Launch on Warning: A Novella (Pt 2)

THE KREMLIN

CONFERENCE ROOM

2035 HOURS LOCAL

1735 HOURS ZULU

The old men filed out of the conference room into the hallway. Veterans of Stalin’s time, their circadian rhythms permanently shifted as a result of years of late-night meetings, they were not used to concluding so quickly.

But tonight was different. Tonight, a momentous decision had been taken. If the men in the hallway were right, it was a decision they had already taken too long to make. National survival was at stake. For the men in the hallway, that also meant personal survival. They rushed to the basement, to the secret Metro trains that would take them to their command posts, far away from the conspicuous target they now inhabited. If they were right, there was no time to lose.

The younger man, the man with the strange birthmark on his head, was still sitting at the conference table. He was not at all sure that the other men were right. And he was not sure he wanted to live through what was going to happen next.

OSCAR-01

1140 HOURS LOCAL

1740 HOURS ZULU

“You want some coffee, Arne? I’m making the good stuff.”

Arne looked up from his binders. He was studying for promotion, having concluded another mind-numbing chat with his wife. “If you’re making the good stuff.”

“Brother, I’m always making the good stuff. You ever see me drinking that Folger’s shit?”

One of the advantages of being a USAF brat was being posted to places with really, really, good coffee, like North Africa, like Italy, like Turkey. Howe pulled back a blue curtain and rummaged in the galley drawers. He found his “special blend” in the back of a low drawer, wedged behind bags of disposable utensils.

He went through the comforting ritual of brewing while he looked around his strange little office for the thousandth time. A constant hum of machinery was the background music, something he’d learned to tune out a long time ago. Howe looked back at the entrance hallway and saw Oscar The Grouch. He thought of Dotty.

Time to call home. With the pot percolating, he went back to his console. Sheree picked up on the fourth ring. “Hey.” Her voice was sleepy.

“You just wake up, babe?”

“Is this a readiness test, Captain?”

He could hear the little spike in her voice, see the arched eyebrow over the green eye, the other covered by tight curls.

“No, ma’am. Dotty’s up?”

“Yeah. She’s watching Sesame Street, of course.” Howe glanced back at the mural. “How’s your shift?”

“Oh, you know.” Olerud waved at him goofily. “Peace is our profession, etc. If it ever gets exciting it’ll be a bad day. Arne says hi.”

Sheree sighed deeply. Howe could hear his daughter giggling in the background.

“Hi, Arne. Tell Carol thanks for the pie.” Howe mimed a pie being eaten and gave Olerud a thumbs-up. Olerud beamed. “You think about what we talked about yesterday?”

Howe massaged his temples. “How could I forget? It’s a lot to think about, babe.”

Last night she’d gone at him for two hours about getting out of the Missile Fields. Putting in for a transfer to the Pentagon. Going to work for Rand or a defence contractor. Anything but endless plains and long alerts, cold weather and stolid Swedes for neighbours.

“Five years, Fred. Five years is a lot. I know you love being a missileketeer and all, but…”

“Missileer, babe. Missileer,” he snickered.

“Whatever. It’s just more than most women would put up with, that’s all. A lot more, Frederick.”

Now he was in for it. When she started using his full name, it was time to run.

“Can I talk to Dotty?”

Sheree sighed again. “Sure, change the subject. Hang on. Dotty! Da-da wants to talk to you!”

“Grover is on!”

“I know, but Grover can wait. Talk to Da-da.”

“Da-da, Grover is funny!”

“I know he is, honey. Is he being silly?”

“He’s singing a silly song with Big Bird. I gotta go Da-da!”

“Uh… okay.” The coffee was ready. “Honey, I gotta go. Got some workmen to supervise.”

“Not that cracker?”

“Yeah, him.”

“You ought to complain, you know that?”

“Honey, it’s the Air Force. It doesn’t work that way. An officer has to handle his own problems.” He caught Olerud looking up, then back at his binders quickly. “I’ll call you later, babe. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Sheree replied listlessly. Howe replaced the phone gently. He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed.

“Everything okay?” Olerud ventured carefully.

“Nope. But I’d rather drink coffee than talk about it.”

“Sounds fine to me.”

LOW EARTH ORBIT

OVER 52.29.00 N 82.42.00 E

0253 HOURS LOCAL

1753 HOURS ZULU

The satellite had exquisite eyes matched to a brain that knew the sorts of pictures the men who had built it would want to see, right away. It had passed over this place many times before and knew from the coordinates that the men who had built it were very, very interested in any changes to the way this place usually looked.

Usually, the holes in the ground with thick concrete covers over them were hidden from view. But on this pass, the covers began to open. All at once.

Even in the darkness, the satellite could see into the holes, see the long tubes inside the holes. It counted at least twenty, now open to its eyes. The onboard brain made a decision and flashed an urgent signal to the men on the other side of the planet below.

OSCAR-01

1156 HOURS LOCAL

1756 HOURS ZULU

“LCC Oscar, Captain Howe.” Howe picked up the phone while trying not to spill scorching Arabian on his Procedures Manual. Limited Attack Options was best read unstained.

“Sergeant Larkin, sir.” Just the slightest hint of insolence. “Repairs are finished. We’re packing up, should be out in fifteen.”

“That was fast. She’s back up?”

“Fully, sir. Just a circuit board, that’s all. We’ll stand by outside while you verify status. If you want.”

“Of course I want. Okay, okay, good work. Let me know when you want the B-plugs and I’ll…”

The speaker blared the message alarm again.

“EAM. Gotta go.” Howe slammed down the receiver and grabbed his codebook.

SKYKING SKYKING DO NOT ANSWER

SKYKING SKYKING DO NOT ANSWER

SKYKING SKYKING DO NOT ANSWER

“Holy shit.” Olerud’s jaw had dropped.

“Quiet!” Howe snapped at him.

SIERRA SIERRA OSCAR

SIERRA SIERRA OSCAR

TIME FIVE SEVEN

AUTHENTICATION SEVEN EIGHT

AUTHENTICATION SEVEN EIGHT

“Message is authentic!” Howe yelled, too loud. Grover is funny.

“I agree with authentication sir!” Olerud’s voice was two octaves too high.

STANDBY MESSAGE FOLLOWS

STANDBY

Howe gripped his grease pencil so tightly his fingers went white.

UNIFORM TANGO WHISKY WHISKY BRAVO DELTA TWO TWO THREE SIX ALPHA NOVEMBER DELTA SIX NINER SEVEN FOXTROT YANKEE CHARLIE SEVEN GOLF ONE ONE ECHO ECHO JULIET ROMEO TWO THREE SEVEN

OFFUTT OUT

“Decode the message!”

“Decoding!” They went to the safe again, both men fumbling their combos the first time.

“Cool it. Cool it.” Howe whispered as much to himself as to Olerud. Into the safe on the second try, the red card marked “S/S/O” coming out in his hand. Back to his desk, snapping it open.

He read it twice to make sure. “Fuck.”

“Holy hell. DEFCON-TWO.”

“Not an exercise.”

“Would they say that if it…”

“No.” Howe heard the phone ring and picked it up. “LCC Oscar, Howe.”

“Wing Command, Quinones. Authenticate Sierra Sierra Oscar.”

“Seven eight.”

“Go over procedures with your FNG. CIA satellite just saw the silo doors opening on SS-18s in Siberia. Looking Glass is up and NEACAP will be soon. Let’s hope that as far as it goes. Gotta go.”

“Okay.” Howe put the phone down weakly.

“What is it? Fred?”

He turned at Olerud, about to snap at him, then realized his rank required calm. Even if he didn’t feel it. “Russians are opening silo doors. The President’s going airborne.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Open your procedures manual. We’re going to review ‘Major Attack,’ followed by ‘Limited Attack’.” Howe picked up the receiver and dialled Larkin.

“Sir?’

“Fuck the cleanup. And the test. Get out now. I’m opening the B-Plug.”

“But the regs say…”

“We just went to DEFCON-TWO, dummy! You wanna be in there when I launch that thing?”

“Understood.” Howe watched on his monitor as the crew scrambled to get out of the silo. He was already opening the outside door before he was sure they were there. He picked up the phone again.

“LCF Oscar, Sergeant Royer.”

“Roy, we just went to DEFCON-TWO.”

“I copied that sir. We’ve already got a backup team coming from Minot to help out, plus teams going to the silos.”

“Looks like you got it covered.” The man sounded like he still thought it was a drill. Up there, they had no protection. Howe felt an emotional swell. “You take care.”

“Leave it to us, sir. You got a job to do. We’ll keep you covered.”

“Good luck.”

“You too.”

Howe looked back at the monitor. Larkin’s crew was already lifting themselves up the exit ladder to the surface. He closed the hatch to the silo, then manually re-armed 07’s enable switch.

“Seven now shows ready, sir.”

Howe whispered under his breath. “Thanks, cracker.”

“Sir?” Olerud stared at him.

“Call home. Tell her you love her. Don’t say anything else.”

“But…”

Howe turned in his chair. “If this is for real, she won’t be able to get far enough, fast enough. Better she doesn’t know.”

“What about you?”

“I think I’ll just pray. My wife would have too many questions.”

GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT

OVER 51.53.00 N 176.38.42 W

1001 HOURS LOCAL

1801 HOURS ZULU

This satellite sat in a far more distant orbit than its spy cousin, which by now was headed towards daylight over Europe. This satellite’s only job was to detect the intense fires of ICBM rocket motors as they ascended from their bases in the Soviet Union and pitched over the pole towards North America.

The satellite’s sensors picked up a handful of such fires, then dozens, then hundreds. It signalled its masters that a massive attack was now underway.

OSCAR-01

1203 HOURS LOCAL

1803 HOURS LOCAL

“So, the EAM will make it clear which attack option is being carried out.”

“Affirmative. We just turn the keys.”

Howe went over the attack options in a Socratic form with Olerud, more to calm themselves with routine than anything else. Both men knew their input was limited to rote actions anyway. Even if they failed to turn their keys, other LCCs or Looking Glass could launch their missiles remotely. They had no idea where their missiles were even aimed. Howe thought that was a good thing.

There was a moment of quiet. The ticking of the clocks was like a throbbing in Howe’s head. He felt a weird calm. Olerud spoke and ruined the moment.

“What do you think is happening now?”

“Reagan’s in NEACAP, probably trying to get the Soviets on the red phone to dial things down. Bet the old ham never wanted to play this role.”

Howe smiled bitterly at the thought of the Great Communicator stumbling through the war plan.

“I think the President will do the right thing,” Olerud spoke with certainty.

“Aren’t you a Democrat?”

“Yeah. Everybody is where I come from. Still, I think Reagan is a good man.”

“I think you’re right. I also don’t think it matters anymore. The war machine has a mind of its own, Arne.” Howe looked up at the big clocks. Sheree would be pulling Dotty away from the TV right about now to feed her lunch. He closed his eyes.

“You see the Day After, Fred?”

“Yes.”

Howe opened his eyes. Sheree had wanted him to resign after they had watched it together. He’d regretted even allowing it to be watched in the house. A lot of the men he served with had forbidden their families from watching. What good did it do?

What did you think I do for a living, Sheree? I’m in that goddamned hole so that never happens!

“Sure made me think.” Howe looked over to where Olerud sat. He was looking at the switches and indicators in front of him, rubbing his hands.

“Arne?”

“Yes, sir?” Olerud looked over at him, his lower lip trembling.

“You gotta be cool now. Promise me you’ll stop thinking. There’ll be lots of time for thinking later. We got a job to do, man.”

“But maybe if someone…”

“Maybe, nothing! They can launch our goddamn missiles by remote control if they have to, Arne. The Russians opened their silo doors first. Did we do that?”

“No.”

“Which means, they’re starting it, right? So what good is it gonna do if we just take it and don’t shoot back? We’re defending ourselves.”

Olerud nodded and wiped his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“We’re a team, right?”

“Right.”

The speaker tone sounded, causing both men to shudder.

“Here we go, Arne. Cool.” Howe opened the code binder and pulled out the grease pencil.

“Cool.” Olerud intoned. “Cool.”

SKYKING SKYKING DO NOT ANSWER

SKYKING SKYKING DO NOT ANSWER

SKYKING SKYKING DO NOT ANSWER

SKYKING SKYKING DO NOT ANSWER

“Ah shit. It’s war.” Howe shook his head.

Olerud was silent.

VICTOR BRAVO VICTOR

VICTOR BRAVO VICTOR

TIME ZERO SIX

AUTHENTICATION EIGHT ONE

AUTHENTICATION EIGHT ONE

“Message is valid!”

“I agree with authentication, sir!”

STANDBY MESSAGE FOLLOWS

STANDBY

KILO OSCAR NOVEMBER ECHO DELTA VICTOR EIGHT FOUR FOUR ROMEO X-RAY KILO MIKE TWO TWO BRAVO ALPHA CHARLIE ZULU FOXTROT TWO NINER DELTA LIMA LIMA TWO SIX NINER INDIA GOLF

OFFUTT OUT

“Decode the message!”

“Decoding!”

The ticking clocks hammered in his ears as Howe walked over to the safe. He glanced at Olerud, who mumbled under his breath as his big hands fumbled the combination.

“Slow, slow.”

“Okay.”

The safe came open. The found the cards and took them back to their consoles. Howe snapped his open.

All they could hear was the clocks and the constant machinery hum.

WING ATTACK PLAN K

MAJOR ATTACK

“Enter codes!”

“Jesus Christ.” Olerud exclaimed as the computer ordered him to “Launch all missiles.”

“Step one, enable missiles! Insert launch keys to enable!”

“Enable switch to enable!” Olerud was with him. So far. Howe took the key from around his neck. He maneuvered it into the switch with the precision of a drunk trying to start his car.

GENTLY

“On my mark: Three, two, one, turn!”

“Missiles enabled! One enabled, two enabled, three enabled, four enabled, five enabled, six enabled, seven enabled, eight enabled, nine enabled, ten enabled! All missiles enabled sir!”

“Program flight switch enabled!”

“Enabled!”

“Unlock codes inserted!” Howe fiddled with a tumbler in front of his console to unlock the Permissive Action Links that would let the warheads explode, as Olerud did the same. One more safeguard.

“Inserted. Ready for launch!” An audible tone began to sound as if they hadn’t already absorbed the gravitas of the moment. The phone rang at Howe’s station.

It was Quinones. His voice was high-pitched. Howes figured he must sound like that too. “LCC Oscar.”

“Victor Bravo Victor, Victor Bravo Victor.”

“Authentication Eight One, Authentication Eight One.”

“Valid EWO from the President. Launch on Warning.”

“Ready to launch.” He slammed the phone down, knowing he would never talk to the man again. Maybe there’s an upside to Armageddon. The alarms were rattling his brain now, the procedures his only stabilizing force. “Valid EWO from the President. Ready keys to launch.”

“Ready to launch!”

“On my mark: Three, two, one, launch!”

“Launch missiles!” They turned their keys together, the final step.

A low rumble announced far off missiles blowing pneumatic hatch covers, engines roaring to life. Howes looked over at Olerud’s console. A cascade of “enable” lights flickered to “ready to launch”, then “launched.” Olerud slumped in his chair, useless now.

Howe looked up at the silo monitors. The intrusion alarms on the Launch Facilities were going off as rocket blast rattled the fences. He saw 07 pushing itself out of its silo on a tongue of fire.

My God. We did it. We finally did it.

Howe leaned forward and silenced the intrusion alarms. The whole Red Army could have the silos now. They couldn’t stop the missiles any more than he could. He thought about calling Sheree. Why couldn’t he?

Sorry, I blew up the world. Duck and Cover. He couldn’t do it. It was almost over anyway.

The maintenance radio squawked. “LCC Oscar, this is Oscar Maintenance, come in.”

It was Larkin. He picked up the handset. “This is LCC Oscar. Larkin, where are you?”

“In the trucks on the way back to the LCF. Don’t think we’re gonna make it.”

“Pullover. Get in a ditch!”

“Pulling over.” There was a hiss of static. “Wait. I see something, up high.”

“What is it?” Howe knew what it would be. “What do you see?”

“Bright tracks, inbound, high up. Probably warheads making re-entry. Pray with me, sir?”

Howe clutched the microphone. Larkin was gonna be the last person he talked to. There was something fitting about that. “Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

Olerud joined them as the said the Lord’s Prayer together. Larkin stopped. “Wait…oh my God, it’s beautiful…”

“Strap in tight!” Howe yelled.

The capsule went dark and rocked like it was in the teeth of a giant. Howe’s head bounced off the console and he passed out.