Code Orange
Fiction: President Trump goes nuclear in this excerpt from my new ebook satire, which begins shortly after National Security Adviser Sean Hannity wakes Trump at 3 a.m. to inform him of a nuclear strike in Canada’s Northwest Territories…
IN AN UNDERGROUND bunker beneath the East Wing of the White House, President Trump sat in silence, listening to Admiral George Redmond present his analysis of the situation. Redmond, the acting Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, had been chosen for the role in a desperate attempt to rebuild morale within the armed forces. It was only a month since Marine General Joseph Dunford had resigned in public protest of President Trump’s decision to withdraw the US government’s commitment to the Geneva Conventions.
“As Donald Rumsfeld once said, there are known knowns, there are known unknowns and there are unknown unknowns,” said Admiral Redmond, standing in front of a large screen. He clicked the remote in his hand and a map appeared. “What we know is that a nuclear device has been detonated in the Canadian territory of Nunavut. The attack appears to have destroyed the naval base Canada was building at Nanisivik.”
He clicked his remote again and a series of concentric circles appeared, emanating from the blast site. “Immediate fatalities are likely in the hundreds. The bad news is that, given the isolated location, anyone within this thermal radiation zone — extending three miles from the blast — will likely die before receiving medical treatment. The good news is that the area is very thinly populated. The entire population of Nunavoot is only around thirty-two thousand, with the vast majority of those living more than a hundred miles away from the blast. The nearest town of any size — Arctic Bay, home to nine hundred people, is twenty miles away.” He tapped the screen with his knuckle to indicate where the town lay in relation to the blast radius.
“Nuna-voot?” said Secretary of State Sarah Palin. “Is that how you say it?” She looked around the table at the cabinet members and the other senior officials. None caught her eye. She shrugged. “I guess I’ve been saying it wrong.”
“What we don’t know,” continued Redmond, “is who did this or why this happened — whether it was an accident or an unprovoked attack. We have no idea if there are any additional attacks planned.” He looked across the table at the Secretary of Homeland Security Rick Santorum.
“There were no warnings, there’s been no chatter, and as yet no one’s claiming responsibility,” said Santorum. “The Canadians suspect the Russians, of course, but we can’t make that accusation unless we are absolutely certain. So far, the Russians aren’t talking. But Senator Cruz has already issued a statement claiming this only happened because you’re letting transgenders use whatever bathroom they want.”
“Please,” said President Trump. “No more mentions of Lyin’ Ted till all this is over.”
He looked around the conference table at the other high-ranking officials on his National Security team. They looked like the cast from a mediocre season of Celebrity Apprentice. Just as he had done on that show, Trump wanted to create the appearance of listening seriously to a variety of opinions before announcing his decision. In his mind, though, he was listening to the voice of his late father Fred Trump: “Stay on offense, son. Attack, attack, attack!”
He turned first to Secretary of State Sarah Palin. “What’s the plan, Sarah?”
“The plan is you don’t blink, Mr. President. You just can’t blink.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“It means we need to…” her voice trailed off.
“Need to what? We don’t have much time here.”
“Putin is a Russian bear.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, Donald, when a bear’s coming atchya, sometimes you can’t rely on your rifle. You gotta pepper spray it.”
“Is that supposed to be military advice or instructions what to do if an actual bear attacks?”
In recent days, Trump had found it more difficult than usual to make sense of anything Palin was saying. He had thought his insomnia may have had something to do with it, but Dr. Bornstein, his personal physician, continued to reassure him that a man of his exceptional stamina could easily get by on less than one hour’s sleep a night.
Trump turned to the man sitting opposite him. “What do you think, Jesse?”
“What we do know,” said Secretary of Defense Jesse Ventura, “is that the Russians have been building out their military footprint in the Arctic Circle for years. But in terms of our capacity to deal with disputes in the Arctic, the US has really shot itself in the foot because Congress, since 1994, has refused to ratify the UN Law of the Sea Treaty which means we are not even part of the International Tribune that…”
“Hold on, Jesse,” said Trump. “We don’t need the UN. We don’t need any International Tribune. What we need is a win.”
“A win, Mr. President?”
“I need a win for America. That’s why I was elected. I need to make America great again — and I need to do it fast.”
“Are you suggesting a military response, sir?”
“I’m a counter-puncher, Jesse. If somebody hits me, I hit them back. A helluva lot harder than they hit me.”
“With all due respect, sir,” said Ventura, “this happened in Canada. We might want to wait for more facts. If Russia wanted to start a nuclear war with us, this doesn’t look like the way they’d do it.”
“What do you think, Sarah? Do we need more facts?”
“I’ve always said that if Putin rears his head, we have to be ready to whack-a-mole him with the be-all, end-all of real American nuclear weaponry.”
For a split-second, before a wave of dizziness came over him, Trump felt Palin was making total sense. As the dizziness passed, he seized on that initial feeling. “That’s exactly right,” said Trump. “We need to stay on offense. We must show strength. We need to trust our instinct.”
“I’m inclined to agree with Secretary Ventura,” said Admiral Redmond. “At this moment, the United States itself has not been…”
“I’M THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF! I DECIDE!” Trump screamed.
The room went quiet. Trump felt a surge of adrenalin that masked his fatigue. For years, journalists and the intelligentsia had mocked him for being a clown, a buffoon, a con artist. On the campaign trail, the media had treated him as a figure of fun. In exchange for Trump giving them ratings they needed, they had glossed over so many of the outrageous things he said, like when he casually mentioned that he would not rule out the use of nuclear weapons.
Now he had an opportunity to show all the losers and haters what true power was. So many things were going wrong in America, but a war could make things right — especially a war that shocked and awed the whole world into immediate submission.
“Bring me the briefcase,” he said.
Twenty seconds later, the country’s nuclear football — a portable, black-leather-bound aluminum case — was placed on the table in front of him.
“Sir,” began Admiral Redmond.
“Shut it,” said Trump, opening the case.
He leaned toward the screen to activate the retinal scan authorization.
Rick Santorum took out his rosary beads and began quietly reciting Hail Marys.
Trump entered his nuclear launch codes on the touch screen. A confirmation window popped up: ARE YOU SURE YOU WISH TO PROCEED?
He pressed YES.
“There,” he said. “It’s done. The missiles are on their way to Moscow.”
From across the table, Jesse Ventura stared at him stone-faced. “That’s not how it works, Mr. President. We go by the two-man rule. As Secretary of Defense, I have to enter my codes, too.”
Trump pushed the open case across the desk. “Do it,” he commanded.
“No.”
“I’ll give you five seconds,” said Trump.
“You can give me five years, the answer’s still no.”
Trump leaned across the desk. “Secretary Ventura, you’re fired. Get the Deputy Secretary of Defense in here right now.”
“You might want to rethink that, sir.”
“What do you mean?”
“Since you became President, every one of your policies has backfired. It’s not just the American people who have lost faith in you. The Democrats have already stated they will put a block on any of your Supreme Court nominees through 2021. It wasn’t hard to get the Senate Majority Leader and Speaker of the House to agree that you might be deemed unfit to remain in charge of the nuclear codes.”
Ventura nodded at the Vice President, who finally spoke: “Under Section 4 of the 25th Amendment to the US Constitution, I declare you unable to serve as President by reason of insanity.” The VP unfolded a sheet of paper, and slid it across the conference table for Trump to read. “As required by the Constitution, this letter has been endorsed by a majority of your Cabinet department heads and upon its delivery to Congress, I will become the Acting President.”
Trump crumpled the letter into a ball. “You traitorous bastard,” he said, eyes blazing. “If you hadn’t sworn your undying loyalty to me I would never have picked a sniveling mouse like you as my running mate.”
“Hey,” said the VP with a shrug, “it’s not like I signed a pre-nup or anything.”
“Attack!” screamed the voice of Fred Trump inside the President’s head, so loudly he imagined the whole room must have heard it.
Trump jumped out of his seat and marched around the table. “I’m going to fucking kill you!” he shouted at his VP.
But Jesse Ventura rose from his seat, too. He planted his feet to block Trump’s path. “You really want to do this?” said the 6’4” former pro wrestler.
“Out of my way, Jesse!” Trump tried to barge his way past, but Ventura stopped him in his tracks with a forearm slam, then spun him around, easily putting him in a chokehold.
“I’ve known you a long time, Donald,” Ventura whispered in the President’s ear. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
Trump was wheezing, breathless. His weight sagged against Ventura.
Ventura relaxed his hold. Trump seized the moment to elbow him in the gut and break free of the chokehold. Spinning around, Trump tried again to pass Ventura, but the Defense Secretary’s wrestling reflexes took over. He grabbed the President and slammed him onto the table. He gripped both of Trump’s wrists in his huge right hand. With his left hand, he lifted the President by the collar and eased him onto the floor.
Ventura gripped Trump firmly in a half-nelson hold, the President’s face hovering inches from the carpet. A chunk of hair came unglued from Trump’s head and fell to the floor, revealing a large bald patch on the back of his head.
A minute went by. Finally, Ventura felt that enough of Trump’s anger had burned off and the President was physically able to accept his defeat.
“Help me get him up,” Ventura said to the Vice President and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Together they bundled Trump into the nearest chair. Ventura took off his belt and used it to strap Trump’s right hand to the arm of the chair. “Give me your belt,” he commanded Admiral Redmond. He used the second belt to tie Trump’s left hand.
“You’re all going to regret this,” said Trump, scanning the room. “Santorum, you’re fired. Palin, if you knew about this — ”
Ventura reached down, picked the toupee off the floor and stuffed it into Trump’s mouth.
There was a stunned silence in the room. Jesse Ventura brushed himself off, hiked up his pants, and returned to his seat.
Before anyone could speak, a phone flashed red on the table. White House Chief of Staff Omarosa Manigault picked it up and listened briefly.
“It’s President Putin for President Trump,” she said.
The above is an excerpt from my new novella Kim Kardashian Saves The World (After President Trump Nearly Ends It) — available now on Amazon. Read the full ebook on Kindle. Or free with Kindle Unlimited. Thanks for reading. Please click “like” below or share if you feel inspired.