Voyage of the Devilfish

“Are you going to order a reactor-restart or not?” Pacino shook his head. “Not yet, XO. Sit tight.” Rapier started to say something, decided against it and shut his mouth. atlantic ocean forty miles east OF norfolk, virginia The SSN-X-27 nuclear-tipped cruise missile flew on at a speed just under 800 clicks. The surface raced toward the missile, giving it the impression of even greater velocity due to the low altitude. The missile calculated. In a few minutes the sand of Virginia Beach would be slipping under the fuselage. Ahead, the horizon was lit with lights from the beach, hotels, restaurants, boardwalk illumination, even just after four in the morning, even on this off-season December Sunday. The missile computed a navigation fix from the stars overhead and judged itself just a hair off course to the south. It rotated the engine nozzle to the right, then back amidships as the course was corrected. Now the flight path was perfect. Seven kilometers from the beach now. Time to begin the arming sequence. After a self-check of the detonator, the missile rotated a thick metal plate so that two holes lined up. Which put the central detonator in line with the main explosion train for the six specially shaped trinitrotoluene charges. The arming sequence complete, the missile settled into its ride. At ten meters altitude the missile screamed in over the sand of Virginia Beach, 35 kilometers from Norfolk Naval Station, 37 from COMSUBLANT and CINCLANTFLEET headquarters. The hotels and T-shirt shops zipped by beneath the missile’s fuselage. Minutes till detonation. Now the missile flew over the outer boundary of the Navy’s military complex, starting with the administrative buildings and supply depot area and flying on over the headquarters buildings of COMSUBLANT and CINCLANTFLEET. At the same time electromagnetic pulses were washing over its fuselage from the Navy EA-6B electronic warfare jet, now fifteen miles astern of it.

NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

COMSUBLANT HEADQUARTERS

Admiral Richard Donchez rubbed his bald head as he tried to focus on the surface of the desk. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Admiral? Sir, it’s an emergency, wake up, sir.” Donchez checked his watch. Just after four o’clock in the morning, Sunday. He had dozed off in Flag Plot after putting his head on the desk at two in the morning. Pain filled him, he hadn’t felt this way since commanding the Piranha years before. In spite of his own promise to himself he had not been able to stay away from Flag Plot. In fact, for the entire weekend he had decided to camp out in his headquarters, Christmas holiday notwithstanding. And as the sole flag officer in a duty station at this time on a Sunday morning he was also SOPA — Senior Officer Present Ashore. Which meant that, nominally, he spoke for COMAIRLANT, COMSURFLANT and CINCLANTFLEET. He was it. All of it. He looked up and found himself surrounded. The watch officer. Lieutenant Commander Kodiak, the young Cherokee Indian, was in front. On his left, Lieutenant Vinny Bentson, an intelligence officer. On Kodiak’s right. Senior Chief Ron Carter, a communications specialist and the leading technician on the watchsection.

“What is it?” he asked Kodiak.

“Sir, we’ve got a flash OPREP-3 PINNACLE from the Billfish, 155 nautical miles due east. She sank an AKULAclass sub, after it fired a cruise missile. The AKULA is on the bottom but the missile is still incoming. Probable target is Norfolk, targeted for us, sir. And it’s an SSN-X-27. The warhead’s a one-megaton hydrogen bomb.” Donchez struggled for control. The missile coming in was obviously a warshot, the Russians would never take risks like this to launch dummies. This was his fault. If he had been more persuasive, more forceful with Admiral McGee… His eyes refocused on Kodiak as thirty years of training began to take over. His actions became almost automatic.

“Kodiak,” he said quickly, “how many missiles did you say were coming in?”

“One, sir. Aim point, Norfork.”

“Does the White House have the word? And the Pentagon?”

“Yes and yes. Admiral. We’re confirming their receipt now.” Donchez’s thoughts were racing. This was probably the leading edge of a time-on-target attack, or a miscoordinated attack. Or perhaps even a deliberately uncoordinated attack. Fire when ready. Donchez glanced quickly up at the plot-room wall, at the Atlantic chart with the flashing red X’s.

“Kodiak, get in touch with COMAIRLANT’s shack and scramble an EA-6 electronic warfare jet and a Hawkeye radar aircraft if they’ve got one. I don’t care if it’s land based or in the near Atlantic, we need radar surveillance for any more cruise missiles. Scramble as many attack aircraft as they can fuel and load out. The immediate threat is the missile coming in now. Get that one shot down, then let’s worry about any more. Go!” Kodiak ran to the NESTOR secure voice phone.