“USS John C Stennis and the USS Constellation battle groups have left the Hawaiian Islands along with the USS Essex, USS Boxer and the amphibious assault vessels of 2nd Marine Expeditionary Brigade, but it is likely that any landings may already have taken place by the time they arrive. USS Saratoga and USS Kitty Hawk are in the final stages of reactivation from the reserve fleet and will be ready to accompany the 1st and 4th MEB’s, which are forming up at San Diego. All three MEB’s will constitute the 1st Marine Landing Division for any future offensive moves in PTO. Units of the Royal Australian, Royal New Zealand and allied navies are proceeding at best speed from their former positions covering the Pacific approaches to Australia, however it is doubtful that they will be in a position to intercept before the invasion fleet nears land.”
The President interrupted once more. “Any intelligence as to which part of the coast they are aiming for?”
“No sir, their course is still due south, as of last reports at noon today.” Commander Donkley moved back to his prepared text.
“We have detached the USS San Sebastian from the battle group and she is also making best speed to intercept and assist HMAS Hooper. The Hooper is currently experiencing difficulties with her sonar suite and as such at risk of detection, or losing contact.”
“How long before Nimitz can get underway?”
“She will not clear port for several more days Mister President”
An hour later the room had cleared of all those without the need to know the rest of the briefings topics, leaving Terry Jones with the floor.
His first item was not one of great secrecy, but it was not of sufficient import for the previous session, however it was of personal interest to the President, Henry Shaw and of course himself.
“I received news several hours ago that the cell that carried out the killings of Scott Tafler, Major Bedonavich and the two British police officers, has been arrested after a raid by the Special Air Service. They are all Russian, all are KGB Spetznaz forces officers………”
The President cut him off mid-sentence.
“Do they know that we want them?”
“Mister President, they do know and they also point out that the killings took place on British soil.”
“Those bastards not only killed an American intelligence agent, but they also killed two of the people responsible for ensuring we did not lose the war before it had even started. I hope their Home Secretary realises that?” He was determined that the United States was going to have its pound of flesh, and he wasn’t prepared to standby whilst the individuals concerned sat in a warm cell for the next twenty years. Terry Jones did not give a direct reply, but continued with what he had been in the process of saying.
“After the raid the building was thoroughly searched, and the police found pretty conclusive evidence that the same cell were responsible for the missile attacks on London, Portsmouth and the oil refinery at Canvey Island.” Terry paused for a moment.
“Over a thousand people alone died when Canary Wharf collapsed, so when the Met Commissioner promised me they would hang for it once they’d been tried, I believed him, sir.”
The President was not as convinced as Terry Jones, but that was something he would take up with the prime minister himself, always providing of course that the United Kingdom wasn’t a newly conquered Soviet state, in a month or so. There was nothing further to be said on the subject and Terry Jones had inserted a USB into the drive running the plasma screen, he was now waiting for a signal to begin his briefing proper.
“Okay, Mister Jones…what else do you have for me?”
In the entire time that the war had been in progress these were the first images the President had really looked at. He was either far too tired or occupied with the business of running a country at war to have much inclination to watch the tube.
The news agencies war correspondents footage appeared several times a day on TV, and it was almost constantly on cable, but such was the agreement his government had forced upon the networks there was nothing truly graphic. Americans could no longer watch news from virtually any source they chose, since the Internet had been locked down as it, and all forms of communications, had come under tight Federal control.
Early in the war the news agencies had of course screamed blue murder when the emergency powers had come into play and they had taken their argument before a Supreme Court judge. As an ex — serviceman, and the father of two sons and a daughter who were in war zones, the judge had listened to their hackneyed argument that ‘the people have a right to know’, and after due consideration, which lasted all of thirty seconds, he had announced his decision.
“A wife has the right not to know she is a widow because you first showed her kids their Father’s body ‘live and as it happens’ on national television…case dismissed!”
As the battalion of lawyers had stood to leave, confident that their employers would find certain ways to circumvent the ruling, the judge had banged his gavel once more to get their attention.
“And before you go people, that gentleman at the back of the court tells me that selling uncensored footage to an agency in a neutral country would be a very bad idea.” Having filed past the figure in air force blue wearing the rank and insignia of a colonel in the USAF Space Command, they had duly conveyed the judge’s comments to the network chiefs.
Twenty-four hours later a two billion dollar satellite owned by a Brazilian network had been broadcasting a live report from a well-known US network correspondent of the fighting at Leipzig airport when the satellite went off the air permanently.
After that incident the US networks couldn’t even give away uncensored footage.
Pressing the key, the plasma screen had filled with the image of combats aftermath. Idly noting that the picture taker had not been a professional photographer, the President took in the scene.
British infantrymen and Soviet paratroopers lay in those postures that only the dead can achieve whilst American troops either stood about either watching the cameraman work, or were in the background gently lifting the bodies of the dead Brits they had soldiered alongside of into body bags. The angle changed with the next half dozen shots, and the President got the feeling he was watching a crime scene being recorded. The last four photographs were of a Soviet paratrooper; two were of him lying on a forest floor, quite obviously dead. An American paratrooper was knelt behind in the last two, propping up the body. The young American was looking into the camera as he held the corpses head steady for the picture, and the President found himself staring at the living man rather than the subject of the photograph.
“How old is he?” he asked quietly, almost in a whisper.
“Forty nine, Mr President.” Terry answered.
“No Terry, I mean the 82nd trooper.”
Terry paused, taken back momentarily before consulting photocopied sheets of information. Everything connected with the incident had been recorded in long hand, and even a list of all the allied troops involved, the dead and the living, was available.
“I believe that is Specialist First Class Tony Beckett, US Army Reserve and a New York cop. He is twenty four, and he was responsible for evidencing the incident.”
“His eyes look older.” Said the President, looking hard at the tired face, streaked with dirt and camouflage cream.