Nuclear Winter First Strike

by Bobby Akart

  Peter shrugged and shook his head. “That’s a long shot.”

  “It is. The other pressure is from the UN, but they’ve had little influence over North Korea in the past.”

  “Bribery,” quipped Peter. North Korea was notorious for demanding a king’s ransom from world powers for the mere promise of behaving like a civilized nation. It had always worked. For a while.

  “Yes.” Jenna glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry. I don’t have much time. I need to meet with the rest of the communications team as we divide up our responsibilities. Others are being dispatched to Cheyenne Mountain and Mount Weather.”

  Peter looked glum. “I know. You gotta go.”

  Jenna spontaneously hugged and kissed him. They’d always made a point to avoid public displays of affection since they were technically on opposite sides of the podium.

  Peter hugged her back, and they held their embrace for nearly a minute. Then, with a final kiss, a goodbye, and a promise to be safe, the two parted ways. One left for the safety of a hardened nuclear bunker. The other for his condo, his mind full of conflict as to what he should do.

  Part VII

  One Week in October

  Day seven, Thursday, October 24

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Thursday, October 24

  Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center

  Northern Virginia

  The 2008 Democratic primary campaign advertisement had been deemed one of the best in modern history. The scene, ominous, if not creepy, began in the middle of the night. It was 3:00 a.m. Sleeping children. A ringing telephone. The undertone of a matter of grave importance in the narrator’s voice. It was a who-do-you-want-in-charge, Cold War-esque display asking voters whom they trusted to lead the country during a world crisis when that phone rang in the middle of the night.

  Every president had their three-in-the-morning phone call moment. This was President Carter Helton’s. Ironically, just after 3:00 a.m.

  He was awakened by his chief of staff, and he hurriedly dressed in a pair of Penn State University sweats. There was no time for decorum, as nuclear weapons had been launched once again.

  North Korea had been relatively quiet throughout the exchange of ballistic missiles in South Asia. In the past twenty-four hours, that had changed. During the DPRK’s 13th Party Congress, Kim did a lot of chest-puffing. Apparently, he was prepared to follow through on his threats.

  Most analysts believed if a second Korean war broke out with the use of nuclear weapons, it would be deadly, producing millions of deaths just in the South Korean capital of Seoul. However, if North Korea deployed their nuclear arsenal toward Japan as well, countless more millions would die.

  Following the war handbook developed by Russia, the North Koreans had amassed troops and accompanying military assets on the border with South Korea in a show of force. Many thought they were feigning an invasion in an attempt to gain concessions at the UN bargaining table.

  Then, mere minutes ago, they fired two nuclear-tipped ICBMs into South Korea. The first was successfully destroyed by the U.S. Aegis ballistic missile defense system located in Japan. The second warhead struck the heart of Seoul, vaporizing a million South Koreans instantly.

  Seconds after the Aegis missiles were fired from Japanese soil, Kim turned his sights on Tokyo. He immediately declared war on Japan and initiated the launch sequence. Within minutes, three ICBMs were launched from missile silos on the east coast of North Korea toward Japan.

  Tokyo’s population of nine million plus lived in one of the highest density cities in the world. Two of the three ICBMs found their marks, devastating the city, including the famed Imperial Palace. Once again, the Aegis defense system worked, but with only marginal success.

  Kim wasn’t through yet. He saw the use of the U.S. built and maintained Aegis system being deployed against his nuclear arsenal as being tantamount to Washington declaring war on Pyongyang. He chose to ignore the defensive nature of the Aegis deployment.

  He fired four ICBMs across the Pacific toward the West Coast of the United States and one toward Hawaii in rapid succession. Their estimated time of arrival was half past the hour of three in the morning. They were followed by a second wave of three more ICBMs that followed a different path over the Arctic Circle toward East Coast targets.

  The U.S. missile defense system was a global network with twenty-four-hour surveillance by land, sea, and space-based sensors, all of which were constantly looking for signs of anything amiss in North Korea. Regional missile interceptors were deployed in Japan, South Korea, Guam and on U.S. Navy ships, while military bases in Alaska and California were equipped to intercept missiles headed toward the United States.

  When North Korea launched their missiles, U.S. satellites detected them almost instantaneously through infrared signals. In less than a minute, the satellites raised the alarm, and the command-and-control center at Schriever Air Force Base near Colorado Springs, Colorado, sprang into action.

  Minutes later, President Helton entered the operations center at Mount Weather. Thus far all decisions made in the defense of South Korea and Japan had been made by pre-established protocols and programmed responses. The same was true of the U.S. intercepts of the incoming ICBMs.

  The command center at Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado immediately got involved. They directed the radars in the region to track the multiple missiles as they climbed toward outer space. During that five-to-seven-minute period of time, the radar systems gathered data, like trajectory, velocity and altitude, to send back to the command center. Complex computer analysis was applied so the military could identify what type of missile was launched and whether it could reach the U.S.

  During this boost phase was the ideal time to intercept a missile, but the current defense system wasn’t equipped to do so yet.

  Normally, the officers at the command center would consult with U.S. Northern Command, Northcom, based at Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado Springs, where a round-the-clock watch officer would be responsible for approving an interceptor launch. If there was time, they might notify the secretary of defense in Washington, too.

  However, under the circumstances, all hands were on deck, and the president himself was included in the discussions. It was agreed. Launch orders were approved and sent to Fort Greely and Vandenberg Air Force Base, both of which were best positioned to intercept.

  It had been ten minutes since the North Korean missile launches were first detected. America’s ground-based interceptors, or GBIs, were the only weapons capable of destroying an ICBM. Until that early morning on the seventh day of the global nuclear war, they’d only been tested against such a missile once—with success.

  The U.S. only had thirty-six GBIs—four in California and thirty-two in Alaska. The secretary of defense recommended they launch two-to-three GBIs per incoming missile to improve the odds of success during an attack. That stockpile reduced the American defenses, and those advising the president cautioned U.S. defenses could theoretically be overpowered if North Korea were to fire multiple missiles after these first two barrages.

  The president immediately ordered a counterstrike. While they acted to defend American soil, he surmised, they should shut down Kim’s ability to hit them twice. The launch sequence was initiated, and seven powerful ICBMs were launched from their missile silos in the Northern Rockies toward North Korea.

  At this point, the North Korean warheads were three-quarters of the way through their thirty-minute journey to the U.S. The military’s success in defending against the multiple ICBMs was equated with hitting a bullet with another bullet. It had been done in simulations.

  Against a single incoming ICBM.

  In their simulations, never had the nation’s nuclear defenses fought off multiple incoming missile threats at once.

  “Ten minutes to first strike,” a computer-generated voice announced through the operation center speakers mounted overhead.

  There was nothing else for them to do. The launches, b
oth defensive and offensive, had been effectuated. Now a president, and those in control of America’s military might, waited.

  While warning alarms and sirens were activated from sea to shining sea.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Thursday, October 24

  Driftwood Key

  Mike wasn’t able to sleep. He and Jessica had worked well into the evening, assisting Monroe County sheriff’s deputies as they directed traffic in and out of the Florida Keys. At one point, in Key Largo, two drunk drivers ran into one another, triggering an all-out brawl where Atlantic Boulevard intersected with U.S. 1. It was a notoriously busy intersection where several streets came together, as well as multiple pedestrian crosswalks.

  The two drunken men broke out in a fistfight. This triggered their inebriated girlfriends to join the fray. Soon other motorists, perturbed at the delay, tried to force their way past the wrecked cars in the center of the intersection. Push came to shove, literally, as bumpers were used to clear a path through. This resulted in more anger. When one of the motorists pulled a handgun and began to fire into the air, ostensibly to bring order to the mayhem, panic ensued.

  The gunfire caused drivers to seek safety. They drove over curbs to race into parking lots. Some chose the median as the four-lane highway through Key Largo split. The median of the divided highway was soon filled with cars racing down the sidewalk, through parking lots of businesses, and over native plant material.

  When order was finally restored, a fender bender between drunks resulted in four pedestrians being sent to the hospital, another half dozen with superficial wounds, and multiple accidents.

  However, it was not news of the Key Largo madness that upset Mike the most. It was the fact he’d lost all assistance from the FDLE, and the detectives were turned into traffic cops, including himself.

  That evening, as the drinks flowed, Mike and Jessica had vowed to call out sick the next day. During their entire career with the MCSO, neither had contracted the so-called blue flu, an act of defiance by law enforcement officers under the pretext of being ill. In this case, they simply wanted to catch a killer.

  Hank raised a legitimate question. He’d asked, “In the scheme of things, wouldn’t it be better to protect the living rather than worry about the dead?”

  Mike disagreed with his brother and was blunt in his response. “There’ll be more dead if we don’t catch this guy.”

  The long evening stretched into the early morning hours of the next day. The group finally called it a night, with Hank going to bed first. Jessica was sound asleep as Mike stared at the ceiling, fuming over the day’s events and contemplating the ramifications of bucking his superiors.

  Just as he was about to doze off, both of their cell phones began to vibrate and emit an alert. The buzz and tone had the same sound as those used for Amber alerts and catastrophic weather warnings. Unlike the Amber and weather alerts, cell phone users cannot mute, silence, or turn off the presidential alert, as it was called. The message was meant to include critical lifesaving information, such as a nuclear attack.

  It was 3:17 a.m. The continuous rhythmic tone shook Jessica awake and prompted Mike to jump out of bed in search of his phone. Then the computer-generated voice made the announcement.

  “Attention. Attention. This is the National Warning Center. Emergency.

  This is an Attack Warning. Repeat. This is an Attack Warning.”

  At that moment, across America and its territories, FEMA interrupted radio and television broadcasts. The FAA sent alerts to all airborne pilots and air traffic control centers. NOAA interrupted its weather radio network. The Coast Guard broadcast nuclear war warnings to all mariners at sea in the Atlantic, Pacific, and Gulf of Mexico.

  IPAWS, the acronym for the Integrated Public Alert and Warning System, combined the Emergency Alert System used for decades with the new addition, the Wireless Emergency Alerts System. It was functioning on all cylinders.

  Nine minutes after the nuclear ICBMs were launched from North Korea toward the U.S., the warnings were activated. It was estimated the incoming nukes would strike their West Coast targets within twenty-two minutes. The East Coast had two minutes beyond that.

  “What did it say?” asked Jessica, who was still groggy from the drinks and the limited sleep.

  “It said the shit just hit the fan,” replied Mike as he searched for the light switch. The couple was staying in a guest room upstairs that they hadn’t used in a while. It was located at the end of the hall on the opposite side of the house where Hank’s master bedroom was located.

  With the lights on, he scrambled to get his clothes on. He was desperate to get downstairs and turn on the television. Jessica stayed in bed with the sheet pulled up over her chest. She tried to read the alert on her phone with just one eye open.

  Mike raced out of their room to wake up Hank. Just as he reached his door, Hank flung it open, half-dressed.

  “You got it, too?” Hank asked his brother.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you think it’s real or a false alarm like before?”

  “I’m about to find out,” Mike responded. Barefoot, he hustled down the wide, sweeping staircase leading to the foyer of the main house. He rushed into the bar, turned on the lights, and skipped looking for the remote. He reached up to turn on the television, which had been on CNN for days during the drama. The screen confirmed his greatest fear.

  “God help us.”

  The voice was Phoebe’s. She stood in the opening with Sonny and Jimmy. Hank and Jessica arrived behind them. All of their eyes were transfixed on the television. Their mouths were agape but couldn’t speak a word.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Thursday, October 24

  Falls Church, Virginia

  Peter had stayed up for hours drinking the last beers in his refrigerator and eating two frozen CPK pizzas. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been depressed and wasn’t sure if that was what he was going through now. He scoured online news sources and monitored social media for any indication of what might be happening on the Korean Peninsula. His mind constantly wandered to Jenna. He missed having her to text with, or even for their occasional sleepovers. Moreover, he worried for her safety when he should’ve been worried about his own.

  Mentally exhausted and just a little drunk, he went to bed, leaving the muted television on with BBC International playing. His cell phone had fallen between the seat cushions of his couch. The lights were on. All out of character for the man who normally kept his condo neat. Tonight, he simply wasn’t interested in being responsible.

  Peter bypassed the usual stages of sleep and went directly into REM sleep characterized by rapid eye movement and dreaming. Physiologically, REM was very different from stages one through four of the sleep processes. Muscles become atonic, meaning without movement. Breathing became erratic, and the body’s heart rate increased dramatically.

  During REM, dreams became more vivid and were often remembered upon awakening. External stimuli, such as sounds and movements, were sometimes disregarded by the brain despite the fact they were real. Oftentimes, it was difficult to differentiate between the visions of the dream and the actual sounds surrounding the sleeper.

  Peter’s dream was an odd combination of his past interactions with Jenna and a nightmarish apocalyptic movie that was part Walking Dead, part Thirteen Days, the story of the Cuban Missile Crisis featuring Kevin Costner.

  In his dream, he’d placed himself in the bunker with the president, visualizing the decision-making process in real time. He heard the warning signals being emitted from the myriad of computer stations in the control room filled with snappily dressed military leaders. Then his dreamy state rushed outside the safe confines of the bunker, where it witnessed a fireball followed by a mushroom cloud.

  The imagery of a nuclear detonation blinded him in his sleep, causing him to roll over to bury his face in the pillow. Then, as quickly as the cloud expanded into the atmosphere, human figures appeared to wa
lk out of the fire. They were charred and still smoldering. Skin had peeled away from their bones while muscles and organs melted before his eyes.

  And there were the screams. Ghostly. Eerie. Painful. Souls in agony as they begged for help. Not help for their wounds. They sought someone to put them out of their misery.

  What didn’t fit into his fitful dreams were the incessant beeping sounds accompanied by an electronic, monotone voice. The wails of the dead or dying contradicted the repetition of the computer-generated monster filling his head.

  Frustrated by his inability to reconcile the intrusion of the outside voice with the nightmarish scene he was visualizing in his mind, Peter opened his eyes and shot up in bed. He blinked twice in order to focus on the cheap LED clock on his nightstand. It was 3:27 a.m. He took a deep breath and listened.

  The voice was muffled, as if someone was sitting on the head of the person speaking. His mind raced. Or was the voice being smothered by a pillow in an attempt to silence the warning?

  Peter jumped out of bed naked, disregarding the open curtains in his first-floor bedroom that he’d failed to close when he’d passed out earlier. He rushed into his living room. The BBC International broadcast had been replaced with the IPAWS warning chyron.

  He rustled through the couch and found his cell phone. Peter was fully awake now, standing in his living room unclothed and completely lucid. He noticed the time of the first text alert. He checked the time on his iPhone, which was most accurate. It had been eleven minutes.

  “Dammit!” he yelled loud enough to wake his adjoining neighbors if they hadn’t been awakened already. Shadows of people milling about in the hallway forced Peter to remember he was naked. He raced back to the bedroom and quickly put on a fresh set of clothes.