77 Days in September

by Ray Gorham

  77 DAYS IN SEPTEMBER

  BY

  RAY GORHAM

  77 Days in September

  Copyright 2011 by Ray Gorham

  All rights reserved

  Comments on this work can be sent to raygorham1@gmail.com.

  All characters in this work are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons

  is completely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to my indescribably patient, loving, devoted and helpful wife, Jodi, and our five wonderful children --

  Geoff, Tyler, Jessica, Nate, and Andrew.

  A huge thank you also goes out to all those who have helped shape the story, the characters, and plodded through the various manuscripts as this project evolved.

  I couldn’t have done it without you.

  FOREWARD

  On July 9, 1962, residents of the Hawaiian Islands became unwitting eyewitnesses of the latest scourge to escape from Pandora’s nuclear box. At just after eight o’clock in the evening, thirty electrical circuits powering a total of 300 streetlights overloaded, power lines melted together, burglar alarms sounded, dozens of car ignitions were rendered inoperable, TVs and radios malfunctioned, and microwave phone service to the island of Kauai was disrupted. At the exact same time, 930 miles southwest of Hawaii and 248 miles above sea level, the United States military detonated a 1.3-megaton nuclear bomb. The blast was an exercise by the Defense Atomic Support Agency (DASA) and the Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) to determine and measure the effects of high altitude nuclear detonations for potential military applications.

  This test, nicknamed “Starfish Prime,” was, and still is, the highest altitude, highest yield, atmospheric nuclear test of this type ever performed. It involved a bomb measuring just 20” in diameter, 54.3” in length, and weighing a little less than 1,700 lbs. A number of phenomena were observed as a result of the blast: an aurora was formed that lasted for over seven minutes and extended from Hawaii to New Zealand; seven satellites were immediately disabled, and, within a year, one-third of all low earth-orbiting satellites would fail (including Telstar 1, the world’s first communications satellite); radiation from the blast was trapped by the earth’s magnetic belts for seven years; and a previously theorized, but never studied, phenomenon called an Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP) was observed, the direct cause of the problems in Hawaii.

  The year 1962 saw significant nuclear testing by both the United States and the Soviet Union, the world’s two superpowers. The American tests, of which Starfish Prime was just one in a series, were conducted in response to the Soviet Union’s failure to renew a nuclear test ban a year earlier. Late in 1962, during the height of the Cuban missile crisis, the Soviets performed Test 184, code named “Operation K.” Carried out on October 22, Operation K involved the detonation of a 300-kiloton bomb 170 miles above a sparsely populated area of Kazakhstan. As with the American test, the most eye-opening consequences of the test resulted from the EMP phenomenon, including 355 miles of overhead telephone lines being rendered useless and 620 miles of underground power cables fusing together. In addition to the destruction of the cables, the power plant that was connected to the underground power line, unable to handle the corresponding electrical surge, caught fire and burned to the ground.

  As scientists studied the data recorded during the 1962 atmospheric detonations, they determined that a single nuclear bomb detonated 300 miles above Kansas would create an EMP effect that would impact the entire continental United States. Indeed, the electrical devastation from such an attack would extend north and south of America’s borders, affecting every major Canadian and Mexican city as well. The result of this would be a continent of twenty first century people forced to survive with nineteenth century technology.

  Less than one year after Operation K, the United States, the Soviet Union, and the United Kingdom, the nuclear powers of that period, signed the Partial Test Ban Treaty (PTBT) which, among other things, outlawed all atmospheric nuclear testing.

  Since the signing of the PTBT in 1963, our world has changed significantly. Almost extinct, except in museums and time capsules, are the hardy vacuum tubes and electronics that were the standard of the early sixties. These have been replaced by the tiny, inexpensive, and amazingly fragile microchips of our day. These microchips, the source of so much convenience in our world, are many thousands of times more vulnerable to the effects of an EMP device than anything that was in service in 1962. Combine this technical vulnerability with nuclear proliferation and our world teeming with hostile countries and terrorist groups, and it quickly becomes obvious that North America, and all modern economies, face the potential for a catastrophe of unimaginable severity.

  Fast forward forty-five years from the signing of the PTBT to September 2, 2008 and an article in the Washington Times titled Invisible Nuclear Threat by Dr. William R. Graham, Chairman of The Commission to Assess the Threat to the United States from Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP) Attack. In his article, Dr. Graham laments the unwillingness of the United States to adequately address the threat posed by rogue nations and their ability to launch such an attack. Instead, he laments, the government has focused its efforts almost exclusively on a dirty bomb or conventional strike that can only be carried out by a bomb smuggled into the country. Dr. Graham writes as follows:

  …this other nuclear threat is potentially far more catastrophic; instead of a single city, it could threaten the entire nation’s survival.

  …Our vulnerability to EMP attack is increasing daily, as our dependence on electronics continues to grow.

  …One scenario of special concern is an EMP attack against the United States launched from an ordinary freighter off the U.S. coast using a short or medium range missile to loft a nuclear warhead to high altitude (such missiles are readily available on the world’s armaments black market).

  While 77 Days in September takes some dramatic license, it is based on realistic assumptions and is an attempt to entertain while putting into perspective the impact such an attack would have at a national, as well as an individual and family level, should the unthinkable happen.

  Ray Gorham

  CHAPTER 1

  Friday, September 2nd

  George Bush International Airport, Houston, Texas 15:40 EST

  Kyle worked his way down the aisle of the airplane, squeezing past the other passengers as they struggled to jam their oversized carry-ons into already too-full overhead bins,.. “Excuse me…pardon me…thank you,” Kyle mumbled as he went by, irritated that his flight was already thirty minutes behind schedule. Kyle re-checked his boarding pass for his seat assignment, 26F, then scanned the numbers above the seats. 23… 24… 25…. 26. A balding man in his late fifties who, by his tan face and comfortable attire, looked like he’d come directly from a golf course, sat in the aisle seat, the two seats beside him empty.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Kyle said, making eye contact with the man and motioning to the seat by the window. “I need to slip by. I’m in that seat.”

  The man nodded and rose, and Kyle squeezed past and dropped into his seat, then pushed his carry-on into the cramped space in front of his feet.

  “Guess I won’t be lying down for my nap today,” the man said with a grin as he settled back into his seat.

  “Not unless you plan to put your head on my knee,” said Kyle, returning the smile.

  “I’m pretty particular about whose knee I lay my head on, and you’re not nearly pretty enough. Guess I’ll just have to lean the chair back this flight.”

  Kyle laughed. “My name’s Kyle Tait. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Ed Davis,” the man said, extending his hand. “I guess we’re neighbors for the next couple of hours.”

  “I guess so,”
Kyle said as he shook Ed’s hand. “You headed home?”

  “No, I’m heading out. I’ve got business meetings next week in Denver. Heading up early to visit my daughter and her family. You?

  “Heading back home to Montana”

  “Montana? You’re a long way from home. What brought you to Houston?”

  “Hurricane Elliot.”

  “You came for the hurricane?”

  “No,” laughed Kyle, shaking his head. “I came because of it. I work for Western Montana Power. It’s a slow time of year, so they farm a few of us out to help in other areas.”

  “Hmm. Well thanks for helping. How’d things go?”

  “Overall, pretty smoothly. As you’ve probably heard, the damage didn’t end up being quite as bad as they’d anticipated, but the utility companies like to keep us around so the local folks can take care of their families. I helped in Louisiana after Katrina; it was my first time working out of town. Now that was an experience!”

  “I’ll bet. We were affected by Katrina here too, but more by the refugees than the weather. Can’t imagine what it must have been like over there.”

  “It sure made me appreciate Montana more. The occasional blizzard doesn’t seem so bad anymore.”

  “I don’t know about that, I’m not one for the cold. I think I’ll stick with the annual hurricane.”

  “Oh, the cold’s not so bad. You get used to it after awhile.”

  “Have you lived in Montana long?”

  Kyle nodded. “My whole life, except for a couple of years in Oregon when I was little. I love it there.”

  “I’ve heard it’s nice, but I think I’d miss the city. Doesn’t Houston have about five times the population of your entire state? I don’t know if I could adjust.”

  “Oh, you would. We lived in Missoula for a few years, but even that started to get too big for us. You begin to appreciate your space when you have it. This last spring we moved about fifteen miles out of town to a newer community with lots of space. We still have neighbors, but you don’t hear them, and the kids have plenty of room. As long as you’ve got a four wheel drive for the snow, it’s great.”

  Ed gave an exaggerated shiver. “I think I’m too old for a drastic change like that.” He turned his attention back to his magazine and the conversation lagged. Kyle checked his watch, wondering why the plane still hadn’t moved from the gate. All of the passengers appeared to be on board, and the attendants were busy preparing themselves for the flight, but the jet hadn’t moved.

  Kyle pulled his novel out of his carry-on just as the pilot’s voice came over the PA, offering apologies for the late departure and a promise that they would be underway as soon as possible. Kyle wanted to hear an estimate of when they would actually be getting underway, but the captain didn’t offer any specifics.

  Digging his cell phone out of his carry-on Kyle pressed the speed dial for home. After four rings he heard Jennifer’s voice. “Hi. You’ve reached the Tait family. We can’t get to the phone but leave a message, and we’ll call back.”

  Kyle waited for the tone. “Hi, Jenn. It’s me. Just wanted to let you know that I’m late getting out. It’s about quarter to three Houston time, and we’re still waiting to take off. I’ll call you from Denver and let you know if there are any problems with the connection. Talk to you soon.”

  Kyle turned off his phone and dropped it back into his carry-on then opened his book and began to read.

  Atlantic Ocean, 175 miles east of Cape Hatteras, North Carolina 15:42 EST

  Clouds hung low over the water, and the flags on the mast snapped out a slow, steady rhythm in the light wind as Carmen’s Serenade rolled ever so slightly in the swells of the North Atlantic. Captain Jibril Musef, Jim to the crew, stood on the bridge of his container ship and stared down at the body of his first officer. Blood had stopped pumping from the deep gash in his neck and the body was already beginning to take on a waxy, artificial look.

  “I’m sorry, my friend,” Jibril muttered as he knelt down and wiped the blood from his knife onto the carpet. “Your life won’t have been taken in vain, I promise you.” He stood, slid the blade into the sheath that was strapped to his side, and stepped towards the forward window of the bridge. In the center of the main deck below him four members of his crew worked feverishly to open the oversized container that had been carefully located in the center of the ship.

  Jibril heard the door to the bridge open and he turned in the direction of the sound. Amman, his chief mechanic stood at the door. His eyes moved from Jibril, to the body on the floor, and then back again to Jibril.

  “Is it done?” Jibril asked, noting the streaks and splatters of red on the man's arms and hands.

  Amman nodded. “They are all dead. We can proceed without interruption.”

  Jibril nodded but showed no emotion. “That is good. Help the others on the deck. I’ll be there shortly.”

  Amman turned obediently and left the bridge, the door clicking behind him as it closed. Jibril walked over to the computer terminal and quickly began to type. The container will be delivered today as scheduled. He clicked on the transmit button and watched as the computer indicated the status of the message. When the message had been sent Jibril exited the bridge for the last time and began a rapid descent of the stairs.

  Taking the steps two at a time he reflected on the past decade. Two long years as the engineer’s assistant had finally been followed by a rapid rise through the relatively few positions that exist on the large container ships. After two years as a first officer Jibril’s handlers had been comfortable with his progress and promoted him to captain of a ship they had purchased the same month he made his first voyage as the engineers assistant. Patience marked their efforts in every way, and after 31 long months as captain a courier finally informed Jibril that the mission for which he had trained and waited for twelve years, four months, and twenty-two days was ready.

  Since taking the command of this ship Jibril had slowly transitioned his crew, gradually bringing on the experts he knew were essential to the mission’s success. From the stairs he could see his brothers, working at the container that would change the world. He paused for a minute to admire the sight, said a prayer of thanks, and rapidly descended the final flight of steps and hurried to where his men were working.

  “Any problems?” he asked.

  Amman was working at a control panel and didn’t look up as he replied. “No. It is all proceeding as planned. We will be ready early.”

  Jibril stroked the smooth, cold skin of the missile. “Today is a good day, my friends. Allah is watching. Be faithful.” A motor whirred and gears engaged with a thud. Jibril stepped away as the nose of the rocket began to lift into launch position.

  Pacific Ocean, 40 miles west of Newport, Oregon 16:00 EST

  Dae Hyun checked his watch. Five seconds, he thought to himself, then silently counted the time down. At exactly 4:00 PM EST, Dae’s fishing boat began to shake, and a deafening roar pounded his ears. At the far end of the boat, orange flames erupted from the opening in the deck as the rocket it had previously concealed leapt skyward. His crew watched with pride, but no one on the boat cheered. They all knew the world was about to change.

  CHAPTER 2

  George Bush International Airport, Houston, Texas 16:00 EST

  Kyle tipped his seat back and closed his eyes. He hadn’t taken a day off the entire two weeks he’d been in Houston, and between work and the uncomfortable motel bed, he was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open. The airplane still hadn’t moved and with his watch showing 3:00 P.M., Kyle could picture himself missing his connecting flight and spending the night sleeping on the floor of the airport in Denver.

  As his head bobbed sleepily, Kyle heard the whine of the engines pick up and then felt a bump as the brakes released and the plane lurched backward away from the gate. A weary smile registered on his face.

  Atlantic Ocean, 175 miles east of Cape Hatteras, North Carolina 16:00 EST

  J
ibril stood on the deck of Carmen’s Serenade, watching the glow of the missile disappear into the thick, gray clouds. His men spoke in quiet, reverent tones, their preparations and efforts of the past decade culminating in that moment.

  A sense of loss unexpectedly swept over Jibril as the clouds swallowed not only the rocket, but his entire life’s focus as well. Everything he had worked for, the sole purpose of his life since his wife and son had been killed in Iraq had been accomplished. Every sleepless night, every trip across the ocean, every obstacle overcome was now, finally, worth it.

  A melancholy-laced laugh escaped his lips as he thought about how the American leaders would be reacting this very instant. His leaders in Iran had played negotiations to their maximum effect, agreeing to dismantle their own weapon’s program only because Pakistan had already sold them what they needed. Now, with the American president being hailed as a hero for shutting down the Iranian’s nuclear program, all while having provided Iran with the materials to build enough power plants to double its electrical output, Iran was set to dominate the Middle East and the oil and power that came with it, for the next century.

  Jibril regretted that he would not live to learn of the impact his efforts would have on the Americans, nor to witness Israel’s destruction and the fall of the Jews, which, with America crippled, would surely come in a matter of weeks.

  With the missile faded from sight, Jibril turned to Zahir, his fellow warrior, and nodded. Zahir, drops of sweat falling from his scarred brow, swallowed hard and knelt in front of a small, digital display mounted on a now charred steel case and punched in the code to begin a new countdown.