Chief Jeffries stepped away from the console manned by Fire Controlman Clark and sat down at a deactivated console station several feet away to rest his eyes for a few seconds. The watch required two qualified fire controlmen, who would conduct last-minute checks and sound the appropriate shipboard alarms in the unlikely event that
Gravely
’s weapons and sensors were remotely co-opted by the Missile Defense Agency. Aside from running system diagnostic checks every two hours, they did little more than keep each other awake. Jeffries settled into a deeply relaxing state, letting the hum of the Combat Information Center’s active equipment lull him perilously close to sleep.
“Chief, I think we have something,” said Petty Officer Clark from the designated C2BMC console.
“What is it? Another system-wide test? Always at five in the goddamned morning,” said Jeffries, opening his eyes and reaching for his coffee mug.
“No. This looks—holy shit! Missiles away in thirty seconds!”
“Bullshit. Get out of that chair,” said Jeffries.
He barely waited for Clark to vacate the seat before jamming his slightly oversized body into the fixed chair to scan the display.
“Son of a mother! Activate the general alarm and read this over the 1-MC,” he said, unclipping a laminated card from the console and handing it to the petty officer.
“When you’re done with that, get over to the VLS console and make sure the birds are ready. I’ll take care of the Aegis array. Go!”
Missiles started to cycle out of the forward Vertical Launch System before either of them had completed their diagnostic checks, shaking the ship’s superstructure. Buried deep within the ship, inside the Combat Information Center, they barely heard each successive launch over the piercing shrill of the ship’s general alarm. Jeffries ran back to the console to see if the C2BMC system had given them any further information regarding the threat that continued to drain his ship’s SM3 missiles. Glancing at the screen, his first thought was that somebody or something had fucked up big time.
None of the data made sense. The missiles would arc into a western trajectory to intercept a target identified by the PAVE PAWS (Phased Array Warning System) station at Beale Air Force Base in California. Not a typical threat trajectory for the East Coast. One target parameter stood out as terminally flawed. Target speed. His Mach 7.88 missiles had been sent to intercept a target moving at Mach 58. This had to be a mistake. Russian’s most updated ICBMs topped out at Mach 23. He wasn’t even sure if
Gravely
’s
AEGIS system could provide terminal guidance to intercept a target moving this fast. It really didn’t matter, because it was out of his hands.
The missiles stopped firing, and he ran to the active AEGIS tracking console, still shocked to see the digital representations of his missiles streaking west over Virginia to intercept a track originating from the southwest. Not a single BMD training scenario had involved a missile threat from that direction.
Thirteen missiles had been fired without “skin on track” by
Gravely
’s
AN/SPY-1D phased array radar, meaning that the ship’s radar had not acquired the target. The C2BMC system would guide the missiles until
Gravely
’s powerful sensors picked up the track. At that point, the ship’s fire control system would provide terminal guidance to ensure that each missile’s Light Exo-Atmospheric Projectile (LEAP) collided with the threat.
The entry hatch to CIC flew open, spilling a panicked contingent of crewmembers into the dimly lit space. Dressed in the digital blue camouflage-patterned navy working uniform,
Gravely
’s
command duty officer, Lieutenant Mosely, pushed the first sailors out of the way and ran to Jeffries.
“What the fuck just happened?”
“Our ship remote launched thirteen SM-3s at an inbound target identified by C2. It’s moving Mach fifty-eight out of the southwest. That’s all I know, sir,” said Chief Jeffries.
“You mean Mach five point eight,” corrected the officer.
“No, Lieutenant. Fifty-eight. Have you called the captain?”
The lieutenant glanced around for a second, clearly confused by the entire situation. Jeffries could understand the officer’s hesitation. Less than a minute ago, the ship had been quiet. Within the span of forty-five seconds,
Gravely
had autofired thirteen antiballistic missiles, and they had very little information. For all any of them knew, they could be on the verge of a full-scale nuclear war.
“I’ll call him right now. Are you talking to anyone at IMD?”
“Not yet. We barely got our checks done before the missiles launched,” said Jeffries, turning to type into the BMD console.
“Get IMD on the line. They’re running the show.”
“I’m on it, sir. Petty Officer Clark, start making calls to the Integrated Missile Defense command. Get me anyone that knows what’s going on. Numbers are on the card,” said the chief.
He stood up from his chair and turned to the half-dozen sailors hovering near the hatch. “The rest of you get out of here!”
Two minutes later, Chief Jeffries and Fire Controlman Ben Clark watched the AEGIS display in horror as
Gravely
’s missiles disappeared one by one over central Virginia.
Gravely
’s fire control system acquired and tracked the target for nine seconds before it vanished in the vicinity of Richmond, Virginia.
“That wasn’t a missile, sir,” said the chief.
“What are you saying, Chief? Hold on, Captain,” said the lieutenant, covering the phone’s mouthpiece.
“Radar cross section was ninety-six thousand,” he said, his voice trailing off in disbelief.
He still couldn’t process his emotions. Everything had happened too fast. Repeating the radar cross section brought a single emotion to the surface. Fear. His family lived ten miles from here, in the direction of Richmond. His vision narrowed, and he barely heard the lieutenant’s reply.
“Meters? That can’t be right,” said the officer, walking toward the AEGIS console. He glanced at the data over the chief’s shoulder and shook his head.
“We have to get IMD on the line, Chief!” yelled Lieutenant Mosely.
“Captain, Chief Jeffries just confirmed that the target had a radar cross section over ninety thousand. Something has to be wrong. That would put the diameter over three hundred meters!”
Jeffries waited for the lieutenant to continue, but heard nothing. He looked up at the officer, who pressed his ear against the receiver and squinted.
“Captain? Can you hear me? Chief, I think my call—”
He was interrupted by a complete and sudden darkness. The Combat Information Center went dead for a second before bulkhead-mounted, battery-powered LED “battle lanterns” started to provide illumination. The eerie silence continued.
“Shore power’s out. We should get power from one of the generators in a few seconds,” said the lieutenant.
Ten seconds elapsed, yielding no change to the eerie silence.
“I think we lost more than shore power,” said the chief, starting to get out of his seat to help Petty Officer Clark with the communications console.
Before he reached Clark, the entire ship slid laterally, knocking everyone inside to the metal grated deck. A severe rumbling enveloped CIC for several seconds, followed by silence. Jeffries grabbed onto Clark’s seat and began to pull himself to his feet when a panicked voice filled the darkened space.
“CDO, they need you on the quarterdeck!”
Chief Jeffries stood up and walked with Lieutenant Mosely toward the hatch, but stopped when the metal beneath his feet shuddered again. Once the ship settled, he unsheathed a powerful LED flashlight from his belt and illuminated the doorway, finding a wide-eyed Hispanic woman in dark blue
Gravely
sweatpants and a white T-shirt. She wore an expression of terror.
“What happened?” asked Mosely.
“Norfolk Naval Base is on fire—and the ship broke free of the pier.”
Chief Jeffries stared at her with disbelief. All he could think about was his wife and two teenagers.
Chapter 6
EVENT 00:00 Hours
Jewell Island, Maine
Alex buried his head in the sleeping bag.
Now what?
He peeked out of the bag, expecting to find Kate standing over him with a flashlight. It wouldn’t be the first time.
The island reflected a rich, sunset-orange hue. Long shadows extended from the trees and clumps of rocks along the granite walls. A strange tingling sensation enveloped him.
Lightning!
He rolled out of the hammock, still encased in the sleeping bag, striking the fiberglass deck. He ripped frantically at the zipper, unable to get out of the polyester body bag. A glimpse of the sky eased his panic. The sky bristled with stars, hardly a meteorological condition conducive to lightning. He lay there for a few moments.
More nightmares? Shit. Back to counseling.
He took a deep breath and gave the zipper another try. When it didn’t move, he tore it open.
“Problem fucking solved,” he muttered, slipping out of the bag and kicking it aft.
He stood up on the cockpit bench and squinted.
What the hell?
Either the sun had risen in the wrong place, or the fall from the hammock had knocked him silly. Alex had spent enough time at anchor in this cove to orient himself without a compass. He scanned his surroundings one more time to be sure
.
His boat pointed southeast, pulling lazily against the anchor line. A typical early morning setup at Jewell Island. The cove’s narrow opening lay directly off the port side, and the
Katelyn Ann
faced directly into a tree-lined, rocky cliff. The sun always rose over that cliff, but today it appeared due south, hidden behind the tallest part of the island. He watched as the distant light rapidly faded to reveal something more ominous.
A brilliant, undulating reddish glow appeared in the southwestern sky, high above the visible horizon. He closed his eyes and shook his head, seriously wondering if he might have a head injury. Nothing he had felt or seen since opening his eyes this morning seemed normal. Of course, he assumed it was still morning.
He checked his watch: 5:01 AM. Sunrise was at 5:50. Morning Nautical Twilight began twenty minutes ago. He looked over his shoulder toward the east and could see a slight difference between the blackness above and the sky showing between the trees. The sun was rising where it should.
That’s a good start
.
He turned back to the surreal lightshow to the west. The reddish-purple spectacle changed shape and appeared to pulse over the entire southwest horizon. He’d seen this before. He shook his head.
“No way,” he said, knowing there was only one way to find out.
Alex stepped aft, positioning himself behind the wheel where he could see the boat’s magnetic compass dial. He pressed a button on the center console to illuminate the compass, and pressed it again.
Shit.
He took a small LED flashlight out of his pocket and jabbed at the on/off control. A shaky light bathed the compass, bringing the nightmare to life. The compass direction moved slowly from the direction of the fading, red aurora toward what he knew to be the right cardinal settings.
Not good at all.
He fumbled to activate the digital chart plotter and navigation system mounted above the wheel. Nothing. He thought about calling out to Kate, but reached for the engine ignition panel instead. He turned the key, not sure what would happen. The engine sputtered for a moment and started.
“All right. All right. That’s a good sign,” he mumbled.
The forty-horsepower Yanmar diesel engine hummed, vibrating the cockpit and shattering the cove’s tranquility. He pulled the kill lever, secure in the knowledge that they could reach the Portland Harbor without getting wet.
A light from the forward berth illuminated the cabin, flickering back and forth as the source drew closer to the cabin door. He stepped forward in the tight cockpit to intercept Kate at the screen door. Woken by the unexpected engine start, she would no doubt be in a hurry to investigate. The door slid open just as he arrived.
“Why did you start—”
“Shhhh,” he said, putting a hand out to stop her. “Let’s talk out here.”
“Did we slip anchor?” she asked, shining the light in his face.
“Not in my face, please. We’re right where we should—”
“Something is wrong with the lights.”
She was in rapid-fire mode, no doubt brought on by her sudden maritime wake up. Kate was a notoriously deep sleeper at home, who did not respond well to being jarred awake. On the boat she was an entirely different person. She understood the fluid nature of boating, which required quick decisions and immediate action. Boats slipped anchorages, storms arrived unannounced, and equipment failed—often in the middle of the night, and always at the least opportune time.
“Are you done?” he asked.
“You haven’t really answered any of my questions,” she said.
Alex pulled Kate through the cockpit door and pointed to the bright red and purple aura to the west.
“What do you think that is?” he asked.
She stared off into the distance, shaking her head slowly before finally shrugging her shoulders. “Looks like the northern lights, but the wrong color. But that’s not north, is it?” she asked, finally rubbing her eyes and yawning.
“Southwest,” he stated, gripping her hand.
“Why did you start the diesel?” she insisted, her gaze captivated by the lights dancing playfully above the southwestern horizon.
“Because I didn’t think it would start. I’ve seen pictures like that at Quantico. Looks a lot like the atmospheric nuclear tests they did out in the Pacific,” he said.
“You don’t think that was a nuke, do you?” she asked sharply, stepping off the cockpit bench.
“I don’t know, but I saw a massive flash of light from the south,” he said, pointing to the island off the starboard side, “then I felt a strange tingling, like I was about to get hit by lightning. Now none of our electronics work. I’d say we were hit by an EMP.”