the Sum Of All Fears (1991)
Page 93
"I've lost the Americans."
"Forget them! We're looking for a rescue beeper, remember ?" The flight leader craned his neck. "Is that a strobe light? On the surface at two o'clock ... ?"
"I have it."
"Follow me down!"
"Evading, down and right!" Bud called. "Engaging now."
He was a bare two thousand yards aft of the MiGs. Sanchez selected a Sidewinder and lined his aircraft up on the "south guy," the trailing wingman. As the Tomcat continued to close, the pilot got the warbling tone in his earphones and triggered off his missile. The AIM-9M Sidewinder leaped off its launch rail, straight into the starboard engine of the MiG-29, which exploded. Barely had that happened when Sanchez triggered off a second 'Winder.
"Splash one."
"What the hell!" The flight leader caught the flash out the corner of his eye and turned to see his wingman's aircraft heading down before a trail of yellow. He wrenched his stick left, his throttle hand punching the flare/chaff-release button as his eyes searched the darkness for his attacker.
Sanchez's second missile missed right. It didn't matter. He was still tracking, and the MiG's turn brought the target right into the path of his 20mm cannon. One quick burst detached part of the MiG's wing. The pilot barely ejected in time. Sanchez watched the chute deploy. A minute later, as he orbited overhead, he saw that both Russians seemed to have survived the incidents. That was fine with Bud.
"Splash two. Stick, we have two good chutes on the splashes ... wait a minute, there's three strobes down there," Jackson called. He gave the position, and almost instantly a helicopter lifted off from Theodore Roosevelt.
"Spade, is it supposed to be this easy?" Walters asked. "I thought the Russians were smarter than this myself," the Captain admitted. "This is like first day of duck season."
Ten minutes later Kuznetzov made a radio call for its two MiGs and got no reply.
The Air Force helicopter returned from Rocky Flats. Major Griggs alighted with five men, all of them dressed in protective gear. Two of them ran to find Chief Callaghan close to the M728 engineer tanks.
"Ten more minutes if we're lucky," Colonel Lyle shouted from atop the lead tank.
"Who's in charge here?" one of the NEST team asked.
"Who are you?"
"Parsons, team leader." Laurence Parsons was the head of the on-duty Nuclear Emergency Search Team, yet another failure for this day. Their job was to locate nuclear devices before they went off. Three such teams were kept on duty around the clock, one just outside Washington, another in Nevada, and the third, recently activated at Rocky Flats to help make up for the retirement of the Energy Department's weapons-fabrication facility outside Denver. It had been anticipated, of course, that they wouldn't always be able to get there in time. He held a radiation counter in his hand, and didn't like what he saw. "How long have your people been here?"
"About half an hour, maybe forty minutes."
"Ten more minutes, I want everybody away from here. You're taking Rems here, Chief."
"What do you mean? The Major said the fallout is all--"
"What you're getting is from neutron activation. It's hot here!"
Callaghan cringed at the thought. His life was being attacked by something he couldn't see or feel. "There may be people inside. We're almost there."
"Then do it fast! I mean fast!" Parsons and his team started moving back to the helicopter. They had their own work to do. At the chopper they met a man in civilian clothes.
"Who the fuck are you?" Parsons demanded.
"FBI! What happened here?"
"Take a guess!"
"Washington needs information!"
"Larry, it's hotter here than it is at the stadium!" another NEST team member reported.
"Makes sense," Parsons said. "Ground burst." He pointed. "Far side, downwind side. In-close was shielded some."
"What can you tell me?" the FBI agent asked.
"Not much," Parsons said over the sound of the turning rotor. "Ground burst, yield under twenty KT, all I got."
"It's dangerous here?"
"Hell, yes! Set up--where, where?"
"How about at the Aurora Presbyterian Hospital, two miles upwind?" a NESTer suggested. "Across from Aurora Mall. Ought to be okay there."
"You know where that is?" Parsons asked.
"Yes!"
"Then move out! Ken, you tell these people to get the hell out of here, it's twenty percent hotter here than in close. We have to get samples. Ken, you make sure they clear the area in ten minutes--fifteen max. Drag them out if you have to. Start here!"
"Right."
The FBI agent ducked as the helicopter lifted off. The NEST team member began running down the line of fire trucks, waving for them to get away. The agent decided to do the same. After a few minutes he got in his car and headed northeast.
"Shit, I forgot about the neutrons," Major Griggs said.
"Thanks a lot!" Callaghan screamed over the sound of the tank.
"It's okay, they cut it off at a hundred. A hundred won't really hurt anybody."
Callaghan heard the sound of the engines pulling away. "What about the people inside?" The chief found the interphone at the back of the tank. "Listen up, we have ten minutes and we gotta get the hell out of here. Lean on it!"
"You got it, man," the tank commander replied. "Better get clear. I'll give you a ten count."
Callaghan ran to the side. Colonel Lyle jumped off and did the same. Inside the vehicle, the driver backed off ten yards, took the engine to the red line, and slipped the brake. The M728 crushed five vehicles, slamming them aside. The tank was moving at perhaps a mile per hour, but it didn't stop. Its treads ripped up the asphalt, then it was through.
The area immediately next to the stadium structure was amazingly intact. Most of the wreckage from the roof and upper wall had been thrown hundreds of yards, but here there were only small piles of brick and concrete fragments. Too much for a wheeled vehicle, but clear enough that men could walk. Firefighters advanced and sprayed everything. The asphalt was still very hot, and the water steamed off it. Callaghan ran in front of the tank, waving for his men to go left and right.
"You know what this looks like?" a NEST team member said as the helicopter circled the ruined stadium.
"Yeah, Chernobyl. They had firemen there, too." Parsons turned away from that thought. "Head downwind," he told the pilot. "Andy, what do you make this?"
"Ground burst, and this wasn't any hundred-KT weapon, Larry, not even twenty-five."
"What screwed up NORAD's estimate, do you think?"
"The parking lot. Asphalt, plus all those burning cars--it's the perfect black-body material--it's even black, for God's sake! I'm surprised the thermal pulse didn't look bigger than that--and everything around here is white from the snow 'n' ice, right? They got a megareflection plus a huge energy contrast."
"Makes sense, Andy," Parsons agreed. "Terrorists?"
"That's my bet for now, Larry. But we gotta get some residue to be sure."
The sounds of battle had died down. The Bradley commander heard scattered firing and guessed that the Russians had pulled back partway, maybe all the way to their own kazerne. It made sense, both sides' tanks had been badly mauled, and it was now a battle for infantrymen and their fighting vehicles. Foot soldiers, he knew, were smarter than tankers. It came from wearing a shirt instead of a foot of iron. Vulnerability made you think. He changed position yet again. It was odd how this worked, though he'd practiced the maneuver often enough. The vehicle ran close to a corner, and a man would dismount to peer around it.
"Nothin', Sarge. It's all--wait! Something moving, 'bout two miles down the street...." The soldier raised a pair of glasses. "BDRM! The missile kind."
Okay, the sergeant thought, that'll be the reconnaissance element for the next wave. His job was entirely straightforward. Reconnaissance was a two-part job. His job was both to find the enemy and to prevent the enemy from finding things.
"Another one!"
"Get ready to move. Traverse right, targets to the right," he added for the gunner.
"Ready, Sarge."
"Go!" The Bradley's armored body rocked backwards as a vehicle leaped into the intersection. The gunner brought his turret around. It looked like a small-bore shooting gallery. There were two BDRM armored scout cars heading straight toward them. The gunner engaged the leader, exploding the antitank missile launcher on top. The BDRM veered to the left and rammed some parked cars. Already the gunner shifted fire to the second, which jerked right to evade, but the street was too narrow for that. The chain gun was a nice compromise between a machine gun and a cannon. The gunner was able to walk his tracers into the target, and had the satisfaction of watching it explode. But--
"Back fast--now!" the sergeant screamed into the intercom. There had been a third BDRM back there. The Bradley retreated the way it had come. Barely had it gotten behind the buildings when a missile streaked down the street it had crossed, trailing a thin wire behind it. The missile exploded a few hundred meters away.
"Time to leave, turn us around," the track commander said. Then he activated his radio. "This is Delta Three-Three. We have contact with reconnaissance vehicles. Two destroyed, but the third one spotted us. We got more friends coming in, sir."
"General, we've pushed them back across the line, I can hold out against what's here, but if more gets in to us, we're screwed," Colonel Long said. "Sir, we need help here!"
"Okay, I'll have some air to you in ten minutes. Fast-movers on the way now."
"That's a start, but I need more than that, sir."
SACEUR turned to his operations officer. "What's ready?"
"Second of the 11th Cav, sir. They're moving out of their kazerne right now."
"What's between them and Berlin?"
"Russians? Not much. If they move fast...."
"Move 'em out." SACEUR walked back to his desk and lifted the phone for Washington.
"Yes, what is it?" Fowler asked.
"Sir, it appears that the Russians are bringing reinforcements into Berlin. I have just ordered the 2nd Squadron, 11th Armored Cav to move toward Berlin to reinforce. I also have aircraft heading in now to assess the situation."
"Do you have any idea what they're up to?"
"None, sir, it makes no damned sense at all, but we still have people being killed. What are the Russians telling you, Mr. President?"
"They're asking why we attacked them, General."
"Are they nuts?" Or is it something else? SACEUR wondered. Something really frightening?
"General." It was a woman's voice, probably that Elliot woman, SACEUR thought. "I want to be very clear on this. Are you sure that the Soviets initiated the attack?"
"Yes, ma'am!" SACEUR replied heatedly. "The commander of the Berlin Brigade is probably dead. The XO is Lieutenant Colonel Edward Long. I know the kid, he's good. He says the Russians opened fire on the brigade without warning while they were responding to the alert you sent out from D.C. They didn't even have their tubes loaded. I repeat, ma'am, the Russians are the ones who started shooting, and that's definite. Now, do I have your permission to reinforce?"
"What happens if you don't?" Fowler asked.
"In that case, Mr. President, you have about five thousand letters to write."
"Look, okay, send in the reinforcements. Tell Berlin to take no offensive action. We're trying to get things settled down."
"I wish you luck, Mr. President, but right now I have a command to run."
PRESIDENT NARMONOV:
WE HAVE RECEIVED WORD FROM EUROPE THAT A SOVIET TANK REGIMENT LAUNCHED AN ATTACK ON OUR BERLIN BRIGADE WITHOUT WARNING. I JUST TALKED TO OUR COMMANDER AND HE CONFIRMS THAT THIS IS TRUE.
WHAT IS HAPPENING? WHY DID YOUR TROOPS ATTACK OUR TROOPS?
"Have we heard anything from Berlin yet?" Narmonov asked.
The Defense Minister shook his head. "No, the lead reconnaissance elements should just be getting in now. Radio communications are a disaster. Our VHF radios work poorly in cities because they are line-of-sight only. What we're getting is fragmented, mainly tactical communications between subunit commanders. We have not established contact with the regimental commander. He may be dead. After all," Defense pointed out, "the Americans like to go after commanders first."
"So we really do not know what is going on?"
"No, but I am certain that no Soviet commander would open fire on Americans without just cause!"
Golovko closed his eyes and swore under his breath. Now the Defense Minister was showing the strain.
"Sergey Nikolay'ch?" Narmonov asked.
"We have nothing more to report from KGB. You may expect that all of the American land-based missiles are fully on alert, as are all their submarine missiles at sea. We estimate that the American missile submarines in port will all have sortied in a matter of hours."
"And our missile submarines?"
"One is leaving the dock now. The rest are preparing to do so. It will take most of the day to get them all out."
"Why are we so slow?" Narmonov demanded.
"The Americans have two complete crews for their boats. We have only one. It's simply easier for them to surge them out this way."
"So you are telling me that their strategic forces are totally ready, or nearly so, and ours are not?"
"All of our land-based rockets are fully prepared."
"President Narmonov, your reply to the Americans ... ?"
"What do I say now?" Andrey Il'ych asked.
A colonel entered the room. "Report from Berlin." He handed it to the Defense Minister.
"The Americans are in the eastern part of the city. The first wave of scout cars was taken under fire. Four vehicles, the officer commanding was killed in one of them. We've returned fire and gotten two American vehicles ... no contact as yet with our regiment." The Defense Minister looked at the other one. "Carrier Kuznetzov reports that he launched a two-plane patrol. They detected a rescue radio signal and went to investigate. Contact was then lost. They have an American carrier battle group four hundred kilometers away, and request instructions."
"What does that mean?"
The Defense Minister checked the times on the second dispatch. "If our planes are not back by now, they are nearly out of fuel. We must assume they were lost, cause unknown, but the close proximity of the American carrier is troubling.... What the hell are they doing?"
PRESIDENT FOWLER:
I AM CERTAIN THAT NO SOVIET COMMANDER WOULD ATTACK AMERICAN TROOPS WITHOUT ORDERS, AND THERE WERE NO SUCH ORDERS. WE HAVE SENT ADDITIONAL TROOPS INTO BERLIN TO INVESTIGATE AND THEY WERE ATTACKED BY YOUR FORCES IN THE EASTERN PART OF THE CITY, WELL AWAY FROM YOUR ENCAMPMENT. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
"What the hell is he talking about? What am I doing? What the hell is he doing!" Fowler growled. A light came on. It was the CIA. The President pushed the button, adding a new line to his conference call.
"That depends on who 'he' is," Elliot warned.
"Yes, what is it?"
"Mr. President, what we have here is simple confusion."
"Ryan! We don't want analysis, we want information. Do you have any?" Liz shouted.
"The Soviets are sortieing their ships out of the Northern Fleet ports. One missile submarine is supposed to be heading out."
"So their land-based missiles are fully alerted?"
"Correct."
"And they're adding to their submarine missile force also?"
"Yes, Mr. President."
"Do you have any good news?"
"Sir, the news is that there is no real news right now, and you're--"
"Listen, Ryan. One last time: I want information from you and nothing else. You brought me that Kadishev stuff and now you're saying it was all wrong. So why should I believe you now?"
"Sir, when I gave it to you I told you it was not confirmed!"
"I think we may have confirmation now," Liz pointed out. "General Borstein, if they're fully on line, what exactly is the threat?"
"And we will be targets here?" Liz asked.
"That is a reasonable assumption, Dr. Elliot."
"So they will try to use SS-18s to finish what the first weapon missed?"
"If that was their work, yes."
"General Fremont, how far out is the backup Kneecap?"
"Dr. Elliot, it took off about ten minutes ago. It'll be at Hagerstown in ninety-five minutes. They have some good tail winds." CINC-SAC regretted that addition almost at once.
"So if they are thinking about an attack, and they launch it within the next hour and a half, we're dead here?"
"Yes."
"Elizabeth, it's our job to prevent that, remember?" Fowler said quietly.
The National Security Advisor looked over at the President. Her face might have been made of glass, so brittle it looked. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was the chief adviser to the most powerful man in the world, in a place of ultimate safety, guarded by dedicated servants, but less than thirty minutes from the time some faceless, nameless Russian made a decision, perhaps one already made, she'd be dead. Dead, a few ashes in the wind, certainly no more than that. Everything she'd worked for, all the books and classes and seminars would have ended in a blinding, annihilating flash.
"Robert, we don't even know who we're talking to," she said in an uneven voice.
"Back to their message, Mr. President," General Fremont said. "'Additional troops to investigate.' Sir, that sounds like reinforcements."
A rookie fireman found the first survivor, crawling up the concrete ramp from the basement loading dock. It was amazing he'd made it. His hands had second-degree burns, and the crawl had ground bits of glass and concrete and Lord knew what into his injuries. The firefighter lifted the man--it was a cop--and carried him off to the evacuation point. The two remaining fire engines sprayed both men with water, then they were ordered to strip, and they were hosed again. The police officer was semiconscious, but tore a sheet of paper off the clipboard he'd been holding, and all during the ambulance ride he was trying to tell the fireman something, but the firefighter was too cold, too tired, and much too scared to pay attention. He'd done his job, and might have lost his life in the process. It was altogether too much for a twenty-year-old, who simply stared at the wet floor of the ambulance and shivered inside his blanket.