Air Force Dead

Under Attack

"Welcome aboard Air Force One, your seat is on the right," the stewardess said to the man as he boarded the president's plane. The plane was on a flight to Chicago for a presidential press conference then was on its way to the G8 summit at Camp David. The main concern was the debate over the end of the world fear at the end of this year. There was nothing of concern brought to their attention, but word was spreading and they feared people would go crazy. They had to decide what to do about that.

"Attention all passengers, we are ready for take-off so if you would please take you're seats we'll depart in ten minutes," the pilot said. The pilot had been the same for twenty years and had seen his share of presidents and attacks on the president, but nothing could prepare him for what was going to happen today.

The president made his way down to the meeting room. The meeting wouldn't start without him, but he had a thing about being late.

He entered the room and everybody stood up. He motioned with his hands for everyone to sit. They sat in their chairs and shuffled their papers; he remained standing.

"Okay, today's meeting has officially started. Today I would like to begin by saying that…" he trailed off. He looked around the room; something wasn't right, "anyways, we have a growing problem in Australia. It seems that Russian nationalists have regrouped after our attack and set up a base in Sydney, Australia. I would like your advice on our approach of these terrorists." Then he realized what was wrong. He spun around and swung the double doors open. He turned to the guard and poked him. The guard fell over.

"Security, code 911, I repeat, code…" he didn't get to finish. He felt a sharp pierce in his side and immediately moved his right arm to remove the object. He pulled it out and brought it up to his face to view it; it was a sleep dart. He turned to see who fired it, but he blacked out and hit the ground before he had the chance.