- Carl Von Clausewitz; On War The C4 damn near blew in the whole southeast wall of the Oval Office. Smoke, debris and charred remnants of Kevlar that had until just recently made up the interior of the wall spewed down the east corridor past the President’s Dining Room and the Deputy Chief of Staff’s office. Visibility, even with the Northrop Grumman AN/PVS-14D night vision goggles, was reduced to peering through a swamp of green back-lit murk and wall particles that glistened in the false light. A dazed Secret Service agent, blood trickling from his ears, stumbled out of the Roosevelt Room directly opposite the breech in the Oval Office’s wall. He held his UZI 9mm submachine gun at the ready and he was furiously blinking his eyes that were caked shut with a paste made from plaster and his own blood. “Mr. President! Mr. President!” A red laser targeting beam pierced the fog and played about the center of his forehead. A fine mist of powdered concrete made the beam visible back to its source.
