“E3 is the big brother sucker punch that keeps on giving. The first two components only take seconds or milliseconds, but this piece, on the other hand, can last a few minutes. Once E1 and E2 are done, part three shows up like a solar flare, or geomagnetic storm. This is commonly referred to as the Carrington Event.”
Scott paused and turned to the board once more. He wrote ‘solar flare’ under the appropriate heading and then chose a different color and jotted down ‘milliseconds’ under ‘E1’, ‘seconds’ under ‘E2’, and ‘minutes’ under ‘E3’.
“The EMP aspect of this phase takes out the high voltage lines and low orbiting satellites. You’ll know it when you see it because it will appear similar to an aurora borealis.” The student then paused and turned to Chester and asked, “How’d I do?”
The mentor smiled and began clapping. “Bravo, Scott. Bravo! I do have one correction though. The blast needs to occur above thirty thousand feet in order to induce ionization, but that takes us well in to the realm of the technical.”
“Dang!” Scott replied. “I’m sorry. I knew that.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. I’ve met juniors in college that couldn’t have done what you just did.”
With that, Scott and Katherine smiled at each other.
She elbowed her sister Heather and whispered, “That’s my guy.”
“So no fallout?” Basilia said, still deeply troubled.
“No, my dear,” Chester answered. “You can leave your cuticles intact.”
“What kind of area are we talking about? What I mean is, how far will the effects be felt?” Evan asked.
“Well that depends on a lot of factors,” the teacher replied and casually walked over to the easel and flipped the page. He then drew a rough outline of the continental United States. “The Earth’s magnetic fields tilt downward at high altitude in the northern hemisphere. Because of this, the blast effects are shaped like a horseshoe. Do we know what weaponry is being utilized?”
The assembled mass turned and looked at Gregg. He hung his head out of shame or pity and softly replied, “Minuteman III’s out of Minot.”
The man whistled at the response and asked, “Are they MIRV’s?”
“I’m sorry. MIRV’s?” Basilia said nervously.
“It stands for ‘multiple independently targetable re-entry vehicle’, Chester began in reply. “Originally, when this variant was first developed, each missile carried three warheads, not one. As a result, each nuclear tip could have a different set of targeting instructions. Now, assuming that the ones at Minot AFB have all been refitted with the single W87 warhead from the Peacekeeper missiles, the blast radius would look something like this,” he offered and then drew a large ‘U’ covering the bulk of the lower forty-eight states.
“This first line indicates the maximum effect of the atmospheric detonation at three hundred kilometers over North Dakota. If it detonates at a higher altitude over say, Kansas or Nebraska, the entirety of the United States would be affected to some degree. However, an EMP can only be felt by line of sight. The curvature of the Earth will protect Central and South America, as well as the southern hemisphere.”
“Great!” Hoplite exclaimed. “We get sent back to the pre-Industrial Revolution while the Mexican cartels get to keep the lights on. Nice!”
“Well, yes and no,” President Sarkes replied. “In some ways they’ll be worse off.”
“You can’t be serious,” Captain Rayna responded incredulously.
“Absolutely. The United States imports billions of dollars of goods from overseas. A lot of companies relocated down to Central America and we are the primary recipient of their exports.”
As the side conversations continued, Chester continued to doodle on the large pad of paper. Inside the original maximum effect line, he drew a bubble letter shaped ‘U’. Within that was a much smaller ‘smile’ outlined area. Above both was an egg shape with two concentric ovals inside. Every state from the Mississippi to the Rockies north of Texas was contained inside at least one of his overlays.
“What’s all of that,” Evan’s wife asked.
“That, my dear, is where the full effect will be felt the most,” he replied as he pointed to the ‘U’ and the smile. “Because of the curvature of the Earth, coupled with the downward tilt of the magnetic field, anything south of the blast is going to get the worst of it. Conversely, this region to the north sees the least damage.”
Something clicked in Gregg’s mind and he popped his head up suddenly.
“Have something to add to our little training session?” Josh asked inquisitively.
“Actually, yes. A minute ago you said you were assuming that all of the missiles at Minot had been swapped from the triple tipped W78 to the single re-entry vehicle W87.” Gregg quickly turned to address President Sarkes. “Sir, can you confirm that all of those warheads were swapped out? We had to comply with the SERV program, right?”
Tom Sarkes knew exactly where the man was headed and reached in his pocket for his phone. “No, but I know someone who does,” he answered and dialed the SecDef.
Emily leaned into her husband and asked, “What’s that?”
While Sarkes waited to be connected, her husband provided the answer to the group. “It was an initiative to introduce ‘Safety Enhanced Reentry Vehicle’ protocols. The older W78 warhead package didn’t contain enough safeguard features to prevent something like this. As a result, we started putting safer warheads in our missiles.”
“So if we knew which ones are still MIRV’s,” Hoplite interjected, “We might know which launch facility, or facilities, Abbas is headed to on Minot.”
Gregg nodded his agreement. “Suhrab never asked me about the W87’s, only the W78’s.”
* * *
One last connection... and... done, Abbas thought as he sat back on his haunches. Four nights, four missiles rewired.
Over the course of the last several days, since he had murdered his roommates, Abbas spent his daylight hours sleeping and or dodging whatever maintenance crews showed up. Military protocols being what they are, the LF’s were typically devoid of personnel unless there was an issue detected in the LCC’s or regularly scheduled checks dictated a physical visit. His nights were spent carefully working his way through the terrain between LF’s, avoiding motion detection and cameras, and rewiring four of the ten Minuteman III missiles controlled by the L-01 LCC.
Every time he cracked one open, he was grateful for the scopolamine and Gregg’s intel regarding the numerous booster sensors that, had he not known, he most certainly would have tripped and alerted personnel within the control center.
Several minutes after he replaced the protective panel on the last missile, he was standing under the star laden night sky stretching. The darkened landscape had not yet given way to the morning sun as he set the timer to start the sequence and get moving. As soon as his birds were airborne, all hell was going to break lose.
Cecil had been quite forthcoming with his detailed descriptions of the LF’s. What the wayward Airman neglected to mention was the fact that each silo facility was miles away from its counterparts. That had been a bit of a shock when the man reported for duty as the late Hector Ortiz. However, his intel regarding the ten missiles under the direction of the L-01 LCC was a stroke of genius. Emboldened by the knowledge that these were the last to be integrated into the SERV program allowed his brother, Suhrab, to better direct his scopolamine derived line of questioning on Gregg.
Given the pre-programmed coordinates, the three warheads would jettison the launch vehicle and spread out like a trident. Hyper accuracy was achieved by spinning each similarly to a bullet exiting a barrel. However, accuracy was a relative term. Generally speaking, being within a football field was usually accepted as being considered ‘close enough’.
With an apogee of a thousand kilometers, the warheads would eject, separate, and arc out toward their intended blast altitude. By the time they were triggered, each projectile would be spa
ced almost eight hundred miles apart. He was practically giddy that he was assured that the entirety of United States, Western Europe, and the bulk of the Asian continent would go dark instantly once each detonated. Even if a country managed to launch an interceptor missile, the chaff would, hopefully, confuse the radar. One or two of the jettisoned MIRV’s were sure to get through. From there it was a waiting game.
Suhrab and Abbas were convinced that once the die off was complete, the religious right and the fanatical left would further reduced a nations population through infighting. After that, the world would be fully prepared for the spread of Islam. For them, chaos and panic would descend like a comforting blanket and rid the planet of the last empire. It didn’t matter to the brothers if roving gangs of cannibals, rapists, and thieves did the majority of the bloodletting. The ends justified the means and it would still suffice. If someone retaliated with nuclear strikes of their own due to an itchy trigger finger, then so be it.
Abbas glanced at his glowing iridescent watch face; it was just after 4:00 AM CST. If his programming worked as designed, at 4:09 his first missile would begin the minute long pre-launch procedure. At 4:10, it would exit its silo and scream into the night’s sky unchecked. Each of the hi-jacked weapons would blast off at specific intervals, none more than five minutes from the previous. If he had the flight times and trajectories correct, all would detonate within seconds of each other. The whole of the Christian dominated northern hemisphere would soon be reduced into lawless chaos.
* * *
“Got it!” Col. James responded abruptly as he disconnected the call.
He quickly turned and reentered the Base Commander’s room at the infirmary. “General! We’ve got a location! How long does it take to get to the L-01 launch control center for the 742d Missile Squadron?”
The man groggily sat up in his bed and replied, “About an hour and half by road. Why?”
“Abbas is going after the ones that haven’t had their warheads swapped out! All of those are under ‘L’ facility command, right?”
“Yeah, but if there’s an issue there are redundant systems in place that will allow another LCC to handle them,” the weary man answered.
“Can we fly there?”
“Sure,” he replied and then looked at the Colonel quizzically. “Do you really want to be up in a helo if were expecting an EMP though?”
“Damn it!”
“What?” the General asked.
Colonel James pulled back the curtain, “Look.”
The two watched for the next fifteen minutes while the night’s sky was repeatedly illuminated by rocket boosters as they exited the silo.
Chapter 3
“We didn’t do it! Don’t return fire! They are set to detonate in the atmosphere! These are NOT, I repeat, NOT surface detonations!” President Rayburn screamed into the camera.
On the wide screen panel in front of him were the grim and haggard faces of Presidents and Heads of State from seven of the eight nuclear nations. Only the English Prime Minister had the gall to refuse the call.
“What assurances do we have that this unprovoked attack is set to detonate in the atmosphere?” the Russian President asked. “We would be well within our rights to erect our launchers and return fire.”
“Yes, you would,” he answered solemnly. “But I’m asking you not to!” he said more forcefully and directly. “We are currently tracking the man responsible. An Iranian terrorist named Abbas Esfahani.”
“You have not addressed President Tarlakov’s question, Rayburn,” the Indian Prime Minister inserted as a rebuke. “How do we know these are going to be high altitude detonations?”
The POTUS sighed and decided to let the chips fall where they may.
“Several months ago, one of our special operations teams was shot down in southeastern Syria. We believed for the better part of a year that all souls were lost. That is until the lone survivor walked into a FOB in northern Iraq. He had been held by a militant Islamic faction bent on starting a holy war. It is their belief that if everyone were on equal footing then the world would seek out and willingly convert to Islam.”
“How could you possibly know this? You just said he’s dead. Did he leave behind some sort of manifesto? And you still haven’t answered the question,” the Chinese leader stated in halting English.
“Damn it! Stop interrupting me! I’m saying that these lunatics shot our guy up with scopolamine. I don’t have to tell you what happened after that... I think you know because our birds are inbound. We also have his brother, Suhrab Esfahani, in custody. He was the mastermind behind all of this. He previously stated, and I quote, ‘we need to level the playing field’. After he was interrogated he divulged his brother’s intentions to put us all back at square one.
“We don’t have a lot of time. Our techs tell me that the first missile will detonate in just a few minutes.”
“Again,” the Chinese leader said as he interrupted once more. “How can you possible know that?”
“We have the man’s laptop, damn it!” President Rayburn replied forcefully. “According to the programming we analyzed, once the missiles reach apogee, they’ll jettison their warhead, and detonate at three hundred and seventy-five kilometers! That’s how I know!” he concluded as he growled the last.
Once he finished, the ‘Leader of the Free World’ sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. I can’t tell them these things are MIRV’s or they’ll shoot back for sure, he thought.
Resigned, Rayburn said, “We shot a Patriot Missile at the one above the continental United States, but it was out of range. We hit the thing with one of our ship-based missile defense rockets, but the warhead had already jettisoned. We’re screwed any way you cut it,” the POTUS declared dejectedly. “I don’t know what else to say. If I’m wrong, these two lunatic brothers started World War III and whether we knew or not, we fired first. If I’m wrong... then I guess you need to do what you have to.”
Rayburn slumped in his chair. In a resigned tone he said, “Fire away... I don’t know. All I do know is that I’m imploring you to not turn my country into a nuclear wasteland. This was an act of terrorism pure and simple and it wasn’t initiated by us.”
His comments were greeted with muted conversation as the various Heads of State conferred with off screen advisors and aides. Aside from retaliating, the only other option would be to try and shoot them down from the leeward side.
“Mr. Rayburn,” Russian President Tarlakov began, “I hope for your sake that you are telling the truth.” He then turned his head to someone off camera and said, “Fire!”
* * *
Josh awoke and rolled toward his clock in an effort to not wake Samantha. Sharing a bed again after so many years alone was going to take some getting used to. The clock read 5:23 AM. Still have power, he thought. Guess they caught Abbas. Then it dawned on him that he had overslept by more than thirty minutes.
He slowly turned his head and found his future bride still sleeping, cuddled up next to him. As he started to extricate himself from her comforting embrace, she awoke.
“Good morning,” she said sleepily. “Where are you sneaking off to at this hour?”
He reached over and checked the on/off slide on the clock radio. It was in the off position. Either Sam did it as they were preparing for bed or himself when it started going off at the customary 4:45.
As he rolled out of bed, he replied, “I overslept. Did you turn off the alarm?
“Yeah. I got up in the middle of the night to pee and switched it off. You have been so busy, I thought you could use the rest.”
“You looking out for me already?”
“Somebody’s got to,” she answered as she yawned. “You sure won’t admit it.”
Josh smiled a little before saying, “Thanks. Go back to sleep. I’ll be here for breakfast around eight.”
Shortly after the pair had become engaged, they agreed to wait until they were married to consummate their relationship. Between the tw
o of them, and the issues surrounding their first marriages, they figured that they didn’t need any of the bad karma that might come by violating one of God’s laws. They had violated enough of them over the years.
Their agreement to wait was followed by the ‘suggestive’ conversation where Samantha, half joking, tried to ascertain whether or not he would be able to consummate their marriage. When she had slighted his manhood by referring to its ‘dusty coating’ from ‘lack of use’, Josh had crudely replied, ‘Ah hell, damn thing greets me nearly every morning!’
With an eye barely cracked open, Samantha surveyed the man that was about to be her husband. She took in his scar adorned torso and physique, but paused when she visually made it to his waist. She half giggled and said, “I guess you weren’t lying.”
Josh followed her eyes and realized what she was referencing. “Yeah well, a cold shower will fix that. Besides, I’m too old to go diving into closets,” he replied and adjusted himself before throwing a pillow at her and putting on his bathrobe.
Samantha smiled and deflected the flying object. She quickly fell back asleep.
Following his usual morning routine, Josh shuffled off to the kitchen to start the coffee brewing before heading to the shower. Before he even entered the barely lit room, he could smell the black liquid gold. As he turned the corner, he saw the illuminated red indicator declaring that the machine was already on and stopped walking. Then, movement on the porch caught his eye.
By the Dawn's Early Light Page 3
