He threw his Makarov out in front of him, watching it skid down the slope and into the water with a splash. For good measure, he pulled his survival knife out of his aviator boot, and threw that into the Pond as well.
“I am coming out,” he said, putting his hands up and showing empty palms.
As he moved towards the woman crouched in the wrecked doorway, he saw the other American out of the corner of his eye, moving around behind him.
“Stop there,” the first woman said. “On your stomach, hands behind your head.”
He did as he was told. She stepped out from the door, her rifle pointed at his back and she flipped up the visor on her flight helmet. He got his first good look at his captor. She was wearing a dirty US Navy aviation uniform. Stocky and well muscled, black hair, she appeared to be a Latino in her early forties, and a Lieutenant Commander if he was correct. As he lay, he twisted his head to look behind him. The officer coming up behind him was a woman as well, also in a Navy pilot’s uniform. She also had her visor up now, had her rifle held loosely across her chest, and blood was dripping from her right elbow.
The way they were acting, they didn’t expect to be joined by anyone else.
He lay his cheek on the ground.
“I am looking very much forward to hearing your story,” Bondarev said. “And, how you expect to get out of here alive.”
“All nuclear submarines are now on station,” HOLMES advised. “By my estimate the USS Columbia is holding in position at 49.411841 latitude, 172.854078 longitude, about two hundred miles south of the Aleutian Islands and 600 miles east of the Russian Kuril Islands, but I calculate a degree of error of up to ten percent. signals intel indicates the rest of the nuclear submarine nuclear strike force is also in position.”
“What is the range of a nuclear-armed hypersonic cruise missile?” Carl asked. “Can they hit the Kurils from there?” It would be a logical form of payback. The Russians create a dispute over an island in the Bering Sea, America makes its point with an attack on an uninhabited island in the disputed Kurils chain, north of Japan.
“Five hundred and twenty miles. It cannot strike Russian territory from its current position with a hypersonic missile. It does however carry ICBMs which are well within range.”
“The Ambassador says it’s a ‘shot across the bows’ — a warning,” Carl said. “They can get their point across with a nuclear detonation in the open sea.”
“On the basis of her information I have upgraded that likelihood from 12 % to 13.5 % percent since yesterday,” HOLMES replied. “But I still regard a full nuclear pre-emptive strike to be the most likely US response.”
“I thought you liked her,” Carl remarked.
“Please rephrase, I do not understand.”
“I’m betting she’s right.”
“You have a 13.5 % chance of winning.”
“Forget it.”
Carl reached his head behind his neck and scratched his greasy scalp. It had been how many days since he last showered? Too damn many, that was for sure.
“The President is about to make an announcement, shall I bring it onscreen?” HOLMES asked.
“What? Yes please.” Carl tilted the screen and leaned back in his chair.
He hadn’t voted for the guy who was staring out at him from behind his desk in the Oval Office. But then, he hadn’t voted for anyone, so he only had himself to blame that in the middle of the biggest military crisis of the century, their Commander in Chief was a 75 year old whose sole military experience was as a platoon leader for the 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment, guarding Arlington National Cemetery in Northern Virginia. He had demonstrated his temperament in the Turkey-Syrian conflict, cutting loose the Emirates as allies when they refused to allow him to base US aircraft there — a decision which unfortunately moved them into the Russian sphere. Williams had to hope President Fenner had cooler heads around him, but if Ambassador McCarthy was right, it wasn’t certain he did.
“My fellow citizens,” Fenner began. He had a pinched, narrow face and long nose, atop which sat small round rimless glasses of a type that had been fashionable several years ago. His bushy silver hair was swept across his forehead and looked like it was held in place by solid epoxy. “At this hour, I have taken steps to free our citizens on Saint Lawrence and to defend the world from a grave danger.”
"As you would be aware, for the last several weeks, under the guise of moving to protect the rights of international shipping in the Bering Strait, Russian forces have occupied the US territory of Saint Lawrence Island, to which we responded forcefully with regrettable loss of life on both sides. Russia has since escalated the conflict further and attacked US Air Force bases at Fairbanks and Anchorage. We have again responded to Russian military aggression in kind, with successful attacks on Russia’s frontline offensive airfields at Anadyr and Lavrentiya.”
The President paused as a graphic came onscreen showing the location of the Russian bases and grainy images of bomb damage, and Carl realized he was allowing this last news to sink in, because until now, it had not been public.
“This escalation cannot be allowed to continue. It stops, today.
“At 0800 hours Eastern Standard Time I advised President Navalny of Russia, that unless he gave a commitment to withdraw his troops from Saint Lawrence by 1200 hours, he would witness a demonstration of force the like of which the world has not seen for nearly 100 years. As there has been no indication that President Navalny wishes to comply with this demand, I have authorized our navy to conduct the first-ever live demonstration of a hypersonic missile-borne nuclear weapon — the first atmospheric nuclear weapons test by the United States since 1962. The test will take place in three hours, over the North Pacific Sea.
“While it will pose no threat to humankind, it will wreak terrible environmental devastation, and we deeply regret it has come to this. But I am afraid that unless Russia is persuaded to halt its military misadventure over Alaska and the Bering Strait, even greater catastrophe awaits us.” Fenner looked straight down the barrel of the camera. “President Navalny, withdraw your troops. The United States stands ready to use any and all of the weapons in its arsenal to defend its sovereign territory.
"My fellow citizens, the dangers to our country and the world will be overcome. We will pass through this time of peril and carry on the work of peace. We will defend our country and we will prevail.
"May God bless our country and all who defend her."
The camera faded to some shocked news anchors, mute for possibly the first time in their lives.
Carl turned down the sound, leaned back and whistled.
There was a very strict NSA rule about not using the organization’s bandwidth and resources for private purposes. Carl regarded it as more of a guideline. He wasn’t a big investor, but he had all of his non-401(K) savings invested in stocks. So yesterday, he had gotten HOLMES to analyze the likely impact on the stock market of a US nuclear weapons test in the context of the current conflict.
When he’d finished reading HOLMES conclusions, he’d gone straight online, sold everything he had, leveraged himself to the eyeballs and had bought gold. Not gold futures, or gold mining stocks, he’d bought real gold. 535,000 dollars’ worth of one ounce South African Krugerrand coins from a bullion dealer in Moscow, which were now stashed in a duffel bag under combination lock in the filing cabinet of his office.
Because HOLMES conclusion had been that while a US nuclear test in itself wouldn’t necessarily mean Armageddon for the planet, it certainly would be the equivalent of a cosmic meteor strike on the stock market.
He sat and watched his screen for a few minutes as the Dow reacted to the Presidents’ address. Blood red numbers started filling one window. A second window showed the spot price for gold heading skyward. OK, so that’s what the end of the world looks like. He turned the screen off. By the end of the day, if HOLMES projections were right, he’d be able to pay off his loans, and he’d still be a millionaire, even accounting for the spread when he tried to sell some of his 300 Krugerrand again. It didn’t make him happy, because there was the small matter of whether anyone would be alive to trade with, but he’d deal with that problem when he got there. Or not.