Invasion: New York

in the central situation chamber. Gunther badly wanted a cigarette. He craved one, in fact. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Look at that. Death raced toward the fleet. Certainly, the Americans would first try to take out the command ship. That was the GDN Otto von Bismarck, this ship.

“One nuclear warhead could ruin everything,” General Kaltenbrunner said in his gruff voice.

“Certainly, General,” the admiral said. “Ah, look, Strategic Defense is ready, and not a moment too soon.”

“Explain what’s going on,” Kaltenbrunner said.

Gunther sneaked a glance over his shoulder. He saw the admiral point at the big screen. Gunther also looked up at the screen. It showed a strategic map of the US Atlantic seaboard, the Atlantic Ocean and parts of Western Europe and Western Africa. Red lines streaked across the US. Flashing red dots kept moving over the US and toward the fleet. Those were the enemy ICBMs.

Gunther wanted to groan. Maybe his father had been right after all. Excitement was better, and certainly safer, when gained from watching a movie. The real thing could hurt too much. Gunther had never truly believed he himself could get into danger that would maim him for life or kill him.

What was I thinking joining the Navy? In the end, father always knew best.

“What in the world is that?” Gunther whispered to himself. Fortunately, he heard the admiral explaining to General Kaltenbrunner that the blue lines that had just appeared on screen from Iceland and from Brittany were strategic-strength lasers beaming at the rapidly deployed space mirrors.

“Now we shall see how things go,” the admiral said. “Now we shall see if the Americans are any good at this.”

ATLANTIC OCEAN

The ICBM boosters had already fallen away and back to Earth. Boost phase had lasted a mere three minutes. The warheads presently sped through suborbital space and would do so for another ten minutes.

They were all presently unpowered and moved in ballistic trajectories like artillery shells. The warheads sat safely in cone-shaped reentry vehicles, grouped together on what was called a “bus.” They were hard to spot, as there was no rocket exhaust to see or other emissions to give them away. As they moved, each reentry vehicle released aluminized balloons to fool any enemy attempting to track them.

Now, however, far away in Iceland and on the continent near Brest, Brittany, strategic lasers shot their high-energy beams at the deployed GD mirrors high in Earth orbit.

The rays flashed up through the atmosphere, bounced off the precisely angled mirrors and flashed down at the speed of light at the reentry vehicles. Most of the beams missed, but one laser hit a reentry vehicle bus with its load of cones. The beam heated the mechanism to an intolerable degree, destroying the connections to the warheads and warping its structure. Soon, its role in guiding and releasing the reentry vehicles at the proper time was completely eliminated.

Now the warheads, lacking their final enabling update, would not cause a nuclear yield. They would fall in random places with massive kinetic energy, but nothing resembling the explosions they would otherwise deliver.

The silent but deadly war continued. GD automated tech battled American know-how. During the midcourse phase—and while using up tremendous amounts of energy—the strategic lasers eliminated six different reentry buses, causing sixty warheads to become simple dumb meteors, splashing down across thousands of miles of ocean.

Then that portion of the battle ended as the four surviving reentry buses took their final star readings, enabled their warheads, and released the cone-shaped reentry vehicles into the Earth’s atmosphere at high speed.

GDN BISMARCK

Warrant Officer Gunther Weise could hardly breathe. It felt as if his lung muscles had frozen or he’d forgotten how to use them. What he had just seen was incredible. He knew how difficult it was to bounce a laser off a space mirror precisely enough to hit and destroy a midcourse warhead. That GD Strategic Defense had gotten any of the US missiles surprised him. It almost made him laugh to hear the next words.

“We’re doomed,” General Kaltenbrunner told the neat little admiral with the white goatee beside him.

“Nonsense,” the admiral said. “Now it’s time for you to witness the effectiveness of my battleships. They are remarkable vessels, I assure you.”

As klaxons wailed, as the ships of the great armada continued to churn in various directions—like beetles scurrying from an overturned board—the ten battleships entered the fray.

Watching it, Gunther’s chest swelled with pride. This was why he had joined the Navy. His father was a good man, but sometimes, even fathers could be wrong.

I thought it was over. Now I realize we’re going to stop these nukes. We’re better than the Americans, far, far better than they could ever hope to be.

Gunther checked his controls. Everything was green. Everything was good. The pride in him rose even higher. He looked up at the big screen. Many of the personnel in here did likewise. The next two minutes would decide—

The fate of the world, Gunther realized. One way or another, this is history.

One part of the big screen did a zoom-in of the nearest battleship, the Blucher. The thing aimed a large targeting array into the sky. A missile launched, then another and another. They roared heavenward, carrying kinetic kill vehicles.

The missiles lofted, burning away their bottom stage. The next stage continued to accelerate them. The kinetic kill vehicles would smash against the incoming warheads. It was like shooting bullets at bullets.

On the screen, Gunther witnessed the first collision. More occurred, one, two, three, four—

“How many warheads are there?” Kaltenbrunner shouted.

“Yes, the Americans are dropping quite a few today,” the admiral admitted. “There must be ten warheads in each missile nosecone, forty targets for my battleships to destroy.”

Gunther didn’t want to hear that. Forty nuclear bombs headed for the fleet?

A minute ticked by, and Gunther sweated harder than before. Everyone in here watched the big screen. This was too much. He wished it would end. The suspense…

No, you must remember every sensation. If you live, you must describe everything to father.

“Did we get them all?” Kaltenbrunner asked.

“I’m not sure,” the admiral said, with the first hint of unease in his voice.

Then, from outside, came a tremendous, violently bright explosion.

Gunther’s jaw dropped. He watched the big screen. A vast, yellow symbol showed where a thermonuclear warhead destroyed a supercarrier and—one by one, other ship symbols winked out. In all, nineteen vessels disappeared from the screen.

Gunther sat back in shock. When was the next nuclear warhead going to ignite and destroy yet more ships?

“What about radiation?” General Kaltenbrunner asked in a loud voice. “Are we in danger from radiation poisoning?”

“Look,” the admiral said, pointing at the big screen. “That particular warhead ignited at the southern edge of the fleet. We’re steaming away from the blast. The radiation—”

“What if there are more bombs?” Kaltenbrunner shouted. “What if—” The general stopped shouting as the admiral touched his arm.

“Look at that!” Gunther shouted, as he stared at the screen.

General Kaltenbrunner, the admiral and everyone else in the chamber turned and stared at Gunther Weise. He had stood up and now pointed at the big screen. It showed a red hit, and then another and another. They came in swift succession, and they numbed Gunther. Were those more successful nuclear strikes? If so, then why were they still afloat? Why hadn’t more blinding flashes occurred?

Slowly, it dawned on Gunther that people stared at him. Few of those were friendly stares. Burning with shame, Gunther hurriedly sat down. He wished he could disappear.

“What of those?” Kaltenbrunner asked. “What do the red hits signify?”