Shattered Trident (55 page)

As Jerry spoke, he saw Kirkpatrick lean forward, intrigued by what he was hearing, his right hand stroking his chin. Tilting toward the president, the NSA whispered something. Myles’s head snapped around. There was a hushed exchange, and Jerry noticed Kirkpatrick’s head nodding ever so slightly.

Myles turned back toward the mike. “What are you suggesting, Captain?”

“That you authorize the detonation of a number of nuclear weapons in the deep-water areas adjacent to the South and East China Seas. It will have to be more than two. You need to be more shocking than the last time, but your experts will have to determine the exact number. The weapons should be detonated simultaneously along the war zone. No one will miss this. The blast energy from the detonations will be conducted acoustically and seismically; they will literally be shots heard all around the world. If we explode them deep enough, there will be little venting of radiation into the atmosphere.

“Once you have the warring parties’ undivided attention, you give a speech that graphically articulates where this conflict is going, and the devastating consequences that will inevitably follow. You know better than I, sir, but I would think this would be
highly
shocking to the Japanese and Chinese at the very least. The beauty of it all is that if we do this properly, there is little risk of anyone getting hurt from the demonstration, and a reasonable chance that you’ll be able to stop the fighting.”

Jerry ended his proposal and sat down. Thigpen, just as stunned as everyone else, leaned over and whispered, “Skipper! Are you nucking futs!?!”

“Shh,” said Jerry.

After an awkward period of total silence, Myles spoke. “Commander Mitchell, I’ve already mentioned your resourcefulness, but this idea of yours is, well, a bit outlandish. However, my national security advisor is more than a little intrigued by your proposal and believes it has merit. Therefore, we’ll take it up for further discussion over here. If we have any questions, we know how to get ahold of you.”

Jerry nodded. “I’ll be here, Mr. President.”

“One last thing. That took a lot of courage, Captain. And I appreciate your candor and concern for our great nation. I won’t forget it. Good evening, everyone.”

Without a word, everyone in the conference room came to attention as the president departed. And before the connection was terminated, Jerry saw Kirkpatrick smile and give him a thumbs-up.

As the assembled officers filed out of the conference room, no one even came near Jerry Mitchell.

23

DESPERATION

12 September 2016

1000 Local Time

White House Situation Room

Washington, D.C.

“Mr. President, you cannot possibly be considering such a reckless and irresponsible proposal!” blurted Andy Lloyd.

“And yet, you support our direct involvement in the war against China,” Kirkpatrick shot back. “The result is the same, Mr. Secretary. Only the timing differs.”

“Nonsense, Ray! Escalation control may not be an exact science, but we have decades of experience in keeping the lid on the nuclear genie.”

“Try ‘black art,’ sir, a purely academic exercise. We have no practical experience of escalation control under the conditions of open conflict with another superpower—none whatsoever!”

“Gentlemen,
please,
” Myles exclaimed loudly. His raised voice commanded everyone’s attention, and the shouting ceased. “Thank you. Now, let us turn to the issue at hand. First, Andy, yes, I am considering it. Why? Because Commander Mitchell’s proposal is the only other option I’ve been given other than going to war with China or sitting back and doing nothing. Neither will end the fighting quickly, which is my ultimate goal.”

Lloyd and Kirkpatrick both slowly sat back down; chastised like young schoolboys caught fighting on the playground. Myles looked over at Patterson and waved for her to take a seat at the table. “Dr. Patterson, please join us. You’re the expert on environmental and nuclear issues, I’ll need to hear your views on this option as well.”

Joanna grabbed a chair next to her boss. She was still reeling from the VTC. Jerry’s proposal was shocking, to say the least, but that the president was seriously considering it compounded her amazement. Participating in an honest-to-God discussion on actually using nuclear weapons was surreal.

“All right, Andy, you lead off,” said Myles as he pointed to the secretary of state.

“Mr. President, nuclear weapons are the option of last resort, not the first. A demonstration right off the bat can be too easily misinterpreted, potentially leading to a hasty and poorly thought-out decision by an adversary to retaliate.” Lloyd paused, looking down at the table before finishing his argument. “And on the domestic front, Mr. President, a decision to employ nuclear weapons would be political suicide. Even
if
Mitchell is correct and the fighting does stop, the damage to your campaign would be irreparable.”

“So, let me see if I understand you,” summarized Myles. “We can’t use nuclear weapons immediately because they are nuclear weapons. We have to fail conventionally first before we can even begin to think the unthinkable. Correct?”

Lloyd initially opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. He wasn’t happy with the president’s summary, and his face showed it.

“Ray, your opinion?” asked Myles, turning away from his close friend.

“I grant the secretary of state’s argument that a demonstration can be misinterpreted. However, his unspoken assumption is that the demonstration is
detected
before the weapons are detonated. If we can deliver the nuclear warheads with absolute covertness, then the first indication China or the Littoral Alliance will have is when their seismographs start twitching like crazy. At that point, there is nothing to misinterpret. They’ll know the weapons were exploded far from their borders, in the deep sea, but what will grab them by the throat is that we detonated a number of nuclear devices.

“Commander Mitchell’s idea is audacious, brilliant, and will be completely unexpected by the warring parties. The shock value will almost certainly be immense. You will have the world’s undivided attention, Mr. President. You can make your pitch with the assurance that you will be heard,” concluded Kirkpatrick.

“Thank you, Ray,” Myles replied. “General Dewhurst?”

The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was calm, but he took a noticeable deep breath before answering. “Mr. President, I am uncomfortable with providing any specific guidance. Quite frankly, this is not something I’ve been trained for or previously considered. However, my
personal
opinion is that Commander Mitchell’s proposal is very bold and will indeed shock the hell out of people. Just look at the effect it’s had on us. But, Mr. President, you will be letting the nuclear genie out of the bottle. My concern is that the cork may not go back in.”

“Kind of like a champagne bottle, eh, General?” questioned Myles with a slight grin.

Dewhurst chuckled. “A good analogy, Mr. President.”

Facing the secretary of defense, Myles repeated his question. “Malcolm, what are your thoughts?”

“I’m with the chairman on this, Mr. President.”

Myles became silent. Joanna could see the strain on his face, the magnitude of the decision weighing heavily upon him. After what seemed an eternity, he looked at Patterson and asked, “Joanna, Commander Mitchell said the radiation release would be minimal if we did this properly. Is he correct?”

‘There is a precedent for this concept, Mr. President. Unfortunately, it’s a single data point,” Patterson began. “Back in 1955, we detonated a thirty-kiloton fission device at a depth of two thousand feet. The gas bubble did vent into the atmosphere and the surface water initially showed significant contamination levels, but as the water dispersed, the radiation decreased rapidly. Radiation exposure by the personnel in the test area was minimal.

“If you pursue this option, we’d use a lower-yield fusion weapon, say ten or twenty kilotons, which generates less fallout. If we can get the warheads deeper, that would also help,” Patterson remarked.

Joanna paused briefly as she considered her next statement; it would likely have a major impact on the president. “In my professional opinion, Mr. President, the ecological damage from the detonation of a handful of these warheads would be far less than the spilled contents of a single supertanker.”

Myles nodded slowly. Leaning back into his chair, he looked around the room, his advisors watching him with great expectation. He announced his decision. “I will authorize the use of nuclear weapons for demonstration purposes. We will execute the good commander’s plan. Ray, I’ll need the details on this operation ASAP! No, sooner.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President!” Kirkpatrick exclaimed. “I’ll have DARPA, DTRA, and ONR work on the size, number, and placement of the warheads.”

“Very good, Ray. But your point about absolute covertness is well taken. How do we deliver these weapons?”

“B-2 bombers will have no problems getting to the drop locations without being detected, Mr. President,” volunteered Dewhurst. “We can have them in the air within a couple of hours.”

Kirkpatrick shook his head. “I’m sorry, my dear Chairman, but stealth bombers aren’t viable in this case. We’d need to use multiple bombers, possibly four or five, perhaps more, to deliver the warheads over such a large area. Our bomber bases are being watched, both China and the Littoral Alliance have eyes on the ground. As soon as the bombers take off, they’ll be reported. We know this has happened in the past.

“Furthermore, I don’t believe there is an air-delivered weapon that will meet the specific requirements.” The national security advisor turned toward Patterson.

“Dr. Kirkpatrick is correct, Mr. President. The best airborne weapon we have is a B61 Mod 11 strategic nuclear bomb. But even with its special delayed fuze feature, that allows only about one hundred feet of penetration in soil, maybe a little more in water. We need over ten times more depth capability.”

“I see,” replied Myles. “So what other options do we have?”

“Mitchell knew,” stated Kirkpatrick forcefully. “Submarines, Mr. President. The only platform that can give us the necessary stealth and deploy a weapon that can get deep enough is a submarine. He didn’t say anything because he knew we’d come to this conclusion. He’s already volunteered for the mission.”

The president looked at Patterson. She silently nodded her agreement. Myles chuckled briefly. “Why am I not surprised? Very well, then, the attack submarines at Guam will carry out the mission. I hate to ask them to do more, but somehow I don’t think they’ll mind. Let’s get this moving, people!”

As the president’s advisors started collecting their notes, Myles called out to them. “One last thing. Andy is also correct that this decision is political suicide. Since the decision is mine to make, the consequences of that decision are also mine. Therefore, I request that you do not discuss with anyone what you’ve shared with me this morning. I consider the guidance you’ve collectively provided me to be for nonattribution. God willing, in a few days we’ll have more mundane things to talk about. Now, let’s hop to it!”

13 September 2016

0730 Local Time

Littoral Alliance Headquarters

Okutama, Nishitama District

Tokyo, Japan

Komamura woke with a blinding light in his eyes. He tried to close them tightly, but that wasn’t enough, and he reflexively threw an arm up to shield his face. The sudden movement triggered an explosion in his head, pain so intense he thought he’d been struck. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a weak “aaaahh.”

The spike of pain subsided to a deep throb, and he opened his eyes carefully. Even with his arm protectively shading his face, the light seemed unnaturally bright, and he rolled over, away from its source, and discovered he was in his quarters, in bed, with no memory of how he’d gotten there. Low-slanted morning sunlight streamed through the window.

Like any academic, Komamura cared more about where he worked than where he slept, so his bedroom was small, like a monk’s cell or a dormitory room for a college student. There was a single western-style bed with a nightstand, a standing closet and dresser, and a small desk and chair. Miyazaki Nodoka sat slumped forward at the desk, her head pillowed on her arms, snoring softly.

“Miyazaki-san?” He’d meant to call her name, but it came out more as a croak and he realized his throat was dry, almost painful. He coughed, and that set off his headache again.

His graduate student and assistant stirred at the sound, then sat up, shaking her head to clear it. She looked over to Komamura, and managed to smile while also looking deeply concerned. “
Sensei,
you’re awake!” She quickly knelt next to the bed. He started to speak, but couldn’t get his throat working, and she picked up a glass with a straw, holding it so he could drink.

The water helped, and she put one arm behind his back to bring him to a sitting position. He said gratefully, “Thank you, child. You’re always supporting me.”

To his surprise, her face fell and she backed away from the bed, still on her knees. Weeping, she fell forward, knees, elbows, hands, and forehead all touching the floor. “No,
sensei
. I did not. Please forgive me.” She held her pose, like a supplicant, crying and shaking with what? Shame?

“Stop this. Raise your face. What has happened?” He had to ask again before she finally lifted up her head. “It was my idea,” she confessed. “I’m so sorry.”

“What did you do?” he asked, confused and curious.

“
Sensei,
it wasn’t good for your health. I couldn’t stand seeing you like that, but you had lost your best friend, and we could all understand, but I was worried, and I spoke to the doctor here and he agreed. It turned out Minister Hisagi had even consulted the prime minister. They were considering a psychologist, but I said it was because you’d been working so hard…”