Arctic Wind

Chapter 8 Picking up the Pieces

Hammond was in a deep sleep when the Secret Service agent stepped in and woke him. “Admiral, you need to get in uniform and come down to the situation room,” he said.

Somehow Hammond didn’t hesitate or question. He knew something had happened. Grabbing his uniform and quickly getting dressed, he followed the agent down to the bottom floor of the White House into the West wing basement, where the President was sitting in front of a large screen monitor, talking to someone in the Pentagon. He motioned for Hammond to take a seat. The room was already full of the White House military staff.

“What was hit?” he asked.

“Sir, it’s still early, but we are receiving reports from everywhere of our ships being targeted. As of now, the Lincoln has been hit and has settled onto the floor of Naples Bay, the Eisenhower was hit by four missiles and is heavily damaged, the Iwo Jima is sunk, the Stennis is heavily damaged, the Nimitz has light damage, the Vinson was struck by two torpedoes, the Truman was hit by a missile, the Washington was struck in Yokosuka, and the Bush was caught at sea and struck by six missiles. She is sinking,” the watch officer said.

“So they went after our carriers,” the President sighed.

“Not just the carriers. It appears they also targeted our battleship memorials. The New Jersey was hit three times and sustained some damage; the Alabama was hit four times, the Missouri once, the North Carolina was shot at, but the missiles hit the Memorial Bridge crossing the river. Same with the Massachusetts. The missiles fired at the Wisconsin hit the Nauticus museum instead. The Iowa was also shot at, but the missiles struck a Disney cruise liner which had just entered port with over 5,000 passengers. We don’t know how many were killed there,” he reported.

The President sat back in his seat and let out a deep breath. “Okay, get everyone up. I need the Joint Chief’s here in half an hour. Package everything you can and get it over to my people. Put everything at DEFCON One. Keep all the nukes safe and in their bunkers. Let me know if anything new comes in. Thanks for the brief,” he said as the screen shut down.

The President turned to Hammond. “They crossed the Polish border along a 50 mile front. Went right through the defenses and kept going. They are doing the same in Slovakia. You remember that thing you said about shock and awe? Well, they just did it to us. It looks like I have about a quarter of our carriers and Europe is in a tailspin.” He looked at Hammond. “You were right in all respects. Every carrier in port was hit. Those at sea were mostly okay. They even hit the battleships. Now we have to fight with a hand tied behind our backs again,” he sighed.

A phone rang and one of the staff answered it. He then turned to the President. “Sir, a Mr. Brad Freeman is on the line from CBS. He says it’s urgent.”

“Here it comes,” the President said. He picked up the phone and pressed the button. “Yes, Mr. Freeman.”

“It’s coming in from all over. How do you want to play this,” he said.

The President sat up in his seat. A look of determination grew on his face. “Brad, report it. Report it all. It appears the Russian Government has declared war on Europe and the United States. Let people know what happened, and tell them we are not backing down.”

Four missiles had entered the harbor in the small town of Mayport, Florida. Fortunately, since the Eisenhower was currently in Norfolk, there was no carrier in port. The missiles locked in on the largest target they could find in the area. All four struck the Mayport water tower. Immediately the ships in the harbor began to ready themselves for sea. The first out of port was USS Gettysburg, an older AEGIS cruiser. Captain Chuck Flank had rushed from his home in base housing and took charge. With the crew he had, he would take his chances at sea.

General Quarters had already been sounded and the ship was prepared when he dashed across the ship’s brow. The Command Duty Officer was there to meet him. “Captain, the ship is at GQ stations and we have the engines online and ready. We have a little over half the crew aboard. I ordered the officers to prepare to get the ship underway,” the young lieutenant, junior grade reported.

“Good work. Do we have a bridge crew?” the Captain asked as they nearly ran forward.

“Enough to get the job done, Captain. But it will be tough fighting the ship,” the officer said.

“That’s okay. I just want my ship out of danger,” Flank nearly shouted.

When they reached the bridge, there was a Chief Quartermaster at the helm and a First Class Bo’sn’s mate next to him. Two seamen were at the lookout positions and a First Class Quartermaster at the chart. Looking back at the pier, Flank watched as several cars screeched to a halt on the pier only to be abandoned by the drivers as they rushed up the brow.

“It’ll have to do,” said Flank to the people around him. “How do we stand on the electric, water and sewer lines?” he asked.

A young woman wearing a set of sound powered phones responded. “The ship is on internal power and the lines were just pulled to the pier. Sewer line is disconnected and water line is being worked on, sir,” she said.

“Are our people on the pier?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, they’ll come over as soon as the brow gets in. If we need to, one will stay on the pier to remove the lines,” said the officer.

Captain Flank nodded and punched a button on the bitch box. “Engineering, bridge. Are you guys ready to go?” he asked.

To his surprise, the Chief Engineer answered. “Ready in all respects, Captain. Four turbines on line, ready to answer all bells.”

“Good, standby.” Flank punched another button. “Damage Control, Bridge. How are we manned?”

“Captain, we have two full teams ready to go, and a partial to fill in if we need them,” reported the Chief in Damage Control Central.

Another button was pushed. “CIC, Bridge. What’s our status?”

“All systems online and in standby. All weapons stations are manned and ready. We are ready to get underway. We will have to run short staffed, but we can get the job done,” said the assistant CIC officer.

“Very well. Bring the systems online. I don’t know what to expect once we get to sea, but be ready for anything,” Flank ordered.

The ship’s Executive Officer suddenly appeared on the bridge along with several others, including a harbor pilot. He looked at the Captain. “Didn’t think I’d make it. You want me here or in CIC?”

“Go to CIC for now. Let’s get her underway,” Flank said. He turned to the Command Duty Officer. “Lieutenant Justice, you now have the deck and the con. Single up all lines,” he ordered.

Along the deck, several groups of people suddenly began disconnecting the lines that held the ship to the pier until only one line at each station remained. Flank turned to the pilot. “You don’t know how glad I am to have you here,” he said with a grin.

“I kinda thought you might need a little help. I’ll get the tug to tie up aft. Let’s back her around and then take off,” he said.

The pilot barked a few orders over his radio and a tug pulled up alongside the stern of the ship and passed over a line. When all was ready, the last of the mooring lines were cast off and the brow simply shoved over the side so that it would be on the pier. The tug pulled the ship’s stern toward the center of the harbor and the ship began to slowly make her way backward until she had plenty of clearance. Then the tug cast off and swung around to push the bow around. Within minutes, USS Gettysburg was around the corner and into the St. Johns River.

Captain Flank had the ship’s systems turned up full. The AEGIS system was pumping out 6 million watts of power to try and detect any missiles or ships which may be coming towards them. On the bridge, things were tense as the CIC watch began calling out contacts, their bearings, courses and speeds. Most were inbound airliners headed toward Jacksonville International Airport, but each new contact raised the sweat level of the people doing their jobs. The ship had made it into the channel when a gigantic explosion gripped the old ship and lifted the bow out of the water.

Almost immediately the electricity on the bridge went out and she began to settle by the bow. Flank and the rest of the crew were thrown from their feet. The Captain immediately sprang up and looked out over the bow to see that it was no longer lined up with the rest of the ship. “Do we have steering control?” he shouted.

Spinning the wheel and seeing the rudder change, the Chief reported, “Yes, Captain, I have steering control.”

Flank hit the damage control button and shouted. “DC Central, report!”

“Captain, we have reports of flooding all the way back to frame 100. I have guys going out, but it’s not good. Sir, the ship is going down,” came the report.

Flank knew it had to be done, but he nearly wept at the idea he had to do it. “Steer right. Put the ship up against the breakwater,” he said painfully.

Slowly, USS Gettysburg inched right, away from the center of the channel and toward the heavy rocks that formed the breakwater leading out to sea. Within a few minutes there was a great shudder as the bow ground into the rocks. There was a loud groan and a bang as the forward part of the ship snapped and moved to the left. The ship came to a halt.

“All stop,” the Captain ordered. He looked back at the pilot. “Is the stern clear?”

The pilot went to the port bridge wing and looked aft. “Yes, Captain, you’re clear. People can get around you,” he said sadly.

“You better get on that radio and tell the tower not to let anyone come out. Either we were hit by a torpedo or the channel has been mined,” he said. Flank looked around at the faces on the bridge. The shock was reflected in each of them.

Slowly, despite all their efforts, USS Gettyburg settled in the water until her main deck was awash. The engineers restored power to parts of the ship, but the Gettysburg wasn’t going anywhere.

“Mines too?” the President said in exasperation. “How the hell did they get mines in our harbors?” he asked.

“Mister President, if you recall, we had posed that possibility in our report,” said the CNO. He, along with Hammond, the other Joint Chiefs, National Security Advisor and several cabinet members were sitting around a large table in the situation room. “It’s awfully hard to detect one of their mines until it comes up from the bottom. That’s why we tried to get as many of our ships underway as we could,” he said.

O’Bannon sighed and put his hands on the table. “What a mess,” he sighed. A phone rang and an assistant answered. He turned to the President. “Sir, it is the German Chancellor.”

The President pressed the speaker on the phone, “Chancellor, I believe we have just witnessed the start of World War Three,” he said solemnly.

“Yes, Mister President, I believe this is the case. I have just ordered my army across the border to help. I am also seeing that you have been hit as well,” the Chancellor said.

“Yes, Chancellor, we have taken some serious blows. I am getting updated about it even now. Shall I implement our joint plans now?” the President asked.

“I have been contacted by the Poles, the Dutch, the Slovakians, Czechs and the Belgians. Since I doubt the British would object, I recommend we do.”

The President took a breath. “Very well, I agree. We begin operations immediately. I shall inform the new staffs and we will get things started as soon as possible,” he said. “If I may, I will get some things done here and contact you again later this morning,” he said. “Do you have any news from Slovakia?” he asked.

“President Jenej told me his air forces were nearly wiped out in an early morning raid. It appears they are following the main highways. He dispatched his forces, but he is certain it is hopeless. They are making plans to pull his forces back to the Czech Republic and form a government in exile. I told him I agreed with his decision. There’s just no way to stop them down there. I’m hoping that the combination of both the Slovak and Czech armies, we might be able to stop them at the Czech border,” the Chancellor said.

“I agree. There’s not much they can do. Looks like we have a mess on our hands. Let me check on a few things and call you back,” said O’Bannon.

“Thank you, Mister President. And please relay our support and our sorrow for the losses you have sustained. We shall talk later,” the Chancellor said, ending the conversation.

“The British Prime Minister is holding, Mister President,” said the assistant again.

O’Bannon activated the speaker again. “Mister Prime Minister, I just got off the line with the Chancellor of Germany. He wants us to implement the plans we made. Do you agree?”

“Most certainly. I am sending assets now. When do you think the commander will be on his way? I want to have at least a rudimentary staff up and ready,” said the Prime Minister.

“I’ll have him there within seventy two hours. How bad were you hit?”

“Devonport and Portsmouth were hit but not too badly. Both our carriers, the Queen Elizabeth and the Prince of Wales, were spared. We had them up near Iceland. You might want to check for mines. One of our submarines caught one on the Clyde. I have a feeling where there’s one, there will be many more,” the Prime Minister said.

“I agree. We just lost USS Gettysburg to one in Mayport. Until I can make sure the area is clear, we can’t deploy any more ships. Let me get fully briefed and I will contact you later this morning,” the President said.

“Very good. Between us, we should be able to get some order out of this muck,” he said.

“I will get back with you as soon as I can,” said O’Bannon as he hung up the phone. He turned to the others. “Well, you heard it. We implement Plan Alpha immediately. As the first part of that plan, the allied leaders have all decided on who will be the Supreme Allied Commander in Europe. That individual will be packing his bags and getting over there pronto. There’s a lot to set up and a lot to get going.” He turned to Hammond. “Admiral Hammond, you have been unanimously selected to be that commander. I need you to set up your staff and get over there. I also want you to pass along your recommendations for who your American commanders will be. You will then need to begin making plans on how we will all get through this war. Normally, I would ask you to do something like this, but in this case, it’s an order. I just need it to happen. Do you have any questions?”

Hammond looked like he had been run over by a truck. After a moment he questioned, “Are you sure?”

It was General Black who responded. “Damnit man, of course we’re sure. We don’t need some pasty faced flunky over there, we need someone to command. Hell, even the French recognize this. Roger, you have the trust and confidence of everyone in this room. Just do the best you can and we’ll back you up,” Black expounded.

The CNO almost laughed, “Hell, Roger, I’m sure you caught wind of this by all those interviews. It can’t be that much of a surprise,” he said.

“I know, but I’m an admiral. I know the sea, not large scale battlefields. Surely you can’t…”

The President held up his hand. “Roger, put the modesty away. You will have plenty of people hanging around to make sure you don’t make those kinds of mistakes. Just make your plans and get the job done,” he said.

“I think your plan is made anyway,” said Black. “I read over that plan you gave me. I like it. Like it a lot. It’s daring and should scare the bejesus out of the Russians. Yes, there needs to be a little polish and some more details, but you have my vote. It goes along with what the President wants and should take the heat off the Eastern Front. Why not go with it?” Black said.

The President looked over at him. “You already have a plan?”

Hammond gave a slight chuckle. “You know I didn’t write that plan. One of my officers did.”

Black looked puzzled. “Just one officer? I thought you had a staff working on it.”

Hammond shook his head. “No, I challenged a young man to come up with something as an exercise. Little did I know he would produce the kind of document you read. I have shared it around a little and so far, everyone likes it.”

“Who the hell wrote it then?” Black asked.

Hammond grinned, “My Flag Lieutenant, Lieutenant Rod Jeffers.”

The President grinned. “You have a copy of this thing? I want to read it.”

It had been a routine flight. The takeoff from JFK International had been normal, and the people in the cabin were dozing in their seats on the flight from New York to Heathrow in London. The pilot kept his eyes on the dials and gages, but the plane was on autopilot and everything was smooth. Suddenly there was a crackle on the frequency of 121.5 MHz, the International Air Distress frequency. “Civilian airliner on my right, this is Russian Naval fighter. You are requested to turn around and return to your departure point. If you continue on your course, you will force us to shoot you down. Do you understand, over.”

The pilot sat forward in his seat and looked over at the copilot. Both had a questioning look on their face. He then turned and looked out the cockpit window. There, on the left side of the airliner were the flashing lights illuminating a fighter jet aircraft. “He must be joking,” the pilot said.

“Civilian airliner on my right, this is Russian Navy fighter. I say again, you are requested to turn around and return to your departure point. If you continue on your course, you will force us to shoot you down. Do you understand, over,” said the voice again.

The pilot picked up the microphone. “Russian fighter, this is American Airlines flight 1204 bound for Heathrow. You haven’t the authority to force us back, over.”

“American Airlines, the government of Russia is now at war with the United States and the European nations. We will allow no further flights. Either you turn around or I will consider you hostile and will shoot you down. You have one minute to comply,” came the reply.

The pilot watched as the jet pulled back and then took up a position toward the rear of the aircraft. Looking around, two more planes had joined him. The pilot looked at his copilot. “He means it. We are not yet at the point of no return. I think we should turn back,” he said.

“I agree,” said the copilot.

“Russian fighter, we will comply,” the pilot said in the radio. “I am turning left.”

The Boeing 747 banked to the left and turned back toward New York.

In the Russian fighter, Viktor Yuelov let out a slow breath. Shooting down an airliner was not something he wanted to do. This had been the first intercept. There were five more behind them that he would have to confront. He hoped they would be just as cooperative.

“Sir, we have reports of airliners being turned back to the United States by Russian fighters about half way to Great Britain,” said a young Marine.

“Mid-ocean? How could they get fighters that far out?” questioned General Foote of the Air Force.

“They had their carriers underway,” said the CNO. “It may be they are setting up a line of ships and daring anyone to cross it.”

“Damn it! Is there not any way to stop this? We are about to bleed to death here,” the President expounded. “I need to get hold of this situation so that we can do something constructive.”

“We can,” said Hammond. “I would recommend we do what that threat summary of ours said we might do. Get word to our submarines to commence unrestricted submarine warfare against the Russians. Ship or sub, if it gets within range, sink it,” he said with authority.

“Do we have enough to do the job?” the president asked.

“Mister President, we currently have thirty seven of our submarines at sea. They can get things started. I am ordering our SEALS and our Mine Countermeasures units to clear all the channels. Within two days I should have enough to at least take care of that line in the sand, as you call it. Then everything that floats will get loaded and ready. That way, once we do get some things going, it can be at short notice,” the CNO said confidently.

“I have already ordered our reserve units activated,” said the Army Chief of Staff. “Once I get them trained and set up, we can move anywhere you need as long as I have transport.”

“Same here,” said Foote. “We’ll be ready. We just need to know where to go.”

The Marine Commandant chuckled. “You already know the answer from the Corps,” he grinned. Black gave him a wink.

“What shall we do about our carriers?” asked the President.

“That’s a big problem,” said the CNO. “I’m going to need to talk to some people about that. Some damage might be easier to fix than others. I need more info.”

“We have more than you think,” said Hammond at the other end of the table.

“How’s that? You planning on bringing back some older equipment again?” asked the Chief of Staff.

“Not this time. We have all these LHAs and LHDs with flat decks. True, they can’t hold all the same aircraft as a carrier, but load them full of F-35 Lightnings and they can sure mess up somebody’s day,” he said.

The CNO nodded. “He’s right. They can act as fighters and carry munitions. The Lightnings can operate anywhere a Harrier could. Those ships could do the trick.”

“How many planes could we get aboard,” Hammond asked.

“Probably around fifty if we do it right,” the CNO said. He turned back to the President. “With your okay, I’ll start that process too,” he said.

“Make it so,” the President said. He looked around the room. “Gentlemen, we have a lot to find out in a short period of time. Let’s get all our facts and figures together and meet for a working lunch. In the meantime, you have approval to do what we talked about. Admiral, get those submarines active and clear the harbors for the rest of the fleet. The rest of you get ready. We need to start something on short notice.”

“Mister President, as the Supreme Commander, I have a request,” said Hammond sitting up in his seat. The rest of the room got quiet. “Sir, I want to implement at least a little part of the plan General Black referred to. I need to get cruise missiles lined up to do what you, yourself recommended. I want to take down the infrastructure of Russia. I want to target their oil and electricity industry to put as many people as I can in the cold and dark. It may not blunt their attacks, but it will sure as hell get their attention.”

The President looked at Hammond and smiled. “Who am I to refuse the Supreme Allied Commander in Europe?”

Like every submarine commander in the fleet, when the ELF receiver went off, they almost jumped. It took over a minute, but now Captain Jacobs was staring at the message. So it finally happened, he thought to himself. Oh well, so much the better. Texas had already sunk one submarine, what would a few more be? He reached for the microphone for the general announcing system.

“All hands, this is the Captain. Well, it happened. It looks like World War Three has begun. The President has ordered unrestricted submarine warfare on all Russian targets. As of now, we go to port and starboard watches. I want fish in the tubes at all times, and I don’t want a single bit of noise to leave this ship. USS Texas is at war. So let’s forget any troubles we may have had. Now we are going to take the fight to our enemies. That is our only purpose. We will set the watch in ten minutes,” he said as he placed the microphone back in its cradle.

He turned to the bitch box. “Sonar, you have all the allied sounds?” he asked.

“Aye, Captain. We were updated before we left port, as usual. We’ll be able to tell friend from foe,” the Chief replied.

“Good. Let’s just hope our allies will be able to do the same. Now where is the closest Russian?”

“Poss sub bearing 057 at a range of about fifty miles. But Captain, we are hearing several of them. They may be waiting for the carrier,” the Chief said.

“I’m coming in,” Jacobs said. He rounded the corner and entered the cramped sonar space. There was not much room with all the electronic equipment, but there was already an intensity you could cut with a knife. He made his way to a small chart table. The Chief was already hovered over it. “Show me,” Jacobs said.

Chief Cooper pointed to a line of five contacts. They appeared to be waiting along the direct course of the task group. “Not good, Captain,” Cooper said.

Jacobs scratched his head. “Yea, not good. Get their position to the OOD. I’m going to go to periscope depth and send a flash satellite message to the carrier. If they change course and these guys do too, then we know what’s up and we’ll go after them. Maybe we can set a few of those helos out there to work them over a bit too. If they think the helicopters are all we have, then we can sneak in and rip ‘em a new one. Set it up quick, Chief,” Jacobs ordered.

Within ten minutes, USS Texas came to periscope depth and raised its satellite antenna. The message went out in less than a second. A reply came just a minute later and the carrier task group turned to the left. In sonar, Cooper watched as the line began to move in concert with the task group. The sonar operators began hearing increased engine noises from the direction of the contacts. Now they knew where the enemy was. To Jacobs, that was just too damn bad.

“Okay, everybody up. Hit the floor, we are in a shooting war and need to be three hundred miles from here by tomorrow morning. Everybody up!” Master Sergeant Ricks screamed as he flung open the door to the barracks-style temporary accommodations and flipped on the overhead lights. Most of the men in the room simply moaned until Ricks repeated his order. Then they slowly began to respond.

“What do you mean war, Sergeant Major?” asked one of the men.

Ricks scowled at the man. “I mean just that. The Russkies just invaded Poland a few minutes ago. They are crashing across the border even as you take your sweet time. So, it looks like we just made it in time.” Ricks turned to the rest. “Now everybody pack your stuff and be outside ready to roll in ten minutes. I have busses waiting,” he yelled.

Ricks turned and walked outside the barracks in time to see the first of the school busses pull up in front of the door. This was the last of the group he had to get up. Some of the earlier ones were even now stumbling out of their barracks into the early morning light. More busses rolled in. These would be the transportation to the train station where a train was being loaded out with all the gear they had brought over. That train would take them to Poland, if the Russians hadn’t gone through it first.

Ricks took in a deep breath of air. There had been a change in plans. At first he had been told he would be staying home, then orders had come down to send him along so that he could see how things worked first-hand, then take back the lessons for training down the road. He had been surprised that Su Lynn had not strongly objected. She mentioned how his buddy, Paul Huffham, had told her what to expect, and she had resigned herself to it. She and the boys had gone with him to the airport. They had all been waiving when the plane taxied away. The worst part for Ricks was the knowledge that Su Lynn was pregnant again. The idea that she might have the baby alone didn’t make him feel any better. His sons, the twins, were excited. Yes, they were sorry to see him leave for a long time, but they knew Daddy always brought neat things back whenever he left. They were fine now and growing up to be very good young men.

Ricks’ thoughts were interrupted by a car pulling up. A Lieutenant Colonel jumped out and came over. Both men saluted.

“You must be Master Sergeant Ricks. I’m Sanders, your new CO,” he said extending his hand. “Sorry we didn’t have the time to say hello before all this, but looks like we’re going to have to do this on the fly. Is everybody ready?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, the busses are almost all here and the people should be out in about five minutes. I understand the equipment is already on the way,” Ricks said while shaking the Colonel’s hand.

“Yep. Didn’t even take it out of those shipping containers. They’re being put on rail cars on the same train. We’re going to a place called Lodz. We’re to set up and be ready by 0300 day after tomorrow. By the look at the Russian advance, they may be within striking distance by then. We’ll get briefed on the train after we leave. You all set?” the Colonel asked.

“Yes, sir. I pack light. You going with us?”

The Colonel grinned. “Yes, we all go together. Once we get rolling, come on up and we’ll get better acquainted. A friend of ours, Colonel Peterson, told me to just point and say go. But I kind of like to go along. If nothing else, I’ll be able to tell if he was lying to me about you,” the Colonel joked.

Ricks’ face broke into a wide grin. “I do like an officer who doesn’t mind getting dirty with the troops. I’ll get these guys to the station as quick as I can,” he said as he saluted.

The Colonel returned the salute as he turned back toward the car. “I’ll see you on the train,” he said as he shut the door. The car pulled off and headed away.

Ricks turned and watched as the sergeants got all the people in line. Then with a grunt, they began loading the busses. This was going to be a long day. He just hoped that Lodz was still in Polish hands when they got there.

“Are all our assets in place?” asked Hammond via the satellite link. The room was filled with military men in a variety of uniforms.

“They are,” said General Pol. “Everything kicks off when they cross beyond Radom. The exact time will be up to you. When do you think you can get here?” he asked.

On the screen Hammond threw up his hands. “I’m doing my best. You know about the air blockade. I am told that they are going to put me on a special aircraft in about two hours. If I don’t make it, you’ll need to jump off when you see fit. There’s something else we are going to add to the event. There will be a coordinated missile attack from some of our units and I am hoping that a few plane loads of men and equipment made it to Frankfurt. If so, I am trying to get them set up to add a little more to the equation. But no matter what, initiate Plan Alpha and try to stop this advance. Any ideas yet on troop and tank numbers?”

General Dortmund walked up beside Pol. He was carrying some papers in his hand. “It appears there have been ten divisions on men and tanks so far. They are crossing almost unopposed. As per the plan, we are using artillery to slow them down and inflict what casualties we can, but their air force is eating us up. The initial air battle was a stalemate. They lost over thirty aircraft and we lost about the same. So the air over Poland is not secure,” Dortmund said.

Hammond nodded. “It’s like we suspected. My friends, we are going to lose a lot of ground before we can stop this. Then it’s going to take time to gain it back. We have a long, hard job to do.” He glanced at someone off camera and nodded. “Gentlemen, my plane is ready. With luck, I’ll see you in a little over two hours. Maybe then we’ll have some more answers,” he said before the signal was terminated.

Pol looked over at Dortmund. “Did he say two hours?”

Dortmund nodded and grinned. “Yes, and if I know the Americans, you better have a car waiting. He will be on time.”

The air raid sirens hadn’t been used in a decade. But when the radar screens showed flights of planes coming over the border and toward Krakow, the operators turned the switch and hoped for the best. Amazingly enough, the wail of the sirens began echoing through the city. The young people had no idea what it meant, but the older ones knew very well and began urging everyone into the subways and basements. Within ten minutes the Russian aircraft were bombing targets around the city. The air force base was turned into a pyre. Every aircraft on the ground had been hit and the runways were useless. Hangers and other buildings were burning fiercely. Fortunately, nearly every available aircraft had time to get into the air. The resulting air confrontation had netted a few more Russian planes down with the loss of four fighters. The rest of the serviceable aircraft had now retreated back into Germany.

In the cellar of their building, The Kursovs and Polskis sat under the small bare bulbs that dimly lit the cellar. They could feel the bombs exploding just five miles away through their feet and legs more than by sound. A few had gone off closer, causing dust to settle down on them from the floor above. No one spoke much.

Petyr sat beside Freda in a corner on some old sacks of salt. He held her hand. Each successive explosion caused her to squeeze his hand tightly. Looking around the room, Petyr could tell everyone was frightened. Petyr’s father sat with his head down, staring at the floor, while Mr. Polski was keeping his eyes on the people in the room and smiling when they made eye contact. That reassuring smile helped a lot. He especially smiled when he looked at Petyr and Freda.

After one closer explosion, Freda looked up at Petyr. “Do you think it will end soon?” she asked.

“I don’t know. We’ll just have to wait and see,” he said as he placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight.

More explosions followed, getting closer to where they were. Suddenly a huge bang occurred, throwing everyone from their seats and onto the floor. Dust rained down, filling the air in the small space. Petyr had instinctively thrown himself over Freda to protect her from whatever might come. After a few minutes the explosions stopped and the ground quit shaking.

“Is everyone alright?” asked Mr. Polski.

Slowly, everyone responded. They got back up and took their seats again, brushing the dust from their clothing. The lights had gone out. Now, only a sliver of light from the door of the cellar gave any illumination to the room. Two minutes later, the air raid sirens came on again.

Mr. Polski got up and began dusting himself off again. “It’s over. Let’s go up and see what is left,” he said.

Going up the stairs, he eased the cellar door open. The rooms above were intact. Slowly, everyone made their way through the shop. The glass on the front windows had shattered. It was everywhere. Some of the merchandize had been knocked over, but everything else seemed unharmed. Looking out the window, the building across the street, a small electronics firm, had been hit. Bricks and debris lay scattered around the street and a fire was sending smoke high above them. As they watched, the city’s firefighting service dashed around the corner and began setting up to battle the blaze. They saw a woman crawl out of one opening onto the sidewalk. Her clothes were smoldering and she looked almost burned to a crisp.

Freda turned and placed her face into Petyr’s shoulder. Petyr turned to Mr. Polski. “Are we safe here?” he asked.

Polski gave a sigh. “About as safe as anywhere else. Children, we are now in the middle of a war. From now on, we watch out for each other and help each other as much as we can. Somehow, I don’t think there will be school for a while, so let’s just stay here and get things cleaned up. If it gets too bad, we can all go to our house outside town,” he said.

Petyr’s mother walked up with some brooms and handed them out. “Take these,” she demanded. “We need to keep busy. Clear up all this glass so that no one gets hurt. Papa,” she said turning to Mr. Kursov, “you try and find something to cover the windows. People will need our help, so let’s keep the shop open as best we can,” she said.

Everyone got busy. Within thirty minutes, the lights came back on, but already people were coming in to purchase bandages, drugs and supplies. By nightfall, there wasn’t much left to sell.

Hammond had never experienced anything like it before. He was sitting in a tight compartment with just two small windows looking to each side. Making it more interesting was the space suit he was wearing. Arriving at the airport, he was escorted to a small room where handlers took his bags and squeezed him onto the suit. He was attached to an air conditioning unit. Then he was whisked out of the building and around a corner where the SR-71 was waiting. The NASA aircraft was the last one flying.

Climbing the small ladder to get aboard, the men almost literally had to shoehorn him into the small compartment behind the pilot. In a few minutes, the engines started and the plane taxied to the end of the runway. Suddenly Hammond almost couldn’t breathe. The acceleration was phenomenal as the long, sleek Blackbird rocketed into the sky. Once airborne, the plane almost climbed straight up.

“You okay back there?” the pilot asked.

“I think my internal organs are still on the runway,” Hammond said.

There was a laugh from the pilot. “I usually don’t do it that fast, but we are on a tight schedule. In thirty minutes we tanker and fill up. Then we tanker again over the Azores. In between, we will be at Mach 3 at a little over 80,000 feet. They figure at that height and speed we are pretty safe. But just in case, I’m watching the threat warning system. If anything comes after us, I still have a few tricks,” he said calmly. “You can see the instruments back there, so just enjoy the flight.”

“I place myself in your capable hands,” Hammond said. He began looking around and saw the airspeed dial. It was already at Mach 2.

The smell of frying bacon and hot coffee woke Rod Jeffers from his sound sleep. Coming home had been wonderful. For the last three days he had met up with several of his old friends and had become reacquainted with his family. Today being Thanksgiving, he anticipated a long feast with his extended family, stuffing himself with his Mom’s roasted turkey, rice and gravy, some squash casserole, sweet potato casserole, green beans, dressing and cranberry salad. The faint smell of fresh yeast rolls was in the air along with the bacon. He lay in his bed and savored the smells.

The telephone rang, interrupting his thoughts. In a moment, his father called up for him to pick up the line. Jeffers got up and threw on a robe. He padded, barefoot, down the hall into the kitchen and grabbed the handset.

“Lieutenant Jeffers, I hate to do this, but your leave has been cancelled. You need to get back in here right away,” said Captain Clarity on the other end of the line.

Jeffers looked puzzled. “What’s going on, Captain?” he asked.

“Rod, you need to turn on the news. That’ll explain it. Just get back here pronto,” he said.

“On my way, sir,” said Jeffers before hanging up the phone. He looked at his mother. “We need to turn on the TV,” he said.

Walking into the den, he switched on the wall mounted set and turned it on one of the network stations. Immediately he saw a burning aircraft carrier and one other ship. The announcer described many other such tragedies across the United States and around the world. More images came in showing a carrier sunk up to the hanger deck and listing, another with close ups of huge holes and jagged metal. Finally some images of men being pulled out of the wreckage on stretchers.

“Dear God,” cried his mother in anguish. “Who did this?”

Jeffers stood for a second unable to move from the screen. “The Russians. We knew they might do something, but not this bad,” he said. He then turned to his parents. “I gotta go,” he said.

Despite the protests from his mother, Jeffers quickly took a shower and packed his bags again. Donning his uniform, he kissed his mother and shook his father’s hand before throwing his bags into the back seat of the Rolls and backing out of the drive. It would take hours to get back to Washington, but this time he wouldn’t quite obey the speed limit.

The Oval Office had finally cleared out except for the National Security Advisor, the CIA Director and the Deputy Director for Intelligence. This meeting was not something that could be shared with others.

“Okay Bill, what kinds of assets do we have in Russia?” the President asked calmly.

Bill Harmon, his recently appointed CIA chief calmly addressed his President. “We have ground assets in a number of cities, but if you are asking if we saw this coming, the answer is no,” he said, obviously covering his backsides. The President saw a strange look on the DDI’s face, but let it go for now. Harmon had been a pain ever since he had appointed him as an appeasement for several Congressmen and Senators to pass some legislation. Harmon was from the opposing party, but having a bi-partisan cabinet had not been a bad idea.

“I ask, because I may need to use some of those assets in the coming days. We have some ideas to upset their population and we need to see if this is feasible,” the President said.

“I’m sorry, but I must protect our assets at any costs. Using them for your ideas is not something I would want to do,” said Harmon.

The President’s brow furrowed. “Mr. Harmon, in case you haven’t heard, we are in a shooting war. It is going to be our job to use whatever assets we have to get this war over with. Now I am not talking about throwing away people, but I am interested in what we have and how we can use them to our benefit.”

Harmon remained calm. “Possibly. There are a few assets we can use for special projects. A larger number are simply people who are somehow disenfranchised with their government. Using them for the wrong reasons may backfire,” he said.

The President nodded. “I understand about that. But I need you to get some things ready to gather additional information on how the population feels about things going on — any unrest or dissention. Bad things happening, that sort of thing. Then I need to know how effectively we can plant additional ideas or seeds of unrest. A part of this effort will be a propaganda war of sorts. I need you to see what you can come up with and how we can make these kinds of things happen,” he directed.

Harmon nodded. “I’ll see what we can do,” he said.

“Good. Now tell me what the status of Eyeball is,” the President said.

“Eyeball is up and now running,” said Harmon. “We are starting to look at where the battlefields are and other places. Of course, we are keeping this way under cover,” he said.

“Can the system tie into the military data systems? The way we initially planned it, local commanders could tie in and use it for battle planning and tactics,” said the president.

“No sir, we can’t use the system for anything like that. It’s too secret,” said Harmon.

“Look, right now I need to win a war. If this thing can help us do that, then we need to use it. We can make sure that security is upheld.”

Harmon shook his head. “I can’t let that happen. This is the biggest achievement in intelligence gathering that has ever been produced. I’m not going to let some army private get his hands on this. It would be in the public within minutes. I’ll even give you an example. If we had given a warning to our people, the Russians would have seen how they reacted and would know, or at least guess what our capabilities are. I can’t let that happen,” he almost shouted.

The Deputy Director looked at the man in anger. “Do you mean you didn’t give the warning?” he demanded.

A look of surprise came over the President’s face. “Wait a minute,” said the President. “You knew?”

The DDI didn’t take his eyes off Harmon. “Mister President, I was there with the Director. We saw those missiles as soon as they launched. That was at least ten minutes before they struck!” He pointed angrily at Harmon. “This man left the room to supposedly call in the warning.” He glared at Harmon. “You murdering bastard.”

“You knew and didn’t let me or anyone else know? If you didn’t call me, who did you call?”

“Sir, it’s exactly as I said before. We can’t let anyone know we have this. You don’t have the authority to tell me how to use this tool,” shouted Harmon. “That belongs with the Congress!”

“I don’t have the authority?” The President turned to the Secret Service agent in the room. “Frank, did you hear all this?”

The agent nodded. “Yes, Mister President.”

“Then I order you to place this man under arrest. The charge is aiding and abetting an enemy of the United States. It may increase to treason. If nothing else, I hold him responsible for at least some of the lives lost today,” the President said.

The agent turned to Harmon. “Come with me, sir.”

“You stupid idiot. You can’t do this to me!” shouted Harmon as he lunged toward the President.

The agent quickly grabbed Harmon and threw him to the floor, twisting his hands behind his back while calling for backup. Within moments, the room was filled with agents. “Mister Harmon, you are under arrest for willfully aiding and abetting an enemy of the United States. You are also charged with assault on the President of the United States. You have the right to remain silent…” the agent began. When he finished, the Secret Service stood Harmon up.

The President moved forward. “First of all, Mister Harmon. You were a cabinet member and report to me. We, you and I, report to the Congress. You do so as directed by me, not by them. But that makes no difference. You are now fired. Try and see if the Congress can get you out of that one,” he said. He turned to the agents. “Hold him outside until I do a few things. I’m going to call the FBI and turn this over to them. Now get him out of my sight,” he said calming down.

The President turned to the DDI, “Josh, can you do what I asked him to do?”

The Deputy Director, Josh Mayfield, looked squarely at the President. “Not only can I, but I can make sure things happen that will make you very happy. First, let’s get the Joint Chiefs over to Langley to see this thing, then let’s get it linked to the Armed Forces data system. We can’t let it out to the lower levels, it’s just not that versatile yet, but we can make sure the theater commanders have it. The rest can see the data on their screens and act accordingly. As far as the Russian assets, I think we can sit down and work a lot out to get what you need done and still keep our people safe.” He looked hard at the President. “I’m not Mr. Harmon, sir. I know who I work for. We can get it done,” he said with a smile.

The President shook his hand. “Then you have the job. I take it the two of you clashed before.”

“I’m not a guy who goes behind my boss’ back, but yes, we had our differences.”

“Fair enough. This was my mistake, and I’m sorry. In this case, I let politics overrule my good judgment. We’ve worked together before. Let’s build a team again,” the President said.

“My pleasure. Now let me get back and get a few things going. By tomorrow, we should be able to sit down and discuss what you want done in Russia,” Mayfield said.

After Mayfield left the room, the President picked up his phone and hit one of the speed dial numbers. A minute later he was talking to the Director of the FBI. “Harry, I want you to get someone over there and search the logs and everything in the man’s desk. I need to know who he called. Since it wasn’t me, who else was a part of this mess? I’m not sure what we should do as yet, but at least let me know what could be done,” he said.

After the conversation ended, the president sat back in his chair. The bickering between the parties had been getting worse for the last twenty five years. Whoever was in power never got support from the other side. It seemed as if nothing could ever get done unless there was overwhelming public support. Even then, the behind the scenes bickering meant the wording took ages to complete. Now, someone in Congress was manipulating his cabinet in a way that could irreparably harm the government as a whole. Somehow, he now had to conduct a war and try and fix this problem at the same time. The hardest part was doing it in a way to bring people together instead of driving them apart. He glanced at his watch. It was only 8:30 in the morning. He closed his eyes and sighed.

The Texas had spent much of the morning positioning herself to take on the four other submarines stalking the carrier. Slowly, she had made her way to within eight thousand yards of the first target. There was no longer any doubt they were Russian. The sounds coming in had been digested by the sonar computer which identified each one as a known submarine which had been tracked in the past. Captain Flank had positioned his ship so that any sound he might make would be masked by another enemy submarine forming the barrier line. That meant going between all of them and being at relatively close range. He wasn’t too worried about it. The Virginia Class were even quieter than the older Los Angeles class attack submarines. His tubes had been opened long before and each had a Mark 48 ADCAP waiting in the tube.

Flank was going to try something different. The Mk-48 could be set to travel at very low speed for a period before speeding up and attacking its target. Even better, each torpedo could be controlled via a small fiber optic cable nearly the entire way to the target.

“Range to nearest target?” Flank asked.

“Sixty one fifty yards, Captain.”

“Range to furthest?”

“Ten thousand four hundred yards, Captain.”

“Is there a solution for all four?”

“Almost, Captain. One more minute on this course should do it.” It was the voice of Chief Cooper.

“Very well.” Flank turned to his XO. “If this doesn’t work, we’ll be up to our ass in alligators,” he said.

“No guts, no glory. I figure the confusion alone will guarantee our safety. They’ll probably think one of their own shot at them. But if we set them right, all we’ll have to do is get out of the way,” the XO said.

Flank nodded. He turned to the watch officer. “On my order, take the ship as deep as she’ll go. Do not go to flank speed. I want no cavitation at all. Let them just run into each other,” he said.

“Aye, Captain, we’re ready,” said the Lieutenant.

Although the air conditioning system worked well, the men in the small compartments were sweating from the tense strain of the past few hours. They hadn’t known it, but Texas had fired the first shot of the war. Now it was getting ready to do it again.

“All targets within range, Captain,” said Cooper over the box.

“Okay, gentlemen, we do this as planned. On my countdown, three, two, one, fire as planned.”

The first torpedo swam out of the tube slowly, then turned to the right and moved away. Ten seconds later another torpedo left the tubes. This one turned left. Ten seconds later another left, turning right, then the final one turning left. Fanning out toward their targets, the torpedoes moved away at an oblique angle until each torpedo was nearly at a ninety degree angle from its target. Then, on orders from the fire controlmen in the Texas, all the fish turned directly toward their target and increased speed to maximum.

Suddenly all four of the Russian submarines increased speed, putting extreme levels of noise in the water. As expected, the noise masked Texas as she sped up and dove away. One by one, the torpedoes acquired the targets on their own. Once done, the fire controlmen cut the cable and let the torpedoes run.

Aboard the Russian submarines panic set in. Suddenly their own sonar operators reported torpedoes inbound. Following their tactics, the submarine commanders quickly turned away from the fish and rang up flank speed. They began turning back and forth to try and confuse the torpedoes, but the Mk-48 could care less. With their over 20 knot speed advantage, they simply followed the noise until they hit.

Four explosions were heard within a minute of each other through the hull of the Texas. By then, the ship was well away, listening for additional noises. Chief Cooper had a set of headphones on listening to make sure they were kills. One of the operators turned and looked at him with a funny face. “What’s that sound, Chief? Never heard that one before,” he said.

Chief Cooper could hear the sounds of bubbles and the tearing of metal. There was a moaning sound and after a minute another explosion. The same sounds came from three other bearings. “Those are the sounds of a ship dying, son,” the Chief said. “You hear what sounded like sharp bangs? That was the crew trying to stop the water. The final explosion and all the bubbles was the ship reaching crush depth. At least it didn’t last long,” he said. There was a sadness in the Chief’s voice. Then he snapped back to the task at hand. “Now make your scans and make sure there aren’t any more around here. I don’t want to have to go through what they just did,” he growled.

The change around Washington was electric. Military vehicles were now everywhere. There was double security around the military facilities, including the Washington Navy Yard, where Jeffers had his BOQ room. After driving for ten hours with only a stop for food, Jeffers was dog tired. Several times he was slowed down on the interstate for accidents and once where the Highway Patrol was checking IDs. As a result, it was well after six in the evening when he got back to his room. He threw his luggage on the bed and went straight back out to go into the office.

Driving down I-695, he crossed the Potomac and quickly changed his mind. The entrances and exits to the Pentagon were snarled with traffic. Opening his cell phone, he called in, only to be told to come in first thing in the morning. Resigning his fate, Jeffers turned the Rolls off the main road and circled back. Exiting on South Capitol Street, he pulled into a fast food place and settled for a quick meal. The drive through was relatively quick and soon he was back in his BOQ room. Jeffers sat down at the small table in his kitchenette and turned on the television.

The situation had gotten worse. The Russians were now deep into Poland and both the Poles and the Germans were having a very difficult time. Much of the coverage centered around the usual military analysts and pundits who had an opinion on everything, and were usually wrong. Much time was spent going into detail of the Navy losses. It soon became obvious that the Navy had lost much of its carrier force. The dead numbered in the thousands. The only good piece of news was a story about a German commander who had a running sea battle with two Russian ships that had damaged one of the carriers. Jeffers chuckled at the thought of what he had done, and wished he could have been there to see it.

The news didn’t make his meal taste any better. Finishing it off, Jeffers suddenly felt extremely tired. But before he called it a night, he dialed Hammond’s number to see what he needed to be ready for in the morning. He was surprised when the phone went to voicemail. Then he thought about the card he had with a telephone number few had. No, he would not bother the man now. He knew the President would be extremely busy. Instead, he removed his clothing and lay back on his bed. Within a minute he was deep asleep.

The next morning Jeffers woke early. Returning to his regular schedule, he was out and in his office by 5 am. He was busy preparing things for the morning when he found out that Admiral Hammond was no longer there. Captain Clarity explained what had happened and told him just to sit tight at his desk until they figured out how to get him to Europe.

Two hours later, Rear Admiral Chris Hustvedt went in to see the CNO. Jeffers was startled, when he was then summoned to join them. Straightening his uniform, Jeffers entered the CNO’s inner office.

“Come in, Lieutenant Jeffers,” said the Admiral Johnson. “I believe you already know Admiral Hustvedt.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jeffers shaking his hand.

“Have a seat.” The three men sat down and the CNO led off. “Rod, I am going to reassign you to be on Admiral Hustvedt’s staff. I’m sure you are aware that Admiral Hammond is now in Europe. We talked it over and decided this would be the best thing for you,” the CNO said.

Jeffers got a disappointed look on his face. He had obviously wanted to remain with Hammond. “I understand, sir. May I ask why the change?”

The CNO smiled and reached behind his desk. He produced a thick three ring binder, filled with paper, with additional sheets stuck in various places throughout the document. Jeffers instantly recognized it as his plan. The CNO placed it on his desk.

“There’s actually a very good reason,” said Hustvedt. “The man who authored the invasion of Russia should be there to see his work implemented,” he said.

Jeffers’ eyes widened. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t. His eyes darted between the two men in the room. “Yes, Rod, Admiral Hammond showed us your work. Quite frankly, I have never seen such a plan in all my years in service. We have shared it around Washington and with the military leaders in Europe. These additional pages you see are their notes and suggestions. I hope you noticed that there aren’t that many. Of all the plans available from years of thoughts and ideas for such an event, yours was the one which stood out. And that’s why Roger wanted you to go with Admiral Hustvedt. He will be in command of the Black Sea invasion. You are going to be with him, kind of like a ringside seat,” the CNO said warmly.

“Our job is to take this plan and flesh it out a bit. Go over it in fine detail and gather the resources you said we might need to get the job done,” said Hustvedt from the seat beside him. “We have just one month to smooth this thing out, promulgate it and gather the people and materials we need to make it happen. You ready to take this on with me?” he asked.

Jeffers still looked stunned, but he nodded and said, “Yes sir, I’d be glad to.”

Hustvedt slapped him on the arm. “Good. Now gather your things from your desk and move them down the hall. I have a team standing by to get started. The first meeting is at ten,” he said as he stood. Looking at the CNO, he said, “Thanks Perry.” Then left the room.

The CNO turned to Jeffers. “Rod, I know you wanted to stay with Roger, but he said he had promised to make sure he did nothing to harm your career. This will be considered combat duty. It’s a big job and quite frankly, having seen how you work, I can’t think of anyone better to do it. I’m relying on you and Admiral Hustvedt to get the job done. If this fails, a lot more of us may need to take Russian lessons from you,” he said. He extended his hand. “Good luck.”

Jeffers left the office and quickly gathered the few things he had in his desk, including notes and several flash drives he had in a safe. Saying goodbye to Clarity, he left the office and walked back to the “C” Ring where Hustvedt’s office was. There, he found that not only did he have a desk, but a small office as well. Placing his items on the desk he looked around and took a deep breath. Might as well get started, he thought.

It had been a monumental effort. Moving a thousand men and all their gear several hundred miles and getting it set up within a little over a day had exhausted everyone. But as Master Sergeant Dale Ricks looked around, it appeared to be ready. Because of the fighting, a school had been made available. Now, inside a large gym, was a large electronic command post. Tables were lined up parallel to each other along the gym floor with what looked like gaming consoles side by side along the length of the rows. Wires had been strung along each table to connect the consoles to a master unit and to provide communications via headset for each operator. On several large screens was a digital display of the battle area outlining where units were, both enemy and friendly. Ricks was one of the few who knew that the information was coming from a KH-14 satellite thousands of miles away. It was rude and crude, but he hoped everything would work as planned.

A set of doors opened and the first of the operators began entering the darkened room. Letters and numbers posted at various positions in the room indicated where each unit would be. The men and women began working their way across the rows and gathering in their area. Most looked a little nervous.

Ricks glanced at his watch. It was 0330. It wouldn’t be long now and they would see if this would work. Colonel Sanders walked up next to him.

“I see you didn’t get any beauty sleep,” he joked.

Ricks chuckled. “Hadn’t had any of that for years. Besides, I need to have my scary face on before going into battle,” he said.

Sanders looked around. “Good job getting this set up. You think they’re ready?”

“They better be. I didn’t come all this way for nothing. You brief your people?” Ricks asked.

Sanders nodded. The officers had a separate briefing this first time. From here on, everything would be done together. “Finished up about ten minutes ago. They should get here any minute. I’ll sit everyone down for a final brief when everyone s here. Where are you placing yourself?”

“Right beside you, Colonel. I’ll personally go between the squads as this thing progresses, but I can help by pointing things out as we go along. We’re lucky the Russians like their sleep. Them stopping their advance at night gives us just the right chance to get in there and get the job done. If they were still moving, this would be a royal pain,” said Ricks.

“I agree. So let’s count our blessings.” The Colonel looked around the room. Everyone appeared to be there. “Let’s get this started,” he said.

Moving toward the front of the room, someone called everyone to attention. Sanders had them take their seats, and then addressed the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, today we are going to make some history. This is a new technology and a new kind of warfare. More importantly, we are going to do what we can to stop, or at least hinder the advance of our enemy. But what we do today is no different than what an army has done since the beginning. We go in, destroy an enemy, and go home. Only this time, instead of doing it by carrying in a gun, we do it by sending the drones you control. We still destroy and enemy, but in this case, we don’t put you, the people with the weapon, at risk.

“But like any soldier, you follow the directions of your sergeants and the officers over you. You all know where you are going to go. You have all been assigned a sector. Do everything you can to eliminate every threat in that sector. You must make sure you don’t double hit any target. If you can’t get them all in the first go round, get them in the second. Remember, you have limited time on station. Remember you only have five rounds. Once you are empty, hit the return button and get these things back home. Once they’re back, we go out again with a second batch. The idea is to keep hitting them until they don’t want to advance. It’s a big job.”

“Your workday begins in ten minutes. It goes on until dawn. Then we will come back together and assess what we’ve done. We will do this every night beginning tonight. So get used to sleeping during the day. One thing to remember though. We are very close to the front. If you don’t stop these guys, you won’t get sleep, because they will be on top of us before you can wake up. So make all this work. Now man your stations.”

The men and women began sitting down at their consoles. Each group checked in with their sergeant and platoon leaders. On the large screen indicators for all of the drones were clumped together at a point just over a mile from their targets. Lines, delineating the different sectors were already drawn on the screen for people to reference if they needed. Each drone had a number and letter. On signal, the Colonel watched as the large clump of drones began separating and moving towards the enemy.

***

It was not enough sleep, but Nicolai Sokovsky was ready for another day of operations. Things so far had gone very well. The few tanks and troops they had encountered had been no match for the firepower of his tank. He had spent part of the night making sure a faulty train switch had been repaired so that he didn’t have to train the heavy turret by hand. His crew was standing beside the tank, talking. Two of the men were still munching on their morning biscuit. He was about to order his men into the tank when a strange buzzing sound seemed to grow around them. It sounded a lot like a swarm of bees. “What is that?” he asked.

It was the last thing he uttered as a series of shots rang out, dropping him and one other in his crew. As the others reached out to help their comrades, they too were shot. All across the compound shots rang out. In a panic, some of the guards thought that an enemy force had infiltrated the area and opened fire with their machine gun. They were still firing when two shots rang out nearby, killing the gunners and silencing the machine gun.

The sound of the bees moved away, further back behind the lines. More shots rang out around the mess tent where men had been eating. Three men were shot while using a latrine.

General Andre Kamerovic heard the shots and stepped out of his command tent. “What is going on here?” he shouted. All around him men were running back and forth trying to get to where the shots were being fired. He quickly began running toward the sound.

***

“Look at that fat one,” said one of the drone operators.

“Nail his ass,” said the sergeant.

***

As the general stopped to try and get a perspective on what was going on, another shot rang out. He fell to the ground with a bullet in his head.

***

“I’m out,” said the operator.

“Then bring it back home,” said the sergeant.

The operator pressed the return button and watched as the drone lifted itself up to a height of about 500 feet and begin moving back toward friendly lines.

In the back of the room, Colonel Sanders watched in amazement. “Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed under his breath. “Get them all back and go for a second round. Call in to headquarters. Tell them it worked and I recommend we plow the field,” he said.

In a headquarters back in Germany, Roger Hammond watched as almost the entire Russian line was attacked by the drones. When the report came in from Sanders, he turned to Dortmund and Pol. “It’s time, gentlemen. Do your worst,” he said.

***

In an old abandoned coal mine near the border with Ukraine, the sound of engines starting pierced the pre-dawn morning. Huge steel doors suddenly swung open and German Leopard tanks began sprinting out of the deep shafts and making their way northward. Completely bypassed by the Russians, who had no interest in old mines, the older shafts contained nearly two hundred of the tanks, along with trucks and infantry. All of them sprinted north.

The same thing happened along the Russian border near the Baltic Sea. These tanks and infantry began sprinting south. This was repeated in three additional areas with the primary objective of closing in behind the Russian assault and cutting it off.

They were late. For some reason, the targeting computer began giving fits just one hour before launch. The entire fire control team dove into it, only to find a cold solder joint in one of the circuits. Captain Gary Frye was already upset that this had caused the ship to miss their launch window, but the missiles would fly no matter what.

“How long before we get everything loaded,” he asked calmly.

“Five minutes, Captain,” said the Chief Fire Controlman.

The captain turned to the other side of the room. “Contacts?”

“Five contacts, Captain. All of them are way beyond reach. Closest is forty miles away.”

The Captain looked at his XO. “Still a little too close for me, but looks like we are stuck with it.” He turned back to his men. “Any coming this way?”

“None, Captain,” said the sonar watch.

“Looks like it won’t get any better than this,” he said to the men in general. “Ready all launch tubes. Set general quarters.”

The muted claxon sounded and everyone aboard the giant missile submarine ran to their general quarters stations. The Michigan had been a ballistic missile submarine, but at the end of the cold war, she had been modified to carry only cruise missiles and torpedoes. Only once before had Michigan launched all her missiles. That had been six years earlier during the Korean War. Now she would do so again, except this time it would be against a nation she had been designed to go up against in the first place.

“All stations manned and ready,” the XO said.

“Very well. Fire control, what’s your status?”

“Manned and ready, Captain. The computer is functioning normally and we have solutions entered. We can commence fire when ready,” said the chief.

“Open the missile hatches.”

Outside the ship, the first missile hatch opened. The ship was submerged and only the protective coverings were keeping the seawater out.

“Missile door open. Request batteries released,” said the operations officer.

The Captain looked around and nodded. “Very well. Batteries released.”

On the fire control console, a crewman flipped a protective cover and pressed the button. The first of nearly 150 Tomahawk cruise missiles erupted out of its cell and rushed to the surface. Once hitting air, the rocket motor fired, pressing the missile quickly to its flying speed. The wings and tail extended and the turbojet engine ignited, powering the missile along at over 550 miles per hour. There were no nuclear missiles aboard. Instead, all were land attack variants. This morning, they would leave the ship and head toward a variety of targets, mostly at near their maximum range. The targets included several dams, electric generation facilities, some major switching yards and the main refineries located in the Urals.

The missiles hugged the surface of the sea, only 100 feet up. Over land, they would increase their altitude to 500 feet. Each could maneuver independently to avoid obstacles. Their built in GPS systems and radar guidance would guarantee hitting within ten feet of their target.

As the last missile left its tube, Captain Frye ordered his ship as deep as she could go. They would be going back to Holy Locke, where additional missiles were waiting. Only one silo had missiles. Those were to be used as needed against ships.

Michigan was not alone. There were three additional SSGNs launching, along with launches from the Royal Navy. In all, there were over 800 cruise missiles on their way to targets well inside Russia.

General Moynahan was waiting. First Armored and the First Cav were straining to get moving. They had been moved into heavy tree cover two days before, just to be ready. Everything had been done to conceal their position from prying eyes. It must have worked, because in the airstrikes the previous day, none had come near their units. The move had been lightning fast. When they reached Brest, they had been loaded onto trains and transported across Germany and into Poland by night. Hidden under tents and inside large hangars at an airport, the men had been told to check their gear and rest during the day. That night they had been moved again to their current position. They had expected some rest, but the Russian attack had come quicker than expected. Now they all waited for the word to move.

The phone started everyone in the operations tent. It was answered, then the officer handed the receiver to Moynahan. “Moynahan,” he announced.

“Chuck, Roger Hammond. Your guys ready?” he asked.

“Just waiting for you to say go, boss. Everyone is fully briefed and all communications are well established. Once you say go, everything moves out. My artillery has its positions assigned and they will get there first and start their operations, followed by the tanks and infantry. My air units will pop up once we hit the line,” he reported. “Just like old times,” he added with a smile.

“General, the trap is sprung. You know the plan. Hit ‘em hard,” Hammond said.

“Aye, aye, sir,” said Moynahan. “We take off in less than five.”

“Good luck, Chuck,” Hammond said.

“We’ll take care of business, Roger.”

Moynahan hung up the phone and turned to his staff. “Get this show on the road. The Germans and Poles are waiting on us. Commence operations,” he ordered.

Outside the tent, tanks were started and began moving forward. Trucks were filled with troops and began moving out. They had one hour of night left, and they were going to use every minute of it.

***

Sergeant Mike Provo and his tank crew were seated in their Abrams tank waiting for the orders to move. The engine was off and only the Link 16 was up and running for the moment. The men had been in the tank for three hours. After checking the systems, the men had shut down and waited for something his lieutenant had called a special operation. He had no idea what it was, but if it would help them gain ground, he was all for it.

The alert appeared as a message on the link and Provo kicked his dozing crew back to life. Within seconds, the turbine was back online and all the systems switched on. A minute later and Provo found himself dashing through the trees and undergrowth toward the front. The link gave him an assignment of a tank just on the other side of a clearing showing up ahead. As the Abrams burst out of the tree cover like a charging horse, he could see a number of images on his scope. Not to mention what appeared to be hundreds of tanks making the same dash along a general line.

His thermal imager picked up his target. “Target, tank. Heat,” he almost screamed. The loader selected the round and shoved it into the breach of the cannon. “Ready!” shouted the loader.

The gun was already on its target and Provo pressed the trigger. The cannon roared and Provo watched as it struck its target with a bright explosion. Another target was assigned and Provo instantly saw it as well. The second shot took the turret off the second tank in a devastating roar. A third was assigned. “Train left, target tank, fifteen hundred,” Provo called out. Again the target was destroyed with the first round. What the hell is going on here, Provo wondered. Why aren’t they shooting back? Machine gun rounds began peppering the side of his tank. His gunner saw the source and began returning fire. It only took a few seconds.

By mid-morning Provo and his tank had advanced over five miles. He still had nearly half of his main gun ammunition, but they had completely run out of machine gun ammo. As he turned his tank back to refuel and reload, more tanks took his place. All together they had wiped out fifteen tanks, four armored vehicles and three personnel carriers, not to mention hundreds of troops who simply had no way to defend themselves. He could tell his people were getting tired of just killing. Without people shooting back, the tenseness just wasn’t there. The tanks he had encountered simply sat there. Maybe he would find out more when they got back.

President Borodin had enjoyed a good night’s sleep, only to have it interrupted by an aide who came rushing into his room.

“Sir, you have an urgent call from the Defense Ministry,” the man practically yelled.

Borodin sat up in his bed and reached over for his bedside phone. That was when he noticed that the lights weren’t coming on. What’s going on with the power?” he asked.

“It went off just a few minutes ago. We have someone working on getting the generator started. It should be back on momentarily,” the aide said.

Borodin grunted and returned to the phone. “Borodin,” he said into the receiver.

“Comrade President, this is General Aledrovy. The Americans have begun a widespread attack against our front line. I must report we have had to fall back to secondary positions temporarily. Our losses have been almost catastrophic,” the general said. You could tell in his voice he was very agitated.

Borodin became angry. “How can this be? We have ten divisions of front line troops there. Up until now we have met only weak resistance. What does the commander say?” he demanded.

“That is part of the problem. He has been killed in some sort of assault. The reports coming in say that the troops were attacked with pistol fire at close range before the American tanks came in. Our initial estimates say we have lost nearly six thousand troops from that alone, mostly our tank crews. Our tanks can’t move because their crews have been decimated. Now the Americans are coming through destroying everything. The deputy commander is getting things reorganized and we are sending up fresh troops and tanks. As soon as he can get things back together, we can get a better assessment,” said the general.

“He had better get things back quickly. We have a schedule to keep. I know that the Allies will put up resistance, but we are expending everything to get through to the English Channel. Tell that commander to get the job done or I will get someone in there who can,” Borodin demanded as he slammed down the phone.

Flinging the covers to his bed back, he got up and rushed to his shower. The water came out as a trickle instead of a steady stream. Cursing under his breath, he splashed some of the water on his face and toweled it off. He then went to his room and began putting on his suit. He noticed that it was getting colder. Finally, the lights flickered back on. Looking out the window he saw that the rest of the city was dark. As he pulled his suit coat on, he walked to his door and called for the guard. “What is going on with the electricity? They know I have given strict orders that electricity must be maintained. Have you heard anything?” he asked.

The guard shook his head. “Nothing, really, Mister President. I heard they were calling, but no answer as yet. They had some trouble with the generator, but they got it running. Is there something else I can do for you?” he asked.

Borodin waved him off. “Let’s go down to the briefing room. We can find some answers there,” he said.

The two men walked down the corridor and into an elevator. They went down three floors to another heavily paneled hallway. Turning left, the men walked to the end of the hall and entered another guarded doorway. Inside was a table where men were seated, talking on phones to their counterparts in the Defense Ministry. Video monitors filled the far wall and several younger officers rushed back and forth doing various tasks for the men at the table. Everyone stopped and stood when Borodin entered the room.

“Alright, I am here. What is going on?” Borodin asked brusquely.

General Aledrovy walked back to one of the large screen monitors. He pointed to a line that bowed across Poland. The line of advance has been pushed back about five miles and is firming up. The reserve tanks have come forward to hold the line. But now we are getting some reports of activity near the former border. I doubt it is serious, but we have called for the Second Army to send an additional division from the Ukraine to bolster the lines and continue the advance. They are on the way now,” he reported.

“What about those casualty figures? Have we gotten any more information?” Borodin asked.

Aledrovy looked almost stricken. “The casualties are rising. Our initial estimates were nowhere close to accurate. Our troops are still being lost behind the lines. There are reports of what sounds like a swarm of bees just before the attacks. Then pistol shots and men begin dropping. It looks like they are targeting tank crews specifically. The latest figure, including those lost to direct enemy action is over twenty thousand,” he said. But something else has happened,” he said as he nodded to the Air Force general across from the President.

“Sir, we are getting reports from across the country that there are explosions at a number of sites. Fourteen of our hydroelectric dams have been struck. A number of the oil refineries from the Urals back to the Baltic were hit. There are massive fires. Another thirty seven of our electric generating plants are also inoperative due to explosions. The large electrical distribution yard outside Moscow has been hit and is inoperative. Several natural gas yards have been destroyed. There were also hits on a number of key bridges across the country. Right now, there is practically no electricity flowing anywhere in Russia. It appears this is due to a low level cruise missile attack. As you know, Comrade President, there is very little chance of such an attack being detected. The missiles could have come from anywhere, including launch from submarines. We stepped up anti-submarine patrols and have placed more aircraft in the air. We also stepped up manned stations along the coasts so that any future attacks will be detected,” the general reported.

“This is unacceptable. We have entered the winter. Our people are going to get cold. Divert what we need to get the electricity back on,” Borodin ordered.

“That will be a problem, Comrade President,” said the Energy Minister. “It will take months to achieve this. The only thing we can do for now is bring in portable units that can supply at least some power. But there are not enough to even help the major cities, much less the countryside. Most of the major manufacturers have their own units, but they won’t last forever. The only thing we can do is supplement with coal and oil fired units that have been shut down.”

“That won’t work when our refineries are destroyed and our bridges are down,” cried another minister. “Remember we are at war! Our armies have first priority for our resources.”

The arguments spread like a wildfire. No one had expected such a devastating blow this early on. This was supposed to be a rapid thrust to the Channel, then spreading out for all of Europe. Until today, everything had worked perfectly. Finally, Borodin held up his hand to quell the bickering. “You were supposed to have things ready to prevent such things as this from happening. Nothing should have reached Russian soil. Now I see that your efforts have fallen short. I must question your leadership on other matters as well.” His words slapped everyone in the room. Suddenly they realized how vulnerable their positions were.

Borodin continued, “We must do what we can for our people, but the main goal is to continue our thrust into Europe. Draw forces from the east to supplement our troops. Issue some of our small coal burning units to people in the rural areas and get some electricity to the cities. The people will just have to suffer through this. We have done this in the past, and the people can do it again,” he said. Glancing back at the screen, he asked, “What are the red areas on the map in the Atlantic?”

Admiral Metzik stood. “They are submarines that have been lost so far. Most were tracking American ships coming out of port. Several of our commanders report they have sunk American subs as well. We do not have firm numbers yet,” he said.

Borodin looked slightly stricken. There were well over thirty spots on the display. “How can this be? According to your intelligence, most of their submarines were still in port,” he said.

Metzik nodded slightly. “This is true. Our people on the ground have reported that the mining of the ports has worked well. Several of their ships were struck and few ships can get to sea, however, it appears there were still a fairly large number of submarines and ships that are at sea. They may have left port just before operations began.” He pulled up an image of USS Gettysburg broken in two and sitting in the channel of the St. John’s River. “Here is an example of what our mines have done,” the admiral said with glee.

Borodin smiled. “At least something has worked well. Are we still blockading the air traffic?”

“Yes, Comrade President. No aircraft have challenged us and no aircraft have crossed this line,” he said. He didn’t tell the President that there were other ways to get across the Atlantic.

Borodin sat back in his seat. It would be foolish to think the Allies would not put up some resistance. Everything they had done had worked well to this point. He resigned himself to let the people at home suffer for a while. The main goal was to win this war.

The Joint Chiefs stared at the three dimensional display with unbelieving eyes. There in the room was what looked like a model of the battlefield in Poland. They could see the differences in the terrain, the trees and brush, and the individual tanks and soldiers as they moved along the battlefield. The display was the size of a basketball court. What was even more amazing was when aircraft appeared on the scene. They could clearly be seen above the ground as they attacked the troops on the ground. Even the explosions could be seen flying into the miniaturized air.

“How the hell are you able to do this?” asked General Foote.

Josh Mayfield relished the moment. It was not very often that the CIA had the respect of the Joint Chiefs. “The system is called Eyeball. It is a series of satellites that are up there in pairs. These pairs are linked together so that any time we want to look at an area it’s like seeing things with your own eyes. We get back this 3-D image. It can be zoomed in and out to regulate the size of the area we want to see. But more importantly, there are eight sets of cameras on the satellites to do this, allowing seven different groups to watch specific areas. The eighth is a fixed set, linked to a computer, so that any movements are detected and immediately relayed back to us here or to any other people on the net,” he said. Mayfield motioned for the operator to go to the fixed image. The ground before them suddenly expanded to the entire continent of Europe and much of Russia. Looking closely, the men could still see things on the ground and in the air.

“This is amazing,” said Black, still staring at the display. “I thought the KH-14s were beyond compare, but this puts them to shame. What kinds of things have you been able to do so far?”

Mayfield turned to one of the men. “You want to give them what we found from this morning’s efforts?” he asked.

The younger man returned the view to the battlefield image, expanded to cover Poland and about 400 miles into Russia. He looked at his screen. “The American and French units destroyed 847 armored units and killed approximately 17,000 troops. We have at least temporarily gained air superiority over the battlefield and the German and Polish units are now closing in behind the Russians and are turning back to the west. The Russians are sending a large force of tanks up this road. There is also a large formation of planes joining up to make more strikes. I believe you call this situation, ‘fluid.’”

“My god, we can see every move. How can I get this information to the local commanders?” Foote asked.

“That’s the best part,” said Mayfield. “My people can integrate our signal into your Link 16 data system. With your okay, that can happen tonight. We have also manufactured seven more sets of displays just like this. If you have a space for it, we can begin transporting the equipment tomorrow. Once we take care of this line of death the Russians have set up along the mid-Atlantic, I can have another sent to Germany for the Allied Supreme Commander. Then it’s a matter of where else you feel you need a unit,” he said.

“Is there a way to warn them about what’s happening now?” asked Admiral Johnson.

Mayfield grinned. “What’s the number to your operations center. If you can call them, and set up a line, we can talk them through it for now,” Mayfield said.

The President looked over the initial report from the FBI. Former CIA Director Harmon had made several phone calls the morning of the attack to Senator Clark, who was not only on the Senate Armed Services Committee, but also on the Senate Intelligence Committee. One call, coincided with the time the attack commenced. A further look at Clark’s calls included other members of the minority party both on the committee and off. Now there was general concern that Eyeball had been leaked.

The President looked up at Director Phelps. “What’s the next move?” he asked.

“Sir, the Bureau will now look into each of those senators to try and ascertain if they leaked information to other members of the senate who are not cleared for such information. It’s going to get sticky. You need to know that once this gets going, the media is bound to find out. You will not receive any further information from us. The Attorney General has convened a special prosecutor to look into this.”

O’Bannon handed the papers back to the Director. “One thing we don’t need is a scandal right now. With the elections coming up it could mean chaos. How many of those senators are up for reelection?” he asked.

“All but one, Mister President.”

The President closed his eyes and hung his head. This was beyond party politics. For years he had watched both parties gnaw at each other. Nothing of substance could get passed, including a budget. The bickering, accusations, recriminations and general hatred going back and forth was ruining the nation. The American people were fed up, but because many key senators and congressmen held sway in Washington, real reform was impossible. Now, during a war, it threatened everyone in uniform. He would have liked to use his position to make sure the media was gagged, but he knew if he did it, he would never have their trust again. He looked up at Phelps. “What a mess.”

Phelps nodded. “Yes sir. At one time I might recommend getting hold of the committee chairs and getting things taken care of behind the scenes, but not this time. Plus, if we did, this whole thing would get blown out of proportion and into the general public’s eyes. There’s no way to win.”

The President let out a sigh. “Then just do your job. Gather everything you need and hope the special prosecutor can keep a lid on things. If it does look like something will come out, then maybe you both will need to come see me. With the war on, we just can’t afford something like this,” he said.

Phelps placed the document in his briefcase. “We’ll do our best,” he said.

“Thanks, Director,” said the President.

Phelps left the office and O’Bannon stared at the wall. Any minute he expected it to come crashing down around him.