Omega Missile (Shadow Warriors)

by Bob Mayer

  Kilten had a strange smile on his face. "Very true."

  "Any last words?" McKenzie asked.

  Kilten folded his hands on his lap. "You know, of course, that I can't let you explode those nuclear weapons."

  McKenzie shrugged. "I don't see that you have much choice in the matter anymore. We have the computer and we have control. You and your dead friend got us in and Drake can take it from here."

  "Do you know what a gambit is?" Kilten asked.

  McKenzie frowned. "What?"

  "At the direction of the Joint Chiefs I first designed Omega Missile five years ago. I initially called the system Final Gambit. More appropriate given its function and mission, but the Joint Chiefs didn't buy off on that. Too fatalistic they said."

  McKenzie's gun hand was steady as he listened.

  "A gambit is an opening move in chess where a pawn is sacrificed for strategic gain," Kilten said. "Putting the word final before gambit is an oxymoron, but no one noticed that. Do you play chess?"

  "You done?" McKenzie asked impatiently.

  "You should play chess," Kilten said. "The most intellectual game man has invented because of the requirement to plan and project both your own moves and the opponent's. That's how I got involved in strategic planning in the first place. The same rational requirements satisfy both endeavors." Kilten shook his head. "I don't think you're going to succeed. The odds are against you."

  "I've already succeeded," McKenzie said.

  "No, you haven't. Your gun doesn't bother me since I'm dying anyway. This was the most likely outcome for me personally so I accepted it when I committed to doing this. Your gun only shortens things by a week or so. And they would have been very painful days anyway."

  Kilten's voice firmed up. "Go ahead and shoot. I'm ready. Of course my plan doesn't die with me. Any good chess master can play long after he's gone if he's prepared. There are only so many moves you can make and so many permutations of those moves that—"

  McKenzie fired and the round hit Kilten in the heart. He slumped over, held in place by the shoulder straps in the control seat. There was a sad smile on his face.

  Drake finally had the panel off. "What the hell was he talking about?"

  "Get going," McKenzie growled as he unbuckled the body from the seat. "We don't have much time."

  *****

  Hill turned to Lugar, who had just arrived in the War Room, a stack of file folders under his arm. He placed them on the desk at which Hill was seated. In the muted roar of the War Room they could speak in a low tone and not be heard by others.

  "Tell me about Kilten," Hill ordered him.

  Lugar pulled a file from the pile. "Kilten's classified file. His psych profiles."

  "Tell me about the man. Is there anything we can use to negotiate with him?" Hill asked. "Or for damage control after this goes public?"

  "Kilten's a genius. His IQ is in the top one percent of the top one percent. His first government job was—"

  Hill held up a hand. "Give me something personal. Is he married?"

  "No. No relationships." Lugar grimaced. "He's one of those guys who gets as excited over his job as most guys do over a beautiful woman."

  "And he has nothing to lose thanks to you," Hill said. "Give me something we can use to discredit him. Any hobbies?"

  Lugar flipped through the file. "He plays chess. This says he's a world-ranked amateur. He worked on something called Deep Blue." Lugar turned a page. "That's a computer program designed to play chess."

  "If he's so focused on his job, why'd he take the time to do that?" Hill asked.

  "I don't know," Lugar said.

  Hill was about to say something more when a communications officer interrupted him.

  "Sir, it's the president on your secure line."

  Hill picked up the phone and listened for a few moments. He put his hand over the receiver and spoke louder to Lowcraft. "The president wants your professional opinion as to the possibility of success of the security force from Barksdale getting into the Launch Control Center and stopping this."

  Lowcraft sighed. "Kilten and his people seem well-organized. They took out the aircraft, you can be sure they'll have something prepared for people coming on the ground. There are a lot of variables in an operation like—"

  "A percentage rating of success," Hill demanded. "Now!"

  "Less than twenty-five percent," Lowcraft said.

  Hill relayed that, then listened. The only words he said were, "Yes, sir," Then he hung up.

  He turned to Lowcraft. "The president has authorized getting the money in the air. As for the rest of it, well, he's not ready to negotiate. He wants other options beyond the security force."

  Lowcraft gave a little laugh of disgust. "One thing's for sure, we can't nuke it. All control has been shifted over to Omega Missile. That's the way the system works."

  Colonel Hurst had been listening in and cleared his throat. When Lowcraft looked at him, he spoke. "Sir, actually, I do believe we could hit the Omega Missile LCC with a tactical nuclear strike."

  "How?" Lowcraft snapped. "Omega Missile has control of all our nuclear weapons. We're locked out."

  "Well, sir, since we've got people manually disabling warheads, we could also manually arm a nuclear warhead that's in a stockpile at one of our bases waiting to be dismantled. Since it was already taken off-line it wouldn't be under REACT control."

  "Omega Missile not only controls the nukes, it also controls their delivery platforms," Lowcraft said. "How do you propose delivering a nuclear warhead to the LCC?"

  "B-2 bomber, sir," Hurst said succinctly. "It can come in fast and won't get picked up on radar."

  "They'd have to manually drop the thing," an air force officer said. "That would be hard."

  "Can it be done?" Hill demanded, stepping in.

  "Yes, sir," the air force officer said, "but that facility is over a hundred feet underground with forty feet of reinforced concrete on top. The entire capsule is suspended on springs to sustain shock. It was designed to withstand an almost direct hit by a nuclear blast."

  Hurst put his hands on the railing. "The key word, sir, is 'almost'. What if we hit right on top of the LCC with a conventional bunker-buster dropped by an F-l 17 Stealth fighter? That should dig down about twenty feet, then follow it right away with a twenty-megaton bomb from a B-2 right into that hole?"

  Lowcraft looked at the other air force officer for an answer.

  "That might do the job," the officer reluctantly admitted, "but it will also devastate the countryside for five miles all around and we have to take into account the fallout pattern."

  "When you say 'do the job,' " General Lowcraft repeated, "what do you mean?"

  "Take out the LCC completely," the air force officer said.

  "That will stop them, won't it?" Hill asked.

  "Unless they've already programmed Omega Missile to do something," the air force officer said.

  "We're talking about dropping a nuclear weapon on American soil," Lowcraft said. "I don't—"

  "We have to examine all possibilities," Hill cut in. "What effect will dropping such a bomb have?"

  "Put a map of the Omega Missile LCC area on the screen," Lowcraft reluctantly ordered.

  The map came up.

  "If we put a twenty-megaton nuke center point on top of the LCC," Lowcraft said, "show me flash, blast, EMP, and fallout effects."

  There was a pause, then several different colored circles appeared around the site. Hill looked at them, then slowly nodded. "It's worth at least preparing. Get the aircraft and bombs ready to target the Omega Missile launch facility. Have Barksdale begin evacuating the entire area. I want projections on delayed fallout, particularly with regards to New Orleans."

  Lowcraft held up a hand. "I don't think you want to go to the president with a recommendation that we drop a nuclear weapon on the Louisiana countryside, Mr. Hill."

  Hill glared at the general. "With all due respect, I don't want to drop a nuke on Louisiana
either. But Kilten, and whoever's in there with him, can launch any of our nuclear weapons against any target in the world, whenever they feel like it! They've shown us that. The president understands the severity. He's discussing the severity of the Kentucky launching its missiles right now with the Russian president. I can assure you he understands this very well."

  "I asked for options," Hill continued. "You've given me one. When this gets down to the wire, it might be the only one we have." Hill picked up the red phone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  raising her left fist, Lieutenant Cruz signaled for the convoy of three Humvees to halt. She was riding in the top hatch of the lead vehicle along with her platoon sergeant, Technical Sergeant Everson. It was tight, the two of them standing side by side, but it allowed them to work as an efficient team.

  Everson was a man's man, over six feet tall and solid muscle. Although he was only twelve years older than Cruz, he treated her like a daughter. In the six months since she'd taken over Alpha Platoon he'd shepherded her through the trials and tribulations a new platoon leader had to face. His ebony face crinkled as he looked ahead at the dump truck parked in the middle of the bridge.

  "I don't like it, L.T.," he said.

  "We can go around it," Cruz said. "There's room."

  "Yeah, but why's it there?" Everson asked. "I suggest we send one Humvee across to check the far side and keep the other two back to cover it."

  "All right," Cruz agreed.

  Everson turned in the hatch and pointed at the vehicle behind them. He put two fingers to his eyes and then pointed across. The squad leader nodded. The Humvee drove around their truck and toward the bridge. Everson pulled back the charging handle on the M-60 machine gun as the third Humvee pulled up to their right to give supporting fire.

  The Humvee was moving slightly faster than a walking pace and passing the dump truck when the entire bridge disappeared in a flash of light. The shock wave hit Cruz and Everson a second later, knocking them back against the rear of the hatch. When the smoke cleared, the center span of the bridge and the Humvee were gone.

  "Goddamn!" Everson wiped a hand over his face, getting the dust off. He shook his head trying to clear the ringing. Dimly he heard a chugging noise that he knew was familiar, but he just couldn't get a clear idea of what it was at the moment. He looked across the river and spotted a line of small, black objects in the air looping toward him.

  "Grenades!" Everson screamed as he grabbed Cruz and pulled her down into the interior of the Humvee. At that moment, the first grenade exploded on the right flank of the vehicle and then all hell broke loose as 40-mm grenades landed every second on and around the Humvee, sprinkling it with shrapnel. The other Mark IX grenade launcher was doing the same thing to the other Humvee.

  Everson heard Cruz cry out and he felt something warm and wet on his hands. He looked down. A jagged piece of metal was stuck in her throat and blood pulsed around it. "Ah shit, ma'am," Everson muttered as he tried to stop the bleeding.

  *****

  Thorpe heard the explosion and then the firing of the grenade launchers. "Faster!" he yelled at Parker.

  She pressed down on the accelerator and they fishtailed around a turn and then the river was there, the bridge upstream a shattered ruin. He could see the two Humvees on the far side being peppered by 40-mm grenades from Mark IX launchers.

  Thorpe swung the gun around, searching for the source of the firing on this side. He spotted a man to the left, an RPG on his shoulder. The man was standing on a small rise and aiming across the river at the two Humvees that the grenade launchers near him were suppressing from behind the cover of the rise.

  Thorpe pulled the trigger and felt the familiar vibration of the M-60 in his hands. He walked rounds up and into the RPG man, blowing him down in a splatter of blood.

  "Get out!" Thorpe yelled to Parker as one of the line of grenades turned toward them.

  Instead, Parker gunned the engine and charged the ambush site. She was greeted by the streak of flame from another RPG that hit right in front of them. Thorpe felt the left tires lift and then the entire Humvee was up on its two right tires, balancing, then going over. Thorpe ducked down into the turret and barely escaped being cut in half as the Humvee came to rest upside down.

  *****

  Everson couldn't stop the bleeding. He heard an explosion across the river and more firing. He stuck his head through to the driver's seat and cursed. Their driver was dead, his head mangled by a grenade that had exploded right in front on the hood.

  Looking across the river, Everson could see the upside-down Humvee. As he watched, a man in black fatigues stood with an RPG launcher and fired. Everson flinched, then realized the rocket was aimed at the other Humvee in his platoon. It hit and the other vehicle was gone in a fireball. Everson knew they were next.

  "The code," Cruz whispered. Everson turned back to her. She had a blood-stained piece of paper in her hand. "Take the code for the vault door and get out of here," she said.

  Everson ignored his platoon leader's words. "I can't leave you, ma'am."

  "That's an order, sergeant," Cruz said.

  "Sorry, I can't follow that order," he said. He picked her up and carried her out the rear door. They rolled onto the ground. The Humvee burst into flames as an RPG rocket hit the engine.

  *****

  "When I say get out, I don't mean go forward," Thorpe hissed at Parker as he crawled in the wreckage and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her through the backseat and out the rear, putting the Humvee between them and the ambushers.

  "Sorry," Parker said. "I thought—"

  "We need to get out of here," Thorpe said. "Your Security Police got wasted and the bad guys will be here next to finish the job." He lay on his stomach and looked around the edge of the Humvee. He could see two men standing, one with an RPG launcher in his hands.

  "Let's go!" Thorpe said. He stood and sprinted, Parker at his heels, heading for the safety of the trees on the right side of the road. They made it as someone belatedly fired a machine gun in their direction.

  Thorpe led the way fifty feet into the woods along the river bank and halted. "Damn," he said. "Another thirty seconds and we'd have hit the sons-of-bitches from behind."

  Parker tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. There was a large black man in Air Force camouflage fatigues on the far bank, twenty meters away, looking at them. He had a body in his arms.

  "Major Parker," he called out.

  "Sergeant Everson," Parker replied, recognizing him from the security briefing where launch officers met the security personnel.

  "The lieutenant's got the override code," he yelled. With that, he ran into the river and began wading across.

  Thorpe glanced upstream. The ambushers were probably coming. Thorpe made sure he had a round in the chamber of the MP-5. He fired a burst as a man in black fatigues and red beret appeared, moving cautiously down the bank.

  Everson was crossing mid-channel, holding the lieutenant above the surface of the water.

  Thorpe saw the splash of rounds as he heard the sound of the machine gun firing. "No!" Thorpe yelled, standing and firing upstream, trying to suppress the firing. The man with the red beret fired back at Thorpe while his partner continued to fire the M-60 at Everson.

  Everson had crossed mid-channel as Thorpe hit the man with the red beret, killing him, but the man with the machine gun was protected from Thorpe's firing by a log. Water churned around Everson as he continued.

  "Fuck!" Thorpe yelled and then he sprinted forward toward the log.

  Thorpe vaulted the log with the trigger pulled back, killing the machine gunner even while the man was targeting Everson. Thorpe kept going, ignoring Parker's call for him to stop. He ran along the bank, slipping between trees. He dashed across the road leading to the bridge, not even aware of his breathing, his entire being focused on the weapon in his hands and the men ahead.

  The three surviving ambushers were reloading their grenade launchers and RPGs when Tho
rpe came running up the small slope in front of their position. They were momentarily stunned by his sudden appearance. As they began to react, Thorpe fired, right to left. He killed the first and second, but the MP-5 ran out of ammunition before he reached the third one, Mitchell. Thorpe didn't stop, dropping the submachine gun, and drawing his knife.

  Mitchell was fumbling, pulling his pistol out, then abandoning the effort as Thorpe closed the remaining ten feet. Mitchell went to a fighter's stance. The impetus of Thorpe's charge smashed through Mitchell's guard and Thorpe slammed his knife home to the hilt into Mitchell's chest. The ex-paratrooper died with a confused look on his face, not even knowing how he'd been bested.

  Thorpe grabbed one of the M-60s from the ground and spun about, searching for more targets, his eyes wild. A figure moved along the bank downstream and Thorpe's finger tightened on the trigger.

  "Thorpe!" Parker called out. "It's me! Parker!"

  Thorpe's body shook as a shiver went through him and sanity returned to his eyes. He slowly lowered the muzzle of the M-60. Parker ran up to his position and stopped, staring at the carnage. "Jesus, Thorpe," was all she could muster.

  Her black flight suit was soaking wet. She grabbed his shoulder. "Come on. Come back with me. The lieutenant's hurt."

  Thorpe followed her along the bank. Everson was kneeling next to Lieutenant Cruz, bandaging her wounds. In her hand was a blood-soaked piece of paper. "The door code," Cruz whispered.

  Parker took it out of her hand. At that moment, Cruz's eyes lost their focus and her hand slumped down on the grass. Everson slowly reached up and closed her eyes, tears flowing down his cheeks.

  Thorpe looked across the body and met Parker's gaze.

  *****

  Four miles away, Maysun had dragged himself over to the wreckage of the Blackhawk and had been working on the chopper's FM radio with Tommy's aid. He finished wrapping some severed wired together, then picked up the handset.