Foxbat

expression of American military might.

The Enterprise was the capital ship of Carrier Strike Group Twelve, and in company with her were the guided-missile frigate USS Nicholas, the two Aegis-system guided-missile destroyers USS Leyte and USS McFaul, and the Fast Combat Support Ship USNS Supply. Somewhere in the same stretch of ocean, but invisible to all, was the last vessel in the group, the USS Alexandria, a Los Angeles-class nuclear-powered hunter-killer that, like all submarines, remained completely unaffected by the weather on the surface.

The problem faced by the Enterprise’s captain was simple enough. He’d been ordered by his controlling authority to divert to the Korean Peninsula, but currently between the ship’s position and his destination was a large tropical storm that showed no particular inclination to move anywhere in a hurry.

Steaming right through the middle of this weather system wasn’t an option. No competent mariner in his right mind would venture anywhere near a tropical storm, irrespective of the size and power of his vessel, and William ‘Buck’ Rodgers was extremely competent, for the small handful of naval officers selected to command America’s capital ships are the absolute cream of their profession. And even if Rodgers had been prepared to risk such a dangerous passage with the Enterprise, there was no way he would expose the other, much smaller, Group Twelve vessels to the same danger. One way or another, they would have to go around it.

He’d summoned his senior meteorological officer and instructed him to calculate the storm’s likely track and speed and, once he had the met man’s best guess to hand, he had then spent twenty minutes discussing the problem with his ops officer, and deciding the optimum course for the battle group to take.

Only now, twelve hours later, did Rodgers finally leave the bridge and head for his cabin. On his way down, he stuck his head into the met office and congratulated the staff there for their judgement, because they’d been right. The senior met officer had predicted that the depression causing the storm would deepen and head south- east, a movement that would take the worst of the weather away from the Enterprise’s direct track towards the Korean Peninsula. And the picture on the weather radar now showed that trend clearly.

The group would just clip the northern edge of the storm, and the sea was already rough, with white horses everywhere and a long swell running. The navigator had told Rodgers that they would be clear of the storm within about five hours, and then they could turn south-west, crank up the engines and head straight for Korea.

They had a long way to go but, at least for the Super Hornets, they should be within flying distance of the peninsula within twenty-four hours.

HMS Illustrious, Yellow Sea

When Richter and Black stepped onto the bridge, they found Alexander Davidson waiting for them. He took a last look through the windows, had a short word with the Officer of the Watch, then motioned for them to follow him down to the Bridge Mess.

‘CINCFLEET has finally replied,’ the captain announced, as Richter slid the door closed. ‘Our American cousins are not entirely certain what happened to the missile launched from Ok’pyong yesterday, but they do know that a nuclear device with a yield between fifteen and twenty kilotons was detonated in the North Pacific ocean on that missile’s extended flight-path. The obvious conclusions are that the North Koreans have manufactured a nuclear weapon small enough to be carried by a Taep’o-dong, and that this missile’s range has been significantly increased by the addition of a bigger third stage. If those deductions are correct, about a third of mainland America is now under direct threat from the Pyongyang regime.

‘And that, I suspect, is why CINCFLEET didn’t get back to us sooner. They’ve been waiting for the Americans to confirm exactly what happened, but they still don’t know for sure. Meanwhile, two North Korean merchant ships are known to have been in the area of the Pacific where the detonation occurred, so it’s also possible that one of those was carrying the weapon, which was detonated using a timer or radio signal. But, whatever the truth, the Americans now know that Pyongyang definitely has a missile that can reach the US West Coast, and that they possess working nuclear weapons.’

‘So what does CINCFLEET want us to do now?’ Black asked.

‘I’ve received no further tasking orders,’ Davidson admitted, ‘so we carry on. That means CAP and ASW patrols, and a permanent AEW Sea King presence. We stay for the moment at Yellow Alert and just hope this whole situation blows over.’

‘Rather than blows up?’ Black suggested.

‘Quite.’

Intercontinental Ballistic Missile (ICBM) Complex, Malmstrom Air Force Base, Great Falls, Cascade County, Montana

‘Jim was right,’ Richard Whitman muttered, almost to himself. From the moment he’d pressed the button to swing the blast door shut behind the two off-watch officers, the capsule communication systems – comprising speakers, telephones and teletype machines – had remained ominously silent.

Then, twenty-six minutes after Keeble had left, the alarm bell sounded, indicating an Alert Command received from Offutt. Whitman and Fredericks immediately initiated the standard response procedure. Fredericks sealed the blast doors and switched the capsule to emergency air and power supplies, while Whitman, as the senior officer, picked up the red phone that was their link to USStratCom’s Primary Alerting System. The voice at the Command Center sounded clipped and somewhat metallic.

‘An Emergency Action Message has been received from the National Command Authority. Standby for immediate retransmission. Out.’

The line went dead but, even before Whitman had replaced the telephone, the high-speed teletype began clattering, spitting out lines of text. Fredericks got to the teletype first, and scanned rapidly over the printed pages.

‘This appears to be an authentic Emergency Action Message, sir,’ he called out. He tore off the sheets and passed them to Whitman.

‘Roger,’ replied Whitman, then grabbed a pencil as the overhead speaker crackled into life.

‘Stand by for authentication message. Prepare to copy. Message reads Oscar Tango Three Charlie Delta Seven Foxtrot November Papa Juliet Nine Sierra.’

Whitman’s fingers flew across the paper, copying down the phonetic symbols that comprised the twelve- digit authentication message. The speaker crackled back into silence and, as Whitman reached for the current launch code, the teletype began printing again, repeating the same authentication as hard copy. Fredericks tore the latest sheet from the teletype and placed it in front of Whitman. Together, the two officers compared the three lines of symbols – the printed launch code, Whitman’s hand-written digits and the sheet taken from the teletype.

‘Authentication is correct, sir,’ Fredericks announced.

‘I concur,’ Whitman replied. ‘Open the box.’

There are two red padded chairs in the missile control capsule, positioned at right angles to each other and a regulation twelve feet apart, into which the duty officers strap themselves when an alert is called. Each chair faces an identical console, on which is displayed the current status of all ten Minuteman missiles, and which also contains the buttons and switches used to launch them.

Between the two chairs, on a wall shelf, is the so-called Red Box. Identical to the boxes found in the cockpits of B-52 and other nuclear-capable bombers and the command and control centres of ballistic missile-carrying submarines, the lid of the box is secured by two combination locks. For added security, each officer knows only one of these numbers. Inside the box is the Emergency War Order containing the Top Secret validation codes that are used to authenticate the Nuclear Control Order when it’s issued, and the two silver keys required for missile launch.

The two officers reached up and spun the numbers on the combination locks, which clicked open almost simultaneously. Whitman reached inside the box and pulled out a sealed folder with a bright red cover, and the two firing keys. He passed one key to Fredericks, and put the other one on the console in front of his own chair.