None of the data made sense. The missiles would arc into a western trajectory to intercept a target identified by the PAVE PAWS (Phased Array Warning System) station at Beale Air Force Base in California. Not a typical threat trajectory for the East Coast. One target parameter stood out as terminally flawed. Target speed. His Mach 7.88 missiles had been sent to intercept a target moving at Mach 58. This had to be a mistake. Russian’s most updated ICBMs topped out at Mach 23. He wasn’t even sure if Gravely’s AEGIS system could provide terminal guidance to intercept a target moving this fast. It really didn’t matter, because it was out of his hands.
The missiles stopped firing, and he ran to the active AEGIS tracking console, still shocked to see the digital representations of his missiles streaking west over Virginia to intercept a track originating from the southwest. Not a single BMD training scenario had involved a missile threat from that direction.
Thirteen missiles had been fired without “skin on track” by Gravely’s AN/SPY-1D phased array radar, meaning that the ship’s radar had not acquired the target. The C2BMC system would guide the missiles until Gravely’s powerful sensors picked up the track. At that point, the ship’s fire control system would provide terminal guidance to ensure that each missile’s Light Exo-Atmospheric Projectile (LEAP) collided with the threat.
The entry hatch to CIC flew open, spilling a panicked contingent of crewmembers into the dimly lit space. Dressed in the digital blue camouflage-patterned navy working uniform, Gravely’s command duty officer, Lieutenant Mosely, pushed the first sailors out of the way and ran to Jeffries.
“What the fuck just happened?”
“Our ship remote launched thirteen SM-3s at an inbound target identified by C2. It’s moving Mach fifty-eight out of the southwest. That’s all I know, sir,” said Chief Jeffries.
“You mean Mach five point eight,” corrected the officer.
“No, Lieutenant. Fifty-eight. Have you called the captain?”
The lieutenant glanced around for a second, clearly confused by the entire situation. Jeffries could understand the officer’s hesitation. Less than a minute ago, the ship had been quiet. Within the span of forty-five seconds, Gravely had autofired thirteen antiballistic missiles, and they had very little information. For all any of them knew, they could be on the verge of a full-scale nuclear war.
“I’ll call him right now. Are you talking to anyone at IMD?”
“Not yet. We barely got our checks done before the missiles launched,” said Jeffries, turning to type into the BMD console.
“Get IMD on the line. They’re running the show.”
“I’m on it, sir. Petty Officer Clark, start making calls to the Integrated Missile Defense command. Get me anyone that knows what’s going on. Numbers are on the card,” said the chief.
He stood up from his chair and turned to the half-dozen sailors hovering near the hatch. “The rest of you get out of here!”
Two minutes later, Chief Jeffries and Fire Controlman Ben Clark watched the AEGIS display in horror as Gravely’s missiles disappeared one by one over central Virginia. Gravely’s fire control system acquired and tracked the target for nine seconds before it vanished in the vicinity of Richmond, Virginia.
“That wasn’t a missile, sir,” said the chief.
“What are you saying, Chief? Hold on, Captain,” said the lieutenant, covering the phone’s mouthpiece.
“Radar cross section was ninety-six thousand,” he said, his voice trailing off in disbelief.
He still couldn’t process his emotions. Everything had happened too fast. Repeating the radar cross section brought a single emotion to the surface. Fear. His family lived ten miles from here, in the direction of Richmond. His vision narrowed, and he barely heard the lieutenant’s reply.
“Meters? That can’t be right,” said the officer, walking toward the AEGIS console. He glanced at the data over the chief’s shoulder and shook his head.
“We have to get IMD on the line, Chief!” yelled Lieutenant Mosely.
“Captain, Chief Jeffries just confirmed that the target had a radar cross section over ninety thousand. Something has to be wrong. That would put the diameter over three hundred meters!”
Jeffries waited for the lieutenant to continue, but heard nothing. He looked up at the officer, who pressed his ear against the receiver and squinted.
“Captain? Can you hear me? Chief, I think my call—”
He was interrupted by a complete and sudden darkness. The Combat Information Center went dead for a second before bulkhead-mounted, battery-powered LED “battle lanterns” started to provide illumination. The eerie silence continued.
“Shore power’s out. We should get power from one of the generators in a few seconds,” said the lieutenant.
Ten seconds elapsed, yielding no change to the eerie silence.
“I think we lost more than shore power,” said the chief, starting to get out of his seat to help Petty Officer Clark with the communications console.
Before he reached Clark, the entire ship slid laterally, knocking everyone inside to the metal grated deck. A severe rumbling enveloped CIC for several seconds, followed by silence. Jeffries grabbed onto Clark’s seat and began to pull himself to his feet when a panicked voice filled the darkened space.
“CDO, they need you on the quarterdeck!”
Chief Jeffries stood up and walked with Lieutenant Mosely toward the hatch, but stopped when the metal beneath his feet shuddered again. Once the ship settled, he unsheathed a powerful LED flashlight from his belt and illuminated the doorway, finding a wide-eyed Hispanic woman in dark blue Gravely sweatpants and a white T-shirt. She wore an expression of terror.
“What happened?” asked Mosely.
“Norfolk Naval Base is on fire—and the ship broke free of the pier.”
Chief Jeffries stared at her with disbelief. All he could think about was his wife and two teenagers.
Chapter 6
EVENT 00:00 Hours
Jewell Island, Maine
Alex buried his head in the sleeping bag.
Now what?
He peeked out of the bag, expecting to find Kate standing over him with a flashlight. It wouldn’t be the first time. The island reflected a rich, sunset-orange hue. Long shadows extended from the trees and clumps of rocks along the granite walls. A strange tingling sensation enveloped him.
Lightning!
He rolled out of the hammock, still encased in the sleeping bag, striking the fiberglass deck. He ripped frantically at the zipper, unable to get out of the polyester body bag. A glimpse of the sky eased his panic. The sky bristled with stars, hardly a meteorological condition conducive to lightning. He lay there for a few moments.
More nightmares? Shit. Back to counseling.
He took a deep breath and gave the zipper another try. When it didn’t move, he tore it open.
“Problem fucking solved,” he muttered, slipping out of the bag and kicking it aft.
He stood up on the cockpit bench and squinted.