Three miles from the runway, a deep blue pickup was parked off to the side of the road. Inside the pickup sat Morozov’s friend from the diner. He continually checked his watch, counting the minutes until the appointed time. Beside him sat a MinoIta 35mm camera, with autowind and a 100mm telephoto lens.
The man stared into the distance toward the base. He was growing anxious. He fiddled with his radio, trying to find some country music. He checked his watch once more, then flipped the radio off and rolled down both of his windows. He wanted to hear the explosion if he could. He thumped against the steering wheel, beating out the seconds as they passed.
Then he saw it. A billowing fireball rolled into the air, growing for a moment, then collapsing in on itself. It was quickly followed by a thick black column of smoke. The ground shook and trembled and then the air groaned as the noise from the explosion made its way across the flat grasslands. The smoke rose into the sky, pushing northward as it caught the prairie wind. Six and one-half minutes later, a B-1 roared into the air, passing two miles in front of the parked pickup truck. As it flew in front of the man’s window, he took a series of pictures with his camera.
Forty minutes later, he was on his way to Kansas City International airport. On the way he stopped to make a phone call to a small hotel room outside Washington, D.C.
“Looking good,” he said when the connection went through. “We’re closing down, and I’m coming in. I’ll see you back in Kiev.” The line went dead.
TSgt Barney G. Rolles sat at his desk in the command post, Headquarters, Air Combat Command (ACC), Langley AFB, Virginia. As the duty controller, it was his responsibility to monitor all of the message traffic that was input to the Commander of ACC. The command post received many different types of reports, some as routine as tracking the flights and operational status of each of the fighter and bomber wings under ACC. Some were a little more intriguing. Daily intelligence updates were filtered through the command post, as well as status reports from around the world. Through the command post, the generals of the world’s best fighting Air Force could monitor current events — from troop movements along the Ukrainian border to weather patterns off the English coast, from satellite photos of Russian missile batteries to the position of American submarines under the Arctic icecaps. If it was happening, and if it was important, the information was there to be told.
For the past several months, the command post had been a very busy place. The pace of operations had been constantly frantic, bordering on panic at times.
But not today. Since he had reported to work at seven in the morning, Rolles had seen very little message traffic that would demand any immediate attention. So, for the first time in months, he sat and drank a cup of coffee while browsing the morning edition of the Daily Press.
If the command post had any windows, TSgt Rolles could have passed the time by staring out onto the Virginia wire grass that dotted the Chesapeake Bay. He could have watched a small flock of osprey as they hunted for fish in the shallow-briny water. He could have watched a four-ship of Langley’s F-15s as they rolled along the taxiway before taking off for some combat training with Navy Norfolk fighters.
But the ACC command post, like most good military command posts, didn’t have any windows. It was dry and cold and perfectly sterile. It had purified water and purified air. The lighting was always dimmed, creating a feeling of constant twilight. The computers, paper shredders, status boards, and encryption machines perpetuated an artificial feeling of urgency that kept its occupants strained and on edge.
Along one wall were three huge walk-in safes. These were used to store the War Orders and Operation Plans that would be implemented in times of a national crisis. Opposite the safes were a bank of computers and telephones that were used to connect the command post with the rest of the world. A row of clocks hung overhead, displaying the time in such fascinating locations as Diego Garcia, Indian Ocean, and Incirlik AFB, Turkey.
A bank of printers sat in an orderly row beside Rolles’ desk. They were arranged in a descending order of message priority. Those that carried only highly classified and urgent material were placed on the right. Those that carried routine, unclassified junk mail were arranged on the left.
To the far right of the printers was a large, clear plastic box with red hash lines painted around each of its corners. Inside the clear plastic box was a rarely used machine. It was a printer that was reserved for messages coded FLASHDANCE, the highest priority of message there was. When the printer had first been connected to its communication’s bank, its black ribbon had been ripped out and replaced with a bright roll of red tape. Tiny electrodes monitored the paper feed of the printer, sounding a gentle alarm whenever the printer kicked on.
TSgt Barney G. Rolles was just beginning to doze through the classifieds when a soft buzz jolted him to attention. He immediately walked to the FLASHDANCE printer and anxiously watched the message as it was typed across the white paper in deep red ink. The words printed out very slowly, for it took time for the STU VI decoder to unscramble the incoming code.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
----------------------screen on---------------------
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
TO: HEADQUARTERS, AIR COMBAT COMMAND/IMMEDIATE PRRITY/DMQ
RE: CODE FlASHDANCE SECURITY VIOlATION/US ASSET WHISKEY
FM: 27 WG/CC, MCCONNELL AFB, KS/MGRTS/1424Z/101596***
MESSAGE FOLLOWS:
AT APP 1417Z, A CODE NATIONAL ONE SECURITY VIOLATION TOOK PLACE. WE ARE IMPLEMENTING SHATTERED BONE REPEAT: SHATTERED BONE. PROCEDURES HAVE BEEN IMPLEMENTED.
REQUEST AUTHORIIT TO SEEK AND DESTROY. THE TARGET MUST BE CONSIDERED HOSTILE. INTENTIONS UNKNOWN. NUCLEAR ASSETS INVOLVED.
AWAIT CLEAR TEXT INSTRUCTIONS. STUIII 567-1111
TRANSACTION COMPLETE
RECORD UPDATED
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
Rolles stared at the paper in puzzlement as the printer kicked it out. “Shattered Bone.” That was a new one. He quickly reached for the small leather code book that lay chained to the corner of his desk by a thin steel cord. Rolles flipped through the top-secret book, scanning the words that were listed in alphabetical order until he found what he was looking for:
SHATTERED BONE: the code word used to signify the theft, hijacking, or unauthorized flight of a B-1B bomber loaded with nuclear weapons. Such activity should be considered a class “A” security violation. The incident aircraft will be destroyed using any and all means available. Its destruction is the highest priority.
Follow notification procedures appendix three.
Follow command and control procedures appendix ONE HELP JULES.
Implement Emergency War Tasking Operations Plan “SPLINT.”
TSgt Rolles swallowed hard, then read the instructions once again. Class “A” violation! Emergency War Tasking “SPLINT!”
“Major!” he cried to senior controller. “Major, get over here now!” Dropping the code book, he reached for a yellow telephone that sat near his desk and picked it up with trembling hands.
Twelve minutes later, three Air Force generals were escorted into the office of Chad Wallet, the Secretary of Defense. For the next five minutes they stood in a humble stupor, shooting quiet glances among themselves as the Secretary carried on in a rage. They winced as the Secretary cursed and threatened the generals.