Chapter 43

Midnight.

The video screens were alive with activity. Hawk Dryden and his tech staff had out done themselves this time. We were in my private office, inside the War Room, under the Pentagon. Technically, that meant I was in charge, but I had made it clear that I was a spectator. The Secretary of Defense was in charge of our forces as they assisted the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the Jordanian Army against Iran's Imperial Guard.

Hawk had put up impressive air cover to shepherd the joint forces as they attacked strategic positions. Originally, we intended to make reconnaissance and jamming our only active participation, but over time, we realized we had to be all in and make sure Iran's surviving leadership understood our intentions.

With AWACS jamming their rockets and blocking their radio signals, Iran's most powerful units were destroyed almost without firing a shot. The Kingdom's elite soldiers had a powerful hatred for Iran and her egotistical, psychotic military, and given the chance they rolled over them like a steam roller over a robin's egg.

Jordan's Air Force had a field day as AWACS painted Iran's fighters, and scrambled the enemy radio transmissions. Once Jordan capture air superiority, the Kingdom's demolitions experts trained their venom on Iran's nuclear facilities. Having phone and radio communication interrupted, and Internet service temporarily cut, Iran's military did what it always does. They looked for someone to kill and went after them with a vengeance.

Thousands of Saudi paratroopers had dropped close to Iranian bases, and when their soldiers began to assemble, they were cut down like paper dolls in a hail storm. All over the country, Iranian units were reduced to a jumbled handful of injured, confused, and frightened men, running for their lives.

The biggest successes were against Iranian nuclear facilities, where enrichment was going twenty-four, seven. Recent intelligence successes had identified previously unknown locations.

Carefully planned assaults defeated their security systems, and elite Saudi soldiers took out the guards, allowing specially trained operatives to plant charges capable of taking out the entire Iranian underground nuclear program. It was a stroke of genius to use the hardened structure to hold in the radiation, instead of protecting the facility from nuclear attack coming from above ground.

In Teheran, news of the attacks was slow in coming. Generals hesitated to wake the leadership without details, and none were to be had. When calls finally went out, our electronic eavesdropping network traced those outbound calls, and the originating houses, apartments, and estates were bombed to pieces within minutes.

It would take days to assess the success of the night missions, but almost all of the ruling mullahs, the political leadership, and almost all of the military high command were dead. Iran was effectively leaderless, and those left were confused, terrified, and hiding.

Jordan and Saudi Arabia claimed credit for the offensive, leaving us out of it, but putting the terror world on notice that killing the American President was part of the reason Iran's government was destroyed. The lack of American boots on the ground meant that the general Muslim world would not be agitated with concerns about "Christian Crusades."

Best of all, not one American citizen was killed or injured.

When news of the successful invasion, destruction of the nuclear facilities, and utter rout of Iranian forces became public, the country exploded in celebration. People trapped beneath the iron boot of Islamic fundamentalism and fascist control, took to the streets and celebrated freedom.

News footage showed impromptu parties breaking out all over Iran and other news footage captured the arrest and execution of surviving leaders. Iran lost its ruling council and most of its psychotic mullahs in one fell swoop.

No one complained.

Not the UN.

Not the Russians.

Not Red China.

No one.

When Hawk Dryden declared the exercise over, he did so saying, "Well, Mr. President, you kicked some serious Iranian ass tonight."

I looked at the clock, realized it was three-twenty-four A.M., and shivered. Something good happened at three-twenty-four.

We broke up, and Rick, Jack, and I headed home to bed. Benjamin met me at the door and accompanied me to my office, where I quickly read through the contents of my in-box and super-secret email. Colleen was sleeping in my spot when I went to crawl in, and she shifted in her sleep to make room or me. Her arms automatically went around me, as I slipped down into the warm bed, and her breath washed across my chest, welcoming me home.

For one of the first times since the White House was attacked I slept well.

"Mr. President! Mr. President! Do you have any comment on the joint military actions of Saudi Arabia and Jordan last night?"

The pool reporters met Marine One on the Capital lawn. Keeping a safe distance they wanted me to talk about Iran's leadership getting the crap kicked out of them last night. I had bigger fish to fry, so I waved an headed inside. Jack and Winnie bracketed me.

That's what Press Secretaries are for.

That reminded me of Samantha, and I briefly wondered how she was doing.

Ken Stanton met me as I came through the doorway. "Hey, John. How are things out in the woods?" He really was loving it that I was out of sight, and he could feel important because he was living in the middle of things ... oh well.