Presidential Bunker Underneath White House
Washington D.C.
3 March 2020
ALERT ALERT ALERT
NATIONAL SECURITY AGENCY EMERGENCY FLASH TRANSMISSION
057792D-8
ENCRYPTION CODE: BLACK
IMMEDIACY: INDIGO
FROM: NSA/ESIGINT
TO: ALL AUTHORIZED
SUBJECT: INTERCEPTED DRUIDTH COMMUNICATION
CLASSIFICATION: OPEN
SINGLE DRUIDTH COMMUNICATION ORIGINATING FROM DEEP SPACE COMMUNICATIONS SATELLITE NETWORK BELIEVED TO ORIGINATE FROM DRUIDTH HOME WORLD – VASGHYRR.
MESSAGE DECRYPTED AND TRANSLATED VIA HUMAN MADE CRYPTOGRAPHY SOFTWARE. MESSAGE AS FOLLOWS:
POPULATION IN UPROAR. INSULT NOT TO BE TAKEN LIGHTLY, POLITICAL RESOLUTION NOT POSSIBLE. SAVAGES WILL BE BROUGHT INTO EMPIRE BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY. KING SEND REGARDS AND BLESSINGS. UNLOCK TORTHIG.
DEFINITION OF ‘TORTHIG’ UNKNOWN.
TRENDS AND INTENTIONS BELIEVE POSSIBLE ATTACK IMMINENT. POSSIBILITY EXCEEDING 73.8%.
X X X X X X X X X X END TRANSMISSION X X X X X X X X X X
Richard Burbank sighed as he put the, now useless, perforated telex paper down on the table and grabbed his cup of coffee which, judging from the taste, had been down here since the Carter administration. Of course, the President and his closest staff get the good stuff, he thought. And who am I? Oh, only the country’s leading expert on the Druidth, yet I’m still the low man on the totem pole who always gets relevant information when it can’t do any good.
After the attacks were reported, the President, and everyone who happened to be in the situation room, was whisked down into the concrete bunker some classified number of feet below the surface and made of very classified materials of classified thicknesses. Luckily, Laughlin had brought him down to the White House a few hours before and was going to have him give a briefing on the Druidth collective mentality of the situation; unfortunately that was all scrapped as the Chief of Staff got a fateful call about the attacks. Instead of wasting the time it would take to pick out those who weren’t important enough for the bunker, the Secret Service just whisked the President to the hidden door and stayed behind as they hurried everyone else in as well.
Now, he was sitting here listening to the Secretary of Defense drone on about his plan to level every Druidth colony in retaliation; his baritone voice booming out from the open doors that lead to the lavish conference room that held a dozen different ways to communicate with the outside world securely. While Wheeler outlined his plan to the President, Chief of Staff, and Vice President who was listening in from an outside line, he was moved to a separate secure location, as well as several other government officials who were much higher ranking than Burbank.
Finally, when he couldn’t take any more of the overzealous ranting and planning to commit genocide, Richard jumped up from his metal chair and stomped over to the open doors flanked by two menacing Secret Service agents. At first, he flinched, expecting one of them to shoot him in the back as he blew past them, but they must have been satisfied with the extremely thorough body search he received when he first arrived down here. When no bullets cut him down he stepped forward to the head of the oaken table where Wheeler was making his tirade and slammed his fist down.
Now that all eyes were on him, his mind raced as he came up with a good reason for why he did what he just did. “That’s enough,” He started shakily. “You’re talking about massacring tens of thousands of people! No, they’re not Human but they’re sentient beings nonetheless.”
“You have to remember Mr. Ambassador,” The Secretary of State said with extra venom and irony in her voice when she announced his title. Ortiz’s normally pressed and spotless pantsuit was crinkled and looked like coffee, the good stuff most likely, was dribbled down the left lapel. “They massacred people, real people, first. Not all of the information is in yet, but we’re pretty sure that nearly every major military base, worldwide might I add, has been leveled. What’s more, we have lost contact with every Minuteman silo we have.”
Confusion swept across Burbank’s face. “If we lost all the ICBM’s, then how were you planning on nuking them?”
Wheeler stepped forward now and glared at Burbank. It wasn’t hatred that filled his eyes; it was more of a ‘piss off’ look. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we still have a number of Boomers,” He used the Navy slang for submarines capable of launching nuclear tipped missiles. “That were at sea when the attack came. Though they don’t carry as large a warhead as the Minutemen do, their MIRV’s will be more than enough to put an end to the Druidth armada in orbit, and eliminate their foothold on the surface.”
“But you can’t attack the colonies!” Burbank protested again. “It’s mostly women and children that live there and-“
“Enough!” Thomas Garrett rarely raised his voice; usually he let his subordinates to butt heads until they ran out of steam. “Mr. Burbank, I respect your standing as this administrations foremost expert on the Druidth, and appreciate your being here in case we need you,” There he goes being the politician. Build up your ego before delivering a hammer blow. “However, this is a military concern and one which is ultimately mine. Now, rest assured I will not order a nuclear strike against American soil nor against civilians, whatever their species; I will, however, hear out every possible scenario.”
Richard’s ears burned with embarrassment and he stumbled over a quiet “Yes, sir.” Then, tail between his legs, he turned and walked out of the conference room. Again, the Secret Service agents neglected to do anything to him after he left, though this time he was more than positive that if he tried going back in they would stop him, forcibly if need be.
Anger flushed through his veins at how quickly and completely he was dismissed from voicing his expertise and opinion. It was true that since the Colonial Massacre most of the surviving colonists were women and young children, most of the males were killed by gunfire and explosions while out trying to fight the fires started by the terrorists. Burbank recalled Ae-yok telling him that you could enlist in the Army at any age, yet it was a mostly universal rule that one doesn’t send a five-year old to the front line. For a melancholic moment, Richard remembered how his friend had phrased that, he spent hours thinking that over. Were the Druidth in contact with another race besides Humans? If so… too many question flooded forward and Burbank derailed that train of thought so that he may focus on the matter at hand.
He looked up and saw that his feet had carried him to what the staff of the bunker called ‘The Atrium’. A domed room only a few dozen feet in diameter but filled with very realistic artificial trees and bushes, and to make the room feel more expansive, high quality LCD screens covered the walls and ceiling showing the night sky up above and expanding off into a deep, green forest on all sides. Supposedly, the room was to help cut down on cases of Cabin Fever and clausterphobia during long stays in the bunker.
“They’re going to launch,” A voice next to him said softly, as if he didn’t want to disturb the forest.
Turning, Richard saw the CIA director William Lovett standing next to him and staring up at the twinkling stars projected above. “How do you know?”
In lieu of an answer, Lovett just turned and fixed Burbank with a look that questioned his mental capacity. A moment passed and he looked back to the artificial sky. “Since we were unable to protect their people, even after promising that we would at any cost, the President feels that the attack was justified, yet over the top. So he’s going to destroy the ships in orbit in retaliation.” Silence followed, broken only by the soft gurgling of a hidden stream, as the two men let the information sink in. “His hopes are that once the ships are gone, the Druidth King will realize how futile a war on Earth would be. They attack our bases, we destroy their ships. Tit for tat, let it go.”
“They won’t stop,” Burbank said after a minute. “But you know that, don’t you. After all, you sent me that message from the NSA…”
Lovett just shrugged, trying to retain some mystery of the CIA.
“What will happen when they send more?” He asked the chief of spies.
Lovett turned to leave, then stopped a shrugged again. “Then we shall fight them on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and streets.”