He turned his attention from the fighters to the course ahead. Two thousand meters from the dock there was a small, rocky islet in the middle of Hungnam Harbor. It had a pebble beach on the landward side, the rest of the island being a pile of rocks with only a few lonely birds as inhabitants. It was toward that beach that the officer directed the nervous and confused coxswain. The crew could see the explosives piled on board. The officer knew their first guess had been that he was going to use the launch in a kamikaze attack against the Russian ships at sea. This beaching was an unexpected turn of events and they were uncertain as to whether it was a good turn or not.
The officer would have liked to go out among the Russian ships. But he could not take the chance that the project would not work and the crate be captured. He also had to give the submarine a chance to make it clear. Everyone’s heads snapped up as a very loud and much closer explosion reverberated across the water. On the side of the near mountain on the south side of the valley a large cloud of dirt and rock bellowed into the air. The cave from which they had taken the two crates earlier this morning was now sealed. Secondary explosions followed, destroying the road carved into the side of the mountain that had been the only access to the cave, further isolating the site.
The officer nodded and, whispered a swift prayer for those who had just died. His military staff was dead, and that secret was safe, at least. He felt no sympathy toward the men now entombed in the mountainside. They had done their duty; now he was doing his.
The bow of the boat grated on the pebbles and they were beached. One of the Russian fighters flew over to investigate, its pilot leading the way with a barrage of bullets from the machine guns in the wings. The bullets churned up water then onto the beach, only a few hitting the boat. Two sailors fell wounded and miraculously none of the explosives’ boxes were hit.
The officer ignored the screams of the wounded men as he ripped off a piece of wood on the side of the crate. He reached in and began working, his fingers following a procedure he had memorized over the past week under supervision of the scientists.
The fighter made another pass, then, confirming that the launch was beached, left to pick more lucrative targets in the valley. They were leaving the launch to the ships that were coming.
The officer had a small electric wire on a reel. He attached one end to the object inside. With that, the officer was done with the crate. He quickly had the surviving crewmen stack boxes of explosives around it, wiring each box for detonation as quickly as it was stacked.
He connected all the firing wires, then unreeled a length of detonating cord up over the edge of the boat, onto the shore, while also unreeling the electric wire. He moved back fifty meters, the other sailors joining him. He wired the detonating cord into a firing box. Only he knew the explosives were the backup. If the object inside failed, he had to ensure that the crate would not be found intact.
The officer hooked the electric wire into a small hand cranked generator. He checked to make sure the generator functioned and all was ready. The sun had now cleared the horizon.
The officer turned to the east, the direction of the Emperor, and bowed. Then he cranked the small handle. In the microsecond before he was consumed by the flash, the officer rejoiced. It worked and there was still hope! Then he, and all in a half-mile circle, were gone, obliterated by the blast.
In the skies above, the planes were consumed by the fireball. Out at sea the Russian Admiral in charge of the flotilla steaming for Hungnam at flank speed was left to wonder at the mushroom cloud that rose up over the shore.
CHAPTER 1
“Just like in the Cav, man. Locked and loaded. Ready to rock-and-roll and waste some motherfuckers.” Preston smiled, the gap between his middle teeth showing clearly. His skin glistened with sweat inside the stuffy interior of the van. He held up the AR-15 that Lake had modified three days earlier. “I hope we run into someone,” he continued. The rubber gloves he wore squeaked as he patted the weapon one more time.
“Not before we put the device in place,” Starry said. “Keep the operational priorities straight in your head, Preston.”
“Sure, Top, sure,” Preston said. “That’s cool.”
Lake was seated in one of the captain’s chairs in the back of the van, watching Starry work on the “device.” This was the first he’d seen of the machinery and he had a very good idea what it was: an industrial high-pressure paint sprayer. The problem was, Lake didn’t know why they had it in the back of the van. He also didn’t know what the operational priorities were that Starry kept talking about. Lake’s initial job with the two had been acquiring and modifying their weapons. Now he was providing security.
Lake ran his hand along his AR-15. Actually, technically speaking, it could now be called an M-16 since he had modified the inner workings to allow the commercially sold single-shot assault rifle to be fired on full automatic. He also wore gloves. He’d been handed them before entering the van and that told him that whatever they were going to do was illegal since Starry didn’t want any prints left. Actually, Lake reminded himself, the fact that they had the automatic weapons in their hands already put them on the wrong side of the law, not that he had expected anything else. In fact, Lake would have been disappointed if his new partners had stayed inside the confines of the law.
He continued to watch as Starry carefully read instructions, completing the preparation of the sprayer. One thing Lake had learned in the past three weeks working with them was that although neither man would qualify as a rocket scientist, they were very thorough and well trained on security. They had never discussed their plans around Lake. They’d simply given him orders and told him when and where to be.
Lake knew they didn’t totally trust him, but they’d needed him for the guns after the aTF. had raided a “Patriot” compound in Oregon last month and seized the weapons they had planned on using. And there had been Lake, three days later, attending a Patriot rally and letting it be known to a few of the people there that he had access to weapons. And five days later he’d been contacted by Starry at the cabin he’d been hiding out in the shadow of Mount Hood. And now he was in San Francisco. Lake knew that to Starry his presence and access to weapons was a fortunate coincidence. Lake also knew that in this business coincidences didn’t happen. He wasn’t quite sure how aware of that Starry was. Their lack of trust in revealing plans showed some degree of awareness.
They’d driven south from Oregon the previous day and stayed in a seedy motel in Novato, just north of the city.
Peeking out the window of his room, Lake had watched Starry and Preston drive off in the van several hours ago and return just a few minutes ago. He’d jumped back in bed and pretended to be asleep when Preston had opened his door, telling him to grab his stuff and get ready to move.
Lake knew better than to ask too many questions. Paranoid didn’t quite apply to these people. When a person implicitly believed that the UN was going to take over the United States with the blessing of those in power in Washington, that person’s reasoning abilities were difficult to rationally analyze. Lake found that particular fear quite humorous. He’d personally seen that the UN couldn’t keep its own soldiers safe in Bosnia and other places around the globe, so how was it going to take over the United States? And why would it want to? But that larger reality was not the issue right now. This sprayer was the current reality that he had to keep his focus on.