Chapter 1129: The Enhanced Backup Plan (Patreon)

Jack’s words left the room full of high-level officials glancing at each other in surprise and uncertainty—even Rossi was taken aback.

He hadn’t expected Jack to speak up so decisively in such a high-stakes meeting, defending him in front of top brass and articulating his position with calm confidence. Rossi felt genuinely gratified—his last and proudest student had not been a wasted investment.

Perhaps worried his protégé might overstep, Rossi quickly followed up on Jack’s statement to steer the discussion forward.

“What Jack means is this: rather than viewing the death of General Hammer’s wife as a spark, it would be more accurate to call it the final tick on a countdown. The ignition button had been pressed long ago.

Her passing marked the moment Hammer lost his last attachment to this world—it was the countdown hitting zero.

So, Jack and I agree that no matter what course of action we take, we only get one shot. If we fail, General Hammer will likely discard his leverage immediately to prove his resolve.

And I believe, as a soldier, the way he proves his determination will not be something as simple as executing a few hostages.”

General Hammer’s leverage came down to two things: 81 hostages and 15 VX gas missiles. If Rossi ruled out the former as Hammer’s method of sending a message, then that left only one grim possibility—he might actually fire a missile or two as a demonstration.

General Al Clayman lowered his eyelids, muttering almost to himself.

“If I recall, Frank [Hammer] repeatedly requested the Special Military Committee hold hearings to review the standards for casualty recognition and to honor soldiers who died in classified missions.

The last hearing was less than a year ago. Senator Waver rejected it under the pretext of budget constraints and clauses in the secrecy act.

So we had a chance to prevent all this...”

Only someone of Clayman’s standing could say such things out loud. Jack noticed that the president’s aide, Sinclair, looked as though he’d just swallowed a mouthful of sewage.

Fortunately, General Clayman wasn’t trying to throw the FBI under the bus by sending someone to negotiate on a suicide mission. He soon shifted the topic.

“Alright, who can tell me how powerful a VX missile really is? What’s its effective range?”

A two-star general near the corner of the table answered. “Based on San Francisco’s population density, we estimate casualties from one missile could range between sixty and seventy—”

“Sixty to seventy? That doesn’t sound so bad,” a politician interjected, once again making a fool of himself.

“Sixty to seventy thousand,” the general said firmly. “A single E21 VX-equipped missile could result in seventy thousand casualties. And General Hammer has fifteen of them.

I’ll also remind you, Director Sinclair, that San Francisco proper has a population of over 800,000, while the greater Bay Area exceeds 7.8 million—second only to New York City in population density.”

Sinclair swallowed hard and wisely kept quiet this time. Apparently, he had finally decided to stop embarrassing himself.

“Doesn’t the military have any countermeasures against nerve agents like VX?” asked Director Jim Womack. “I recall Jack’s report from Korea mentioned the military provided some emergency antidote—something called a nerve agent injector?”

Clearly, Womack had genuinely read Jack’s report. Jack was both surprised and honored. He leaned closer and quietly explained to his boss.

“Sir, you can think of VX as a long-acting agent. Injectors like the atropine or pralidoxime chloride only work for short-term or low-dose exposure.

So the best way to counter the weapon is to stop it from launching. Even if we destroy the missiles on their launch racks, the resulting contamination could be catastrophic—Golden Gate Bridge and Fisherman’s Wharf are less than two miles from Alcatraz.

Mass deployment of incendiary bombs might help, but we’d need military experts to assess that.”

The director nodded slightly, clearly satisfied with Jack’s performance today.

The two-star general also nodded to Jack in affirmation before adding, “Conventional napalm only reaches about 1,000 degrees Celsius. That’s largely ineffective against VX.

We would need to pinpoint the missiles’ exact storage location, deploy thermite incendiaries accordingly, and then follow up with waves of napalm strikes until all the agent is neutralized.”

Jack’s expression faltered for a moment. Normally, unless someone is a die-hard fan, most people watch a movie once, maybe revisit it years later if it’s a favorite.

He himself had seen Independence Day and True Lies at least three times in his past life, with a gap of several years between viewings.

The Rock was one of Bayhem’s earlier blockbusters, released in the ’90s. He had rewatched it before his transmigration, but many details were now hazy.

Still, he vaguely remembered that the military had a backup plan involving thermite strikes—and in the final scene, an F/A-18 that didn’t get the abort signal did launch a strike.

But based on the general’s explanation, this situation wasn’t about scrambling a couple of jets anymore.

Sure enough, General Clayman rapped his knuckles on the table. “Can we get F/A-18s armed with thermite rounds and enough napalm loaded onto B-52Hs within 36 hours?”

“No problem. But I strongly recommend that be our fallback plan,” the general replied.

“So what we need now is a primary option, correct?” Clayman looked toward Jack. “Agent Tavoller—no, I’ll call you Jack.

Since you’ve successfully thwarted a similar VX-based terrorist attack in Seoul, do you think you can coordinate with the military again for a similar mission?”

These two situations weren’t remotely comparable, Jack thought, internally rolling his eyes. But considering Clayman had almost suggested sending Rossi to Alcatraz as a negotiator, he figured it was safer if he volunteered.

After all, in the original movie, a desk-bound bioweapons expert and a nearly 70-year-old ex-con pulled off the mission. Jack figured he had a much better chance of success... probably.

Thinking of that bioweapons expert, Jack turned to his boss. “Sir, I think I’ll need a partner.”