Fresno, California
Veterans Day
November 11, 2017
The Mayor of Fresno, Laura Sanders, had just finished presiding over the 10:30 a.m. opening ceremony to begin the west coast’s largest Veterans Day Parade. Begun in 1919 to honor returning World War I veterans, the city’s Armistice Day parade preceded the formal declaration of a National Holiday in 1954. This year, over 10,000 people were expected to participate in the parade that included marching bands from around the country as well as floats and a large number of active duty military personnel. Laura was seated in the center of the VIP bleachers in front of City Hall flanked by the Lieutenant Governor and the Commanding General of the California National Guard. State Senators and Representatives as well as town officials jockeyed for positions closer to the Mayor where they all knew the cameras would be focused. This year, TV and print media commitments had risen dramatically. The forecast called for a sunny 70º with clear skies for the parade start at 11:15 a.m.
In addition to opening the parade, her public affairs team had orchestrated a number of other opportunities for her to take the podium. It would be a momentous day for the city and especially for Laura who was the odds-on favorite to win the next governor’s race. She was being groomed for the position. Twice that year she’d been invited to Washington to explore her political future with the Democratic National Committee.
Thirty miles east of Fresno at the edge of the Sierra National Forest, two helicopters had taken off during the Mayor’s opening speech and flew west at a low altitude. No flight plan had been filed, and the helicopters were not part of the parade festivities.
Downtown was thronged with thousands of sightseers lining the parade route closed off earlier that morning by the Fresno police department. As they’d done since 9/11, the police department had inspected all the floats and vehicles that would take part in the parade and had screened all the bands and military units. Every year, the police chief complained about the parade’s impact on his budget and questioned the rising cost of the additional security, but the Mayor’s office insisted that public safety was first and foremost. A first responders’ command post was established at the mid-point of the route. The morning briefing by the local FBI agent revealed no unusual activity or particular threat. Everyone felt confident that the only challenges would be the usual lost child or maybe a couple of veterans drinking in public. Fresno was ready!
The longstanding commemoration of the day began as a lone bugler started playing a mournful version of “Taps” at 11:11 a.m. to mark the ending of the ‘War to End All Wars’ in the 11th Month, 11th Day, and 11th Hour. At the same time the two helicopters were seen flying low up the main street towards the reviewing stand. The two helicopters were identified by the general seated next to Laura.
He leaned towards the mayor pointing with the scrambled eggs that covered the bill of his uniform hat, “Those are special forces helos. I flew one in Iraq.” Laura tried not to pay attention to the general, annoyed that he would start a conversation during what was supposed to be the most solemn moment of the day.
The pair seemed harmless enough, soundlessly keeping their distance and hovering short of the reviewing stand. Darkly tinted egg-shaped glass wrapped and protected their cockpits. As if on cue, the bugler’s last note seemed to invite the craft forward where they hovered on either side of the reviewing stand as if ready to take their place among the bands and floats getting into final position a few blocks away.
Laura’s questioning look to the uniform on her left turned to shock as the fuselage doors of both aircraft opened to reveal ugly black metal snouts. Heavy caliber incendiary rounds began pouring out of twin barrels to the left and right. The bleachers were methodically raked by the cannon fire so that the red, white and blue bunting seemed to outline an area that had been colored in with bright red. The same happened on the other side of the street where the cannons cut down the media stands. After ten seconds, the two helicopters separated, one flying slowly down the main street spitting fire into the crowds that were attempting to flee and the other flying back the parade route and using both a forward cannon as well as the side cannons to savage the marching bands, floats and military units that were all assembled to commemorate the end of a war. This looked like the beginning of another one. It was a bloodbath of the cruelest type. Everyone was a target that day.
With their mission apparently complete, the two helicopters took positions at either end of Main Street and then flew towards each other. Witnesses claimed later that the two helicopters were flying twenty feet above the pavement when they collided in front of the reviewing stand in a brilliant flash of magnesium and unspent fuel, the rotor blades snapping off and becoming scythes that cut everything in their paths. Laura Sanders’ political aspirations were unexpectedly thwarted that day because she and everyone else in the reviewing stand were dead.
To the east, a team silently collapsed the portable antennas that provided a radio link to the two helicopters and stowed them in plain white utility vans. Two of the men controlled the event using what appeared to be ordinary gaming consoles. The third had viewed the carnage on a split screen monitor via a live video feed from each of the remotely controlled drones. It had been executed flawlessly, and the casualties were horrific. The trio fanned out over the small area, crisscrossing their temporary operating base to ensure there was nothing left behind.
With the equipment loaded, the leader gave the signal, and the three vehicles sped off in different directions. The operation was perfectly executed, and the team had followed the timeline precisely. What two of the drivers didn’t know is that another timer had already been activated that would trigger a powerful blast in thirty minutes in each of their vans. There would be little left when the police arrived at the two separate sites forty miles apart. The third van was abandoned in a nearby town where another car had been parked awaiting its arrival. The driver tapped a brief message into a small pager and looked forward to a few cold beers somewhere down the road.