Until the message was decoded, adrenaline would run high, but each crew member would continue to maintain their watch station. Only a confirmed strike order would escalate the condition to Battle Stations Missile and then all hell would break loose as the missile launch crew prepared for launch. Even if it was only a WSRT.
Sometimes a surprise Weapons System Readiness Test was a welcome break from the monotony of months at sea, but that was as real as it ever got aboard the Indiana.
Commander Tom Ryan stood silently and waited for his officers, working as a pair, to retrieve, decode and authenticate the message without any outward show of emotion.
The Executive Office, Jackson Merrill, a silent, pensive man with a world weary face entered the control room bearing the code book he’d taken from the safe in the comms room. Lieutenant Walsh, a younger and less cynical officer, trailed behind brandishing the EAM he’d torn from the radio room printer as he passed. The pair would use the code book to decrypt the message.
The eyes of all watchstanders in the control room were fixed on the pair as they poured over the code book and EAM, translating it character by character, with Walsh writing the decoded message below the encryption.
The Lieutenant’s hands trembled uncontrollably as he read the transmission. The XO snatched it testily from the hands of the young officer, his only reaction, a sharp intake of breath as he absorbed the contents and implication of the Strike Order he held in his hands.
Now he too was trembling.
The EAM would put the boat into Battle Stations Missile and could thrust them in the center of an all-out nuclear conflict.
The message had to be authenticated before handing it to the commander.
The XO moved to the Control Room safe, spun the tumblers and opened the outer door. Lieutenant Walsh then proceeded to dial in the combination of the inner door and unlocked it before moving aside so that the XO, Merrill could extract the small plastic authenticator packet.
Snapping open the brittle plastic case of the packet, the XO ripped out the laminated authenticator card and began to read aloud the authentication sequence.
“Whisky-Tango-Juliet-Delta-Six-Zulu-Alpha-Bravo.”
“Sir, I concur. Whisky-Tango-Juliet-Delta-Six-Zulu-Alpha-Bravo” repeated the Lieutenant.
The XO turned to the commander. “Sir, we have properly formatted and authenticated EAM. It’s a Nuclear Strike Order, sir. No additional information.”
The silence that filled the confines of the crowded Control Room was like a weight crushing down on all of them. So quiet that even the normally inaudible whir of the many electronics systems cooling fans in the compartment could now be heard quite clearly.
Without a trace of fear registering in his voice or on his face, the commander faced his XO.
“What are the launch orders?”
Commander Ryan punched the coordinates into the computer and watched as the screen generated a map showing the projected missile trajectory on the display. The target was 2,000 miles away. At a maximum cruising speed of 500 miles per hour, the single nuclear tipped Tomahawk cruise missile would destroy its target in 4 hours, vaporizing everything within the warheads blast zone.
It was Commander Ryan’s job to be prepared to launch his nuclear and conventional Tomahawks. That, he understood. He was always prepared to execute a properly formatted and authenticated Strike Order. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that he wasn’t prepared for this particular target.
Ryan stared at the screen, his mind spinning its wheels trying to gain traction and make sense of what he was seeing on the display.
“Sir? What is it? What’s the target?” the XO asked.
Commander Ryan shook his head slowly. “Nowhere. That’s the problem. They want us to launch a nuclear warhead on a target that’s in the middle of absolutely nowhere.”
Chapter 38
Wave after wave of automatic gunfire raked the concrete at their heels as they ran the length of the dock. As far as plans went it was a bad one. Jack wondered if it even deserved to be called a plan.
Run like hell. Don’t get shot. Try to find cover.
He’d worked with less well thought out plans before. And survived.
Both men dove onto their bellies and rolled into a channel that seemed to have served as some kind of drainage in the past.
“What’s the next stage in your big plan, Hoss?” Sam grunted over the hail of enemy fire.
“We’re kind of winging it. We need to get a better idea of the layout of this place…”
He was drowned out by another spray of bullets kicking up concrete dust 6 inches from their heads.
“From what I’ve seen so far,” he continued over the sound of magazines being ejected and fresh clips being slammed home, “I’m thinking this place wasn’t built as a Nazi holiday resort. It’s just a one big concrete bunker. No accommodation. No facilities. There’s nothing here but U-Boat pens and enough concrete to stop a nuclear blast.”
“Yeah, even by German standards, this place is mighty ‘functional’. Not a creature comfort anywhere,” agreed Sam.
Lifting his head enough to see the perimeter, Jack noted that they were surrounded by the troops wearing the same white snow uniforms they’d seen surrounding the U-Boat. At least they only had to deal with one opposing force. That was the good news.
The bad news was that he counted at least ten on one side and figured there’d be as many again on the other side of the cavern. They stayed just out of range of the floodlights so they didn’t present a target but close enough to do some deadly accurate shooting. But not accurate enough. Neither Jack nor Sam had taken a hit. Yet.
Floodlights. Maybe…
Jack started to piece together a plan.
“Bluey, I’ll lay down cover fire. I want you to make a run back to the sub and pull the plug on those floodlights.”
“But then we won’t be able to see shit,” Sam protested.
Jack tapped the night vision goggles on the crown of his head and smiled.
Sam looked Jack up and down and around either side. “Where’s mine?” he asked with a hurt look on his face.
Jack shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry. They were an impulse buy. I couldn’t help myself.”
“You’re not much of a team player, are you?”
“Never said I was, Bluey.”
Keeping his voice low to prevent his words echoing throughout the cavernous chamber, Jack explained his idea to Sam with whispers and urgent hand gestures. Hoping he’d been understood, Jack rolled over and fired short, controlled bursts from his weapon to give Sam a chance to make it back to the Barracuda. “Go! Go! Go!” he yelled, no longer caring if he was overheard and turned to urge Sam on.
Sam was already gone. For such a large man, he could be quite agile when the situation called for it and being used as live fire target practice was one of those situations. Sam ran like his life depended on it and reaching the edge of the Barracuda’s dock, threw himself over the gap between the concrete landing and the subs hull.
Bullets pinged off the sub and chased him across the deck to the sail where he found a blind spot from the shooters. It was too small for him, but he’d take it. He continued the agreed countdown in his head. Jack’s life depended on him being able to get the timing right. And if Jack’s life depended on it, then so did everyone else’s.