Coming Soon! I’m working on the proofs now and hope to release this in the next couple of weeks! Here’s an excerpt:
Sunday, September 9th
Fenway Park, Boston, MA, 1:15 PM
“The rivalry between the Yankees and Red Sox has always been special, and this year poses no exception,” Butch McAlister announced to his radio audience. “With three weeks left in the season, the Red Sox hold a game and a half lead over their division rivals, the New York Yankees, as we’re about to begin this four game series.”
“That’s right, Butch,” his partner, Jack Weaver commented. “And a sellout crowd of over 37,700 is expected this afternoon for the series opener,” Weaver continued. “If the Red Sox can stifle the Yankees here and take advantage of the home-cookin’, they’ll clearly be in the driver’s seat for the remainder of the season as we head into the playoffs.”
Gillette Stadium, Foxborough, MA, 1:30 PM Local Time
The season opener for the New England Patriots always brings out a sellout crowd of over 66,000. The Tom Brady – Bill Belichik era would soon be over and every Patriots fan wanted to be a part of what could be the last season for this quarterback-coach tandem. Obviously, every Pat’s fan expected this opener to be like most every other one had been for the past seventeen years: another ‘W’ for the home team on their way to hopefully another Super Bowl season.
35 Miles off the coast of Long Island, 3:58 PM Local Time
“How soon can we launch, Captain?” First Mate Aleksander Gozni asked.
“Our orders indicate that we are to launch every one of the missiles at precisely four o’clock local time,” Captain Kanokov replied. “Have you double checked to make sure that all of the target coordinates have been programmed into each of the missiles?”
“I have, sir. The target coordinates for each missile have been programmed as expected and we are ready to go, sir,” Gozni replied.
“Very well, open the containers and prepare to fire on my mark.”
“Excellent, sir!” Gozni replied with more than a little nervous excitement in his voice.
“Have you done anything like this before?” the captain asked his first mate.
“No sir, and it’s an honor to be a part of this.”
“Well, seaman, let’s just pray that this isn’t your last one either. Once the Americans realize where these missiles came from, they’re not going to be too concerned with asking questions first.”
“I’m not worried sir. Allah will protect us.”
“If he doesn’t, you’ll have an appointment with 72 virgins very soon. Are we ready to fire?”
“All containers opened, sir! We are ready to fire.”
“Very well, then. May Allah forgive us. You may commence firing.”
And with that, the first Tishreen missile left its launcher aboard the container ship MV Admiral Ushakov. Ninety seconds later, Ushakov, along with the container ships MV Tibor Szamueli, the Bomar Hermes, and two hundred miles to their southwest, the Falcon Trident each lay completely obscured by the smoke from the exhaust plumes of fifty Tishreen missiles launched from each of their decks.
Bradley T. Carlson 