Chapter Eight
McKenzie looked into the pit the backhoe had dug. Aldrich was next to him. Kilten was in the pit, kneeling in the dirt next to a cluster of exposed cables. He'd spent twenty minutes using a specially designed saw to slice through the six inches of lead shielding encircling the cables. The scientist was now using a sophisticated-looking tool to cut through the black rubber shielding wrapped around a red cable.
"I'm already through the anti-tampering shielding," Kilten said. "This last part is the EMP guard."
"EMP guard?" Aldrich asked. There was an accent to his voice. Aldrich was French-Canadian, as were over half of the men McKenzie had recruited.
Kilten continued working as he spoke. "Electromagnetic pulse. When a nuclear weapon goes off, it fries everything electronic that isn't shielded. We've spent billions putting special protection on our cables and equipment to guard against it."
Aldrich shook his head. "You fucking Yanks. We didn't worry about shit like that in the Canadian army. Figured if the big boys started throwing the heavy stuff, our ass was grass."
Through the shielding, Kilten attached leads from a laptop computer to the cable itself. "We have access into the LCC REACT. It will take five minutes for everything to shift over to my laptop, then we'll be ready." He looked up at McKenzie. "Tell the Sim Nuke team to be ready to initiate in about ten minutes."
McKenzie flipped open his cellular phone and called Drake, giving the appropriate orders. Then he punched in a new number.
Four miles away, on the banks of the Anaconda River, the call was answered by a man sitting in the cab of a Humvee. A large dump truck was parked directly behind it, off the side of a two-lane tar road. The road crossed the Anaconda on a sturdy steel and concrete bridge, the muddy waters gently flowing beneath the bridge's supports.
"Bognar," the man answered the phone.
"This is McKenzie. Put it on the bridge and arm the charges."
"Roger," Bognar said. "Be with you in a few minutes."
Bognar leaned out the window of the Humvee and waved. The driver of the dump truck threw it into gear and slowly drove onto the center of the bridge. He parked in the center, leaving one lane open. Opening the hood, he used a knife to cut through wires, making sure the engine wouldn't work. They had yet to see any traffic on the bridge except the pickup truck with the outgoing LCC crew earlier in the morning. That was to be expected since they were in the middle of a massive military reservation, off-limits to civilian traffic.
The Anaconda flowed southeast until the banks of the river fell away and the waters merged into the bayous on the west of the Mississippi. The river separated Barksdale Air Force Base from some of the missile silos that were assigned to the base: the missiles controlled by the Omega Missile Launch Control Center. The next bridge over the Anaconda was fifty miles to the north.
The driver from the dump truck came running back and climbed into the backseat of the Humvee. Bognar flipped open the cover on a small metal box. A light next to a single switch glowed green. "We're hot," he announced. He turned to a group of six heavily armed men, all wearing black fatigues and red berets gathered around the Humvee. "Take your positions."
The men moved to a small rise overlooking the bridge and sighted their weapons. They had two M-60 machine guns, two Mark-19 40-mm automatic grenade launchers and two RPG-80 rocket launchers. Bognar picked up the phone and reported, "Bridge hot and covered."
On the east side of the river, in the lead Humvee, Drake acknowledged a call from McKenzie. The six dump trucks were spaced out ten feet apart along the fence facing the flight line, the drivers crammed into the trail of two Humvees. "We're moving to secondary position," he told McKenzie. He opened his own small metal box and the light glowed green.
"Sim Nuke is hot," he added.
Inside each of the dump trucks, a receiver rested on top of a double row of stacked fifty-five-gallon drums. Wires ran from it to each drum. A light glowed bright green underneath the tarps that stretched over the top of the bed.
Drake slid the cellular phone inside one of the many pockets on his combat vest and thrust his arm out the window. "Let's move," he ordered the driver. "There's enough explosives in those things to make a damn big hole in the ground. So let's go a little faster, please."
The Blackhawk rolled down the runway, until the wheels slowly lifted from the ground. The pilots continued above the concrete runway, staying within the flight path as dictated by the Barksdale control tower until they reached the outer markers for the field, then they banked west.
In the rear, Thorpe settled back in the crew chief's seat. As they cleared the edge of the airfield, Thorpe noted dump trucks lined up along the outside perimeter road. Tarps covered the back part of each truck. Thorpe leaned out and peered, trying to make out details but the chopper banked and the trucks were out of sight.
"Showtime," McKenzie said, checking his watch.
Kilten tapped the enter key on his portable computer and the screen rewarded him with:
message sent
Chapter Nine
"Verify Emergency Action Message," Major Parker tersely ordered as she reached over her shoulders and pulled the straps for her seat down and buckled them in, pulling the slack out. A red light was flashing and a nerve-jarring tone was sounding throughout the LCC. She locked down the rollers on the bottom of the seat. Then she hit the keys on her computer.
"I have verification of an incoming Emergency Action Message," she announced.
Lewis was reading his terminal. "I have verification of an Emergency Action Message."
The screen cleared and new words formed. "Emergency action message received," Parker said. She pulled a sealed red envelope out of the safe underneath her console and ripped it open. She checked it against what was on the screen. "EAM code is current and valid."
"Code current and valid," Lewis repeated, checking his own envelope.
Parker's fingers flew over the keys. The blinking message on her screen cleared and new words flashed:
EAM: Launch Omega Missile
"EAM execution is to launch Omega Missile," Parker announced.
"What about our warhead missiles?" Lewis asked.
"REACT says we have orders for just Omega Missile. Give me the launch status of Omega Missile."
"Omega Missile silo on line. Missile systems show green."
New words formed on the computer screen. "I have confirmation from Barksdale emergency operations center that this is not a drill," Parker announced.
Lewis frowned. "Shit, they could be pushing us. Seeing if we'll fail to launch."
That had been Parker's first thought. "Everything says it's real. If it's a drill, we'll find out before we launch. Let's do our end. Open silo."
Four hundred meters from the surface entrance to the Omega Missile LCC was another fenced compound. Inside the razor-wire topped fence, two massive concrete doors slowly rose until they reached the vertical position. Inside, a specially modified LGM-118A Peacekeeper ICBM missile rested, gas venting.
"I've got green on Omega Missile silo doors," Captain Lewis announced, verifying what one of the video screens showed.
"Green on silo," Parker confirmed.
Kilten saw the confirmation of silo doors open on his laptop. He looked up at McKenzie. "Fortunately for us this cable goes both ways — to the Omega Missile LCC and also to the Emergency Operations Center for the 341st Missile Wing in the tower at Barksdale Air Force Base."