Target America

EPILOGUE

A month after the detonation of the RA-115 off the San Diego coast, Master Chief Gil Shannon sat between his wife, Marie, and Senior Chief Terry Leskavonski (aka Alpha) among a large but intimate crowd of family and interested US Navy observers at Arlington National Cemetery, where four wooden caskets were displayed beside photos of Navy SEAL Lieutenant Commander Jedidiah Brighton, Ensign Joseph Fivecoat, Petty Officer First Class Adam Samir, and Navy SEAL Petty Officer Second Class Christian Santiago. Only Santiago’s casket contained a body.

Back in San Diego, hospitals were still heavily burdened with people seeking treatment for radiation sickness both real and imagined. But the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), under the egis of the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), had arrived in force within twelve hours of the detonation event, and, despite a great deal of confusion, redundant actions, and rolling blackouts, they had succeeded in averting a citywide breakdown of emergency services like the one experienced in the wake of Hurricane Katrina.

As usual, the news networks were busy making famous numerous heroic and indefatigable Americans who stood out against the backdrop of the disaster… doctors who’d refused to abandon their patients in zones where fallout was the worst; police officers and firefighters who had remained in contaminated areas without adequate Hazmat protection until the last of the residents had been evacuated; and everyday Americans, for rescuing perfect strangers from assorted perils during the terror and mass panic that had gripped the city in those first twenty-four hours of contamination and darkness.

Parts of the city would remain deserted or quarantined for months, possibly years to come, and only time would tell how long before the dreaded signs of cancer would begin to appear, though some preliminary estimates were forecasting as many as thirty thousand deaths over the next ten years due to thyroid cancer resulting from exposure to the radioactive isotope iodine 131.

Al Qaeda and Chechen terrorist factions worldwide had been strangely silent in the days following the event, with no one claiming immediate responsibility for the attack. The talking heads on television had offered every explanation for this, from shock, to fear, to a “false flag” attack. By the tenth day, however, factions of both Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula and the Riyad us-Saliheyn Martyrs’ Brigade in Chechnya had not only claimed responsibility for the nuclear attacks but also had gone so far as to threaten a third attack within the year, which had immediately caused a brief panic among a very jumpy American populace; a nuclear threat was no longer just a threat, it had become an effective form of terrorism all its own.

For now, however, the nation was beginning to calm itself, though the “San Diego Event” was still just about all anybody talked about. The detonation may have occurred on 9/11, but the practice of referring to a disaster by its date had quickly become passé. It seemed the term “Second 9/11” just hadn’t played all that well among early media focus groups, and the term “New Mexico Event” had already sort of set the standard for naming the nation’s future nuclear attacks.

The president of the United States stepped up to the podium without notes of any kind, and there were no TelePrompTers or television cameras. The national memorial service for the four heroes was to be held the following day, and all the news networks were eager to cover it.

“It is an honor to speak here this morning,” the president said, looking very solemn and presidential in the warm glow of the rising sun. “First, I’d like to ask that you excuse the informal nature of my address to you. Since we’re gathered so privately here in this beautiful, most reverent of places, I’d like to speak to you with a bit more familiarity than would normally be possible for a man of my position.” He cleared his throat and allowed his eyes to glide over the four deceased heroes’ immediate families, who were seated in the front row. “We’ve gathered here for the purpose of remembering four brave men to whom this nation owes a debt we can never begin to repay. Men who willingly laid down their lives so that thousands of others might live. This type of sacrifice is not unheard of. It happens all too often.

“But seldom has such a sacrifice had such an acute impact on the human race. In fact, I’m not sure there’s ever been a sacrifice in all of human history that compares — with the possible exception of the Crucifixion, for those of us who believe in it.” He gestured toward the caskets and photos positioned to his right. “Because of these four selfless Americans, there are still, quite literally, tens of thousands of generations waiting to be born, and that’s an incredible thing when you stop to think about it. It truly is. And this fact alone is reason enough to immortalize these brave men for the rest of human history.”

The president spoke for another ten minutes, and when he was finished, he stepped aside, allowing Lea Brighton a few tearful minutes at the podium, followed by the elderly and well-composed Cheryl Fivecoat. After Mrs. Fivecoat finished telling everyone how proud her son Joseph had been of being a helicopter pilot, a devastated Sheila Samir went to the podium. She broke down completely before finishing half of what she’d planned to say, and spent an entire minute sobbing in the arms of the president, who was unable to prevent his own tears from spilling as he attempted to comfort her.

There was not a dry eye in the crowd by this point. Even Gil had to wipe his eyes, turning to whisper to Marie, “I have to give the man credit. He didn’t have to do this today, but he wanted the widows to have a chance to be themselves before going to the national ceremony tomorrow. Kind of like a dress rehearsal.”

Marie nodded, tears rolling down her own cheeks.

The day before had been their day of personal trial, attending a large funeral on the far side of that same national cemetery in which two SEALs from Gil’s team, along with Buck Ferguson and his two youngest sons, all three of them former US Marines, had been lain to rest. Of the five, four of them had given their lives defending Marie and her mother, Janet, who was still in the hospital but due for release in the near future. (Both Special Agent Spencer Starks of the FBI and Oso Cazador were recovering nicely as well.)

Once Sheila Samir regained her composure, the president walked her back to her chair and helped her sit down beside Nancy Santiago, who was too shy to take the podium.

A US Navy rifle party standing fifty feet away and consisting of seven sailors dressed in the service dress blue “crackerjack” uniform, complete with the white “dixie-cup” cover, then executed a three-volley military salute with M14 rifles. A few moments after that, a US Navy bugler, dressed in the same uniform and standing out among the headstones a hundred feet away, began to play the bugler’s cry of “Taps.”

There were no flags on the caskets because everyone had agreed to save the flag folding and presentation ceremony for the cameras the following morning.

When the formalities were concluded, forty SEALs from SEAL Team III stood up from their seats and divided into two groups, with twenty men lining up in front of Lieutenant Commander Brighton’s casket, and twenty lining up in front of Petty Officer Santiago’s casket. Each SEAL removed the trident pin from his uniform as he filed past the respective casket, pausing to slap the trident down hard into the lacquered wood surface of the lid, being careful to keep the pins evenly spaced and perfectly straight. The slaps were audible at a distance, and when the SEALs completed the ceremonial display of respect for their fallen comrades, each of the two caskets looked as though it had been adorned with a single strip of solid gold inlay.

Gil turned to Alpha, speaking quietly into his ear. Then the two of them rose from their chairs, removing the tridents from their own uniforms, and walked up the center row toward the caskets. To everyone’s surprise, they filed past the caskets of Brighton and Santiago, Gil stopping at the casket of Ensign Joseph Fivecoat, and Alpha stopping at the casket of Chief Petty Officer Adam Samir. Each man rose his hand above his head. Then Gil gave a nod, and they slapped down their tridents into the caskets at the same time.