Sci-Fi Script for 9/11

Training Americans to Fear

By Joachim Martillo (ThorsProvoni@aol.com)

 

While the more extreme 9/11 hypothetical scenarios in which the US government – possibly in collusion with the State of Israel – runs a false flag operation to kill American citizens in order to undermine the US Constitution belong to the twilight zone, suspicions seem more reasonable of  a cover-up of an early intelligence agency misunderstanding of the nature of the hi-jacking with possible governmental assistance to the hijackers in order to arrest them and their leaders when the planes landed.

 

Even if such a scenario were true, the subsequent hysteria of the Bush administration and myopic focus on nuclear terrorism seemed inexplicable merely as a result of a frantic need to cover a gigantic blunder. Then I found Janet and Chris Morris' 1984 novel entitled The Forty Minute War and began to wonder how many senior administration officials have been long time science fiction readers.

 

Here is an excerpt from pp. 7-9.

 

PROLOGUE

 

It was cherry blossom time in Washington and from the air the clever planning of the city's French architect was clearly visible: no horse army would have an easy time storming revetments well placed along those concentric circles. Capitol Hill and its buildings, as the young nat ion's fathers had intended, would be prohibitively expensive to take and the last to fall to the enemy infantry slogging up the slope.

 

But this was of little concern to the airborne warriors of the Islamic Jihad in their commandeered Royal Saudi airliner. There were only six martyrs aboard – three Iranians, two Libyans, and a Palestinian woman who, despite her sex, was their commanding officer.

 

Numbers were an extraneous consideration in their battle; so was survival of the warriors. This was as it had always been and it bothered none of the suicide commandos in the big Boeing's cockpit: they had been chosen by their mullah for just this reason – with, of course, the additional proviso that they be technically capable of performing their mission.

 

Each one of them was a certified pilot capable of flying the jumbo jet to its rendezvous with history if only one was left alive; all were fluent enough in the dialects and customs of the despicable Saudi moderates and the American Satans to pass for a commercial jet's crew; each had been drilled and redrilled in the arming and detonation of the tactical nuke they had on board until any one of them could have delivered it to its target from the depths of sleep or death's door.

 

It was a simple matter, really, as it had been to commandeer the jetliner without one of its two hundred and fifty-seven passengers suspecting anything: every move they made had been thought out by other, wiser heads far in advance.

 

The jet wasn't altered; it bore no rocket launchers under its winds; it needed no complicated targeting electronics or heads-up displays. The martyrs weren't up to that and their dispatchers knew it – hence the complex and painstaking ruse that assured the complete normalcy, to all appearances, of the final approach of Flight 319 from Riyadh.

 

What the commandos were capable of doing was vectoring from their approach to Washington International Airport and crashing their jumbo jet into the very lair of the greatest Satan of all: the White House, home of the President of the United States.

 

The entire operation, from the moment the jet veered from its flight path to the moment it crashed into the White House among a tardy hail of antiaircraft fire from stunned soldiers in nearby emplacements, took fourteen point nine seconds – just long enough for the woman who led the martyrs to let the world know who should get the credit for eradicating its greatest evil in the cleansing fire which the American Satans had so long used to hold the Islamic peoples hostage to its will.

 

"Allaho Akbar," the woman whispered – "God is Great" – just before she armed the suitcase bomb they had with them on the flight deck.

 

She died smiling, which was more than could be said for the jet's pilot who, despite his revolutionary fervor, voided in his pants just before he was incinerated as the bomb went off milliseconds before impact.

 

After the destruction of Washington, the world situation quickly becomes even direr with a nuclear exchange between the USA and the USSR, and the rest of the book describes collaboration of American, Israeli and Saudi intelligence organizations to prevent somewhat crazed figures within the US government from creating new disasters while other American intelligence and state department agents attempt to retrieve and to use an experimental time machine to prevent the nuclear strike on Washington before it happened.

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