Red Hammer 1994

“Can’t risk it. We go submerged. We’ll lift off the bottom at 2130. We’ll follow the navigator’s plan and set down past Foulweather Bluff early in the morning and take inventory. In the meantime, get as much rest as possible and some chow. Any other questions?” Jackson looked around one final time. “Dismissed.” There was a surge for the door and fresh air.

Jackson glanced at his watch. “Lieutenant Brandice.” A medium-built, blond-haired officer jerked to a halt and looked up. “Have a seat.” Brandice struggled against the tide of bodies until he was opposite the captain and then sat down nervously. Jackson waited until the others had departed. But all had known the topic as soon as the officer’s name was called. Lieutenant Norman Brandice was the strategic weapons officer.

The lieutenant was in his late twenties, with a round face and was slightly overweight. It was a curse that plagued the constantly confined submariners who rated the best chow in the fleet. He was relatively new aboard Michigan, and Jackson had not gotten to know him very well, too much confusion during refit. He disposed of any pleasantries. He looked at Brandice hard.

“When the order comes, and it will, I need to be assured there won’t be any problems.” The lieutenant understood, nodding, and started to respond, but Jackson cut him off.

“I know what you’re going to say, but hear me out.” Jackson folded his hands and rested them on the table. His eyes bored in on Brandice. “We’ve all gone through the drills. We try to imagine what we would do if the real thing ever happened. Well, it has. If any man has moral reservations, I won’t hold it against him. But I can’t have hesitation. Canvas your department, and let me know. Give them time to think it over.” Jackson started to stand. “That includes you by the way.”

“There won’t be a problem, Captain.” Brandice’s tone was soft, yet firm. Jackson managed a slight smile. “That’s all.”

Jackson watched the weapons officer depart, and then hung his hand over the open door. He was so tired he could barely stand. “Go lie down,” he scolded. The thought of an hour in his rack brought a rush of contentment. Then he flashed back to Brandice’s final comment. Won’t be a problem? he thought. He remembered once reading interviews with the crewmen of the Enola Gay. How would he feel days, weeks, years after—if he were alive? Michigan would make the historic suffering imposed on the Japanese people look like child’s play.

CHAPTER 23

The MH-53J helicopter plunged as it crossed the jagged tree line, popping white-hot magnesium flares—a precaution against someone with a Stinger missile. The passengers clung tightly to aluminum tubing welded to the fuselage, fighting the G-forces that squeezed their bodies. The engine vibration shaking the cabin made it worse. Thomas, a veteran of countless helo rides, broke into a sweat. Aft, Genser’s aide was doubled over, vomiting. The foul smell quickly engulfed the cabin, gagging his immediate neighbors.

The special ops bird flared and hung motionless then dipped and bounced roughly to a stop. Colonel Harcourt sprang to his feet, pistol in hand, forcing open the cabin door, jumping to the dirt. The pilot idled, waiting for the reassuring all-clear before securing the engines. When the twin turbines changed pitch and wound down, Harcourt stuck his head back through the retracted door and locked his eyes on Alexander.

“Follow me, sir,” he barked against the racket. He wanted to get his passengers out of the helo. Sitting on the ground, it was a big, fat target.

It was 8:05 p.m. The last traces of daylight disappeared behind tall pines. The trees grew black and ominous. Alexander poked his head through the exit and led his troupe down the aluminum steps. They moved haltingly, gripping the handrail, glancing nervously across the unfamiliar landscape. They were quickly surrounded by twenty or so Rangers in full battle dress, camouflage paint smeared over their exposed skin. All carried the recently issued, shortened M-16, the M4A. Squad leaders maneuvered the soldiers quickly and efficiently, without a sound.

“Where the hell are we?” Alexander asked the colonel.

Harcourt looked exasperated. “Change of plans, sir. The GMCC is not ready. They’ve had trouble getting a full crew and getting underway. It’s going to be a while before we can rendezvous. My orders are to hold here.”

“What’s a while?” barked Alexander. He wasn’t long on patience at the moment.

“Can’t say, sir. Maybe two hours, maybe three. I have to keep you safe. We can’t risk a linkup until the GMCC is operational and security has been set. Right now, it’s a mess. We’ve always had a lot more time.”