Read Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 03 Online
Authors: Sky Masters (v1.1)
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-waming 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.
Launching the bombers, either to
dispersal airfields, airborne alert orbits or to their fail-safe positive
control orbits, probably wasn’t warranted yet. What was warranted, however, was
stepping up everyone’s overall readiness a couple of notches until the White
House and the Pentagon figured out what was going on. That should have been
automatic as soon as they discovered that it was in fact a nuclear explosion,
but at least now it was getting done.
In the Essential Elements section of
the Command Center, two positive-control technicians quickly prepared the radio
message for the SAC alert force crews. Using a computer, they devised a
forty-character message, triple-checked it manually for accuracy, using the
same code books that the crews in the field would use, then broadcast the
message via telephone, radio, and satellite communications channels to all SAC
units in the United States, England, Germany, and Japan. The message directed
all SAC units to stand by for further emergency action messages; it placed
SAC’s two hundred B-52 and ninety B-l bombers, and thirty Minute- man ICBM
launch-control centers, into higher readiness states, which would make their
reaction times much shorter should they be directed to execute their SIOP war
plans.
It would also direct twenty-two
rail-garrisoned Peacekeeper missile convoys out from their shelters onto the
nation’s rail system and put twenty MGM-134A Mustang missile crews on
full-deployment alert.
After receipt of the message, each
SAC unit would verify and authenticate the coded message, rebroadcast the
message to their forces, then compose and send a coded acknowledgment message
back to SAC Headquarters. The entire process took approximately two minutes.
Tyler watched one of the big digital screens before him as a list of all the
SAC units was displayed, with red dots indicating connectivity with each unit;
as the acknowledgment messages came in, the red dots disappeared.
“All units acknowledge, sir,”
Colonel Dunigan reported. “Expect status report from the field in about five
minutes.”
“What’s the latest status on the
units?” Tyler asked.
In reply, Dunigan put up a
computerized fisting of the latest status reports of all the SAC bases in the
world, beginning with the SAC bomber units, and read off how quickly— or not so
quickly—the units could move.
“What’s the status of the Air Battle
Force?”
“The current session reports ninety
percent manned, due to some elements being recalled by their parent units
before the session completed,” Dunigan answered. “The new session that began
training last month has the first B-2 bomber elements”—she paused as she
referred to her notes, then said—“plus some GENESIS elements.”
“GENESIS?” Tyler exclaimed. He had
forgotten all about
that
—but it was
easy to forget about Lieutenant General Brad Elliott’s research group, lost
from view in the middle of Nevada. Tyler had remembered granting approval for
Elliott’s weird hybrid planes to participate, but had not bothered to check up
on their status during their course. “Jesus, I completely forgot about that.
Refresh my memory, Colonel—what’s he got at Ellsworth now?”
“He’s got four modified B-52
bombers, six stretched
F-111G bombers, and a B-2 bomber
involved in the Air Battle Force session,” Dunigan reported. “The -Ill’s and
the B-2 are garrisoned at Ellsworth; the B-52s—I should say, the EB-52Cs—are
stationed at HAWC but still participate in Air Battle Force activities.” She
paused, then said, “I can get General Elliott and General Jarrel on the line
and—”
“We don’t have time,” Tyler said.
What a time to have Elliott’s mutant planes out flying around in the Air Force
Battle, Tyler thought. Christ, it was like Elliott
knew
there was going to be trouble. “It’ll have to wait for the Air
Battle Force status report. Move along.”
Up in the Support Staff area,
General Stone could not hear most of the interphone exchange between Tyler and
his staff—but he was familiar enough with the items up on the big board to know
that something serious was going on.
He saw lists of all the SAC bases in
the world on the big board, saw the status indicators change as he received the
message sent by Tyler, and saw weather maps, charts, and checklist pages being
put up on the board so everyone knew where the staff was in the Zero-Tango
response procedures. But the left-center screen had something more interesting—
satellite photographs.
Stone turned to the technician
seated beside him. “Is that real-time imagery?”
“Not real-time, but very recent,
sir,” the tech replied. He checked a computer screen and replied, “It’s about
ten to thirty minutes old. DSP Control Center will automatically upload the
latest satellite imagery of a subject area. I don’t exactly know what the
source of this imagery is, though—it’s not from Colorado Springs . . .”
“Any ideas when we can get the
real-time pictures of the area?”
“I’m sure the request is being made
right now, sir,” the tech replied. “The request will probably come through
whatever command is placed in charge of the current emergency, or direct from
JCS or the National Security Council.”
Stone’s ears buzzed when he heard
the words “current emergency,” but he didn’t bother to ask what was going on—he
was busy scrutinizing the satellite photos being flashed on the board.
“Ulugan Bay,” Stone observed. He
turned to a technician seated a few chairs beside him. “I recognize that
harbor.
Ulugan Bay, Palawan. The
Philippines. But that big ship ... I don’t recognize it. What’s going on?” The
technician seemed to ignore him, but he had depressed his mike switch and had
sent a message down to the Battle Staff area.
Then, as the satellite imagery of
the warship zoomed in closer, maintaining remarkably high resolution even in
ultra-closeups, Stone realized that what he was watching was not a Filipino
ship.
"Hong Lung, ”
Stone
declared. “It’s the Chinese destroyer
Hong
Lung.
What’s it doing so close to Ulugan Bay?”