Red Hammer 1994

The general’s fatalism confirmed what Thomas suspected. They all lived with the threat of death at any moment.

CHAPTER 31

The sharp retort of steel-toed paratrooper boots slapping concrete echoed through the dimly lit corridor. Moments earlier, Thomas had been rushed through the disguised entrance that hid the command bunker in the picturesque north Georgian mountains. Resting overhead was a clever rendition of an abandoned 1950s vintage filling station, complete with a ransacked, boarded-up country store. The underground complex had been someone’s brainchild during the early 60s nuclear war scare then put on the shelf. Resurrected ten years prior as part of a major command-and-control upgrade, the complex had never been finished due to lack of funds. Jury-rigged comm lines ran to truck-mounted satellite dishes in the tall pines, while diesel generators hummed under camouflage netting. Nervous radar operators scanned the skies. Rumor had Russian Backfire bombers flying out of Cuba on armed reconnaissance sorties.

Thomas strained to see as he slowly adjusted to the weak light thrown off by the fluorescents. The muggy, stale air hung thickly in the corridor, making it an effort to breathe. Perhaps it was the strain that sensitized Thomas’s body to every minute change in temperature or humidity. He felt out of synch with the natural world. It took a determined concentration to husband the last remaining pockets of clarity and rational thought.

The STRATCOM escort stopped at a heavy steel door. Thomas forced it back and stepped into the well-lit operations center. The interior had the unkept appearance of a storage shed, with stacks of wooden crates and cardboard boxes intermixed with half-assembled equipment consoles. Off to one side was an oblong table, the men seated around it resembling a meeting of the mafia at some abandoned warehouse.

“You’re late,” barked Hargesty. People didn’t even bother greeting one another anymore. Small talk and courtesy had disappeared after seventy-two hours of uninterrupted hell. The government had become a physiological and psychological laboratory experiment. The fierce weeding-out unfolded before everyone’s eyes. Many had simply collapsed, wounded by exhaustion and emotional terror. For others, it was angina or stroke. In many ways, they resembled torture victims, their overloaded brains frozen in a mindless daze. The rest, the survivors, struggled to maintain some semblance of sanity.

“Plane trouble,” answered Thomas bluntly. No one cared about the question or the answer. Thomas took a seat next to McClain; Hargesty was opposite. The others included senior officers from STRATCOM and Forces Command, none that Thomas recognized. The players changed so rapidly, he couldn’t keep score. Every encounter brought fresh faces. The growing casualty lists proliferated like the darkest days of the Civil War.

Hargesty rubbed his leathery brow while he read a message from a theater CINC. CINCPAC had reported the navy’s attack submarines were slaughtering the Russians. Two more missile-laden submarines had been added to the tally in the last twenty-four hours. The Russian sea-based strategic reserve was basically gone. A couple of surviving boats fled to coastal havens, safe from US attack submarines, but also out of missile range of most continental US targets.

“PACOM has the Russians on the run.” Hargesty tossed the message into the center of the table for public consumption. No one picked it up.

“The same reports are coming from the Atlantic,” added McClain. “Their SLBMs are no longer a threat, thank God.”

“And the rest of their fleet is on the bottom,” seconded an admiral. “The sea lines of communication are in our hands. We’ll mop up the odds and ends in the next few weeks.”

Hargesty tossed a nasty look McClain’s way. “Well, the navy’s done their part, General. When are you going to get the mobiles?”

McClain’s nostrils flared. “It’s not that easy, and you know it. I don’t have the aircraft to search every inch of Russian territory. Lacrosse has performed well against the rail targets, but we can’t find the fucking SS-25s in the forests.”

Hargesty wasn’t sympathetic. The painfully long silence left all to wonder what they were there for. After all, he had called the short-notice meeting. And the concentration of so many senior leaders made them all nervous.

“They still have over two hundred deployed,” Thomas said, breaking the ice. “We think it’s all they have left, but it’s enough. Negotiations will be tough as long as they have them.” Thomas had touched on a sore spot.

“Are you still pushing that cease-fire crap?” snorted McClain. “It’s hopeless and you know it. Why don’t you level with the president? This won’t end until the Russian forces are completely destroyed.”