23:50 PM
Pete Williams was in a quandary. I’ll give it a couple of minutes he thought. He scrolled through the captain’s emails, his vision focusing in and out, when two words struck terror into his heart Defcon One emblazoned across the screen. He knew that this was battle stations, nuclear war imminent. Thank God that he’d already prepared, and was one-step ahead. Should he wait for the official command, or should he get on and do it, and maybe take out a Russian nuclear silo or two. Such proactive action might even save Washington. He was about to start proceeding when the next e-mail turned his bowel to liquid.
His vision blurred again but saw the relevant words, Nuclear launch… and Florida… they galvanized him into action and he pressed the button. The sub shook with the tremendous ferocity of the tomahawk launches. Nuclear War had begun…
CHAPTER 49
TIME ELAPSED SINCE LAUNCH: 00:00.01 — 00:00:59
TIME LEFT TO RETALIATE: 00:09:59 — 00:09:01
Within the first minute of the launch, Russian satellites would detect the missiles in flight. This information would pass to Early Warning Center Staff in Moscow, where the operators would relay the information to the General Staff Command Post located in Chekhov, who would analyze the information.
“I’ve found a cure!” Sophie shouted down the phone to Quinn, when she heard a distant boom. She glanced out of the window and saw missiles being launched from out in the ocean. She gazed open-mouthed, as the missiles climbed into the sky. She turned her attention back to the telephone call. “I did a total blood transfusion on a patient, and he is well on the way to a full recovery and is completely free of the virus.” She glanced at Luke, slumped in a wheelchair and she saw the first signs of him regaining consciousness.
“Are you sure?” he asked, unable to believe the news.
“I’ve checked and double checked, plus he’d had a blood transfusion two days ago, due to an injury, and I myself had a full transfusion after a recent auto-wreck,” she told him. “There is no mistake. The patient may have only just caught the decease — less than a day I would have said — judging by the spread of the virus, but it looks as though a quick exchange of blood, seems to flush out the system and replace the virus before it has a proper hold.”
Quinn went through an array of emotions, and absorbed the information. “That’s fantastic!” he exclaimed. “Finally, at last, our troubles are over, we can start to—” a gunshot from inside the Oval Office stopped him dead in his tracks and he dropped the cell phone in alarm.
TIME ELAPSED SINCE LAUNCH: 00:01:00 — 00:01:59
TIME LEFT TO RETALIATE: 00:09:00 — 00:08:01
The Russian operators at the General Command Post check on the reliability of the report. If they decide it is valid they then send out alerts to the President and the Strategic Rocket force that control the Russian Federations nuclear missiles. The President then has to send out the authorization launch codes to the missile silos.
“Hello? Professor Martell? Are you still there?” Sophie felt frustrated with the break in communications then looked from the window as more jets roared away. She collected Luke in his wheelchair, “Come on, we need to get out of here.”
The young uniformed guard unlocked the Oval Office door and Quinn pushed passed him. President Hamilton Parker perched on the edge of his desk, literally holding the smoking gun. Vice-Admiral Reed lay dead on the floor, blood still pumped from the bullet hole between the eyes.
“What have you done?” gasped Quinn.
“What have I done? What have I done! Only taken control of our destiny, that’s all! No more prevarication. I’m done with procrastinating like that useless bag of shit.” He pointed using the pistol at Vice Admiral Reed’s lifeless body by his feet. He scratched his crotch, which Quinn noticed. “What is the point of an admiral who is unwilling to defend the country, I ask you, what is the point? Claiming his conscience would not let him be attached to plan Z.”
Quinn watched the President’s behavior, his posturing and boastful manner almost bordering on manic. He looked terrible, sweat soaked his shirt and he could not stop fiddling with his crotch. “You cold-bloodily murdered the Vice-Admiral, because he didn’t agree with you?” Quinn asked stupefied.
“He was a traitor, and that’s punishable by death. I’ve just saved the tax payer a lot of time and money on a lengthy court martial. He would not take action for the benefit of the country.”
“We’ve found a cure, Mister President.”
“What!”
“We’ve found a cure, sir, no need to initiate plan Z.”
“Hamilton Parker, lit a huge fat Cuban cigar, blew out a satisfying lungful of smoke and smiled, “Well, I wish you’d told me that earlier, Quinn” he said sarcastically.
“Excuse me?”
“Because it’s already too late.”
TIME ELAPSED SINCE LAUNCH: 00:02:00 — 00:2:59
TIME LEFT TO RETALIATE: 00:08:00 — 00:07:01
The Russian General Staff Command Post turns on a special communications circuit, connecting the post to all missile silos and mobile launchers — the Topol 14 wheel-based missile launchers, the RT-2 train car ICBM Launchers and the ever-present nuclear submarines. The crews make preparations to counter-launch.
Lieutenant Carrington could hardly believe that he was heading to Florida again, scrambled for the second time in twenty-four hours. This time on a mission beyond imagination. As one of the volunteers to fire nuclear warheads, he’d had to undergo a battery of rigorous tests to show that, in a crisis he would do his duty and actually fire the doomsday weapon. He’d passed the psychological tests with flying colors, but nothing could have prepared him for how he felt now, right now, actually in the arena of combat, whether or not they would have the fortitude to fire the weapon. It’s not like he would be firing on a foreign power, an enemy of the state, but fellow Americans, not the disease-ridden carriers, but healthy, law abiding individuals, who had committed no other crime than to live in the wrong area.
The results of peacetime nuclear strike tests had been buried, concluding that not all the US weapons would be fired. The military personnel had failed at the last moment. In fact, less than half of the missiles had not launched, and these were only tests. The personnel, not what the military consider the ‘best of the best’ were mostly young, at their first posts and finding the monotony mind-numbingly boring. Yet at the last moment unwilling to fire, reluctant to be responsible for the sheer numbers of deaths of Russians or whoever, and the counter-strikes leading to multi-million deaths of American citizens.
Lieutenant Carrington had no such qualms and was in fact, looking forward to the destruction. He banked the F-18 Tomahawk and headed directly to his target in Orlando, chosen as the optimum strike point. He contained a smile as the culmination of all his training had finally come to fruition. He was determined and ready for all they could throw at him. He knew of all the tricks they could play, sending him messages telling him it was a mistake, or a false alarm, but his training had taught him to resist all such subterfuge. He savored the notion. Do your worst, he urged, do your worst.