The Command Center consisted of three areas, separated by thick soundproof glass and remote-controlled privacy shutters — the Battle Staff area on the main auditorium floor area, the Essential Elements area behind the main auditorium, and the Support Staff area in a balcony over the auditorium. All three areas could see the “big board,” the eight 5-by-6-foot computer screens in the front of the Command Center, but depending on the security classification of the activity and the occupants, the senior controller could seal off either area to prevent eavesdropping — an unclassified briefing could be going on in the Support Staff area while a Top Secret briefing could be given in the Battle Staff area, with complete security.
Tyler glanced up at the Command Post status board just inside the entrance and found red lights flashing near the signs that read “Battle Staff” and “Essential Elements” — the rooms were both classified Top Secret. Tyler pointed to a doorway to their right. “Take those stairs up to the Support Staff room, Rat,” he said. “They’ll direct you from there.” Stone did not argue or hesitate, but went through the door, which locked behind him. A set of stairs took him up to the glassed-in observation area overlooking the Battle Staff area, where a technician had him put on a pair of headphones as he sat down to watch. The shutters remained open, which meant he could watch the big board but not hear any of the conversation going on below.
The Battle Staff area below him resembled a small theater, with forty seats of three semicircular levels facing the big board in the front of the Command Center. Tyler took his seat in front row center, behind a director’s computer console with two phones, a keyboard, and four 19-inch color monitors. The seat beside him was already occupied by the Vice Commander in Chief of the Strategic Air Command, Lieutenant General Michael Stanczek. Around them were arranged the various deputy chiefs of staff of the Command, most of whom were already in place by the time Tyler had arrived from the tennis court. Each staff position had two flip-up color computer monitors, a small keyboard, a telephone, arid a microphone.
The first thing Tyler did after taking his seat in the Command Center was check the rows of digital clocks above the computer monitors. The first row of clocks had times in various places in the world — Washington, Omaha, Honolulu, Guam, Tokyo, Moscow, and London. London was labeled “Zulu,” the time along the zero-degree-longitude Greenwich meridian used by SAC as a common time-reference point. Below that were three event timers, and one was already activated — it read 00:15:23. The third row of timers and clocks were thankfully still reading zero — those were the clocks that set reference times used by American strategic nuclear forces to execute their nuclear strike missions. Two of those timers, the L-hour and A-hour, were set by Tyler himself, but the other one, the ERT, or Emergency Reference Time, could be set by the National Command Authority if the President himself ordered a nuclear strike.
Tyler hit the mike button on his console: “Alpha in position. Log me in, please, and let’s get started.”
A voice on the auditorium’s loudspeaker immediately chimed in: “Major Hallerton, with an Event One situation briefing.” Hallerton was the shift’s ADI, or Assistant Chief of Intelligence. “Approximately fifteen minutes ago, Space Command was alerted by a FOREST GREEN nuclear-detonation-warning sensor on three different NAVSTAR satellites. The event remained unclassified by NORAD and DIA for several minutes until verification could be made by DSP resources, and they have not made a conclusive evaluation yet. However, by authority of CINCSPACECOM, an Event One warning was issued to us and to JCS and Zero-Tango conference initiated. SPACECOM is currently reporting a high probability of a small-yield nuclear explosion in the South China Seas region near the Philippines.”
Tyler felt his jaw drop. “Ho-ly shit.” Stanczek just sat there, a blank expression on his face. Tyler asked, “Just one explosion?”
“Yes, sir,” Hallerton replied. “No other large-scale weapon detonations detected might suggest counterattacks. However, SPACECOM advises that the three NAVSTAR satellites have gone off the air and no other DSP or AMWS resources are on station to confirm any reports.”
“Estimate on yield?”
“No official reading yet, sir.”
“Well, anyone got an estimate?” Tyler grumbled. The sheer magnitude of the thing was bad enough, but being in the dark about even the smallest detail was worse. “Anyone got an educated guess?”
“Sir, the only other indications we have are that COBRA DANE or BMEWS have not detected missile tracks from land- or submarine-launched missiles,” Hallerton said uneasily. The long-range over-the-horizon radars would have picked up the tracks of international missiles long ago. “All other stations are quiet, and intelligence reports no buildup of strategic forces or mobilization. This incident cannot be part of any massive attack against the CONUS.”
Tyler couldn’t believe it. A real nuclear detonation. But not a prelude to general war — or was it?
“When was the Pentagon notified and what did they say?”
“NCA was notified five minutes ago by Space Command, sir,” Hallerton replied. “They requested follow-up notification from Teal Ruby satellite data on incoming missile tracks and received a negative reply. They are assembling the commands for a teleconference.”
Tyler looked surprised. “That’s it? A teleconference?” He turned to Stanczek. “What’s our status?”
“The notification message from Space Command didn’t direct any particular posture or DEFCON,” Stanczek said. “There’s a breakdown in communications somewhere. Anyway, since I didn’t have a checklist to work off, I went right to the posture-four checklist and ran it. I heard the word ‘nuclear’ and thought the crews should be heading to the ramp.”
Tyler nodded agreement. Most of SAC’s forces were positioned at the discretion of the National Command Authority, either directly or through the Joint Chiefs of Staff acting as military advisers to the White House. Although Tyler could position his forces in almost any way he felt prudent, most of his decisions came from guidance or direct orders from the President or the Secretary of Defense, in the form of DEFCON, or Defense Configuration, orders. But in any case, especially when communications had broken down or the President wasn’t in the position to make decisions like this, Tyler had the responsibility to see his men and machines were ready to fight. He did this by setting postures for SAC alert forces. “Good decision,” Tyler told Stanczek. “I wonder what the hell the Pentagon is waiting on?” Sounds like nobody was doing anything, Tyler thought — they didn’t see any incoming missiles, so everyone hesitated, waiting for someone else to act. Well, now was the time.
“Colonel Dunigan, place the force officially at posture four,” Tyler ordered. “Then get the Pentagon on the line and inform them that I upgraded the SAC alert force posture and I’m recommending a full DEFCON change.”
“Yes, sir,” Dunigan replied. Part of the awesome responsibility of CINCSAC was his control over SAC’s nuclear strike forces. It was his responsibility to keep the bombers and land-based ICBM forces safe and viable. Tyler had a long list of options, all designed to put the nuclear strike forces in the best possible position to survive an attack against the United States but to avoid unnecessarily moving too many nuclear weapons around or causing undue alarm to either the enemy or to American citizens.