by Dirk Patton
The tunnels were left over from World War II, leading into bunkers housed deep within the mountain. At the peak, with a commanding view of miles upon miles of coastline, were a multitude of abandoned coastal defense battery stations. In their day, most housed 155 mm guns, but now they were empty and overgrown.
“This is going to be a target for the Russians.”
The Governor’s voice was whiny as he stepped farther away from the gravel road. A large truck carrying an anti-aircraft missile battery rumbled past and into the tunnel. Behind it was a long line of heavily laden trucks, grinding their way up the primitive trail that was carved into the side of the mountain.
“Yes, sir. It probably will, but there will only be military personnel inside. You and your staff will be in Battery 405. It’s 200 feet below ground and will probably be the safest place.”
“Then we should go there,” the Governor said, sounding relieved. “I don’t know why you’re bothering to show this to me.”
Glass took a deep breath, trying to hide her exasperation with the man. The Admiral had asked her to give him a quick tour of the defenses that were being set up to protect the island, but the Governor seemed only to be concerned about his personal safety. Not once had he brought up the topic of the plight of the civilian population during the coming Russian invasion.
“I’ll take you there next, sir,” she said in a tight, professional voice. “But we have to wait until these trucks have cleared the road. There’s no other way down.”
“Can’t you have a helicopter or something come get us?”
She looked at the man. At the obvious fear on his face.
“No, sir. There aren’t any available.”
As if to punctuate her statement, a flight of several Apache helicopters roared overhead. They were escorting a dozen heavily laden Chinooks that were transporting equipment and personnel from Pearl Harbor to the mountain top. Turning away, she looked out at the ocean stretching away from the island.
Hundreds of boats of every size carved white scars into the blue water. The other islands were being evacuated, the people being consolidated on Oahu. There weren’t enough ships, planes or men remaining to defend all of the islands in the chain. Meghan didn’t think there were enough to protect the one island which was the last outpost of America.
It was only a few minutes later when one of the trucks ground to a halt next to where she was standing. A large radar antenna rested in its bed. The passenger door opened, and three men who had been crammed into the cab climbed down. With a grinding of gears, the truck moved away, and they quickly crossed the gravel track to where she was standing.
Glass came to attention when she saw the eagle on the Army uniform of the man leading the way. He waved at her to relax as he walked up to face her.
“Colonel Blanchard,” he said.
“Sir. Commander Glass,” she responded, taking his outstretched hand.
The quarantine that had been imposed on Blanchard and the troops he’d brought from Nevada had ended as soon as Packard saw what the Russians were planning. The Admiral had placed the Colonel in charge of the island’s ground defenses.
“Are you in charge here, Commander?”
“No, sir. I’m escorting the Governor on a quick tour of our preparations.”
Blanchard’s eyes slid over her shoulder and took in the nervous man standing a few feet away. As quickly as he looked, he dismissed him and returned his attention to the naval officer.
“Carry on, Commander,” he said.
Turning, he looked into the tunnel, then stepped close to Colonel Pointere, who had a large pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes as he surveyed the surrounding jungle.
“Brutal terrain,” Blanchard commented.
“Damn brutal. For the fucking Commies,” Pointere growled, then lowered the glasses and raised his arm to point. “We put men all along the top of these two ridgelines. That gives us control of the valley leading up here.”
Blanchard took a moment to look over the terrain, then nodded.
“Agreed. But, we’ve got seven more locations to defend, plus Battery 405 and the harbor.”
“We’re going to be thin on the ground, that’s for sure,” Pointere said. “At least we’ve got plenty of arms and munitions.”
“OK. Let’s use your Marines for the static defensive positions. We can supplement with Navy and Air Force. Use them for observation and runners. I’ll have some Rangers down in the valley. They’ll set up some surprises for our guests and keep them harassed so they can’t move fast.”
Blanchard turned to the third man in the group. He was a Navy Captain, wearing a SEAL trident on his uniform.
“Captain, I’m rethinking your suggestion, and I agree with you. SEALs planting mines on the Russian ships. There’s just not enough of you to make a difference in the jungle, but if you can clog up the harbor with burning enemy ships, it’ll make it damn difficult for them to keep landing troops.”
The man smiled and lowered the binoculars he was using to survey the harbor below.
“Figured you’d come around,” he chuckled. “I already told my men that’s what they were doing. They’ll be ready.”
“Good,” Blanchard said without hesitating. “Colonel, get orders issued to your Marines and let’s move. I want a look at Battery 405, then the north shore.”
“You’re going to Battery 405? Can I get a ride with you?”
The three men turned to see that the Governor had stepped close behind them. Blanchard glanced at Commander Glass before looking back at the man.
“Shouldn’t you be coordinating with your state police or something? Get your civilians someplace safe? Arm the ones that can fight?” Blanchard asked.
“My aides are handling that,” the man said in a pompous tone. “I’m supposed to be evacuated to the shelter.”
Blanchard sighed and turned his back on the man. Pointere and the SEAL officer had already moved away, radios pressed to their ears as they issued orders. The Colonel called his aide who was on his way in a Black Hawk. When he arrived, the Captain would take command of the installation’s defenses. Blanchard and the two officers would depart in the Black Hawk.
The Colonel had just lowered his handset when the radio beeped. Answering it, he didn’t like the news coming from the CIC at Pearl Harbor.
“Russians have sailed from Midway,” he said after the call completed.
“How long?” Pointere asked.
“Forty hours at their present speed,” Blanchard said. “We’ve got a crippled carrier, two Aegis cruisers and an attack sub going to engage them in a few hours. Try and slow them down, but we’re severely outgunned.”
The three men looked up as a Black Hawk swooped over the top of the mountain and came into a hover over their position. They were standing on a slope, and there was nowhere for it to land.
A moment later a crewman looked down before tossing a heavy bag through the open side door. A thick, fast-rope line unspooled as it fell, thumping onto the edge of the gravel track. A man appeared at the opening, sliding down and stepping away. He was quickly followed by three more soldiers. The crewman leaned out again, then started pulling the rope back into the hovering Black Hawk.
Blanchard spoke briefly with the Captain and a Lieutenant, both men turning and jumping onto the running board of a passing truck. They would set up a command post within the mountain. The two men remaining stepped forward when the Colonel looked in their direction.
“How do you two keep turning up?” He asked with a grin.
Drago and Chico both shrugged their shoulders and smiled back at him.
“OK,” Blanchard said, getting serious. “We’ve got to defend this approach. The Marines are going to take the ridgelines on either side of the valley. When the squads show up, start setting up some welcome presents. You got into the armory without any problems?”
“Yes, sir,” Drago said. “One thing about Hawaii, it’s well stocked. We’ve got enough to keep them bogged
down for a while.”
“Make it happen,” Blanchard said. “Captain Forest is in command until I get back.”
“Yes, sir,” Drago said.
He and Chico turned away and headed down the steep slope. Within seconds, they had completely disappeared in the thick foliage.
Blanchard looked up as Pointere was helped into the helicopter by a crewman. He’d been winched up once the fast-rope was clear. The steel cable immediately started back down to pick up the next passenger.
“I have to go up that?”
The Governor stepped forward and grabbed Blanchard’s arm. The Colonel calmly reached over and removed his hand. The cable had made it back to the ground, and the SEAL officer stepped into the harness and twirled his hand at the watching crewman.
“No,” Blanchard said. “I’m sure there’s a vehicle coming.”
The man looked at him in surprise, his mouth hanging open for a beat.
“I was promised I’d be taken to the shelter,” he shouted. “I demand you take me with you!”
“Military only in the aircraft,” Blanchard said, stepping forward to snag the harness swinging at the end of the cable.
“Admiral Packard will hear about this!”
The Colonel bit back a less than respectful response as he snugged the harness around his hips, grabbed the cable with one hand and twirled the other.
“What was that all about?” Pointere asked when Blanchard stepped into the Black Hawk.
“Threatening to call the Admiral if I didn’t bring him with us.”
“Fuck him,” the SEAL said. “Goddamn politician!”
“Should have brought him,” Pointere said.
“You serious?” Blanchard and the SEAL both asked in surprise.
“Sure. We could have thrown his ass out the door, over the ocean, and told everyone he slipped.”
12
“What else can we throw at them, Captain?”
Admiral Packard was standing in Pearl Harbor’s CIC, feet spread as if he were astride the heaving deck of a ship at sea.
“Sir, we’ve got two Coast Guard cutters and an Arleigh Burke class destroyer that’s barely sea-worthy. Other than that, everything still floating is too far away to reach us in time. The bastards truly caught us with our pants around our ankles.”
Packard nodded, glaring at a massive display that showed the current position of every American ship on the globe. Well, the best guess current position. Since the Russians had begun jamming their communication signals, the CIC was no longer getting a constant feed from every Navy asset that was in service.
Arrayed across the screen, and still over a thousand miles to the northwest of Oahu, was the Russian fleet. And there were a lot of ships. A squadron of Marine pilots had flown a daring reconnaissance mission, all but one of them falling prey to the CAP being flown over the enemy armada. The final man had managed to evade and escape, making it most of the way back to Hawaii before running out of fuel.
He’d punched out of the aircraft and been picked up by a small Coast Guard boat. The crew had taken the 25-foot craft, intended for use in the protected waters of bays and harbors, over two hundred miles out into the open ocean to retrieve the downed pilot. His report on the positioning of the fleet, and observed speed and heading, was the basis for the plotting of the enemy on the display.
“How long until Falcon flight is over their fleet?”
“Estimated thirty minutes, sir. We lost comms with them as soon as they were out of line of sight.”
“Any progress on finding the source of the jamming?”
The Captain shook his head.
“No, sir. Our senior engineer’s best guess is it’s orbital. But we can’t pinpoint a satellite if it is.”
Packard took a deep breath to compose himself. Frustration threatened to overwhelm him, but he managed to push it aside. For a commander who had always been able to depend on instant communications and satellite surveillance, the situation he found himself in was maddening. It was only a step above fighting with a blindfold.
“Captain, find me the moment we get any update on the status of Falcon,” the Admiral said, turning and stalking out of the CIC.
“Yes, sir,” the man said, struggling with his own frustration.
Falcon flight was four B-2 stealth bombers, escorted by two squadrons of Navy F-18s. The bombers each carried a payload of airburst, chemical dispersion bombs that were loaded with MX-489 nerve agent.
Once they reached the Russian fleet, they would drop their payloads, which would detonate at 1,000 feet over the surface of the ocean. An atomized mist of nerve agent would then drift down over the enemy ships. Admiral Packard didn’t hold out much hope for the success of the mission, but he had to use every tool at his disposal.
There were numerous civilian cargo ships in the fleet, almost certainly loaded down with ground troops and equipment, but there were also many warships. Unless the Americans got incredibly lucky, they’d just seal all their hatches and ignore the deadly, chemical rain. Once the last bomb delivered its contents, all they’d have to do would be to follow standard decontamination procedures. The same process for dealing with the presence of radioactive fallout.
Massive pumps would be started, sucking in thousands of gallons of seawater. From dozens of strategically placed nozzles all around the exterior of each ship, high-pressure water would rinse the vessel clean of the nerve agent. Packard’s hope was the chemical would have a chance to reach the interior of the ships before the captains realized what was happening. But it was a slim hope.
Striding beside the manicured lawns of the sprawling naval base, the Admiral headed for the giant building that housed the equipment and personnel responsible for the secure communications networks on which the US Navy relied. Reaching the entrance to the facility, he, and his six heavily armed Marine guards, breezed through security without breaking stride.
Several floors below ground, he barged into a cold, dark room filled with computer terminals and several dozen sailors sitting idle. The first one to spot him shot to his feet and shouted that there was an Admiral on deck. The rest of the room immediately fell silent and leapt to their feet, all except for one person.
Packard’s eyes zeroed in on Jessica, and he quickly made his way to where she was bent over a multi-screen terminal. Several manuals were open on the work surface, and she was intently peering at one of the screens. His senior aide, Captain West, stood as the Admiral approached.
“Any progress?” Packard asked quietly.
Captain West tilted his head in Jessica’s direction.
“Not yet, sir,” Jessica said without looking away from the monitor. “But, I’ve got an idea.”
“Tell me, Seaman.”
“Well, sir,” Jessica said slowly as she leaned back and looked up at Packard. “I’ve learned a few things. First off, this isn’t frequency jamming, like we thought. The Russians aren’t flooding the EM spectrum with radio energy to block our comms. This is much more sophisticated.”
“Explain,” the Admiral said, a small bloom of optimism warming his chest.
“This is some sort of cyber-attack, sir. Are you familiar with the old FLTSAT network?”
“The satellite network from the 80s?”
“That’s the one, sir. It was abandoned because some Brazilian ham radio operator found a way to break in and use the satellites to re-broadcast his signal all around the world. Well, believe it or not, some of those birds are apparently still up there. And operational. That’s how the Russians got in.”
“Are you kidding me?” Packard exploded.
Lack of sleep and mounting frustration finally got the best of him.
“I wish I was, sir,” Jessica said, not at all perturbed by his outburst.
“Captain,” he said, turning to West. “We still have anti-sat capabilities, correct?”
“Excuse me sir, but that won’t help,” Jessica interrupted before West could respond. “They aren’t connected in or anythi
ng. They broke in, planted a worm in the software that controls all of our comms, then got out. That’s the problem. The damage is done. Taking the satellites out won’t have any impact.”
“It will keep them from doing it again, once you fix this. Right?”
“Yes, sir. If I can fix it.”
Packard looked at her a moment before turning to Captain West.
“Issue the orders. Identify and destroy all of the legacy FLTSAT birds.”
“Sorry, sir. Our remaining ships with anti-satellite capabilities are too far away to communicate with. There’s no way to contact them.”
The Admiral took a deep breath and turned back to Jessica.
“Seaman. How long will it take you to fix this?”
“I literally just identified the issue, sir. I don’t know how deep the worm has gotten. Our first step is going to be to dump the entire operating system and restore from the last known good backup.”
“Will that restore our comms?”
“Maybe. Theoretically, yes. But I’ve seen some pretty inventive stuff come out of the Russians in the past couple of years. However, it’s our first logical step.”
“Well, by all means, don’t let me delay you further,” Packard said. “Captain, I want an hourly status update. Again, whatever resources the Seaman needs, she gets.”
“Yes, sir. I’m staying by her side,” Captain West answered.
13
“Road’s blocked! Stay on my ass!”
I shouted into the radio as soon as I saw the truck parked across the pavement. Cranking the wheel to the right, we went airborne for a moment when the Humvee blasted over the low berm that bordered the road. Dog bounced around the back seat like a ping-pong ball as we came down and began roaring across the desert. There were multiple, loud impacts from bullets striking the vehicle’s armored hide, and I hoped they didn’t get a lucky shot on a tire.
“They’re with us!”
Rachel was twisted around, looking through the rear window to make sure Long and Sam weren’t being left behind. That was good, as I couldn’t take my attention off the terrain. Thankfully, I was wearing night vision goggles that let me see as if it were the middle of the day. Holes, ravines, large rocks and occasional stunted trees would have caused us a serious problem if I hadn’t been able to spot them in time.