by Unknown
Slowly, everyone responded. They got back up and took their seats again, brushing the dust from their clothing. The lights had gone out. Now, only a sliver of light from the door of the cellar gave any illumination to the room. Two minutes later, the air raid sirens came on again.
Mr. Polski got up and began dusting himself off again. “It’s over. Let’s go up and see what is left,” he said.
Going up the stairs, he eased the cellar door open. The rooms above were intact. Slowly, everyone made their way through the shop. The glass on the front windows had shattered. It was everywhere. Some of the merchandize had been knocked over, but everything else seemed unharmed. Looking out the window, the building across the street, a small electronics firm, had been hit. Bricks and debris lay scattered around the street and a fire was sending smoke high above them. As they watched, the city’s firefighting service dashed around the corner and began setting up to battle the blaze. They saw a woman crawl out of one opening onto the sidewalk. Her clothes were smoldering and she looked almost burned to a crisp.
Freda turned and placed her face into Petyr’s shoulder. Petyr turned to Mr. Polski. “Are we safe here?” he asked.
Polski gave a sigh. “About as safe as anywhere else. Children, we are now in the middle of a war. From now on, we watch out for each other and help each other as much as we can. Somehow, I don’t think there will be school for a while, so let’s just stay here and get things cleaned up. If it gets too bad, we can all go to our house outside town,” he said.
Petyr’s mother walked up with some brooms and handed them out. “Take these,” she demanded. “We need to keep busy. Clear up all this glass so that no one gets hurt. Papa,” she said turning to Mr. Kursov, “you try and find something to cover the windows. People will need our help, so let’s keep the shop open as best we can,” she said.
Everyone got busy. Within thirty minutes, the lights came back on, but already people were coming in to purchase bandages, drugs and supplies. By nightfall, there wasn’t much left to sell.
In the air over the Atlantic
Hammond had never experienced anything like it before. He was sitting in a tight compartment with just two small windows looking to each side. Making it more interesting was the space suit he was wearing. Arriving at the airport, he was escorted to a small room where handlers took his bags and squeezed him onto the suit. He was attached to an air conditioning unit. Then he was whisked out of the building and around a corner where the SR-71 was waiting. The NASA aircraft was the last one flying.
Climbing the small ladder to get aboard, the men almost literally had to shoehorn him into the small compartment behind the pilot. In a few minutes, the engines started and the plane taxied to the end of the runway. Suddenly Hammond almost couldn’t breathe. The acceleration was phenomenal as the long, sleek Blackbird rocketed into the sky. Once airborne, the plane almost climbed straight up.
“You okay back there?” the pilot asked.
“I think my internal organs are still on the runway,” Hammond said.
There was a laugh from the pilot. “I usually don’t do it that fast, but we are on a tight schedule. In thirty minutes we tanker and fill up. Then we tanker again over the Azores. In between, we will be at Mach 3 at a little over 80,000 feet. They figure at that height and speed we are pretty safe. But just in case, I’m watching the threat warning system. If anything comes after us, I still have a few tricks,” he said calmly. “You can see the instruments back there, so just enjoy the flight.”
“I place myself in your capable hands,” Hammond said. He began looking around and saw the airspeed dial. It was already at Mach 2.
Powell, Tennessee
The smell of frying bacon and hot coffee woke Rod Jeffers from his sound sleep. Coming home had been wonderful. For the last three days he had met up with several of his old friends and had become reacquainted with his family. Today being Thanksgiving, he anticipated a long feast with his extended family, stuffing himself with his Mom’s roasted turkey, rice and gravy, some squash casserole, sweet potato casserole, green beans, dressing and cranberry salad. The faint smell of fresh yeast rolls was in the air along with the bacon. He lay in his bed and savored the smells.
The telephone rang, interrupting his thoughts. In a moment, his father called up for him to pick up the line. Jeffers got up and threw on a robe. He padded, barefoot, down the hall into the kitchen and grabbed the handset.
“Lieutenant Jeffers, I hate to do this, but your leave has been cancelled. You need to get back in here right away,” said Captain Clarity on the other end of the line.
Jeffers looked puzzled. “What’s going on, Captain?” he asked.
“Rod, you need to turn on the news. That’ll explain it. Just get back here pronto,” he said.
“On my way, sir,” said Jeffers before hanging up the phone. He looked at his mother. “We need to turn on the TV,” he said.
Walking into the den, he switched on the wall mounted set and turned it on one of the network stations. Immediately he saw a burning aircraft carrier and one other ship. The announcer described many other such tragedies across the United States and around the world. More images came in showing a carrier sunk up to the hanger deck and listing, another with close ups of huge holes and jagged metal. Finally some images of men being pulled out of the wreckage on stretchers.
“Dear God,” cried his mother in anguish. “Who did this?”
Jeffers stood for a second unable to move from the screen. “The Russians. We knew they might do something, but not this bad,” he said. He then turned to his parents. “I gotta go,” he said.
Despite the protests from his mother, Jeffers quickly took a shower and packed his bags again. Donning his uniform, he kissed his mother and shook his father’s hand before throwing his bags into the back seat of the Rolls and backing out of the drive. It would take hours to get back to Washington, but this time he wouldn’t quite obey the speed limit.
Washington DC
The Oval Office had finally cleared out except for the National Security Advisor, the CIA Director and the Deputy Director for Intelligence. This meeting was not something that could be shared with others.
“Okay Bill, what kinds of assets do we have in Russia?” the President asked calmly.
Bill Harmon, his recently appointed CIA chief calmly addressed his President. “We have ground assets in a number of cities, but if you are asking if we saw this coming, the answer is no,” he said, obviously covering his backsides. The President saw a strange look on the DDI’s face, but let it go for now. Harmon had been a pain ever since he had appointed him as an appeasement for several Congressmen and Senators to pass some legislation. Harmon was from the opposing party, but having a bi-partisan cabinet had not been a bad idea.
“I ask, because I may need to use some of those assets in the coming days. We have some ideas to upset their population and we need to see if this is feasible,” the President said.
“I’m sorry, but I must protect our assets at any costs. Using them for your ideas is not something I would want to do,” said Harmon.
The President’s brow furrowed. “Mr. Harmon, in case you haven’t heard, we are in a shooting war. It is going to be our job to use whatever assets we have to get this war over with. Now I am not talking about throwing away people, but I am interested in what we have and how we can use them to our benefit.”
Harmon remained calm. “Possibly. There are a few assets we can use for special projects. A larger number are simply people who are somehow disenfranchised with their government. Using them for the wrong reasons may backfire,” he said.
The President nodded. “I understand about that. But I need you to get some things ready to gather additional information on how the population feels about things going on – any unrest or dissention. Bad things happening, that sort of thing. Then I need to know how effectively we can plant additional ideas or seeds of unrest. A part of this effort will be a propaganda war of sorts. I need you to see w
hat you can come up with and how we can make these kinds of things happen,” he directed.
Harmon nodded. “I’ll see what we can do,” he said.
“Good. Now tell me what the status of Eyeball is,” the President said.
“Eyeball is up and now running,” said Harmon. “We are starting to look at where the battlefields are and other places. Of course, we are keeping this way under cover,” he said.
“Can the system tie into the military data systems? The way we initially planned it, local commanders could tie in and use it for battle planning and tactics,” said the president.
“No sir, we can’t use the system for anything like that. It’s too secret,” said Harmon.
“Look, right now I need to win a war. If this thing can help us do that, then we need to use it. We can make sure that security is upheld.”
Harmon shook his head. “I can’t let that happen. This is the biggest achievement in intelligence gathering that has ever been produced. I’m not going to let some army private get his hands on this. It would be in the public within minutes. I’ll even give you an example. If we had given a warning to our people, the Russians would have seen how they reacted and would know, or at least guess what our capabilities are. I can’t let that happen,” he almost shouted.
The Deputy Director looked at the man in anger. “Do you mean you didn’t give the warning?” he demanded.
A look of surprise came over the President’s face. “Wait a minute,” said the President. “You knew?”
The DDI didn’t take his eyes off Harmon. “Mister President, I was there with the Director. We saw those missiles as soon as they launched. That was at least ten minutes before they struck!” He pointed angrily at Harmon. “This man left the room to supposedly call in the warning.” He glared at Harmon. “You murdering bastard.”
“You knew and didn’t let me or anyone else know? If you didn’t call me, who did you call?”
“Sir, it’s exactly as I said before. We can’t let anyone know we have this. You don’t have the authority to tell me how to use this tool,” shouted Harmon. “That belongs with the Congress!”
“I don’t have the authority?” The President turned to the Secret Service agent in the room. “Frank, did you hear all this?”
The agent nodded. “Yes, Mister President.”
“Then I order you to place this man under arrest. The charge is aiding and abetting an enemy of the United States. It may increase to treason. If nothing else, I hold him responsible for at least some of the lives lost today,” the President said.
The agent turned to Harmon. “Come with me, sir.”
“You stupid idiot. You can’t do this to me!” shouted Harmon as he lunged toward the President.
The agent quickly grabbed Harmon and threw him to the floor, twisting his hands behind his back while calling for backup. Within moments, the room was filled with agents. “Mister Harmon, you are under arrest for willfully aiding and abetting an enemy of the United States. You are also charged with assault on the President of the United States. You have the right to remain silent…” the agent began. When he finished, the Secret Service stood Harmon up.
The President moved forward. “First of all, Mister Harmon. You were a cabinet member and report to me. We, you and I, report to the Congress. You do so as directed by me, not by them. But that makes no difference. You are now fired. Try and see if the Congress can get you out of that one,” he said. He turned to the agents. “Hold him outside until I do a few things. I’m going to call the FBI and turn this over to them. Now get him out of my sight,” he said calming down.
The President turned to the DDI, “Josh, can you do what I asked him to do?”
The Deputy Director, Josh Mayfield, looked squarely at the President. “Not only can I, but I can make sure things happen that will make you very happy. First, let’s get the Joint Chiefs over to Langley to see this thing, then let’s get it linked to the Armed Forces data system. We can’t let it out to the lower levels, it’s just not that versatile yet, but we can make sure the theater commanders have it. The rest can see the data on their screens and act accordingly. As far as the Russian assets, I think we can sit down and work a lot out to get what you need done and still keep our people safe.” He looked hard at the President. “I’m not Mr. Harmon, sir. I know who I work for. We can get it done,” he said with a smile.
The President shook his hand. “Then you have the job. I take it the two of you clashed before.”
“I’m not a guy who goes behind my boss’ back, but yes, we had our differences.”
“Fair enough. This was my mistake, and I’m sorry. In this case, I let politics overrule my good judgment. We’ve worked together before. Let’s build a team again,” the President said.
“My pleasure. Now let me get back and get a few things going. By tomorrow, we should be able to sit down and discuss what you want done in Russia,” Mayfield said.
After Mayfield left the room, the President picked up his phone and hit one of the speed dial numbers. A minute later he was talking to the Director of the FBI. “Harry, I want you to get someone over there and search the logs and everything in the man’s desk. I need to know who he called. Since it wasn’t me, who else was a part of this mess? I’m not sure what we should do as yet, but at least let me know what could be done,” he said.
After the conversation ended, the president sat back in his chair. The bickering between the parties had been getting worse for the last twenty five years. Whoever was in power never got support from the other side. It seemed as if nothing could ever get done unless there was overwhelming public support. Even then, the behind the scenes bickering meant the wording took ages to complete. Now, someone in Congress was manipulating his cabinet in a way that could irreparably harm the government as a whole. Somehow, he now had to conduct a war and try and fix this problem at the same time. The hardest part was doing it in a way to bring people together instead of driving them apart. He glanced at his watch. It was only 8:30 in the morning. He closed his eyes and sighed.
USS Texas
The Texas had spent much of the morning positioning herself to take on the four other submarines stalking the carrier. Slowly, she had made her way to within eight thousand yards of the first target. There was no longer any doubt they were Russian. The sounds coming in had been digested by the sonar computer which identified each one as a known submarine which had been tracked in the past. Captain Flank had positioned his ship so that any sound he might make would be masked by another enemy submarine forming the barrier line. That meant going between all of them and being at relatively close range. He wasn’t too worried about it. The Virginia Class were even quieter than the older Los Angeles class attack submarines. His tubes had been opened long before and each had a Mark 48 ADCAP waiting in the tube.
Flank was going to try something different. The Mk-48 could be set to travel at very low speed for a period before speeding up and attacking its target. Even better, each torpedo could be controlled via a small fiber optic cable nearly the entire way to the target.
“Range to nearest target?” Flank asked.
“Sixty one fifty yards, Captain.”
“Range to furthest?”
“Ten thousand four hundred yards, Captain.”
“Is there a solution for all four?”
“Almost, Captain. One more minute on this course should do it.” It was the voice of Chief Cooper.
“Very well.” Flank turned to his XO. “If this doesn’t work, we’ll be up to our ass in alligators,” he said.
“No guts, no glory. I figure the confusion alone will guarantee our safety. They’ll probably think one of their own shot at them. But if we set them right, all we’ll have to do is get out of the way,” the XO said.
Flank nodded. He turned to the watch officer. “On my order, take the ship as deep as she’ll go. Do not go to flank speed. I want no cavitation at all. Let them just run into each other,” he said.
“Aye,
Captain, we’re ready,” said the Lieutenant.
Although the air conditioning system worked well, the men in the small compartments were sweating from the tense strain of the past few hours. They hadn’t known it, but Texas had fired the first shot of the war. Now it was getting ready to do it again.
“All targets within range, Captain,” said Cooper over the box.
“Okay, gentlemen, we do this as planned. On my countdown, three, two, one, fire as planned.”
The first torpedo swam out of the tube slowly, then turned to the right and moved away. Ten seconds later another torpedo left the tubes. This one turned left. Ten seconds later another left, turning right, then the final one turning left. Fanning out toward their targets, the torpedoes moved away at an oblique angle until each torpedo was nearly at a ninety degree angle from its target. Then, on orders from the fire controlmen in the Texas, all the fish turned directly toward their target and increased speed to maximum.
Suddenly all four of the Russian submarines increased speed, putting extreme levels of noise in the water. As expected, the noise masked Texas as she sped up and dove away. One by one, the torpedoes acquired the targets on their own. Once done, the fire controlmen cut the cable and let the torpedoes run.
Aboard the Russian submarines panic set in. Suddenly their own sonar operators reported torpedoes inbound. Following their tactics, the submarine commanders quickly turned away from the fish and rang up flank speed. They began turning back and forth to try and confuse the torpedoes, but the Mk-48 could care less. With their over 20 knot speed advantage, they simply followed the noise until they hit.
Four explosions were heard within a minute of each other through the hull of the Texas. By then, the ship was well away, listening for additional noises. Chief Cooper had a set of headphones on listening to make sure they were kills. One of the operators turned and looked at him with a funny face. “What’s that sound, Chief? Never heard that one before,” he said.
