San Francisco? Ford contemplated the train. Missiles or no missiles, this could be his ticket home. He had to get on that train.
“Negative,” Waltz said. “Can’t do it, sir. That train is a national asset, not Amtrak.” A corner storefront, that was still more or less intact, had been converted into an ad hoc operations center. Worried-looking officers studied GCSS-Army maps spread out on top of tables, while aides rushed about, issuing and receiving orders and reports. Radios chattered in the background. TV sets flickered sporadically, providing intermittent news coverage of the unprecedented crisis. Ford was reminded of the frenzied relief efforts back in Waikiki. He hoped that Akio and his family were safe wherever they were now.
“Yeah, copy that,” Ford replied. “From the casings on those Minuteman-3 ICBMs, I’d say the digital module has been bypassed and you’ve prepped them for a full analog retrofit.”
“Is my jaw supposed to drop, sir?” Waltz said, unimpressed. “I get it. You’re EOD. But I have my crew and we know what we’re doing.”
Tre came forward to hand Waltz some paperwork. Apparently, he’d been assigned to the security detail on the missile train, even if Ford was still struggling to claim a spot. Ford tried hard not to resent that.
“Aim the pointy end at the monsters, right, sarge?” Tre said. He grinned at Ford as he headed out of the store toward the train. Ford hoped he’d be seeing him again soon.
“When’s the last time one of your guys had their fingers in a live bomb, sergeant?” Ford wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I’m a damn good EOD… and my family is in that city.” He looked Waltz straight in the eyes. “I’m on that train.”
It wasn’t a question.
The overflow from Nevada was already flooding the triage unit at San Francisco General. Hospitals up and down the coast were getting hit. Doctors and nurses and EMTs hurried from patient to patient, dealing with burns, head wounds, concussions, broken limbs, and even more serious injuries. Severe cases, who nonetheless still had a chance of survival, were being prepped for surgery. Every bed, cot, seat, and examination room was occupied, while plasma and other vital supplies were beginning to run low. Gurneys full of casualties were lined up in the halls. Elle was busy clamping a leg wound on a scared college student when she heard Laura Watkins calling to her from across the ward.
“Elle!” The embattled head nurse held up a phone. “For you!”
“Tell ‘em I’ll be right down,” Elle said impatiently. Dark arterial blood spurted from the jagged gash on her patient’s leg, which was resisting her efforts to halt the bleeding. Answering the phone was the last thing on her mind right now. If I can just get this slippery artery clamped off…
“It’s your husband!” Laura shouted.
Ford had found a working phone at the rear of the store. As he waited for Elle to pick up the receiver, he kept one eye on the missile train waiting outside. Through the storefront window, he could see troops already boarding. Like the other soldiers, he was now geared up and in uniform. He knew he didn’t have much time before he had to join the mission.
He heard a rustle on the other end of the line. “Elle?”
“Ford!”
The relief in her voice hit him right in the gut. He turned his face toward the wall, willing himself to stay composed. He had to be strong for her. God only knew what she had been going through.
“Where are you?” she asked anxiously, her voice catching in her throat. It sounded like she was crying. “I’ve been calling everywhere, are you okay? I can’t believe this is happening—”
“Elle, listen to me.”
“Ford, I’m so scared.”
“Listen to me, I’m coming to get you guys. I’ll be there by dawn, hear me. The military has a plan to get these things, and I’m going to get you out of there.”
He hadn’t always been there for Elle and Sam, he knew that, but this time he would be. They were going to make this work, just like he promised.
“Okay,” she replied. “Please hurry.”
He stared out the window at the waiting train.
“I’ll be at the hospital by sunrise. I’ll get you out in a convoy. Okay?” He fought to keep his voice from cracking. “I’m coming to get you, Elle.”
A train whistle blew, signaling that he had to go. He clung to the phone as hard as he could. He could definitely hear her crying now. They both knew how much was at stake here — and how precarious their future had become. Nobody was safe as long as the monsters were abroad.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too.”
She hung on the line, apparently unable to say goodbye, so he hung up for both them. He took a deep breath and wiped the tears from his eyes before heading back outside.
He had a train to catch.
Lugging his gear, he climbed aboard the missile train along with the last remaining troops. He joined Tre on a flatbed car carrying one of the huge ICBMS. Smoke poured from the locomotive’s vents as the train got underway, its wheels rattling upon the metal tracks. Sparks flared beneath the wheels as the soldiers left in the town watched the train depart, carrying its lethal load of nuclear warheads. Ford found himself missing the smoother ride of the transport plane.
Within minutes, they had left the nameless town in the dust.
EIGHTEEN
The missile train rolled past mile after mile of devastated scenery, heading west toward California. Trampled towns, farms, factories, and strip malls could be glimpsed from the train as it whipped past them at more than one hundred miles per hour. A drive-in movie theater screen hung in tatters. A used-car lot had been transformed into a junkyard.
Ford tried not to let the apocalyptic landscapes distract him. He had a job to do and it couldn’t wait until the train reached its eventual destination, which he gathered was further west, toward the coast. Along with other EODs and a handful of nuclear tech specialists, they had to perform crucial modifications on the missiles and their warheads en route.
Easier said than done.
Working together, he and Tre unhinged the heavy nose cone of a massive ICBM and carefully laid it down on the vibrating bed of the flatbed freight car. Each missile was nearly sixty feet long and weighed close to eighty tons. The rattling of the train added to the challenge, especially when it took a curve, but they succeeded in gaining access to the trunk-sized warhead at the missile’s tip. The actual fusion device was packed into a targeted re-entry vehicle, which was connected to an intricate assemblage of sophisticated wires, dials, and electrodes. These electronics were located directly under the missile’s payload and above the first- and second-stage rockets.
“Easy there, cowboy,” Ford said to Tre.
Ford was already sweating beneath his helmet and fatigues. He had worked on plenty of bombs before and had been trained in manipulating nuclear devices, but he’d never actually handled a nuclear missile. He was acutely aware that the warhead had the explosive power of three hundred thousand tons of TNT. He had to be very careful.
Holding his breath, he uncoupled the electronics from the base of the payload before cautiously removing the entire mechanism. Tre passed Ford a mechanical replacement detonator.
“I thought these things all ran by remote control,” Tre said.