Butler. It was obvious he wanted to hear a little too. Butler thought a minute. “Sir, we have a lot more than we think. I took a look at the places around the country that weren’t hit. In those places you have telephone companies and equipment that are still working. We need to get all these phone people working together pooling their equipment to get some rudimentary comms going. I would suggest we get the vehicles that work and send them with a driver to get the CEOs of all these companies here as soon as we can to get that happening. Once they get their act together, we can at least talk to our bases and other places internally. Then we get with our National Guard units in those areas and have them consolidate their gear to get some radio traffic going. They also have tanks and equipment to beef up a few units. We start moving people and material from the undamaged places to where we need them,” he said.

  The General smiled. “Not bad Butler. Here’s what we’ll do. I got guys sitting on their dead ass all over Washington and Quantico. We grab what trucks work and get them on the road. Let’s cut a blanket order from you, Mister President, to the COs of every unit mobilizing them and getting them ready. Then my guys will hit the road. We’ll do it all by letter and word of mouth till the comms are back up. On that part, I take it nothing’s flying?” he asked.

  “Shouldn’t be. I doubt much is operating at all,” the President said. “But to make sure, I’ll get the Secretary of Transportation to ground everything except for official traffic.”

  “Good. Then let me offer this,” he said leaning in. “Our CH-46s are about as low tech as they come. Might even have some other assets available that are the same way. Get word to me where all these telephone and communications guys are and I’ll send my guys up there and round them up. My choppers aren’t all that fast, but it’s a damn sight faster than a truck. We could probably have them all here within 48 hours.”

  “That’ll work. Get with Commerce and get the names and addresses. Get them here day after tomorrow for a meeting right here. I may need to meet with some other people too. If so, I’ll get hold of you and set it up. At the same time, your guys can stop at each town and give their mayors and governors a message from me with some select words of wisdom. I figure they need answers and probably would like to know that somebody is doing something around here,” the President said.

  “There’s more we should do,” Butler injected. “We need someone to tell us about Memphis and Dallas. According to the Brits they had ground bursts. Can you send some people there and get stuff rolling?” he asked the General. “I’ll cut orders from the President giving the authority. If you got a couple of good people in mind, they can at least get things started.”

  The General thought a minute and then smiled. “Yea, I got a couple of good people. One’s General Thomas and the other’s a Colonel Richardson. Mister President, Claire Richardson may be only a Colonel, but she’s got the smarts and savvy to get this done. Cut her some orders and she’ll go to town.”

  “Done!” said the President, though not wishing that job on his worst political enemy.

  “Two more things. I would recommend we also get word to the radio and TV stations that are operating and reassure people. I’m sure you and your press secretary can do that with the help of a few people around here,” Butler said. “That can be delivered too. At the same time, we need computers back here to do some work. Unless I’m wrong, all our computing power is fried. The information is still there, but the computers are gone. I think we should get some of those National Guard guys to do some computer shopping. Get out there and bring back anything that works. Then we swap out the hard drive discs and we’re back in business.”

  The General smiled at him. “I’ll give them my personal IOUs,” he grinned. “Butler, you’d make a good Marine. Cut the orders and I’ll get things rolling.”

  The President nodded. It was nice to see two smart people at work. It made his job much easier.

  Black sat back a second and thought. “What about here on Capitol Hill? Those people in Congress are probably screaming already.”

  “Taken care of,” said the President. “I am going to the Hill this afternoon to meet with whoever is available. Just to let you know, I’m not declaring martial law, but taking everything up a few notches. I’ve got to try and make the House and Senate understand what’s going on and that we’ve got to stop the bellyaching and do our jobs. We’re in trouble and don’t need to have infighting.”

  “Good luck on that,” said the General with a huff. “I’ve watched it grow and fester since I was a kid. That one’s going to be tough,” he said. “But let me give you some advice from the Corps. A good leader can make it happen. Not a boss, or political junkie, but a leader that’s making hard decisions and getting the right people to get the job done.” He reached across the table and placed his hand on the President’s arm. “Steve, it’s me to you now. I’ve been in the Corps a long time and I know what leadership is. I’ve seen you do a bunch of it on your way to the top – not politics, but leadership. You can do this,” he emphasized. “People like Butler and I can help get the job done, but you need to take the reins and spur us on. Don’t worry about making the right decisions. Just make some. We’ll do the rest. If we fuck up, then we can change it. But we have to get off our asses and do something first. So take charge and let’s get the job done.” He sat back into his chair and stiffened. “I await your orders, sir.”

  The President looked at the pride the man wore on his body like a suit of armor. He had seen the same thing in Butler. He smiled at both men. Within an hour, convoys of trucks left Quantico and disbursed to all areas of the country.

  Norfolk, Virginia

  Roger Hammond woke at his usual time, wondering why his alarm clock hadn’t gone off. He glanced at the face and was surprised that no numbers were showing. Then he remembered the events of the night before. It was with no little effort that he roused himself from his bed, showered for the day, and donned casual slacks and a shirt. The coffee pot still worked and he sat back in the kitchen savoring the hot, bitter coffee taste, a little miffed that there was no usual morning paper to go with it. As expected, the TV didn’t work and neither did his stereo in the den. Thinking about what had happened the night before, he went over and plugged in an old radio set he had owned since he was a child. It was a peach colored plastic instrument with a frequency dial and a volume knob. Turning the set on, he looked in the back and watched the tubes begin to glow like they always had. To his delight, he heard static. Turning the dial he soon came on a distant AM station talking about the huge blackouts on the East and West Coasts. Everything in the newscast was pure speculation, but there seemed a general panic about what happened and what people should do.

  Continuing to scan the dial, he found several AM stations still on the air. Most of them were saying the same thing and were just as bewildered and alone. Hammond started to think about what had happened. His mind began sifting through the pieces and solutions. The coordinated and controlled thought he had used while in the Navy came back to him and he carefully analyzed each piece. Without really knowing why, he went outside, started his lawnmower and began mowing his grass. As he pushed the mower back and forth he continued his quest for an explanation. Slowly, piece by piece, conclusions began to formulate in his mind. After awhile he realized he
had completed the yard and was mowing the same grass again. He stopped and turned the mower off, wheeling it back to the old garage behind the house.

  The garage was actually an old barn a former owner had built to do some light gardening. Roger rolled the mower into the door and to the side, and then walked over to his pride and joy. Sitting in the middle of the barn was a large object covered in a tarp. He pulled the tarp off to reveal a pristine 1968 Oldsmobile Delta 88 convertible. Walking over to the driver’s side, he ran his hand along the yellow finish. Then he opened the door and sat in the driver’s seat. Inserting the key into the ignition, he crossed his fingers and turned it. The starter motor kicked in. Almost immediately, the big 455 cubic inch V-8 roared to life under the hood.

  “That answered a lot of questions,” he said to the world. Revving the engine a few times he let the car warm up while getting out and popping the hood. The big engine purred like it always had while he checked the fluids. Satisfied, he closed the hood again and got back into the driver’s seat. He shifted into drive and eased the big car out into the early morning light, down the drive, and parked it again beside the house.

  A half hour later, Roger Hammond left his home and his job to begin what he hoped was a new future. Dropping his bags in the spacious trunk, he eased himself into the car again, flipped the switch and waited as the white top folded back and seated itself into its receptacle behind the rear seat. Hammond then drove out of his driveway and into the unknown.

  Vienna, Virginia

  It had been a long two days. Jim Butler’s uniform had lost all of its creases and seemed to hang off of him. He sat slumped like a rag doll in the back seat of what had once been a Presidential limousine. More than thirty vehicles had been in the underground parking garage under the White House lawn. To everyone’s surprise, all but one started right up. The old 1972 Lincoln once ferried Nixon through Washington and beyond, but was now relegated to hauling diplomats at official functions. It was big, heavy and armored, but it ran, so it was drafted into being a White House taxi to get people around the city. After over 48 hours of solid work, the President ordered Butler home for some rest.

  Butler thought about all they had done in the first day. Many calls had been made and received from world leaders via the hotline. After the Brits, the Russians had called just as shocked and just as concerned. Like the British, they had no intelligence indicating where the attack had come from. More importantly was the unspoken desire that the United States not suspect them. It was the same with all of them.

  On a good note, telephone communications had been reestablished between the White House and several key points in the city – namely the Pentagon, Capitol Hill, Treasury, Commerce, State and Homeland Security. Individual telephone lines had been laid along the streets and on poles and strung into portable Korean War era phone equipment dug up from a local reserve center warehouse. Soldiers from Fort Belvoir were still stringing lines and setting up rudimentary switchboards to handle the necessary communications. Too bad nobody was saying anything important, Butler thought. Despite a lot of meetings and a lot of talking, they were not much better off than they were when the bombs went off.

  The Lincoln turned into Butler’s neighborhood and pulled up to the front of his house. “Make sure to pick me up in the morning,” Butler said as he got out of the car and waved to the driver.

  The young sailor smiled back at him and said, “I’ll be here, sir.”

  As the car pulled away, Butler noticed a yellow convertible sitting beside the house. He trudged to the front door and walked inside. Entering the den he heard a conversation in the kitchen just as the door opened and Jessica Butler came through. She broke into a wide smile and hugged her tired sailor.

  “I was afraid you weren’t ever coming home,” she said after he kissed her warmly.

  “I was afraid I wasn’t going to get home myself for a while,” Butler replied with a tired grin. “But I have orders from the top to get some rest. By the way, whose car is that in our driveway?”

  “Who do you think?” came a reply from the kitchen door. Hammond was standing there holding a meat fork.

  Butler’s face broke into a wide grin. He had met Roger Hammond seven years before while serving on a destroyer out of Pearl Harbor. Butler had been the commanding officer, or CO, and Hammond the executive officer, or XO. They had struck a quick friendship that grew as each earned the professional respect of the other. By the end of two years, they had come to know each other’s thoughts and led the crew through every shipboard evolution, bringing praise for the ship and a camaraderie that few ships or crews experienced. Since that time their friendship had been maintained and they treasured the times when they could work together. Even after Hammond had a command of his own, the two men talked and collaborated. Now when times were bad, his friend Hammond appeared, and he knew things were going to work out. He warmly shook Hammond’s hand and slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s about time you showed up,” he said with a grin.

  “Somebody had to clean up this mess,” Hammond said in return. “Good thing Jessica and I got supper ready. Then again you were always lousy on the grill.”

  “We’re having steak tonight,” Jessica said. “We figured if you did get home you would need a good meal.”

  “And you were right,” Butler said.

  “Then let’s get it on the table,” she said as she led both men into the dining room.

  The dinner was restful and friendly with no talk about the Navy or the nation that had not been about some amusing situation they shared or a sea story. That alone rested Butler more than sleep would. After clearing the table, Jessica urged the men to relax in the den while she finished up. Both men dropped into familiar furniture from the years they had known each other – Butler in his recliner and Hammond on the leather sofa. After only a moment, Hammond’s face turned serious. “How bad is it?” he asked.

  Butler chuckled briefly. “Pretty bad. We absorbed about 74 high-altitude, low yield explosions and two that actually hit the ground.”

  “EMP?”

  Butler nodded. “Between 75 and 100 miles. Not high enough for widespread coverage, or low enough to have blast damage, but just enough to give us a really strong pulse to take out anything. We lost it all – radio, TV, telephone, transportation, anything electronic. Gone. We came to a standstill the other night. Worse yet, the Brits let us know later on the same thing happened in Japan, Korea and a few other places along the Pacific rim. All came from missile launches somewhere at sea. The radiation is tearing up the ionosphere and within a month there won’t be a satellite left operating anywhere. That EMP is a real killer.”

  “I kinda figured that. I was sitting in a diner eating stale meatloaf when the one I saw went off. Took out my new car,” Hammond said with a slight smile. “I took a dive under the table and everybody in the place looked at me like I was some kind of idiot.” Both men laughed at the mental image. “We heard the rumble after the lights went out. That got their attention, but nobody knew what it was or what to do. When we got outside, none of the cars worked. So I walked home.”

  Butler grinned. “Well, we are at all stop. Nothing works and we have no idea who did it. We have the hotline and a few hardwired phone lines, but that’s about it. There’s no contact with any overseas units, most countries, or even the police department. We don’t even have the capability to communicate next door. Till we get some communications and transportation back, we will be in a bad way.”

  Hammond nodded. “Then we better get started,” he said standing up and digging his keys out of his pocket.

  Butler gave him a disbelieving look. “You know something we don’t?”

  Hammond looked back at his friend. “Been thinking about it since yesterday morning. We have the short term answers right under our noses,” he said standing. “Come on and I’ll show you,” he said.

  Hammond led Butler out of the house and into his car. He inserted the key and it started immediately. Butler still d
idn’t get it as Hammond grinned at him. “The key to this is using what we have that’s older,” Hammond said. “Things built a while back didn’t use integrated circuits. So we are going to take a short trip to USS Barry,” he said as he began backing down the drive. Only after they had driven halfway down his street did Butler suddenly sit up and smile.

  The drive up I-395 was totally different from the usual. No cars were on the road except those which ceased to function two nights before. The Oldsmobile easily swerved around each obstacle and sped down the highway. The big Rocket 455 purred under the hood and on occasion Roger pressed down the accelerator to feel the big engine give what she had. It was something he rarely had the opportunity to do and the big V-8 did not disappoint him. All the while the two men hammered out a plan for getting America back in the world of the living.

  Hammond eased the Olds down Capitol Boulevard toward the Navy Yard and around to the main gate. Two sentries were there in full combat gear and rifles. They were surprised to see the yellow car pull up to them and stop. Of the two men inside, one wore the uniform of a Captain and was saluted promptly after asking to see their IDs. The other was a retired Commander and was also saluted.

  “Sailor, I am the Naval Attaché to the President,” he said holding up his White House badge. “Under his authority I need you to get someone to open up the Barry and get me a passel of ETs over there with all their gear that works. Can you do that?”

  The sailor beside the car looked a little flustered. “Sir, we are under orders not to leave this post. With the phones and radios out, I don’t know how I could do that.”