Foxbat (21 page)

‘Jim was right,’ Richard Whitman muttered, almost to himself. From the moment
he’d pressed the button to swing the blast door shut behind
the two off-watch officers, the capsule communication systems – comprising speakers, telephones and
teletype machines – had remained ominously silent.

Then, twenty-six minutes after Keeble had left, the alarm bell sounded, indicating an Alert
Command received from Offutt. Whitman and Fredericks immediately initiated the standard response procedure. Fredericks sealed the blast doors and switched the capsule to emergency air and
power supplies, while Whitman, as the senior officer, picked up the red phone that was their link to USStratCom’s Primary Alerting System. The voice at the Command Center sounded
clipped and somewhat metallic.

‘An Emergency Action Message has been received from the National Command Authority.
Standby for immediate retransmission. Out.’

The line went dead but, even before Whitman had replaced the telephone, the high-speed teletype
began clattering, spitting out lines of text. Fredericks got to the teletype first, and scanned rapidly over the printed pages.

‘This appears to be an authentic Emergency Action Message, sir,’ he called out. He
tore off the sheets and passed them to Whitman.

‘Roger,’ replied Whitman, then grabbed a pencil as the overhead speaker crackled
into life.

‘Stand by for authentication message. Prepare to copy. Message reads Oscar Tango Three
Charlie Delta Seven Foxtrot November Papa Juliet Nine Sierra.’

Whitman’s fingers flew across the paper, copying down the phonetic symbols that
comprised the twelve-digit authentication message. The speaker crackled back into silence and, as Whitman reached for the current launch code, the teletype began printing again, repeating the
same authentication as hard copy. Fredericks tore the latest sheet from the teletype and placed it in front of Whitman. Together, the two officers compared the three lines of symbols –
the printed launch code, Whitman’s hand-written digits and the sheet taken from the teletype.

‘Authentication is correct, sir,’ Fredericks announced.

‘I concur,’ Whitman replied. ‘Open the box.’

There are two red padded chairs in the missile control capsule, positioned at right angles to
each other and a regulation twelve feet apart,
into which the duty officers strap themselves when an alert is called. Each chair faces an identical console, on which is
displayed the current status of all ten Minuteman missiles, and which also contains the buttons and switches used to launch them.

Between the two chairs, on a wall shelf, is the so-called Red Box. Identical to the boxes
found in the cockpits of B-52 and other nuclear-capable bombers and the command and control centres of ballistic missile-carrying submarines, the lid of the box is secured by two combination
locks. For added security, each officer knows only one of these numbers. Inside the box is the Emergency War Order containing the Top Secret validation codes that are used to authenticate the
Nuclear Control Order when it’s issued, and the two silver keys required for missile launch.

The two officers reached up and spun the numbers on the combination locks, which clicked open
almost simultaneously. Whitman reached inside the box and pulled out a sealed folder with a bright red cover, and the two firing keys. He passed one key to Fredericks, and put the other one
on the console in front of his own chair.

Whitman unsealed the folder and laid it flat. Fredericks then passed him the hard copy of the
Emergency Action Message, and the two officers carefully, letter by letter, compared the teletype message with the Top Secret code in the folder. If there was any discrepancy at all between
the two, they were ordered to disregard the message and consider it invalid.

Whitman leaned back. ‘The Emergency Action Message is verified,’ he said, and
there was no mistaking the slight tremor in his voice. They’d gone through this routine before, countless times in exercises and endless practise scenarios, but this was the first time,
ever, they’d done it for real.

‘I concur, sir,’ Fredericks said.

‘OK, we go to Alert Thirty, by the book. Strap in.’

Both officers moved to their red chairs, sat down and tightened the seatbelts which held them
firmly in place.

‘Insert keys,’ Whitman ordered. ‘On my mark, turn to the ready position.
Three, two, one, rotate.’

Both keys turned smoothly in their locks, and the two men ran
through the
well-practised sequence of actions that gradually increased the readiness state of the missiles under their control.

‘What now, Major?’ Fredericks asked, leaning back in his chair and staring across
at his superior officer.

‘Now we wait,’ Whitman said, ‘and hope to Christ somebody out there sees sense
before we turn those keys again and start World War Three.’

‘Are you certain the Americans now believe we have the capability to strike them at
will?’

For a few moments Kim Yong-Su didn’t reply, choosing his words with care. ‘I
cannot guarantee that,’ he said, ‘but the operation devised by Pak Je-San went precisely as planned. Faced with unequivocal evidence of the missile launch, and the equally obvious
detonation of the weapon, there must be only one logical conclusion they can draw.’

‘And what of “Golden Dawn”?’

Kim shrugged his shoulders. ‘It was always inevitable that the Americans or the
Japanese, and certainly the South Koreans, would become aware of our recent troop movements. I was never totally sure we would be able to allay any suspicions that “Silver Spring”
was more than just an exercise. As you know, for “Golden Dawn” to work at all, it was essential we moved our ground forces into the correct positions. There was always the
possibility that surveillance satellites would detect our new aircraft, and after the missile firing they’ll now be quite certain we have something planned. But we are still not
absolutely committed. If you wish it, we can stop “Golden Dawn” even at this stage, and just let the exercise run its course.’

The ‘Dear Leader’ – the North Korean media had recently stopped using that
title, but Kim could think of him in no other terms – shook his head. ‘No,’ he said firmly, ‘we will continue as planned. When will you issue the final
order?’

‘Today,’ Kim replied, ‘the moment I leave here, if that is still your
wish.’

For a few moments the man said nothing, then nodded slowly. ‘We will proceed as
planned,’ he said, and stood up, his diminutive five-feet-three-inch stature barely augmented by the three-inch platform heels he habitually wore. He then picked out a phrase he liked
from one of the many British and American war films in his personal video collection.

‘Make it so.’

The view along the flight deck was just as Richter remembered it. Beyond Cobra One, the
black-painted ‘runway’ stretched out in front of his Harrier, the ski-jump at the end appearing disconcertingly vertical. Richter’s aircraft was callsign Cobra Two. The
other Harrier was being flown by a senior squadron pilot.

He’d received a full briefing on the GR9 earlier that morning, but it was essentially the
same aircraft that he’d flown previously, the principal differences being the enhanced Pegasus Mark 107, which delivers an extra three thousand pounds of thrust, and the notable absence
of the excellent Blue Vixen pulse Doppler radar. Richter thoroughly approved of the more powerful engine but, like every 800 Squadron pilot he’d talked to since he’d arrived on
board, he thought the decision to remove the radar was simply crass stupidity. It had all the hallmarks of a political decision made by some elected idiot who wouldn’t recognize a
Harrier if he woke up inside one.

Richter glanced to his right. The telebrief lead had been removed a couple of minutes earlier,
and all they were waiting for now was the green light from Flyco. The ship was swinging steadily to port and picking up speed, turning into the wind to achieve the proper flying course for
the Harrier launch.

He felt more than saw the ship’s turn slow, and then stop, and he switched his attention
to the Flight Deck Officer, who was dividing his time between the two aircraft and the flight deck lights. As Richter watched, they changed from amber to green, and the FDO immediately
acknowledged it.

Thirty seconds later, Cobra One accelerated rapidly along the deck,
and
lifted apparently effortlessly into the air over the ski jump. The moment the first Harrier had cleared the end of the runway, the marshaller directed Richter forward. He lined up his GR9 on
the centreline, set the jet efflux nozzles to the correct angle, and waited expectantly.

Moments later, the FDO signalled him to launch, and he pushed the throttle fully forward, the
noise of the Pegasus rising to a scream as the jet surged forward. He mounted the ski jump, the landing gear compressing below him as the Harrier instantly changed direction, and moments
later he was airborne, the GR9 climbing rapidly away from the ship. Richter began easing the nozzles back into the fully aft position for normal flight, raised the gear and flaps, then
pressed his transmit button.

‘Homer, Cobra Two is airborne, heading zero six five, and passing four thousand in the
climb.’

‘Cobra Two, roger. Maintain heading and continue climb to Flight Level three two zero.
Cobra One is left eleven o’clock, similar heading and passing seven thousand. Break, break. Cobra One and Two, go tactical.’

‘Homer, roger. Break. Cobra Two from Cobra Leader, stud five, go.’

Richter clicked his transmit button in acknowledgement and changed frequency. The Homer position
is normally manned by an air traffic controller, and is responsible for the launch and, more important, the recovery of fixed- and rotary-wing aircraft to the ship. But the patrol and combat
phases of a flight are invariably conducted under the supervision of a fighter controller.

‘Cobra Two.’

‘Roger, Cobra One. Cobras, checking in.’

‘Roger, Cobras. No trade for you at present,’ the AEW Sea King bagman replied.
‘Call level at three two zero and maintain heading. Pigeons Mother two four zero at twenty.’

‘Hi, Richard. You’ve got more pictures?’ Walter Hicks asked. Muldoon nodded.
‘They’re not a hell of a lot different from the previous
imagery, and show pretty much the same stuff, troop and vehicle movements and so on. But N-PIC has
done a more detailed analysis of the military activity as a whole, and I don’t much like what they’ve found.’

He spread several large black-and-white pictures across the conference table. Each had been
printed on a sheet of photographic paper that was much larger than the image, so the pictures could be more conveniently surrounded by numerous printed labels and lines pointing out features.
All were stamped ‘Top Secret/NOFORN’ at both the top and bottom.

‘I think we’re all agreed now that the “Silver Spring” exercise is
just a cover. North Korea’s definitely gearing up for war. Apart from the troop movements, there’s a lot of activity at some of their missile bases, and the only good news is that
N-PIC has identified all the weapons on the pads as No-dong medium-range missiles. In other words, no Taep’o-dongs.’ He took a pen from his pocket and pointed to one of the
images. ‘Look at the missile site preps. Getting Sangwon, Yangdok and Chihari up to speed makes sense – those are the closest bases to the Demilitarized Zone – but at these
sites we’re not seeing missiles actually on the pads, just increased numbers of personnel, trucks and so on. What particularly bothers me is the activity on the east coast of the
peninsula, at No-dong, Hochon, Mayang and Ok’pyong.’

‘You might be reading too much into that, Richard. Those bases are within easy missile
range of Seoul. If the North Koreans are planning an invasion, they might guess we’d take out their most southerly bases, and they’re warming up these others as
reinforcements.’

‘I might agree with you, Walter, except for these pictures.’ Muldoon sorted through
the images on the table and selected two of them. ‘This one is the launch pad at Mayang, and this is Ok’pyong. Notice anything odd about them?’

Hicks leant forward and pored over the images for a few seconds.

‘Here,’ Muldoon said, and proffered a three-inch magnifying glass.

‘Thanks.’ A couple of minutes later Hicks sat back in his chair. ‘Nothing
strikes me as significant there. In each frame I see a missile beside the launch tower but that’s about it.’

Muldoon nodded. ‘N-PIC has confirmed that they’re both No-dong
liquid-fuelled weapons. They’re a tried and tested design with a range of about twelve hundred miles. What N-PIC is concerned about isn’t the missile itself but the
trucks parked near the pads in both pictures.’

‘What? The five-tonners?’

‘That’s what they look like, but according to N-PIC those aren’t standard
trucks. Their sides are solid, probably steel, not canvas, which is unusual. They also have metal rear doors, which again is non-standard. And in one of the pictures the satellite got an
oblique view of the interior of one of them, from which evidence N-PIC thinks there’s a large metallic object inside it.’

‘Which means what?’

‘The analysts can’t be certain, but there’s a strong possibility that these
trucks have been built specially to transport nuclear weapons, and their unusual metal structure actually serves as a kind of lead-lined box devised to hold them safely. The design
isn’t unlike those we ourselves have used in the past. And this picture’ – Muldoon selected another one – ‘shows what looks remarkably like a warhead being
installed in the No-dong on the pad at Mayang.’

Hicks peered back at the images. ‘So if the guys at N-PIC are right, the North Koreans may
have shipped a couple of their nukes from wherever they store them to Mayang and Ok’pyong. What about the other sites?’

‘N-PIC’s looking into that right now. The analysts are running back-checks to see
if they can trace the routes those trucks took to get to the missile bases. That might confirm, or at least indicate, their likely cargoes. But assuming our deduction
is
right, the question really is why would they be preparing nuclear-tipped missiles at two of their east coast bases?’

‘What’s the payload of the No-dong? Can it carry a nuke?’

‘If you’d asked me that question a week ago, I’d have said “no”.
But, since the Taep’o-dong launch from Ok’pyong, my best guess is “maybe”. The payload’s about one thousand kilograms, well over two thousand pounds. All our
analysis to date suggests that if the DPRK has managed to fabricate any nuclear devices, they’ll be fairly small, around a ten- to twenty-kiloton yield, which is exactly what we saw in
the
Pacific. And if a Taep’o-dong can carry one, it would probably also be within the No-dong’s delivery capabilities.’

‘And another aspect to this,’ Hicks interrupted, ‘is the size of the North
Korean nuclear arsenal. How many weapons do they possess? What’s the latest estimate?’

Muldoon shook his head. ‘It depends who you’re speaking to. Until yesterday,
guesses could vary from none to about six. Today, some people are talking maybe a dozen or more. But if these pictures mean what we think, that suggests they’ve got available a minimum
of two nukes. Which brings me to the location of those weapons. Why the east coast? They can’t target US reinforcement shipping or the
Enterprise
group because, without surveillance aircraft or satellites, they have no way of knowing where they are. Unless the Chinese are telling
them, which is pretty unlikely in the current political climate. But, in any case, medium-range missiles like the No-dong aren’t much use against mobile targets, because they’re
just not accurate enough. Interceptor-launched air-to-surface missiles are a much better solution.

‘That implies their targets are more likely to be static – downtown Seoul, for
example – but the No-dong is really the wrong weapon for launching an attack on any part of South Korea, because it’s got too long a range. And we’ve positioned Patriot
batteries all the way along the southern edge of the Demilitarized Zone and around Seoul so their chances of prosecuting a successful attack aren’t that good. I’m wondering
therefore if they’ve got another target in mind.’

‘You mean Japan?’ Hicks looked up sharply. ‘You think they’d launch a
first strike at Japan?’

‘I don’t know. They might not need to,’ Muldoon replied. ‘The threat
would probably be enough. Just suppose that is in fact Pyongyang’s plan. Once they’ve got all their assets in position, they simply phone up Seoul, Tokyo and the White House and
say they’re going to cross the DMZ and occupy the entire peninsula. They’ve got the troops and armour to do it, easily. And add the scenario that if they meet any resistance from
South Korean forces they’ll nuke Japan. And, if we try to interfere, they’ll do the same to the US west coast.’

‘Jesus. Nuclear blackmail with a twist. So these missiles are aimed at Japan, but the real
target’s South Korea and the US of A.’

‘Exactly. And knowing the reputation of that slant-eyed little bastard in Pyongyang,
I’ve no doubt at all that he’d push the button if he had to, because he’d have nothing left to lose. Don’t forget that Oplan 5027 includes plans to take control of the
entire peninsula if North Korea does launch any kind of an invasion attempt. If he makes the threat and then loses the battle, he knows as well as we do that North Korea will cease to exist
within a matter of weeks.’

Muldoon gathered up the photographs and replaced them in the red ‘Top Secret’
folder on the table.

‘So what do we do about it?’ Hicks asked, obviously a rhetorical question.
‘This is a hell of a case to build on just a couple of satellite images that could easily be interpreted more than one way.’

‘I don’t know, Walter. I don’t know if the N-PIC analysts are right and, if
they are, I don’t know what we should do about it. But whatever response is appropriate, the Agency certainly won’t be involved. This must now be a purely military matter, so
I’d suggest going back to the Joint Chiefs through the DNI and passing the buck to them.’