Yes, Carl thought. She knows.
“Channel open,” reported the ensign.
Mallory seemed bewildered. “You plan to save us with one missile?”
Carl looked at her and replied, “Madam President, you should know me better than that by now. When you face an opponent who possesses overwhelming power, first you give ’em a bloody nose, like I did with the FBI, the TER, and the Mexican army. Then, while they’re reeling from the surprise, you hit ’em again and again.” He turned his attention to the camera.
“And Admiral Montmarkle is no doubt evaluating her tactical display at this moment, aren’t you, Admiral? You know what that new indicator is. I’m fixin’ to give you a nuclear bloody nose, so feel free to open a channel and discuss this with me anytime. You still have about one minute before this war becomes irreversible.”
The ensign reported in. “I’m receiving a video transmission, Commander.”
“On screen.”
The admiral’s face was shocking in its severity. She was Agent Palmer, Special Agent Cummings, Director McGrath, and all of Carl’s mercs rolled into one person. She had a narrow hawk-like face with penetrating blue eyes, edged by severe crow’s feet. Her gray hair was severely pulled back in what Carl assumed was a bun behind her head.
“This is Admiral—”
Carl waved her silent. “I know who you are. Let’s jump to the part where you realize you are not in control here. You’ll notice my helicopter has not reversed course yet. That’s because its mission is not complete.”
“Standard flight range for a chopper billeted for the Zumwalt-class destroyer like the USS Kestrel Andrus is two hundred seventy-five miles. It will fall short.”
“It doesn’t need to make it all the way. In fact, it’s close enough now. When that first missile detonates, it will create a massive curtain of radiation through which you will not see the next two missiles. You should know by now that I’m not real comfortable playing defense. I’m better at offense. So the first detonation will be your bloody nose, Admiral. The next two will be your ass-whooping. I’m going to destroy your ship and cripple your fleet.”
Mallory gasped. “You fired a nuclear weapon at the US Navy!?”
“Not yet, Madam President. I fired a nuclear weapon to disable a mass of missiles fired at this US Navy vessel. I will fire the next two nukes at an enemy who is trying to murder the president of the United States. The admiral knows you’re on this vessel.”
The admiral spoke. “I know that your transmission is coming from the ship.”
“What you think you know is irrelevant now,” Carl said. “I’m prepared to use my two remaining nukes if you do not self-destruct your missiles.”
Her eyes darted off-camera, and Carl knew someone was updating her. She said, “The Kestrel Andrus does not have a nuclear arsenal.”
“Mmm-hmm. Well, it’s a good thing I brought my own.” Carl considered an abstract thought. “I’m guessing your morning national security threat briefing last month didn’t include a report on the black-market auction of ten old Soviet nuclear warheads from whatever third-world country that was.” He waved off his own comment and directed his attention to the tactical display. “Yeah, I bought them.”
The indicator for Carl’s nuke was closing fast on the mass of missiles.
“Admiral, you have forty seconds to comply. My guy has orders to launch right before that nuke detonates. The EMP will fry most of the unprotected electronics in your fleet, destroying all but your radiation-hardened systems. What you’ll have left won’t detect my next two missiles until they’re too close. And while my missiles are old, we’ve installed the latest end-of-trajectory evasive flight package, same as your ship killers.”
Mallory touched his arm. “Carl, what are you doing? You can’t possibly—”
“Madam President, it’s called mutually assured destruction.” He turned back to the camera. “Admiral, I know I can’t win a shooting war against a carrier group, but I can hurt you. I can hurt you very badly. You will ultimately win this fight, I know that, but if you kill my president, I will kill you, Admiral. I will vaporize your ship along with any vessels within three thousand yards.”
Eckels said to Mallory, “The ship killers are fire-and-forget missiles. There is no termination signal for those.”
Carl noticed the admiral say something to someone off-camera. The tactical display beeped again and two of the inbound fighter jets peeled off on a trajectory to intercept Merc Three’s chopper. “Nice try, Admiral. They’ll never get there in time.”
Even as he spoke the words, four blips separated from the indicators, closing on Three’s position. Carl took in the data stream next to all the indicators on the tactical display.
Twenty-two seconds to detonation of Carl’s missile.
One minute, ten until engagement with the nearest of the remaining missiles of the next wave.
Ten minutes, four seconds until arrival of the fighters, though Carl knew they’d likely launch their missiles long before then.
Fifteen seconds until the missiles from the two fighters intercepted Three’s chopper.
Carl said, “Admiral, at least turn your fighters away. All are inside the blast radius of the coming detonation, and there’s no need for those men and women to die.” He glanced at Commander Eckels. “Make sure no one is topside.”
She nodded to one of her enlisted CIC operators. “Prep the ship for nuclear detonation and ready contamination protocols.”
“Prep for nuclear, aye, Commander.” After a moment, the operator said, “All personnel are below decks.”
“Mr. Johnson,” the admiral said. “I require your unconditional surrender.”
Carl shook his head. “The American Terrorist does not surrender, Admiral. I escalate.” He paused for affect. “However, I will accept your surrender. The president must live. That is nonnegotiable.”
Five seconds.
Carl and the admiral stared at each other, and he could tell she wasn’t going to yield. Suddenly, the wall screen, the tactical display, and every piece of electronic equipment in the CIC blinked off for a few seconds. The red tactical lighting popped on.
Slowly, the destroyer’s radiation-hardened computer systems rebooted and systems came back online.
The ensign swiveled in his seat. “Commander, sensors show a nuclear detonation at the location Mr. Johnson specified.”
Eckels gazed at Carl. “I thought you were bluffing.”
“I’m sure the admiral thought the same.”
The president added, “And Three just launched two more nuclear missiles at the carrier group?”
“Well, that part was a bluff,” Carl said. “I only have one more, but they’ll be looking for two.” He glanced around the room and raised his voice for all to hear. “I will do whatever it takes and I will kill anyone to make sure President Mallory survives.”
The young ensign said, “Systems coming back online. We have full acquisition and targeting capabilities.” He consulted his computer screen. “The detonation obliterated most of the missile field and…”
The commander glanced over at him. “Let’s have it, Ensign.”
“The planes, ma’am. I no longer see them on the screen, but we still have seventy-three of the farthest missiles inbound, moving yellow to red.”
Carl closed his eyes, though he knew the outcome could be no different. He bounced his fist against the acrylic. Fuck! Fifty young men and women just died because the admiral…
No, it wasn’t the admiral who killed those people. It was Carl. He heard urgent voices around him.
“Weapons free! Engage lasers and rail gun on yellow targets. Engage missile batteries on red targets. Stand by, close-support guns.”
“Standing by guns. Lasers, missile batteries, and rail gun engaged and firing.”
The ship came alive again like a living, breathing combat animal. When Carl had told McGrath what he needed, the director had chosen USS Kestrel Andrus as their target wi
thout a moment’s hesitation. Commissioned barely six months ago, it hadn’t seen actual combat and its weapons systems had only been fired at stationary test targets. Now the most advanced ship in the US Navy was tasked to defend the life of the leader of the free world against a surface fleet powerful enough to defeat most countries on the planet.
Mallory touched his arm. “It’s not your fault.”
He glanced at her. “I keep asking myself, what would Aaron McGrath do?”
“He would keep fighting until he can’t.”
“But he’s never fought like this. He’s always had the best weapons, the best intel, the best people. He’s always been the one with the overwhelming force. He’s never been the underdog.”
“But he always wins. Just like you do.”
The ship rocked with an explosion, and Carl saw a red expanding blip appear on the tactical display a mere ten meters from the aft portside of the destroyer. The guns had destroyed the missiles inside the one-hundred-meter defensive perimeter, but now the perimeter was easing closer to the ship and everyone in the CIC felt the ship shudder under the increasingly closer airbursts.
An alarm echoed throughout the ship, heard over the mélange of gunfire, missile launches, and explosions.
“They’re getting too close, Commander. LIDAR can’t track them all.”
“Stay calm, Ensign. Mr. Johnson was correct. We will survive this.” She stepped over to the tactical display with Carl and the president and fingered her jaw like she was considering something radical. Then she tapped a finger on the sixteen ship killers still ten minutes out. Carl could tell she was just about to voice her idea when three impacts shook the ship. The ship shuddered horribly, the vibration worse than the most intense earthquake he’d ever felt.
“Aft impact!” an operator hollered. “Port impact! No response from aft weapon systems.”
Commander Eckels bellowed, “Bring the ship to one-eight-zero. Quickly!” To Carl and the president, she added, “We have to make ourselves a smaller target.”
The lieutenant added, “Helm is sluggish, Commander.”
Merc Eight hollered from across the room. “Computer shows port shaft is down. Zero turns on port shaft. Request permission to redirect damage control teams.”
“Granted!”
“Fire in the port magazine!”
“Deploy fire suppression gas.”
“No response.”
“Flood it!” Eckels commanded. “Seal all compartments, frame seven-two through one-two-four, decks four, five, and six.”
“Done,” Eight said.
The lieutenant added, “Aft laser destroyed! Rail gun is not responding. Missile launchers seven and eight offline!”
“Ensign, reconfigure launchers six and fourteen through sixteen for long-range ship-to-air missiles. Prepare to engage blue targets.”
“Aye, Commander, but that’s going to cripple our yellow zone defense capability.”
“I’m aware of that. Fire when ready.”
Carl said, “You intend to try to intercept the ship killers at distance?”
Eckels nodded. “Yes, while we still have launchers to fire. Normally, on final approach they go into automatic threat-evasion maneuvers, so if an intercept missile misses on its first attempt, there isn’t enough time to correct course and make another attempt.”
“But if you can hit them at distance…”
She nodded. “Or if we can force them to begin evasion while still many miles away, it’ll consume all their fuel before impact…maybe.” She shrugged. “We’re at the extreme edge of their range. It’s a shot in the dark.”
Carl nodded. “But it will buy us a few more minutes.”
“A few more minutes for what?”
Two more impacts violently rocked the ship.
Ensign said, “We just lost the bridge, Commander, and we took a hit on the front hull plate…below the waterline!” He consulted a screen at the station next to his. “Two casualties, one fatal; three others trapped inside that compartment.”
Carl looked at the tactical display. Seventeen inbound missiles remained, but the guns were making quick work of those. He glanced over at the enlisted gunner. She was calm, working her joystick with ease, destroying targets one after another.
Eckels ordered, “Ensign, how many long-range missiles got off before we lost those launchers?”
“Our remaining complement was eight, and all launched.”
The tactical display beeped as the last inbound missile was destroyed.
“Weapons inventory?”
“Rail gun and rear antimissile laser destroyed. Three of four deck guns operational, bow, port, and starboard. Ammunition down to twenty percent. Five of sixteen missile launchers still operational.” The ensign swiveled in his chair and gazed at the commander. “We have four intercept missiles left, ma’am, and all are in the launchers.”
Eckels nodded. “No use saving them for later, Ensign. Pick your targets and fire.”
“Aye, Commander. Ship killers targeted. Last missiles away.”
“What’s our damage control status?”
“We only have two teams now, ma’am. Both are aft putting out a fire near the ammo locker and fuel bunker. The third team is the one trapped forward. I was on the line with them a few seconds ago, but the line went dead. It sounded dire.”
Lieutenant Hawkins stepped up beside the president. “Commander, Captain. Damage control is our alternate combat duty aboard ship. Let me take my marines and go forward to see if we can free those trapped sailors.” Carl was about to object, but the lieutenant held up a hand. “It was a smart tactical decision to station us with the president in case we were boarded after the missile attack, but with the ship killers on the way, there’s no way a Navy SEAL team will attempt a high-altitude insertion.”
Carl glanced at Commander Eckels, who nodded.
“Good call, Lieutenant. Deploy your marines.” Carl looked at Merc Eight. “Are Fourteen and his team finished with their task?” Eight nodded at him. “Then have all our team members report to Lieutenant Hawkins for damage control.” He tried to make sense of the high-tech tactical display and all its indicators and symbols. “Ensign, what’s the ETA of the ship killer missiles?”
“Six minutes, ten seconds.”
Eckels rapped her knuckles on the acrylic display. “I repeat, a few more minutes for what?”
“Director McGrath told me he’d be here with a ride.”
“And if he doesn’t show up?”
“Then we go down with the ship.”
“So all this”—Eckels waved her hand around the CIC—“is simply a distraction? What was it you said, a head fake?”
“It’s how you fight an opponent with overwhelming power. I had to give Atlas a target that would survive an hour of combat while we await rescue. I needed the ship and your crew to put up a good fight, and look sincere and authentic doing it, and you did. I’m sorry your ship won’t survive the next attack. Director McGrath and I knew Atlas would just keep coming at us until we were destroyed, so we had to be prepared for this level of engagement.”
Eckels nodded and said, “Were you prepared for nuclear war?”
Carl nodded. “That’s why I brought nukes.” He looked down at the tactical display—five minutes, forty-five seconds—then at President Mallory, then at the commander. “When I graduated from Air Force Officer Training School in ninety-one, me and my fellow graduates were still young and immortal. I was only twenty-eight. We promised each other we’d visit. We planned to get together every year at a different member’s base. Shortly after graduation, I drove across country and passed right by the base where one of my classmates was stationed. But it was late at night and I wanted to get where I was going, so I didn’t visit. Next thing I knew, he was shipped off to the first Gulf War, and he was the navigation officer on the only US plane to get shot down over there.
“He was one of those kids that died today. They were him.” Carl took a deep breath. “War
is a messy business, Commander, and I’m prepared to do whatever is necessary to protect the president. I was prepared to send my second-in-command on a one-way mission we both knew would get him killed. I was prepared to order a drone strike yesterday on my agent who was dying but not dead yet, to kill the enemy combatants around her.”
Five minutes, fifteen seconds. “It’s time,” Carl said. “Ensign, which way is the wind blowing?”
“Westerly, sir.”
“Um, is that from the west or to the west?”
“From the west to the east, sir.”
“Copy that. Commander, point the ship due south and stop.”
“Do it, Lieutenant.”
The lieutenant got on a corded handset. “Engine Room, CIC. All engines stop. Repeat, e-stop all main engines and feather props.” He punched some buttons on his console. “We are completing our previous maneuver, steering one-eight-zero.”
Carl said, “Eight, blow the charges on the starboard side and make smoke. Flood the lower compartments on the port side. Check the sensors and make sure no one is in those areas. Give me a thirty-degree list to port.”
Merc Eight consulted the ensign and then called Hawkins by intercom, then touched a key that activated a preprogrammed set of explosives. The ship rocked violently yet again.
“You’re going to scuttle my ship!?”
“The USS Kestrel Andrus has one last duty to perform, and that is to cover our escape. Eight, do we still have any topside cameras active?”
The wall monitor flickered and everyone in the CIC gasped. It wasn’t the sight of the enormous expanding fireballs that had just erupted from the starboard side of the ship. It was the condition of the ship. The entire back end of the superstructure was literally scraped from the deck. Blackened and twisted metal was all that remained of the armored radar and comm housings. There was no sight of the aft missile launchers, the rail gun housing, and the aft gun housings. Most of the bridge was gone or in shambles. Without the heavy armor of the stealth ship’s construction, the USS Kestrel Andrus would have already been sinking to the ocean floor with its crew.
On the monitor, Carl saw huge plumes of billowing black smoke roll over the deck and obscure the immense destruction. Already the horizon was beginning to tilt to the right as the deck settled to the left. With his back to the port bulkhead, Carl had the uncomfortable feeling he was being pulled backward, and he and everyone in the CIC leaned against the pitch. He pointed a finger at the ceiling and said, “Our enemy is watching from a satellite, but I don’t want them to see what happens next.”
American Terrorist Trilogy Page 95