Inside the bunker, Colonel Marks mentally computed the situation. The initial boost phase would last a little over three minutes. The solid fuel booster would put the missile into suborbital space flight. None of the missiles would complete a full orbital revolution around the Earth. Each missile’s flight path used a trajectory that went up and down in a relatively simple curve, well before it had a chance to orbit around the Earth like a satellite.
Despite his worries, a smirk spread across Marks’s face. Conventional ASBMs used regular warheads and Mach 10 plus kinetic energy to destroy ships. Those missiles would need great precision to kill: not so his thermonuclear-armed missiles.
The GD fleet was spread across many nautical miles of ocean. It would take more than one nuclear warhead to destroy them. As incredible as it was believe, they had launched ten ICBMs to make sure some got through the GD defenses. In truth, nothing on Earth was going to stop his babies, not the T Mod-5s.
Marks’s smirk grew. The GD ships were spread out, but not nearly far enough apart to save them from the coming destruction. The surprise of a lifetime was about to fall upon the invading armada.
I just hope the German Dominion doesn’t decide to launch their thermonuclear ICBMs at us and ignite
the Flash
in angry retaliation
.
AUTOMATED ORBITING SENSOR, SPACE
A secret GD sensor-satellite packed in stealth sheathing was in an equatorial stationary orbit high off the coast of French Guiana. The sensor picked up the boost-phase burn of the ten Triton ICBMs leaving Minot, North Dakota.
The satellite’s onboard computer analyzed the data. In a microsecond, it came to the proper conclusion. The enemy launched ICBMs. A second later, the orbiting sensor burned through its sheathing as it aimed a communication laser. The laser speared across space to a relay station in the Mauritanian Desert, which was in western Saharan Africa.
Afterward, with the primary task completed, the sensor continued to track the lifting ICBMs, beaming all the telemetry data to the relay station.
REYKJAVIK, ICELAND
The GD major on station in the Mirror Launch bunker also made a nearly instant decision. He had a single function: to negate an automated system from launching a heavy missile into space.
With hot coffee spilled on his uniform—the cup hit the wall even now, shattering. He’d been leaning back a second ago, drinking the coffee as the alarm rang and surprised him. With hot, soaking coffee beginning to scald his skin, the major nevertheless scanned the simple amount of data on his emergency screen. As he did, he had three thoughts:
This is real; it isn’t a test. And those are ICBM boost-phase burns. Holy shit.
The middle thought was the important one. He saw American ICBM boost-phase burns. Therefore, he did not raise his hand and reach for a red button. Because he did not, he did not depress the switch that would shut down the launch sequence. Therefore, the automated system continued to function smoothly as designed.
Fifteen seconds later, the bunker shook, making the light overhead rattle. He thought it might explode. A heavy K-14 rocket sped for space, with massive boosters shooting long flames. The missile did not carry a warhead. This was not a retaliatory strike. The missile’s payload was a mirror, one that possessed fantastic adjusting ability. Even as the rocket roared toward the Heavens, telemetry data poured into its onboard AI, data that originated from the sensor high above French Guiana.
GDN
BISMARCK
Warrant Officer Gunther Weise stared in shock at the big screen. For a moment, he forgot his duties. Many did in the central situation room aboard the supercarrier.
General Kaltenbrunner and the admiral stared silently at the screen.
“Can we intercept?” Kaltenbrunner finally managed to ask.
The admiral—a small, neat man with a white goatee and white uniform—merely smiled in his restrained way. “Matters are already proceeding for our defense, General.”
That woke up Gunther, as did a nudge in the back from the lieutenant in charge of the warrant officers.
Gunther returned to monitoring his controls. Sweat began to pool under his armpits as he realized the sick truth. The Americans had launched nuclear missiles at the fleet. Those missiles raced here even now. This was horrible. He didn’t want to die.
Once more, the lieutenant poked him in the shoulder “Keep on task, Weise. Don’t freeze. There’s a good fellow.”
Gunther licked his lips. The sweat under his armpits became worse. He swallowed, and with greater concentration, he monitored his station. A pain spiked between his eyes. He found that he stared hard at the controls. Fortunately, his training took hold, helping him to remember his tasks.
Even as he felt himself floating out of his body—it was a terrible sensation, he hated it—he readjusted for static.
“Ah, better,” Gunther heard the admiral say.
Commands soon went out, and klaxons rang with seemingly greater urgency. There was a flurry of activity in the central situation chamber. Gunther badly wanted a cigarette. He craved one, in fact. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Look at that. Death raced toward the fleet. Certainly, the Americans would first try to take out the command ship. That was the GDN
Otto von Bismarck,
this ship.
“One nuclear warhead could ruin everything,” General Kaltenbrunner said in his gruff voice.
“Certainly, General,” the admiral said. “Ah, look, Strategic Defense is ready, and not a moment too soon.”
“Explain what’s going on,” Kaltenbrunner said.
Gunther sneaked a glance over his shoulder. He saw the admiral point at the big screen. Gunther also looked up at the screen. It showed a strategic map of the US Atlantic seaboard, the Atlantic Ocean and parts of Western Europe and Western Africa. Red lines streaked across the US. Flashing red dots kept moving over the US and toward the fleet. Those were the enemy ICBMs.
Gunther wanted to groan. Maybe his father had been right after all. Excitement was better, and certainly safer, when gained from watching a movie. The real thing could hurt too much. Gunther had never truly believed he himself could get into danger that would maim him for life or kill him.
What was I thinking joining the Navy?
In the end, father always knew best.
“What in the world is that?” Gunther whispered to himself. Fortunately, he heard the admiral explaining to General Kaltenbrunner that the blue lines that had just appeared on screen from Iceland and from Brittany were strategic-strength lasers beaming at the rapidly deployed space mirrors.
“Now we shall see how things go,” the admiral said. “Now we shall see if the Americans are any good at this.”
ATLANTIC OCEAN
The ICBM boosters had already fallen away and back to Earth. Boost phase had lasted a mere three minutes. The warheads presently sped through suborbital space and would do so for another ten minutes.
They were all presently unpowered and moved in ballistic trajectories like artillery shells. The warheads sat safely in cone-shaped reentry vehicles, grouped together on what was called a “bus.” They were hard to spot, as there was no rocket exhaust to see or other emissions to give them away. As they moved, each reentry vehicle released aluminized balloons to fool any enemy attempting to track them.
Now, however, far away in Iceland and on the continent near Brest, Brittany, strategic lasers shot their high-energy beams at the deployed GD mirrors high in Earth orbit.
The rays flashed up through the atmosphere, bounced off the precisely angled mirrors and flashed down at the speed of light at the reentry vehicles. Most of the beams missed, but one laser hit a reentry vehicle bus with its load of cones. The beam heated the mechanism to an intolerable degree, destroying the connections to the warheads and warping its structure. Soon, its role in guiding and releasing the reentry vehicles at the proper time was completely eliminated.
Now the warheads, lacking their final enabling update, would not cause a nuclear yield. They would fall in random places with massive kinetic energy, but nothing resembling the explosions they would otherwise deliver.
The silent but deadly war continued. GD automated tech battled American know-how. During the midcourse phase—and while using up tremendous amounts of energy—the strategic lasers eliminated six different reentry buses, causing sixty warheads to become simple dumb meteors, splashing down across thousands of miles of ocean.
Then that portion of the battle ended as the four surviving reentry buses took their final star readings, enabled their warheads, and released the cone-shaped reentry vehicles into the Earth’s atmosphere at high speed.
GDN
BISMARCK
Warrant Officer Gunther Weise could hardly breathe. It felt as if his lung muscles had frozen or he’d forgotten how to use them. What he had just seen was incredible. He knew how difficult it was to bounce a laser off a space mirror precisely enough to hit and destroy a midcourse warhead. That GD Strategic Defense had gotten any of the US missiles surprised him. It almost made him laugh to hear the next words.
“We’re doomed,” General Kaltenbrunner told the neat little admiral with the white goatee beside him.
“Nonsense,” the admiral said. “Now it’s time for you to witness the effectiveness of my battleships. They are remarkable vessels, I assure you.”
As klaxons wailed, as the ships of the great armada continued to churn in various directions—like beetles scurrying from an overturned board—the ten battleships entered the fray.
Watching it, Gunther’s chest swelled with pride. This was why he had joined the Navy. His father was a good man, but sometimes, even fathers could be wrong.
I thought it was over. Now I realize we’re going to stop these nukes. We’re better than the Americans, far, far better than they could ever hope to be
.
Gunther checked his controls. Everything was green. Everything was good. The pride in him rose even higher. He looked up at the big screen. Many of the personnel in here did likewise. The next two minutes would decide—
The fate of the world
, Gunther realized.
One way or another, this is history
.
One part of the big screen did a zoom-in of the nearest battleship, the
Blucher
. The thing aimed a large targeting array into the sky. A missile launched, then another and another. They roared heavenward, carrying kinetic kill vehicles.
The missiles lofted, burning away their bottom stage. The next stage continued to accelerate them. The kinetic kill vehicles would smash against the incoming warheads. It was like shooting bullets at bullets.
On the screen, Gunther witnessed the first collision. More occurred, one, two, three, four—
“How many warheads are there?” Kaltenbrunner shouted.
“Yes, the Americans are dropping quite a few today,” the admiral admitted. “There must be ten warheads in each missile nosecone, forty targets for my battleships to destroy.”
Gunther didn’t want to hear that. Forty nuclear bombs headed for the fleet?
A minute ticked by, and Gunther sweated harder than before. Everyone in here watched the big screen. This was too much. He wished it would end. The suspense…
No, you must remember every sensation. If you live, you must describe everything to father
.
“Did we get them all?” Kaltenbrunner asked.
“I’m not sure,” the admiral said, with the first hint of unease in his voice.
Then, from outside, came a tremendous, violently bright explosion.
Gunther’s jaw dropped. He watched the big screen. A vast, yellow symbol showed where a thermonuclear warhead destroyed a supercarrier and—one by one, other ship symbols winked out. In all, nineteen vessels disappeared from the screen.
Gunther sat back in shock. When was the next nuclear warhead going to ignite and destroy yet more ships?
“What about radiation?” General Kaltenbrunner asked in a loud voice. “Are we in danger from radiation poisoning?”
“Look,” the admiral said, pointing at the big screen. “That particular warhead ignited at the southern edge of the fleet. We’re steaming away from the blast. The radiation—”
“What if there are more bombs?” Kaltenbrunner shouted. “What if—” The general stopped shouting as the admiral touched his arm.
“Look at that!” Gunther shouted, as he stared at the screen.
General Kaltenbrunner, the admiral and everyone else in the chamber turned and stared at Gunther Weise. He had stood up and now pointed at the big screen. It showed a red hit, and then another and another. They came in swift succession, and they numbed Gunther. Were those more successful nuclear strikes? If so, then why were they still afloat? Why hadn’t more blinding flashes occurred?
Slowly, it dawned on Gunther that people stared at him. Few of those were friendly stares. Burning with shame, Gunther hurriedly sat down. He wished he could disappear.
“What of those?” Kaltenbrunner asked. “What do the red hits signify?”
The lieutenant poked Gunther in the shoulder. “You’re a GD sailor. Act the part, mister.”
Gunther put his hands on the controls trying to overcome the growing static.