Everyone in Cheyenne Mountain knew a nuclear missile fired from North Korea could reach the U.S. mainland in approximately thirty minutes. At DEFCON 1, nerves were frayed, creating an atmosphere of controlled chaos within the operations center.
America’s finest military commanders descended upon the battle cab, a dedicated operations center and meeting room used by the commander and senior members of the staff. If this state-of-the-art command center was the brain stem that gathered information from the sensors around the globe, the battle cab was the brain, which analyzed and made decisions based upon the information.
It was just after midnight local time when the dreaded, robotic words thundered through the command center.
“Launch detection! Launch detection.”
The suddenness of the announcement over the speaker system startled the NORAD team. Most were intently monitoring their computer screens while others chatted about the events of the past week. Even the lieutenant colonel on duty was casually sipping coffee while scrolling through news reports.
“Repeat. Confirmed launch detection. Coordinates are forty-one degrees, fourteen minutes, nine seconds north latitude and one hundred twenty-eight degrees, thirty-four minutes, thirty-nine seconds east longitude.”
The commander’s first reaction was to glance up at the digital clocks mounted throughout the operations center. Half an hour, he thought to himself. He knew the next few minutes would be the fastest of his life.
The team sprang into action. They’d repeatedly practiced for this moment. Only some were given the authority to speak aloud unless otherwise addressed by their commander.
“Source?” The colonel shouted his question.
“North Korea, sir,” replied one of the U.S. Air Force personnel monitoring a spy satellite. He added the precise location. “Mount Komdok.”
“Sneaky bastards,” the colonel muttered to himself. The Central Intelligence Agency had disclosed in the President’s Daily Brief that satellite reconnaissance indicated North Korea had built ballistic missile silos underneath a beachfront resort at Komdok-san. It was the closest point to the U.S. mainland from North Korea. “Do we have confirmation from our nuke sniffers?”
“Yes, sir. Positive confirmation from Constant Phoenix,” replied the same airman. Constant Phoenix was the name given the Boeing WC-135 aircraft specifically designed and deployed to monitor missile launches. Previously used as KC-135R tankers, they were upgraded and transformed into what was known in the military as nuclear sniffers. They were constantly deployed near America’s nuclear-capable enemies to provide the earliest possible information on a ballistic missile launch. Over the years, the old KC-135s had been replaced with new aircraft and the original nuclear sniffers were sent to the boneyard at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base in Arizona.
“Deploy defensive measures,” the colonel sternly instructed. He turned around to address his aide. “Get me the secretary of defense. Now!”
“Sir! We have a second launch. Repeat. Second.” The airman paused. “Correction, sir. We have a second and third launch detected.” He emphasized the word third with trepidation in his voice.
“Coordinates?” asked the colonel.
“Confirmed coordinates are thirty-nine degrees, zero-eight minutes, fifty-one seconds north latitude and one hundred twenty-seven degrees, twenty-six minutes, forty-six seconds east latitude.”
The colonel glanced at the digital map of North Korea that now revealed three flashing red beacons. The second and third launches had come from Wonsan Missile base on the eastern side of the Korean Peninsula.
The colonel had studied the North Koreans’ capabilities more than China and Russia. In his mind, they were the loosest of the loose cannons when it came to nuclear powers. He scowled as he analyzed the Kim regime’s plan of attack.
“They’re using their fixed positions first.”
The clock was ticking. He’d war-planned this scenario a thousand times. Defensive maneuvers were a given. Their retaliatory response was another matter. Only the President of the United States could make that call.
“Sir, we have the defense secretary on the phone.”
The colonel reached for the phone and cupped the mouthpiece with increasingly sweaty palms. His heart was racing as pure adrenalin coursed through his body. Before he addressed the secretary, another airman in the command center spoke excitedly.
“Sir, another launch detected. Strike that. Multiple launches detected. Four, five, six. Check that! We’re up to nine, ten …”
The colonel’s mind tuned out the remainder of the airman’s announcement. God help us, he thought to himself as his mind raced to process what was happening. They’d emptied their fixed missile locations first, the ones America’s intelligence community were aware of. Now they were utilizing their road-mobile ballistic missile launchers, moving targets that were near impossible to track.
The colonel didn’t wait for the final count. He pressed his left index finger into his ear to block out the airman’s announcement and turned his attention to the defense secretary.
“Mr. Secretary, we have multiple ballistic missile launches from the DPRK. Our count is above a dozen, sir. They’re sending everything they’ve got.”
PART I
Day eight, Friday, October 25
CHAPTER ONE
Friday, October 25
Interstate 66
Fairfax, Virginia
Peter Albright was paralyzed, his eyes transfixed on the rearview mirror as the spectacle unfolded behind him. The phenomenal destruction inflicted by the nuclear explosion could only be described as an enormous hurricane coupled with an intense firestorm of unprecedented proportion.
He was briefly blinded as the fifty-kiloton bomb detonated somewhere in Washington, DC. The precise location didn’t matter at that moment. Only survival.
Peter had the presence of mind to grab his sling backpack before he flung open the door. He frantically stumbled out of the car, rolling across the rough asphalt pavement of Interstate 66 until he hit the concrete divider with a thud.
He knew what was coming. As if to confirm his fears, he looked back toward the nation’s capital. He blinked twice in an effort to awaken himself from the horror. The conscious act only forced his adrenaline to kick him in the ass.
Peter began to run away from the blast at a pace he didn’t think he was capable of. Stranded motorists, their vehicles’ electronics destroyed by the immediate surge of electromagnetic energy, stood in awe of the spectacle. He didn’t waste his energy on warning them. They’d find out what was coming soon enough.
He zigzagged across the five lanes of traffic, dodging panicked Virginians and stalled cars. A few ran near him. Others stood holding their arms over their eyes to avoid the blinding light that could be seen for a hundred miles.
Then he heard it.
It was a low growl at first. The sound of a beast warning any living being around it that it was dangerous.
Then the growl grew louder. A roar coupled with the rumble of a massive avalanche. It was deafening as it approached faster than Peter’s athletic body could flee it.
Run! Dammit! Run!
He began to stumble just as a wave of searing heat radiated outward from the detonation some eighteen miles away. The scorching wind generated by the massive fireball, the core of which reached tens of millions of degrees, as hot as the sun, swept outward in all directions.