tricity for more than thirty years.
The first bomb hit seventy meters below the spillway. A heavy weapon
with a thick case of hardened steel, it burrowed fifteen meters into the struc-
ture before exploding, first ripping a miniature cavern in the concrete, the
shock of the event rippling through the immense wall as the second weapon
struck, about five meters over the first.
A watchman was there, awakened from a nap by the noise from downval-
ley, but he’d missed the light show and was wondering what it had been
when he saw the first muted Hash that seemed to come from inside his dam.
He heard the second weapon hit. then the delay of a second or so before the
shock almost lifted him off his feet.
“Jesus, did we gel them all’.'” Kyan asked. Contrary to popular belief, and
contrary now to his own fervent wishes, the National Reconnaissance Office
had never extended real-time capability to the White House. He had to de-
pend on someone else, watching a television in a room at the Pentagon.
“Not sure, sir. They were all close hits-well, I mean, some were, but
some of the bombs appeared too premature-”
“What does that mean?”
“They seem to have exploded in midair-three of them, that is, all from
the last bomber. We’re trying to isolate in on the individual silos now
and-”
“Are there any left intact, damn it’.'” Ryan demanded. Had the gamble
failed?
“One. muyhc two. we’re not sure. Stand by, okay?” the analyst asked
rather plaintively. “We have another bird overhead in a few minutes.”
The dam might have survived two, but the third hit, twenty meters from the
spillway, opened a gap-really, it dislodged a chunk of concrete triangular
in shape. The section jerked forward, then stopped, held in place by the im-
mense friction of the man-made rock, and for a second the watchman won-
dered if the dam might hold. The fourth hit struck in the center of that section
and fragmented it. By the time the dust cleared, it had been replaced with fog
and vapor as the water started pouring through the thirty-meter gap carved in
the dam’s face. That gap grew before the watchman’s eyes, and only then
did it occur to him to race for his shack and lift a phone to warn the people
downstream. By that time, a river reborn after three decades of enforced
sleep was racing down a valley it had carved over hundreds of millennia.
“Well?” the man in Tokyo demanded.
“One missile seems to be fully intact. That’s number nine. Number two-
well, there may be some minor damage. I have my people checking them all
now. What are my orders?”
“Prepare for a possible launch and stand by.”
‘ ‘Hai.” The line clicked off.
Now what do I do? the watch officer wondered. He was new at this, new
at the entire idea of managing nuclear weapons, a job he’d never wanted, but
nobody had ever asked him about that. His remembered protocol of orders
came quickly to him, and he lifted a phone-just an ordinary black instru-
ment; there hadn’t been time for the theatrics the Americans had affected-
for the Prime Minister.
“Yes, what is this?”
“Goto-san, this is the Ministry. There has been an attack on our mis-
siles!”
“What? When?” the Prime Minister demanded. “How bad?”
“One, possibly two missiles are operational. The rest may be destroyed.
We’re checking them all now.” The senior watch officer could hear the rage
at the other end of the line.
“How quickly can you get them ready for launch?”
“Several minutes. I have already given the order to bring them to launch
status.” The officer flipped an order book open to determine the procedures
to actually launch the things. He’d been briefed in on it, of course, but now,
in the heat of the moment, he felt the need to have it in writing before him as
the others in the watch center turned and looked at him in an eerie silence.
“I’m calling my cabinet now!” And the line went dead.
The officer looked around. There was anger in the room, hut even more,
iheie was tear. It had happened again, a systematic attack, and now they
knew the import of the earlier American actions. Somehow they had learned
the location of the camouflaged missiles, and then they had used timed at-
tacks on the Japanese air-defense system to cover what they really wanted to
do. So what would they themselves be ordered to do now? Launch a nuclear
attack? That was madness. The General thought so, and he could see that the
cooler heads in his command center felt the same way.
It was a miracle of sorts. Missile Number Nine’s silo was nearly intact.
One bomb had exploded a mere six meters away, but the rock around
the-no, the officer saw, the bomb hadn’t exploded at all. There was a
hole in the rocky floor of the valley, but in the light of his flashlight he
could see right there, amid the broken rock, the afterpart of something-a
fin, perhaps. A dud, he realized, a smart bomb with a faulty fuse. Wasn’t
that amusing? He raced off next to see Number Two. Running down the
valley, he heard some sort of alarm horn and wondered what that was all
about. It was a frightening trip, and he marveled at the fact that the Ameri-
cans hadn’t attempted to attack the control bunker. Of the ten missiles in
the collection, eight were certainly destroyed. He choked with the fumes
of the remaining propellants, but most of that had fireballed into the sky
already, leaving behind only noxious gas that the night winds were sweep-
ing away. On reflection he donned a gas mask that covered his face, and,
fatally, his ears.
Silo two had taken a single bomb hit-near miss, he corrected himself.
This bomb had missed the center target by perhaps twelve meters, and
though it had thrown tons of rock about and cracked the concrete liner, all
they had to do was sweep off the debris from the access hatch, then go down
to see if the missile was intact.
Damn the Americans /<»' thix! he raged, lifting his portable radio andcalling the control hunker. Strangely, there was no reply. Then he noticedthat the ground was shaking, hut halfway wondered if it might be his owntrembling. Commanding himself to be still, he took a deep breath, but therumbling didn't stop. An earthquake . . . and what was that howling out-side his gas mask? Then he saw it, and there wasn't time to race for thevalley walls.The Patriot crew heard it also, but ignored it. It was the reload crew who gotthe only warning. Set in the wye of I he railroad tracks, they were rigging alaunch canister of four more missiles when the white wall exploded out theentrance to the valley. Their shouts went unheard, though one of their num-ber managed lo scramble to safety before the hundred-foot wave engulfedthe site.Two hundred miles over his head, an orbiting camera overflew the valleyfrom southwest to northeast, all nine of its cameras following the same rushof water.45line oi Battle"There they go," Jones said. The shuttling pencils on the fan-fold papershowed nearly identical marks, the thin traces on the looohz line indicatedthat Prairie-Masker systems were in use, and similarly faint lower-frequencymarks denoted the use of marine diesel engines. There were seven of them,and though the bearings were not showing much change as yet, they soonwould. The Japanese submarines were all now at snorting depth, and thetime was wrong. They snorted on the hour, usually, typically one hour into awatch cycle, which allowed the officers and men on duty time to get used tothe ship after a rest period, and also to do a sonar check before entering theirmost vulnerable evolution. But it was twenty-five after the hour now, andthey'd all started snorting within the same five-minute period, and thatmeant movement orders. Jones lifted the phone and punched the button forSubPac."Jones here.""What's happening, Ron?""Whatever bait you jusl dropped in the water, sir, they just took after it. Ihave seven tracks," he reported. "Who's waiting for them?""Not on the phone, Ron," Mancuso said. "How are things over there?""Pretty much under control," Jones replied, looking around at the chiefs.Good men and women already, and his additional training had put them fullyon-line."Why don't you bring your data over here, then? You've earned it.""See you in ten," the contractor said."We gol "cm," Ryan said."How sure are you?" Durling asked."Here, sir." Jack put three photos on the President's desk, just courieredover from NRO."This is what it looked like yesterday." There was nothing to see, really,