Nightwatch

Chapter 55

“Captain, the weapons system is at 1SQ. Missiles number one and twenty-four are ready to launch.”

The amplified intercom announcement echoed through the missile magazine, and Benjamin Kram and the five SEALs gathered at his side looked out pleadingly to the armed group of sailors who continued to face them. Captain Terence McNeil Lockwood appeared to ignore the intruders as he reached up for the nearest intercom handset.

“COB, I want that sonar up within the next two minutes, at which time I intend to ascend to launch depth.”

Lockwood lowered the mike and listened as Kram reinitiated his argument.

“At the very least, ask your weapons officer to access the target coordinates from the EAM. I realize it’s a breach of the protocol, but this situation is unlike any other that we’ve ever faced.”

“Damn it, Kram,” replied Lockwood, his disgust obvious.

“We’ve been going over this for the last half hour, and it just won’t sink into that thick skull of yours. We received a properly formatted, duly authorized EAM from the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been trained to consider such an EAM as gospel, and nothing you say can convince me otherwise.”

“But I’m not doubting the EAM’s legitimacy, Terence,” Kram retorted.

“What I’m questioning is its validity. General Spencer was absolutely convinced that, for whatever reason, Nightwatch intentionally conveyed to you an EAM ordering a surgical nuclear strike against a target inside the continental United States.

It’s not our responsibility to determine the reason behind this unprecedented occurrence, only to ensure that such an unthinkable event doesn’t come to pass.”

“Captain,” interjected the relieved voice of the Rhode Island’s COB over the intercom.

“Sonar is up and fully operational.”

Lockwood immediately put the intercom handset to his lips.

“Conn, this is the Captain. Ascend to one-five-zero feet, and prepare to launch as ordered.”

The sound of venting ballast indicated that this order was in the process of being implemented, and Kram attempted one last, desperate plea.

“We’re not at war, Terence. You can’t launch!”

“Then how do you explain the explosion that sounded outside our hull?” countered Lockwood.

“And what in the hell has happened to the Polk? For all we know, your command could have been taken out by that Russian bastard, and he could just be waiting to do the same to us the moment we open our missile hatches.”

“Please, Terence, I’m begging you, as one officer to another.

Break the protocol, and ask your weapons officer to check the targeting coordinates. Do that for me, and I swear to you that I’ll rest my case.”

The surging roar of venting ballast was briefly overridden by a renting, scraping noise, caused by the now-lightened Trident lifting off its stationary perch on the continental shelf. The hull rolled, and Lockwood reached out to steady himself on the side of the nearest missile launch tube.

“Damn it, Kram,” he said, more in frustration than in anger.

“Here you go and compromise our alert security by barging in like this, and then you expect me to ignore a properly formatted EAM from the Chairman, who’s a former boomer skipper himself.”

“I realize your dilemma, Terence. Just verify those targeting coordinates, please. If I’m wrong, fire away. But if Spencer is right…”

“Damn it,” repeated Lockwood before once more addressing the handset.

“Weps, this is the Captain. Key up the EAM and pull the targeting coordinates out of Yankee Hotel. And yes, I realize it’s a violation of the protocol, but I’ll take personal responsibility for breaching it.”

Kram’s relief was cut short by the amplified voice of the Rhode Island’s sonar operator.

“Captain, we’ve got an unidentified submerged contact. Bearing one-one-five, range fifty-five hundred yards. Classify Sierra One, possible hostile submarine.”

“Man battle stations torpedo!” ordered Lockwood over the 1MC.

The alarm sounded, and Lockwood beckoned his security team to lower their weapons.

“Commander Gilbert, as long as you promise that your SEALs will behave, I see no further need for keeping those weapons trained on them. Hell, if it turns out that there’s a Russian sub out there waiting to turn us into fish food, we’ll share the same fate regardless. And, Kram, how about accompanying me to the missile control room? It’s time to put this matter to rest once and for all.”

Kram gave Doug Gilbert and his SEALs a hopeful thumbsup, then readily went with Lockwood into the adjoining compartment.

As they entered, the Rhode Island’s weapons officer glanced up from his button-filled console, an expression of pure bewilderment on his smooth-shaven face.

“Sir, you’re not gonna believe it, but that coordinate analysis shows that Trident number one is being targeted on the airspace off Georgia, while number twenty-four’s three MIRV’d warheads are being directed on what appears to be the south-central portion of the state of Missouri. Sir, my family lives in nearby Arkansas, and I’d like to know, why have we been ordered to launch three 150-kiloton nuclear warheads on the Ozarks?”

With astounded eyes, Lockwood scanned the display screen to verify this information, and only then did he look up to meet Benjamin Kram’s resolute stare.

“Good Lord, Ben, what in hell does Trent Warner think he’s doing up there?”

Lockwood proceeded to terminate the launch, and immediately afterward, the report arrived from Sonar that made Kram’s long day complete.

“Captain, we have a positive ID on Sierra One. It’s the Polk, sir, and the Jimmy It’s riding shotgun off our starboard beam, just where they’re supposed to be.”