War Day

by Whitley Streiber; John Kunetka

  My mind went back to basic training. I had fallen then, often enough. "I guess so."

  "We're gonna jump and hope for the best."

  "Jim, we're wearing handcuffs."

  "That's not much more of a problem than that door."

  The rear door of the bus, once the fire exit, was welded closed.

  "How can we possibly jump?"

  With an angelic expression, Jim raised his eyes.

  CALIFORNIA DANGERS 2 0 5

  Right above us was a ventilator. It was pushed open. Jim passed the word that he and I were going out on the roof if we got the chance, and we'd pull anybody up who cared to follow.

  We waited, then, for the bus to leave San Francisco proper. We had no idea of our destination, but we were soon across the Bay Bridge and going through Oakland on Route 80, heading toward Richmond.

  We passed Richmond, moving at about forty miles an hour. The bus slowed as we reached the Hercules exit. We turned off and took a right beneath the railroad tracks onto a two-lane blacktop called Crow Canyon Road. It was 9:15 A . M . The Zephyr would be leaving San Francisco at noon.

  I prayed that I would see Anne again.

  We passed the Crow Canyon golf course and a big truck depot, then began climbing a hill. Soon our speed was dropping and the gears were making a lovely racket. Jim wasted no time. He raised his cuffed hands above his head and grabbed the edge of the ventilator. In a moment he had pulled himself up and hooked one arm over the edge. With his free hand he unsnapped the plastic arma-ture that held the vent in place. It began to bang against his arm and I heard him stifle a scream. Then his legs were up to his chest and he had rolled out onto the roof. A second later he opened the vent for me.

  Now we were passing an abandoned kennel. People don't keep many dogs these days, not even in California. The road cut the edge of the hill, which rose steeply to our right. On the left was a horse farm and open countryside and a chance to get to Richmond and intercept the Zephyr.

  We jumped and rolled into the grass at the roadside.

  All up the hill, that bus leaked prisoners. By the time it got to the top, I don't think there were three left inside*!

  "Maybe we can find something to cut these cuffs at that truck depot back down the road," Jim said. "If we don't get them off, we might as well forget the train."

  We moved quickly. A lot of people were going to be trying to break into that depot today, all wearing handcuffs, all looking for shears. The place was open, so after the first ones came, the workers there would be on their guard.

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  The depot stood on the roadside in the heat, a broken semi blocking one driveway. In the other driveway, a new Mercedes truck was parked, getting diesel fuel. Behind it, an ancient eighteen-wheeler awaited its tern.

  We went far up the hillside that backed the depot, and came around behind it. There was a door into the rear of one of the metal buildings. Inside, two men were working on a magnificent '87

  Thunderbird, a sleek red dream of a car with gleaming black leather upholstery. It was a breathtaking joy to see, that prewar car, and judging from the polished beauty of the engine compartment, we weren't the only ones smitten by it.

  I am a law-abiding man, but when Jim found those big metal shears and cut my cuffs, and I cut his, and I realized that we were both fugitives, it occurred to me that it would be an awful lot of fun to steal the T-bird.

  "Too conspicuous," Jim muttered. Just then, three more prisoners came in the rear door. I thought I heard a siren off in the mountains. It was time to leave.

  We crossed the road and headed out into the countryside, moving back toward Route 80. It was eleven-thirty by the time we saw 80 in the distance. We had come about five miles. All during this time we had heard sirens, and seen an occasional police vehicle back on Crow Canyon Road.

  There was a bus stop in the little town of Pinole. The schedule on the wall indicated that we should see the next Richmond bus at 12:10.

  According to our timetable, the Zephyr would pull out of Richmond at 12:22.

  If the bus was right on time, we would make our connection with exactly one minute to spare—assuming that the Immigration Police had not thought to extend their dragnet to cover the Richmond depot. Our Roman collars had become advertisements of fugitive status.

  The bus came, and wheezed up onto Route 80. We would be in Richmond in a few minutes. The depot was the first stop. When I told the driver we were trying to make the train, he nodded and promised to do his best.

  We sat there sweating, reading the aisle cards: the ubiquitous CALIFORNIA DANGERS 2 0 7

  immigration warning; the Soyquick cereal ad; the BubbleRific poster with the sunny Valley Girl blowing a big yellow bubble; an appeal to orphans that read, "Don't join the gangs. California has a home for you"; an ad for Shearson/American Express, "Tomorrow is going to work! And we know how."

  A man was humming an old song: "Jimmy Crack Corn."

  California is sun and the smell of watered lawns.

  It is luxury trains and terror.

  It is two-minute trials and prison farms.

  And a beautiful prewar car, as exotic as a Maharajah's coach, hidden in a nondescript garage.

  California is fresh food, and lots of it.

  It is also a very nice place to leave, if you don't belong there.

  The train was sitting in the Richmond station as the bus came to a stop out front.

  We ran fast through the tiled lobby, past the ticket windows and directly to the train. A single Immigration Policeman lounged against the wall of the station.

  The train was already in motion when we slung into the door a conductor was holding open for us.

  "Come on, Fathers! You can make it."

  The Zephyr at last.

  Soon it was picking up speed.

  We went into the lavatory to change from the clerical clothes to our more ordinary jeans and shirts. We threw the incriminating clothes onto the roadbed somewhere between Richmond and Martinez.

  Back in our seats, Jim began checking his disks to be sure none were damaged.

  I leaned back, realizing how deeply tired I was. Despite the handicap of our illegal entry, we had done fairly well in California.

  In Martinez, three Immigration Police came through the train fast, but they didn't spot us. I suppose their eyes were going from throat to throat behind those mirrored sunglasses, looking for clerical collars.

  I bought a soybean salad and some milk in the snack bar and sat watching the world go by. As we rounded Suisin Bay, I saw vast, empty docks that in the past would have been jammed with 208 WARDAY

  imported Japanese cars. Now there were perhaps a hundred of them standing in the afternoon sun, protected by chainlink fences.

  Somebody began to play a tape of David Bowie's new album,

  Dream Along, and I did just that.

  I didn't wake up until long after dark. There was a strong smell of salami. Jim was eating a sandwich that had been offered him by a magnificently uniformed British naval officer who now sat across the aisle from us, ready to give us what proved to be a truly extraordinary interview.

  Jim glanced at me. "We're in Nevada," he said.

  All I did was nod.

  Interview

  Captain Malcolm Hargreaves, Sub-Popper

  I am on a five-day leave, on my way to see the Rocky Mountains.

  I'll shift in Ogden to the Rio Grande Zephyr for the scenery and go down to Denver. Then I'll fly back to base.

  We have been in California for eight days. The Royal Navy has enjoyed learning about the famous California lifestyle. I'm from Yorkshire, and I believe I've seen more sunlight in a week here than we do in a whole Yorks' summer. And every time you turn around, there's another swimming pool. Not to mention an aspect my men have particularly enjoyed, which is meeting some of your wonderful girls. I confess to being unattached myself, so this hasn't been without interest for me, either.

  Now I did tell you at the outset that I
would not be discussing details of the range or speed of my ship, or exactly how our weapons operate. But of course we are what is popularly called a "sub-popper," and that is not a completely inaccurate name. It does describe our mission very well. As you know, the war left a large number of unidentified submarines, armed with nuclear missiles, sailing about the oceans of the world. They are all what we call

  "code blind," which is to say that there is presently nobody to send them the codes they need either to fire their missiles or to come home. So they continue on station, generally, until they get low on nuclear fuel or some essential supply, or break down in a critical 209

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  part, whereupon they either return to base and are disarmed, or they sink.

  If you are like three-quarters of the people we naval types encounter, you'll want to know something about the present naval situation. GHQ Pacific Office of Information gives us a prepared summary, which I can read into your machine.

  "On Warday there were more than one thousand major combatant U.S. and Soviet ships at sea, of which 380 were submarines, 100 of them American and 280 Soviet. Of these craft, as far as is known, only the S. Shuvakov actually fired weapons, and this ship was responsible for the destruction of the United States Seventh and Third Fleets in the Pacific. In this case, a single submarine of the Typhoon class destroyed the most massive assemblage of capital ships in human history and took, in a few moments, over twenty thousand human lives, utilizing eleven SS-N-20 missiles, each deploying six warheads of four megatons each. The destruction of the other American surface fleets was carried out by land-based weapons, except the Sixth Fleet in the Mediterranean, which was an operation of unknown nature, possibly involving the firing of nuclear-armed SS-N-9 missiles by a Nanuchka-cl&ss corvette, or AS-43 fired by a TU22-M bomber. All American operational aircraft carriers on the high seas were destroyed within the first ten minutes of the war, including the four nuclear aircraft carriers and eight of the ten conventional carriers. Of the 190 other major combat vessels in the U.S. surface navy, 141 were destroyed or damaged and later abandoned. With the destruction of the naval staff and all personnel records in Washington, the U.S. Navy ceased to be an operational fighting force on Warday.

  "The Soviet surface navy was also rendered nonfunctional on Warday. Both carriers were destroyed, the Kiev in Motovskij Gulf along with approximately one hundred other ships in the immediate area. The Soviet Baltic Fleet attempted to escape into the North Sea, but was substantially repelled by NATO forces, primarily U.K. and Danish antisubmarine forces, which were responsible for the confirmed destruction of eighty-two Soviet submarines of various classes, including numerous nuclear-powered types. The eight Typhoon-class submarines in the Baltic did not sortie. Three of these have subsequently been destroyed by the Royal Navy, one CALIFORNIA DANGERS 211

  has ceased to be operational, and the other four remain functional, but the political situation in the Soviet area is too unstable to allow a determination of the present loyalties of the crews. These submarines are extremely dangerous, and will be sunk. The Pacific Fleet at Vladivostok was destroyed by American action. Some Soviet ships were found disabled for lack of fuel by French relief forces entering Vietnam in 1989. The bulk of these ships were at Cam Ranh Bay and were scuttled by their crews. The Soviet units stranded at Aden were interned by the Royal Navy. These included the helicopter carrier Moskva, with a complement of eighteen K A -

  25 helicopters; three GW-ASW cruisers fully armed and lacking only fuel; twelve GW destroyers in the same condition, all of the

  Kildin class; four GW corvettes of the Tarantul class and three of the Nanuchka class; and four Matka-class hydrofoils, which had been posted down from Black Sea ports during the Syrian affair in 1987. The fleet replenishment vessel Berezina was intercepted in the Indian Ocean at this time, and has been refitted as HMS Tri-

  umph.

  "Remaining U.S. naval forces are presently attached as the United States Special Detachment to the Royal Navy, commanded by Admiral the Rt. Hon. Vincent D. B. Hughes and Vice-Admiral (U.S.) Charles Greene Phillips. These forces, primarily in the antisubmarine area, constitute a vital and important part of the free world's seagoing naval strength."

  Now that's the lot from the Office of Information. I'm supposed to give copies of that to any reporters who approach me, so here are two copies.

  So, what can I say about myself? I am captain of the Type 12

  antisubmarine frigate Ulysses, operating in cooperation with Fleet Air Arm antisubmarine forces and U.S. Navy antisubmarine forces based in Hawaii, Midway Island, and San Diego. Our theater of operations is the western Pacific. We are attached to STANAVFOR-PAC, the Standing Naval Force Pacific of the International Treaty Organization countries. Our mission is to destroy unidentified submarines.

  I am invariably asked, when I am on shore leave, whether we destroy American nuclear submarines. I can only repeat the aim of our mission. We do destroy all unidentified submarine craft. That 212 WARDAY

  means that we may or may not know what countries those submarines are from. Perhaps some are American, although that would surprise me. Since they lost communication with their bases, most American submarines have returned to U.S. waters and surfaced, or are in communication with us in some way. The mission of the Royal Navy with regard to submarines is not to destroy the remaining nuclear capacity of the United States and the USSR, or to impede them in the re-formation of government in their countries, but to remove the threat of the unknown—submarine crews, loyal perhaps to governments that no longer exist, under severe psychological pressure, suddenly firing their missiles in the mistaken belief that they are obligated to do so. There is also the possibility that both sides left "long-trigger" ships with orders to hide for a period of years, then suddenly attack. These ships must be sunk before they open their orders.

  I suppose the greatest engagement of my career was with a pack of one Typhoon-class submarine and three smaller vessels in the Aleutians about a year ago. These ships had been hiding under the Arctic ice for approximately forty-four months and were making a run for Vladivostok, evidently unaware that this port no longer exists. We suspected that they were there because of persistent reports from isolated communities in Alaska and Canada of raiding parties who spoke Russian to one another and who appeared out of nowhere to steal food. Sometimes these reports took as long as six months to reach us, because of unreliable communications, but we felt that they certainly indicated the presence of Soviet vessels under the ice cap. Indeed, there is no reason to believe that there are not still Soviet and American submarines on station there. Present long-range detection techniques do not offer us as reliable an indication of submarine activity beneath ice as we would like.

  At any rate, we got a very good signal on these boats just as they were coming round the island of Umnak in the Pox Islands.

  Why they were there, and not hugging the coast of Siberia, we do not know.

  As you might or might not know, a Typhoon-class submarine was the Soviet equivalent of a Trident, displacing twenty-five CALIFORNIA DANGERS 213

  thousand tons and armed with twenty missiles of intercontinental range. We identified the presence of a Typhoon-class vessel by the emission signature of its reactor. Naturally, we were eager to destroy this ship, as it was one of four remaining Typhoons and, next to the three Tridents still unaccounted for, is certainly the most dangerous vessel on the high seas. This one ship would, for example, be capable of reducing your California, in its entirety, to the present condition of Washington or San Antonio.

  So we were very eager to get a kill while avoiding even the suspicion of detection ourselves. We found that we were out of range of the only Royal Navy carrier operating in the area, the old Her-

  mes with its complement of Harriers. Thus we determined that the

  Typhoon would have to be located very precisely and then destroyed by Ulysses. The job was quite an exciting challenge, I can assure you.

  It was on
e of those gray, cheerless days common in the North Pacific, when the wind blows with massive force and the sea birds fly before it. When I went on deck, bits of ice quickly formed in my beard. In addition to the winds, we had blowing fog. Earlier we had passed through a vast fleet of Japanese fishing vessels, including a huge automatic whaler. As fish meal is now the primary source of protein for that nation of ninety-seven millions, you can well imagine the size of this fleet. It was operating in INTO-foreclosed waters, meaning that fishing operations there are illegal except to signatories. In this case, the Gulf of Alaska. We had detached a frigate to check the papers of the Japanese fishermen; there have been many reports of Chinese fishing vessels operating illegally in American waters in recent years, and they are to be sunk if they are found. Only the Japanese, the British, the Danes, the Iceland-ers, and the Norse may fish former U.S.-controlled waters.

  We found ourselves approximately 420 nautical miles south-southwest of the target. The Soviet ships were deployed across an area of twenty square miles, with the Typhoon in the center of its group of four support submarines. The pack was moving in a southerly direction at a speed of 20 knots. We were able to deploy a Nimrod aircraft from San Diego and maintain a continuous exact fix on the Soviet ships. Our objective was to destroy all five subma-

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  rines simultaneously. We began closing at flank speed and prepared our weapons, which consisted of Harpoon missiles delivered via helicopter and directly from shipboard.

  As the target was moving in our rough direction, closing time was fairly rapid. We were able to gain a positive identification of the support submarines about two hours after contact. These were E-1 class boats, attack submarines. Their purpose would be defense of the Typhoon, and they could be assumed to be carrying nuclear-tipped surface-skimming torpedoes. We had to assume that we were already in range of these vessels. Our Nimrod assistance began relaying satellite data to us at about this time, and we were able to project the exact position of each boat on our maps and supply our computers with all necessary coordinates. I then ordered our helicopter complement to the attack and stood back with the ships. It is known that Soviet aircraft-detection equipment has a much shorter range than the equipment that detects ship noise.