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<Cut back to the military control room in the mountain, where the tension is starting to show on the faces of the staff, and the almost visible smell of nerves pervades the room.>
"Ma'am?" Interrupted the comms office. "This may be relevant. We've lost contact with the Rangers, CDC and EPA. The last message indicated they were being attacked by foreigners and squirrels. And I'm sure someone on Fred just said squirrels."
"Listen, sonny," in a tone sharp enough to slice through diamond like it was water, "if you thi-"
"Ma'am?" said a Major General entering the room. "I'm from Psychological Ops. I've been monitoring the communications. I'm worried about the images being described. It's possible they are being used to hypnotise and brainwash people. There's no way we can tell unless we can study a potential victim, but I'd say we have a very high risk that we are currently under multi-factor attack from a non-centralised previously unknown source with technology conceivably exceeding ours."
"All that because of squirrels?" replied the commander, icing up most of the room in the process.
"No. We've had an F-22 shot down, two others out flown, the most advanced missiles we own have been casually defeated. We've lost a company of rangers, and a space asset is under imminent threat of attack which does not look like ending positively. The few communications we've had indicate that something is affecting our people's grasp on reality."
"Hmmm." The commander breathed deeply to calm herself, and realising that facts must outweigh prejudice and thought for a few seconds. "So your analysis is to go Black?"
The major general nodded sadly.
"Very well. Go to Ultra-Black. Get me POTUS." And with that 2 Minutes to Midnight was replaced with Prince's 1999 as the alarm signal.
Clearly unsettled by the change of alarm signal, the comms officer started shaking and stood up. "Either pull yourself together now, or relieve yourself. At once." Said the commander slowly and quietly. "Now get me POTUS."
"Yes Ma'am. Sorry Ma'am. I realise this is serious." And the comms officer immediately returning to his console.
The commander turned to the Major General. "Do you have recommendations for POTUS? I'm minded to have a flyby of the launch area, by the F-22s and an uncompromised source. See if we can find any potential bases or indications of them. We probably have to accept Fred will be lost, but should immediately launch our Marine reserves and bring up all ground attack craft and units to readiness in case we locate a " –and the commander bitterly spat out the next word – " squirrel target."
"For morale reasons, might I suggest that henceforth we use the code ART to identify the threat? You've not had dealings with POTUS since the succession, have you?"
"No."
"Well. I'll always defer to your extra star, and your plan sounds sound, but I would just ask for permission to carry out necessary operations within and without our borders and not go into details. Oh, and get POTUS airborne."
"Okay. Get NEACP linked in and running, warn the secret service and Airforce One. Order the two F-22s to flyby the launch area and investigation base, and get a reconnaissance unit there yesterday." Ordered the commander after a moment's pause. "How long till the Marines reach Fred?"
"Approximately two minutes." Replied on of the radar operators.
"And once again we wait." Whispered the commander, who then turned to the Psychological Ops Officer. "Why ART?"
"Arboreal Rodent Threat." Replied the embarrassed officer. "Sorry; but a TLA sounds more threatening, and people tend not to ask what it stands for, for fear of looking stupid. Useful technique to get things past authority." Replied the officer, with a tone of bitter experience.
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