Atop several buildings surrounding the White House and Capitol building, surface-to-air missiles streaked upward. The president followed the white exhaust trails, spotting five reddish-orange objects descending toward the city. He almost froze when he realized what they were.
A U.S. nuclear response exercise was planned for today, which included a submarine-launched ballistic missile, and his thoughts went in several directions at once.
Could the Russians have misinterpreted the test launch and counterattacked?
There had been no warning.
How was that possible?
Neither NORAD nor the Joint Air Defense Operations Center at nearby Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling, with the latter in charge of safeguarding the skies above the national capital region, had provided the expected warning, one that should have arrived twenty or more minutes ago.
Along 17th Street NW, pedestrians were looking skyward or scurrying for cover, following the president’s example. Unfortunately, against nuclear warheads, nothing in the area would provide sufficient protection. Neither Cadillac One nor the basement of the sturdiest building in the vicinity could withstand the carnage of a nuclear detonation, much less five, from such a close range. It looked like the warheads were headed toward the White House, only three blocks away.
The probability of destroying the descending warheads was minuscule. Nuclear warheads in the descent phase traveled at twenty times the speed of sound; not even the most sophisticated anti-ballistic missiles in the American arsenal could consistently intercept nuclear warheads traveling in the final phase.
A few seconds before warhead impact, the president and his security detail had only just begun to climb the steps toward the nearest building. They weren’t going to make it. The head of the president’s detail reached the same conclusion. He forced the president to the ground and ordered the agents to cover him with their bodies. As the president was smothered by his detail, one question in his mind stood out from the others.
How could this have happened?
24
WASHINGTON, D.C.
The ground trembled and a deafening roar filled the president’s ears, followed by debris billowing past the president and his security detail. As the rumble faded, what surprised the president the most was — he was still alive. The descending warheads hadn’t been nuclear.
Secret Service agents helped the president to his feet and he turned toward the White House. When the dust cleared, he was amazed to see the building still standing. But if the White House hadn’t been the target, what had been attacked? His eyes went to the Capitol building in the distance; there was no apparent damage.
Abandoned vehicles and chunks of upturned earth littered the street. People slowly emerged from buildings, examining their surroundings and the sky. The wail of first responder sirens filled the air, and a violent crash caught the president’s attention as a car sped through a red light at the nearest intersection, smashing into another vehicle whose driver was just as desperate to exit the city.
He started walking toward the White House, but the head of his security detail intervened. “Mr. President. You should return to Cadillac One and we’ll take you to an alternate location until we verify you’re safe.”
The president considered the recommendation, then asked, “Are there additional attacks?”
“No reports at the moment, Mr. President. But we can’t be sure more won’t occur.”
“If whoever did this wanted me dead, I’d be dead,” the president said. “Contact NORAD and JADOC. If it’s clear, I’m heading to the White House.”
The president stood alongside the street, surrounded by his detail, until he received the requested information. “NORAD and JADOC report no further attacks. Admiral Aronson at STRATCOM has requested a videocon as soon as possible.”
“He knows who attacked us?”
“Yes, Mr. President. But he wouldn’t share that information with me.”
The president nodded, then headed toward the White House on foot, not bothering to brush the dust from his suit.
The White House grounds appeared in the distance; there were three large craters in the South Lawn, evenly spaced in an arc curving around the White House. After passing through the West Wing security gates, the president spotted two additional craters in the White House front lawn. The warheads had landed in a circle around the White House.
A message had been sent.
The president’s anger began to simmer, his mind racing. Who was responsible? What was their objective? How had they accomplished the attack without warning?
Kevin Hardison was waiting at the West Wing entrance. “Mr. President, we have a conference with STRATCOM ready to go in the Situation Room.”
The president entered the crowded Situation Room and surveyed those present. The two persons he was most interested in joining him — SecDef and SecState — weren’t there; Hardison informed him that the secretary of defense was in the National Military Command Center in the Pentagon, and although the secretary of state was only a few blocks away, the roads were gridlocked.
The president took his seat at the head of the table and fixed his eyes on the display on the far wall. Hardison announced to the microphone on the table, “Proceed with the videocon.”
Admiral Bob Aronson, Commander of U.S. Strategic Command, appeared on screen. “Good afternoon, Mr. President.”
It was afternoon, but decidedly not a good one. Whether from his poor choice of words or seeing the dust-covered president at the head of the table, Admiral Aronson winced.
“Who is responsible?” the president asked.
Aronson didn’t immediately respond. It seemed he was choosing his words carefully after his poor greeting. Finally, he answered, “We are.”
There was silence in the Situation Room as all eyes remained fixed on Aronson, who clarified his response. “We were conducting a nuclear response exercise today, testing all three legs of the nuclear triad. The exercise involved B-2 bomber sorties, simulated ICBM launches, and the Navy’s annual test firing of a Trident missile.”
“I recall being briefed on this exercise,” the president said. “I don’t recall an attack on Washington being part of it.”
Aronson replied quickly, “The Trident ballistic missile veered off course. Fortunately, it was loaded with inert warheads for the exercise.”
“Have you seen the impact craters?” the president asked. “A perfect circle around the White House. This wasn’t an accident.”
“I concur, sir. In addition to the Trident missile issue, four B-2 bombers aloft during the exercise lost power and crashed. The situation is serious. Two legs of our nuclear triad have become unreliable, and the third is suspect until we determine the causes.”
After the president digested the information, he said, “I understand, Admiral. Do you have anything else to add?”
“Not at the moment, sir.”
“Keep me and SecDef informed when you learn anything new.”
“Yes, sir.”
The president leaned forward, selecting the video technician button on the conference table speakerphone. “We’re done here.”
The display went dark and the president turned to Lars Sikes, the White House press secretary. “Give me something in fifteen minutes. Leave out the B-2 bomber part for now. We’ll figure out how to address it after the press connects the dots. They’ll be fixated on Washington for a while.”
It looked like the meeting had drawn to a close when the video technician’s voice came across the Situation Room speakers. “Mr. President. Russian General Sergei Andropov, Chief of the General Staff, has requested a video conference with you, immediately. He says it has something to do with the incident in Washington today. He’s using one of President Kalinin’s communication portals.”