Anvil

by Dirk Patton

  “Lock them in, but do not engage,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Jessica answered, already entering the second set.

  “Time to targets?” Packard asked when she finished with the third set.

  “Twenty-seven minutes, sir,” Jessica reported after double checking the data displayed by the system.

  “Initiate launch,” the Admiral ordered.

  Jessica took a deep breath, typed in a command and hit enter.

  Far above the earth, a small constellation of large satellites were in orbit. Twenty-four in all. They were simple devices, linked to a ground controller through the top-secret NSA satellites. They didn’t contain targeting or tracking computers. They were nothing more than launch platforms.

  What each did contain was thirty-six, nine ton rods made of tungsten. Each rod was twenty feet long and a foot in diameter, with a sharply tapered nose and aerodynamic trailing edge. When Jessica’s command was accepted by the satellite, nine circular doors on the tapered end pointed at the Earth slid open.

  As soon as the holes in the bottom of the satellite were fully exposed, hydraulic rams in the tubes gave each rod a gentle push. As they emerged and dropped free, small canisters of compressed carbon dioxide mounted to the tail section activated and small control surfaces deployed. The small push from the jet of escaping gas accelerated the rods into their fall towards the Earth’s atmosphere.

  “Successful deployment, sir,” Jessica said when she received a confirmation that the rods were clear of the launch platform.

  Packard looked at his watch and noted the time. He nodded at his aide who handed Jessica another piece of paper with two long columns of coordinates.

  “These are follow on targets,” he said. “Get them entered into the targeting system and ready to go. On my order only.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The rods quickly built speed as gravity pulled them down. Several minutes later they began encountering the outermost layer of the atmosphere. They were traveling in excess of forty kilometers per second. As the rods continued to fall, the air grew denser and they slowed due to atmospheric friction.

  The control surfaces, useless in space, made minute adjustments, guiding the weapons as they continued their plunge towards the Earth’s surface. A final course correction was made, three groups of three rods each forming up and spreading apart as they raced for their targets.

  Admiral Packard checked his watch and turned to his aide, telling him to get Russian Fleet Admiral Chirkov on the phone. Three minutes later a handset was handed to the Admiral and he lifted it to his ear. His eyes were glued to the computer generated track of the inbound weapons.

  “Admiral Packard, so good to hear from you,” Chirkov crowed over the phone. “I’m so glad you decided to hand over Major Chase. I have always wanted to visit Hawaii and would have hated to have to destroy it.”

  “Where are you right now, Admiral?” Packard asked, not rising to the bait thrown out by the Russian.

  “You know where I am. I’m on a plane on my way to accept your surrender and take control of your fleet.”

  “Sorry, I must have forgotten that was today,” Packard said sarcastically. “Do you have access to satellite imagery?”

  “What are you doing, Admiral?” Chirkov asked, the threatening note in his voice unmistakable.

  “I suggest you find a screen that can give you a real time view of the Kremlin. And your naval base on the Kamchatka Peninsula. Oh, and let’s not forget your nuclear power station in Smolensk. You’d better hurry.”

  “Admiral, what are you doing? Do you not believe we will destroy you?” Chirkov screamed over the phone. Packard held it away from his ear for a moment.

  “Chirkov. Time’s almost up,” Packard said, his voice perfectly flat.

  “I am watching,” the Russian growled a few moments later. “And I am not amused. Whatever you are doing, it will be met with swift and devastating retribution.”

  Packard ignored the man, shifting his gaze from the computer generated tracks to real time views of the three targets he had listed. The sprawling naval base was the first to be struck. There were three distinct flashes as each rod impacted the surface of the Earth.

  At terminal velocity, the tungsten rods were travelling at six kilometers per second. As each 18,000-pound projectile struck, it released all of the kinetic energy created by its fall from high earth orbit. Explosions equivalent to five tons of TNT were generated by each, effectively destroying the majority of the base and heavily damaging most of the ships in port.

  There was strangled gasp over the phone, but Chirkov was apparently unable to speak.

  The next target reached was the huge nuclear power plant in Smolensk. All three reactors were in operation when the rods impacted. Each containment vessel was shattered in the resulting explosions, exposing the cores to the atmosphere and creating a disaster far worse than the meltdown of Chernobyl.

  Finally, the Kremlin. The sprawling complex located in Moscow itself. The most well protected national seat of power in the world. All three rods came down within its thick walls. Every living thing within the Kremlin, as well as a half a mile radius around it, was killed instantly. Admiral Packard watched the monitor in satisfaction as the symbol of Russian might was laid to waste.

  “Admiral Chirkov. Are you there?”

  Packard had waited for nearly a minute after the destruction of the Kremlin. He wanted to be sure the impact of what had just happened had time to sink in.

  “What have you done?” Chirkov bellowed. “I will rain nuclear fire until there are no Americans left alive on the planet!”

  “You will do no such thing, Admiral. I am currently targeting 147 locations within Russia with the same weapon your defensive systems didn’t even detect. I only have to push a button and all of these targets will be destroyed. Russia as you know it will cease to exist. You’ll have no power. No communications. No military. Not even food. And winter is coming, Admiral.”

  There was a long silence. The only thing Packard could hear was the ragged breathing of the Russian. He remained quiet, leaving the next move up to Chirkov.

  “What do you want?”

  Packard smiled a tight smile when he heard the question.

  “All Russians off US soil immediately. Full withdrawal of your military to within your borders and a cessation of all hostilities. If I so much as think I hear a submarine coming shallow to launch a missile, I’ll rain fire on you until there’s not a fucking thing left. And turn that goddamn plane around that’s carrying Major Chase. I want him back on US soil. Now!”