Red Hammer 1994

Danger would most likely visit when Buck had to break out of hiding and line up on his first target, a large thermal power plant near Sverdlovsk. He knew the Russians were well versed in American bomber tactics—they wouldn’t be easily fooled. Then the other target locations rolled across his mind—Chelyabinsk, Magnitogorsk, Kazan, Kuybyshev, and finally Volgograd. Fifteen power plants, a handful of refineries, and key oil and gas pipelines, his lone plane would cut a vicious swath of destruction that would paralyze Russian economic activity for decades.

If his mission was accomplished, Buck would guide his bomber further south, dashing for the Turkish border, and a prearranged, secret rendezvous with an American support team. Buck gritted his teeth and swore that he would come home with an empty plane or die trying.

CHAPTER 25

The promised two to three hours had turned into nearly four. It was after midnight when Alexander and crew reboarded their helo and headed down the Shenandoah Valley. The valley was black, except for an occasional light powered by a portable generator. Power was gone as far as the eye could see.

The GMCC has been staged out of Harrisonburg, north of town, in an industrial building. The multiservice peacetime garrison had been augmented by military forces from around greater the DC area and Maryland and Virginia suburbs. That included duty personnel from the NSA at Fort Meade and the CIA at Langley. The DIA has provided analysts and linguists. It was an impressive cast.

The mobilization plan was sound for a deliberate dispersal, but not for this chaos. The troops and techs pulled together heroically to get underway, driving to the primary location and beginning the setup. It was like watching a circus troupe go through the motions—fast and efficient.

After the trip down the Shenandoah, the helo banked right and followed US 33 toward the West Virginia line. Well before the next mountain range, they dropped from the sky near what looked like a small town. When the wheels touched, it was a repeat of the previous landing. Unload, march single file, meet security, get oriented. They were better at it this time.

Thomas noticed nothing until he could make out an irregularly shaped mound looming in front of the far tree line. It wasn’t until they were twenty yards away that he saw a canopy of interwoven camouflage netting supported by a forest of ten-foot fiberglass poles. Expertly concealed was a stable of military trucks and commercial tractor trailers that comprised the NCA’s Ground Mobile Command Center, an invention of the late 1980s to counter Russian ICBM accuracy and still kept on alert. The emergency compound was difficult to identify from the ground and most likely impossible to spot from the air. A near acre of the multicolored netting absorbed probing radar energy and suppressed the infrared signature of the diesel generators chugging in the night. Upon closer inspection, the plastic canopy bristled with antennas protruding from communications vans tucked below. Posted around the perimeter were pockets of Harcourt’s Rangers, equipped with night-vision goggles that made them look like aliens. Dug deeply into the ground were army troops, with a full complement of crew-served weapons. The Army Rangers and supporting soldiers were prepared for the worst.

Alexander’s entourage was greeted by an army brigadier with a rifle slung over his shoulder.

“General Ogden, Mr. Secretary,” he shouted over the loud chugging of a nearby electrical generator. “STRATCOM liaison. First order of business is a quick change. Please follow me, sir.”

Alexander nodded, vaguely familiar with the drill. A select few administration officials had been thoroughly briefed on the center’s capabilities, but it had been a long time ago. Regularly scheduled crisis-management drills had avoided even a hint of the traveling command post, instead assigning congressman and senior officials to either Mount Weather or Fort Ritchie for their mandatory training.

The others followed Alexander to a nearby commercial tractor trailer in the guise of an eastern seaboard shipping company. The pinstriped silver and blue van was serviced by a broad ramp leading to a door within a door in the rear. Thomas trudged up the steep metal plank in the number-two position and ducked through the shipboard-like hatch. The dull metal interior was bathed in the soft glow of red fluorescents; a low electrical hum was the only noise detectable. A group of nervous soldiers stood by piles of clothing and gear.

“Please listen up, gentlemen,” instructed Ogden, business-like in a flak vest and helmet. His M-16 had been handed off to an aide. “Remove all your clothing, and put on fatigues. We don’t want anyone standing out. One of the soldiers will help you in getting the right sizes.”