A loud beep ended the message, Dimitri draining his glass and slumping backwards, listening to the hushed whispers of alarm coming from below his officer’s viewing box, shrugging as he raised the bottle once more, vodka splashing into the tumbler and across his fingers.
The claxon alarms sounded louder across remote areas of Russian territory, underground silos in the northern Chinese states also opening as ringing alarms resounded across the landscape. The large remote launching lorries in western Russia now fully supported next to their wide tyres by sturdy side mounts, single and twin rocket racks slowly rising skywards as the crews tapped furiously on their laptops. Most engineers were fully aware of the jamming and the need to ensure the missiles were able to continue at high altitude without additional remote guidance.
Jet engines roared into life, smoke and fumes billowing from the open top silos as the seconds ticked away, the timers eventually reaching zero as the backdraft increased, intense thrust surging from the base of the rockets as they slowly rose, gathering velocity before emerging from underground in a billowing grey shroud. Clearing the silos, the missiles tore upwards and into the darkened sky, flames and smoke trails lining the wakes as the rockets soared into the heavens.
Startled people in an increasing radius stared upwards aghast, realising the implications of what they could see, the sheer horror of what had occurred…some uneven able to process what they had witnessed as they slipped into deep shock.
The missile lights soared skywards, the numerous trails seeming to fill the sky in either direction as many witnesses simply wept openly or sought comfort from friends, partners and family. Terrified whimpers, shrieks of dread and fear filled remote farmhouses, village streets and houses as more and more civilians looked upwards, their eyes straining in disbelief as many people already pushed to the edge of belief simply opened spirit bottles or rolled joints in sheer incredulous despondency.
A few were not so concerned…stunned retreating and wounded soldiers, the demoralised fleeing civilians that had survived witnessing brutality beyond their wildest imaginations now considering that this was the inevitable final throw of the dice…that there was nothing left for the military to do.
Either way, some believed the chances of survival were now diminishing by the hour…that a miserable and merciless end was now surely only a matter of time.
Prime Minister’s bunker, Great Britain
Sky Commander Petaski slumped onto a red easy sofa before a small coffee table in their designated room, a low wattage table lamp the only illumination in the ornate confined space, wooden panelling filling the lower walls, crème painted cracked plaster walls above. Glancing round, he sighed further, recalling the heated argument in the meeting room, covert reports from a special operations unit in the Ukraine indicating that numerous missiles had been launched across the horizon, the messages routed through several exchanges across western Europe before arriving in Britain.
The fleet intelligence officer leant next to him to pour some tea as he whispered warily, ‘We need to get this new information to Admiral Karladen…and quickly.’ He slipped the fleet cap from his head and dropped it onto the table top, indicating to the one of two bunks where the covert communicator was concealed, ‘I will ask to be present on the forthcoming conference with the United States President...you speak to the ship and brief the admiral personally…the humans should not be allowed to suspect anything. We need the medical bay to start producing protective tablets and injections as soon as possible…they will not stop any physical damage, but could reduce the effects of radiation poisoning.’
He wearily sank back further as the young female officer sighed, ‘The Morgons will target the most potent missiles inside the atmosphere…the rest will be allowed to detonate across their shields, they have done it before.’ She lowered tentatively onto the edge of the sofa next to him, their dark blue uniforms contracting against the deep crimson material behind, ‘They may target the remaining caches of missiles still on earth? The Americans and other countries have sufficient stocks to destroy the planet several times over…’
Petaski shook his head, running a hand through his hair nervously, ‘Unlikely, but a possibility. We must hope the enemy will not want to endanger so many of their own troops…physically they are more resilient than us, able to adapt to extreme climates and pollution, but they must have a limit…and there are many of them here now. I believe their commanders will use the current opportunity presented to them to weaken the human defences further…’
They glanced up startled as there was a brief knock at the door, a muffled voice coming from the corridor, ‘Sky Commander…the link is going live shorty, the Prime Minister has requested your presence.’
Video Conferencing
The Sky Commander lowered himself onto the chair next to the Prime Minister, straightening his navy uniform in readiness as the technician behind the side camera counted down with his fingers, the screens ahead flickering as images of the German, French and Italian leaders formed, the last but one screen flickering before the face of the US President became clear.
There was a short pause as the microphones and speakers were checked, the Prime Minister turning his head slightly to whisper grimly, ‘It looks like we are entering the final stages of this war. The Russians and now invariably…as a result, the Chinese seem to have ceased communications, we are fragmenting rather than joining together to fight a common enemy…’
The technician coughed, two immaculately suited MI5 agents now stood behind the camera as the US President forced a smile, nodding for the Prime Minister to continue. The British leader cleared his throat, shaking his head in frustration, ‘Mr President, as the European leaders are now aware, we believe Russia and possibly
