The Sphinx

CHAPTER 11

The High Plains that ever so gradually sloped up to the Rocky Mountains contained more than just hundreds of miles of rolling grasslands. Buried into the rocky soil, hundreds of missile silos held the remnants of one of the three legs of America’s nuclear triad that had maintained the status quo of mutually assured destruction for decades.

Recent treaties with the other major nuclear powers had downgraded the alert status of the ICBMs nestled in the silos and caused their onboard targeting systems to be directed away from their war targets in Russia and China and left toward what were called Broad Ocean Areas… open spaces of ocean where a launch by mistake would cause the least possible destruction.

In the remote eastern Montana countryside, one of those missiles had been specially modified not to target a location on the surface of the planet but to break the bounds of gravity and go into space with its nuclear payload. This had been done as part of an experimental program designed to come up with ways to try to stop or deflect an incoming asteroid. Whether such a missile would work or not was a matter of debate among the scientists working on the Near Earth Asteroid Tracking (NEAT) program.

Today, however, as the clock ticked down on Lexina’s threat, the crew manning the Launch Control Center (LCC) for this missile, code-named Interdictor, were programming it with space coordinates for a different mission.

The surface entrance to the LCC was set in the middle of an open grassy space, about the size of a football field, surrounded on all sides by a twelve-foot-high fence topped with razor wire. No Trespassing signs were hung every ten feet on the fence. The signs also informed the curious that the use of deadly force was authorized against intruders. Video cameras, remote-controlled machine guns, a satellite dish, and a small radar dish were on the roof of the small entrance building, the latter two pointing at the cloudless sky.

A hundred and fifty feet underground, the two members of the LCC crew were dressed in black one-piece flight suits. On their right shoulders they wore a patch showing Earth in the center with a lightning bolt coming off the surface into space. A Velcro tag on their chest gave their name, rank, and unit. Captain Linton was a skinny, dark-haired man. He sported Air Force-issue, black-framed, thick-lensed glasses. The LCC commander was Major Louise Greene, a tall blonde with a no-nonsense attitude befitting her position.

Rows of machinery lined the forty-by-forty room. There was a gray tile floor, and the walls were painted dull gray up to three feet, then Air Force blue to the ceiling. Twelve years before, when Greene started in missiles, the LCCs had been painted colors that psychologists had determined would be conducive to the crew’s mental health during their extended tours of duty. That policy had been rescinded because of budget cutbacks and a change in command that had brought in a no-frills policy.

The entire facility was a capsule suspended from four huge shock absorbers, theoretically allowing it to survive the concussion of a direct nuclear strike overhead. The theory had yet to be put to the test, and there was much speculation among missile crews as to whether that bit of 1960s engineering was outmoded.

The main feature of the control room were the two consoles at the front of the room. Above those consoles, various screens showed scenes from the surface directly above, and the adjacent silo this center controlled.

Greene’s and Linton’s attention was focused on a flashing red light that had just come on.

“Verify Emergency Action Message,” Major Greene tersely ordered as she reached over her shoulders and pulled the straps for her seat down and buckled them in, pulling the slack out. The red light was flashing and a nerve-jarring tone was sounding throughout the LCC. She locked down the rollers on the bottom of the seat. Then she hit the keys on her computer.

“I have verification of an incoming Emergency Action Message,” she announced. Linton was reading his terminal. “I have verification of an Emergency Action Message.”

The screen cleared and new words formed. “Emergency Action Message received,” Greene said. She pulled a sealed red envelope out of the safe underneath her console and ripped it open. She checked it against what was on the screen. “EAM code is current and valid.”

“Code current and valid,” Linton repeated, checking his own envelope. Greene’s fingers flew over the keys. The blinking message on her screen cleared and new words flashed:

“EAM execution is to launch Interdictor,” Greene announced. “Give me the launch status.”

“Interdictor silo on line. Missile systems show green.”

New words formed on the computer screen. “I have confirmation from National Command Authority that this is not a drill,” Greene announced. “Open silo.”

“Opening silo.”

Four hundred meters from the surface entrance to the Interdictor LCC was another fenced compound. Inside the razor wire topping the fence, two massive concrete doors slowly rose until they reached the vertical position. Inside a specially modified LGM-118A Peacekeeper ICBM missile rested, gas venting.

“I’ve got green on silo doors,” Captain Linton announced, verifying what one of the video screens showed.

“Green on silo,” Greene confirmed.

Deep underneath Ngorongoro Crater, Lexina put down the communicator that linked her to Etor. She turned the seat toward the large display panel in front of her. She had the view from Warfighter’s imagers relayed to the board and they were zeroing in on eastern Montana… to the coordinates she’d just received.

The excellent equipment put into space by the Department of Defense clearly showed the silo doors opening. Lexina sent her commands to the talon to be relayed to Warfighter.

Inside the LCC there was controlled tension as the pair of officers ran down their checklists.

“Confirm targeting on talon.” Greene was never one to leave anything to chance. Even though they’d spent four hours working with Space Command under Cheyenne Mountain to ensure that the Interdictor was targeted on the alien spacecraft, she wanted to check one more time. The talon and Warfighter was passing over the western coast of the United States, and this would be the only time the target would be in range until the deadline, when it would have Stratzyda under control. There was a narrow window to launch, and they were going to get only one chance.

“Targeting coordinates confirmed,” Linton announced.

“To launch control,” Greene ordered. Unlocking their seats, they both rolled along their respective tracks to the middle of the launch control room. The launch consoles faced each other but were separated by ten feet and a Plexiglas, bulletproof wall bisecting the room. A speaker in the wall allowed Greene and Linton to communicate. They locked their seats down in front of their respective consoles.

Greene put her eyes against the retinal scanner and the computer’s voice echoed out of a speaker on the console.

“Launch officer verified. You may insert key.”

Greene pulled her red key from under her shirt and inserted it into the appropriate slot.

The computer verified Linton’s retina and instructed him to insert his key. “All set,” Linton said.

“Let’s do it,” Greene said, staring through the glass at Linton. “On my three to arm warhead timer. One. Two. Three.”

They both turned their keys at the same time.

The LGM-118A was primed to launch. Inside the nosecone was a ten-kiloton warhead, the warhead now live and scheduled to go off on a preset timer when its projected trajectory took it less than four hundred meters from the talon in six minutes.

Major Greene looked up at the status board. Red digits were clicking down from six minutes, ten seconds.

“Ten seconds to launch,” she announced. “On my three, turn to launch initiation.”

“On your command,” Linton echoed.

She watched the number pass through six minutes, five seconds, and her fingers tightened on the key.

Traveling at the speed of light, the laser from Warfighter hit the rocket. The laser cut through the missile, destroying vital components.

Inside the LCC, Greene and Linton caught a glimpse of the laser beam on one of their video screens. Their control board screamed red lights and Klaxons wailed. “Turn!” Greene yelled.

They both twisted the key to initiate launch. Silence greeted their efforts. For a few seconds Greene and Linton sat absolutely still, looking at each other through the thick glass that separated them. Greene was the first to react. She quickly unbuckled her seat belt, snatching a small radio headset off the side of the console. She glanced at the timer, which was passing through five minutes, fifty seconds.

Greene ran to a hatch on the side of the LCC, punching in her access code. Slowly the heavy steel door swung open. Before going into the tunnel that beckoned, she turned to Linton. “Shut the silo doors.” She put the headset on. “I’ll be on channel one.”

Linton nodded, and Greene was gone, sprinting down the tunnel that linked the LCC with the Interdictor silo. The sound of her boots echoed off the reinforced concrete walls of the tunnel and another steel door a hundred meters in front of her and rapidly coming closer as she picked up the pace, her mind counting off the seconds, estimating she now had less than five minutes.

She reached the door and punched in her code. The door slowly opened, and Greene slithered through as soon as there was enough room. She was at the midpoint of the silo, the bulk of the rocket directly in front of her, five feet away. She turned and closed the hatch behind her, then began climbing up toward the bright daylight above her head.

Inside the LCC, Linton typed in the command for the massive doors to close.

Greene climbed as fast as she could, but it took a precious minute for her to reach the top gantry, which led to the nosecone. She paused for a second as a shadow cut across the silo. The doors were coming down, blocking off the daylight.

She edged out onto the narrow gantry to the access panel for the nosecone. Using an Allen wrench from her harness, she furiously began unbolting the panel, seconds ticking away.

With a solid thud the doors shut, leaving her trapped inside with the missile. The earpiece came alive with Linton’s voice. “Two minutes, thirty seconds.”

There were six hex nuts to remove, and she had two out. She scraped her hand, drawing blood, but didn’t notice any pain. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

“Two minutes,” Linton announced.

She had two more nuts out. As she worked, she mentally ran through the procedure for disabling the timer. In training she had done it in twenty-two seconds. The fifth nut was out.

“One minute, thirty seconds.”

She put the Allen wrench into the sixth hex nut. She twisted, but it didn’t budge. Greene cursed, putting more pressure on the wrench, feeling the pain as the metal dug into her fingers. Nothing. She paused and took a deep breath. “One minute.”

“Come on, come on,” Greene whispered as she torqued the wrench. With a slight pop, the wrench broke in two, a piece of it still stuck in the hex nut. Greene stared at the piece in her hand in disbelief. A simple, dollar-ninety-nine piece of metal.

“Thirty seconds!” Linton’s voice had an edge of hysteria.

Greene clawed at the broken piece, trying to get it out of the nut. “Twenty seconds!”

A fingernail ripped off and she didn’t even notice. A part of her mind knew it was too late.

“Ten seconds! Are you in?” Linton’s voice was loud in her ear. She took off the headset, wanting one last moment of silence.

Greene slumped back, sitting on the metal gantry. She looked down at her bloody hands and the broken piece of metal. She closed her eyes and unconsciously hunched forward, as if preparing for a strong wind.

The missile, silo, and Greene were vaporized. The LCC, two hundred meters away, was destroyed by the shock wave radiating out. The thick twenty-ton surface doors to the silo were blown into the air and were found half a mile away, but they did help contain some of the blast. A hundred-meter-wide crater, over sixty meters deep, was all that remained where the silo had been.