America Stranded in a Fantasy World

Chapter 35 The 25th Hour

"I can see that it will take months--if not a full year, to procure all of this." The President replied. "By that time, I assume, if all goes well, Operation Postmaster will have been completed?" He looked back to the first general who nodded in agreement.

"We are aiming to have the harbor completed by late July, the latest we can push it would be November. Beyond that the North Atlantic becomes too rough to safely transport the sections. Now, what other--" Before Dresden could finish, his desk phone rang. Annoyed, he answered it.

"What? I'm in a meeting."

"Apologies sir, but you are needed in the PEOC (Presidential Emergency Operations Center)." A male voice responded.

"Can't it wait?"

"No sir, it's in regard to Contact Mamba. Edwards and Marshall say it's urgent."

"Alright, I'm on my way." Practically throwing the phone back onto the receiver, Dresden stood up and began walking from the oval office. "My attention is needed elsewhere. No one leaves until I return, understood?" Immediately, everyone nodded. With that, Dresden left the room closely followed by two secret servicemen--one of them clutching the nuclear football handcuffed to his right wrist.

Starting the long walk from the East Wing all the way to the West Wing President Dresden was hit with a wave of déjà vu from the first time he was practically dragged from The Oval Office to the emergency bunker. Yet unlike how frantic everyone was during that nightmare of a day, it was now business as usual. A new normal had finally set in.

Passing through The Residence and finally into the East Wing Dresden made his way through the undisclosed hallways and tunnels until finally reaching the PEOC. Upon stepping inside he was immediately greeted by a flurry of activity. Most noticeably Edwards, Marshall and Conrad crowded around the glass table along with other military personnel.

"We have MQ-9Bs stationed on the USS Ronald Reagan. I can move that Strike Group into the area." Marshall then pointed to a map on the table.

"What other vessels do we have inside that group?" Edwards questioned.

"Destroyer Squadron 15, all of which are the new Farragut-class. We also have all three Zumwalts stationed in Hawaii, one of them is the testbed for a working rail gun though I highly recommend against sending them. Do you want me to order the rest to deploy?"

"Yes, we need all the firepower we can muster, what about the air force, Conrad?"

"We have two squadrons of F/A-25s ready to scramble, and--"

"Just what in hell has happened to warrant this reaction!" Reaching the table, Dresden looked down to see a multitude of photos of the open ocean with one clear distinction. Blood, and a lot of it.

"Sir. After the tactical nuclear strike against contact Mamba, it completely disappeared from the surface. Initial thought was that it had been vaporized, but roughly twelve hours later, satellites picked up this massive blood spill approximately 1,400 miles from Hawaii." Sliding the photos over to Dresden, Edwards simply watched as he studied the images.

"If that thing somehow survived........." Dresden continued to stare at the photos in disbelief until the landline began to ring. Conrad leaned over to read the caller ID.

"It's the CIA. L.A office." Answering the call and placing it on speaker so everyone could hear muffled noises from the phone.

A female voice replied, "Mister President, Echelon twelve. One of our satellites flagged a series of images from ten minutes ago, roughly eighty-three miles from the blood spill. It's Contact Mamba... it's still alive."