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Biting.
Biting.
The president tried to say something. His mouth worked, but there was no breath in his lungs, no air in the room.
No words.
General Zetter’s voice croaked from the speakers. “Mr. President … my God, Mr. President. Permission to engage. Permission to engage.”
He said it over and over again as on the screen hundreds—no, thousands—of people fought, and screamed, and died.
And came back.
To kill.
To eat.
To …
Scott Blair touched the president’s arm. Lightly, almost gently. A gesture of pleading.
“Mr. President,” he said in a ragged whisper, “give the order.”
The president looked at him with eyes that were filled with so much confusion that it was clear the man teetered on the edge of collapse.
“Mr. President … please.”
“Congress,” muttered the president. “I need to inform them. I need approval for this. I can’t … I can’t … the nation…”
“There isn’t time, Mr. President. If we don’t act now there won’t be a nation to save.”
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The president’s staring eyes blinked, blinked again, and then suddenly filled with a measure of understanding.
“Do it,” he whispered.
It was the loudest sound in the room.
Blair wheeled around. “General Zetter, the president has authorized you to go weapons hot. Engage the enemy with all resources.”
“Acknowledged,” said Zetter breathlessly, “going weapons hot.”
The guns on the helicopters opened up and instantly the screams of the dying were drowned out by the heavy growl of machine guns. The running figures began juddering and dancing as the rounds punched into them. Other helicopters—Apaches and Black Hawks—moved down out of the storm, flying awkwardly in the high winds. The pilots kept as much distance from each other as they could, but this was worst-case scenario for any pilot. High winds, heavy rain, enemies who looked like civilians, and no clear set of targets.
“Some of the pilots are not engaging,” said one of the officers in the room.
“General Zetter,” growled Blair, “half of your pilots have not engaged.”
There was the sound of arguing and shouting from the speakers and they heard Zetter yell, “There are no civilians, goddamn it. This is a target-rich environment. Fire at will. Anything moving is designated an enemy combatant.”
Even with that some of the pilots repeated requests to verify those orders. Finally the president himself had to yell into the mike, repeating the same words Zetter had used.
Blair thought about how clinical and detached those words were. Target-rich environment.
Enemy combatants.
No civilians.
