Red Hammer 1994

“Mr. President, I must protest dispersal of the bomber force,” interjected Genser. “It will destroy any chance of a useful dialogue.”

“I’m convinced it’s a prudent move,” replied the president.

“Let’s hope so,” said Genser, shaking his head.

“Anything else? If not, we’ll adjourn. I want to be informed immediately of any new information.”

The president rose and quickly left the room. Following on his heels were the secretary of state and the director, huddled in conversation.

“Mr. Secretary, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get the necessary orders to STARTCOM,” said the chairman.

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs left Alexander and Thomas alone. “Bob, I need you at the National Military Command Center. Watch the bomber and tanker dispersal closely. If STARTCOM screws it up, we’re all in deep shit.”

“I understand, sir,” Thomas replied. “I’d come to the same conclusion.”

CHAPTER 12

Thomas strode into the National Military Command Center, sheltered deep beneath the Pentagon. Expertly engineered in the days of propeller-driven aircraft carrying thousand-pound bombs, it was now hopelessly obsolete in the modern era of intercontinental thermonuclear weapons deposited with pinpoint accuracy. The NMCC served as the electronic nerve center that linked the spiderweb of US military bases encircling the globe. Huge DSCS III satellite dish antennas and high-speed trunk lines funneled streams of digital message traffic and raw intelligence from distant radar sites, listening posts, overseas commanders, and even ships at sea. The all-seeing eyes of the NMCC were the far-flung assets of the North American Aerospace Defense Command’s Missile Warning Center and the CIA’s secretive photo-reconnaissance satellites, while its ears were the NSA’s eavesdropping ELINT satellites, mostly hovering over former Soviet territory. Their sensitivity was legendary, sucking up incredibly minute packets of RF energy, uncovering the slightest indiscretion or hint of hostile intent. This electronic one-two punch had created a cornucopia of data, an around-the-clock surveillance blanket that smothered the earth. Addicted US decision makers were paralyzed without their steady diet of intelligence summaries and real-time imagery fed by this creation.

The NMCC was large, the size of a gymnasium, with row upon row of state-of-the-art computer terminals. The only light bathing the floor was the soft glow emanating from bright graphics displays, subtly augmented by buzzing red fluorescents that marked one of the hundreds of phones directly linked to someone important. The front section was reserved for the battle watch. The frequent guests were relegated to a glass-enclosed balcony perched high above the floor. Plush chairs and secure phones provided the necessary comforts. This viewing cage shielded visitors from the constant commotion on the floor, which on occasion could rise in pitch to rival the Chicago Mercantile Exchange.

Thomas camped out upstairs. He stared at the “big board” as it was still called. The two errant Russian subs off the Mexican west coast stood out like a sore thumb. The display rammed home how frighteningly close those boats were to US soil. US military installations up and down the Pacific coast were within quick striking range of the Delta’s SS-N-23 ballistic missiles. Flight times would be as short as six to seven minutes. Too short to do anything but cover your head and pray. A glance toward the Atlantic showed a solo Delta III two hundred miles closer to the East Coast than normal. Most of the other Russian boats were near the Barents, close to Russian home waters. Thomas yanked the chair-mounted phone handset to his ear, triggering a flashing red light below. The Battle Watch Commander, an air force brigadier, answered promptly and politely.

“What steps have been taken to implement the NSC directive?” Thomas asked dryly. The officer knew who he was.

“STRATCOM has begun to move aircraft to secondary bases; ten or fifteen have been identified so far, all B-1Bs. The chairman is concerned. Says they’re moving too fast. Overhead reconnaissance sweeps have increased, but the space-borne platforms we have in orbit are getting low on fuel. A replacement photo recon bird is scheduled to go up in three weeks, but JCS is pushing SPACECOM to make it sooner.” Thomas grunted a curt thank you.