Red Hammer 1994

Component commands were the Missile Warning Center, keeper of the early warning satellites floating over the earth and the giant, phased-array radars encircling the continent, and the Space Defense Operations Center. The SPADOC, as it was called, tracked thousands of objects, big and small, orbiting the planet with a system of highly sophisticated radars, optical telescopes, and infrared satellites. Their current focus was on the plague of spaceborne debris. Particles as tiny as a few microns could disable a satellite or pit the Plexiglas on a shuttle. Larger objects, those pushing a few centimeters, were like hundred-mile-per-hour bowling balls in space.

Both the SPADOC and the MWC were at heightened readiness. Sensors, computer systems, and communications gear had been checked and rechecked. Tensions had been higher only twice in the distant past—the Cuban missile crisis and the one day when the Soviets had brazenly launched a handful of ICBMs north from their silos, only to detonate them midflight, shortly after they crossed the pole. They had never said a word, nor had the United States.

At that moment, 22,300 miles above the equator, shortwave, infrared-sensing DSP early warning satellites scanned the earth’s surface. They monitored all Russian silo fields and vast ocean areas for the telltale fiery plumes of ballistic missiles. These marvels were America’s first line of defense. Their sensitivity for detecting even minute amounts of heat was legend.

During a routine communication check with STRATCOM’s airborne command post, code-named Looking Glass, the DSP over Asia detected a series of hot spots against the cool earth background. The news was instantly bounced off communication satellites and downlinked to satellite control at Falcon AFB on the other side of the globe at Colorado Springs. Forwarded to NORAD, the news triggered an incredibly loud horn, which blared for ten seconds, shattering the tense atmosphere.

Watch standers froze. Astonished faces turned in unison toward the big screen. They searched for the indicator that would jump out, announcing a system-hardware fault or software bug. Instead they were greeted with a rapid succession of small symbols popping on the center screen, marking DSP-provided launch detections in central Russia. It had to be a computer malfunction, they convinced themselves, like the false alarms in the early eighties.

The MWC battle watch commander was struck dumb like his compatriots. The air force general fought to maintain his equilibrium. He steadied himself while listening to a communication headset clutched in his free hand. Acknowledging the news, his shoulders sagged, and his face paled. He reached for a small handset mounted on a metal bracket by his knees. Swallowing hard, the words finally flowed, albeit in a jerky monotone.

“This is not a test,” he announced haltingly over the PA system. “I repeat, this is not a test.” The statement echoed throughout the cavernous chamber. He couldn’t believe the words himself.

The delayed reaction was palpable, like a car bomb exploding. Groans and gasps rose in chorus. Then a tidal wave of sheer bedlam swept the cavern. Watch standers brushed off the initial shock and sprinted to battle stations, manning consoles and conducting communications checks with STRATCOM’s stable of nuclear forces. Action, any action, acted as strong medicine against the tug of personal despair.

Preliminary tracking data blossomed on the three-dimensional polar projection of the earth dominating the center screen. The IBM mainframes, dedicated to cataloguing the attack down to the last reentry vehicle, predicted threatened targets. Targets meant people and places. This was no drill. ICBMs launched from the Russian heartland would take thirty or so minutes to fly their deadly course.

Forty-five seconds after the ripple of ICBM firing, sea-launched ballistic-missiles rose from the ocean off the US East Coast. They arched westward, with a time to target measured in minutes.

“Sir,” reported a stammering officer near the battle watch commander, “we have attack confirmation. Eighty-five SS-18s. Twelve SLBMs from Track Alpha Two. Possible cruise missiles have been detected off both coasts and in the Gulf of Mexico. The SS-18s are targeted on Peacekeeper and Minuteman forces. SLBMs are against SAC bases and C3 sites. It will be six or seven minutes before we pick up the first ICBM reentry vehicles on BMEWS.” BMEWS was the early warning radar system, the modern version of the old DEW line stretching across Alaska.

The colonel wearing the headset sat motionless. Receiving added bad news, he dutifully passed it along. The first ICBMs would arrive in twenty-five minutes, while the lead SLBMs would strike in less than eight.