The Trident Deception (40 page)

Malone broke into a cold sweat. The XO was the second in command, authorized to relieve the submarine’s Commanding Officer if there was sufficient cause. Malone knew he couldn’t be relieved for executing their strike order, but he had no idea how the crew would react if the XO made the attempt. And he didn’t know where the loyalty of the other officers, all Academy grads like the XO, resided.

As the thought of what the Executive Officer might do permeated his thoughts, he realized that nine of the other fourteen officers were in Control, surrounding him; even the Officer of the Deck, who had moved behind him on the Conn. The ship’s Navigator, free to float between Radio and Control to coordinate the message decryption, seemed out of place, standing slightly behind the COB, on the same side as his firearm. The other five officers were stationed in the key nerve centers of the ship: the EOOW in Maneuvering, the Weps and Tom in MCC, with the remaining two officers in Sonar and Radio. Even if Tom sided with the CO, he would be overruled by the more senior department head. The other officers could easily take over the
Kentucky;
with thirteen officers issuing orders, the rest of the crew would most likely follow.

Is that what the Weps and the XO had been discussing? Details of their plan to ignore the launch order and relieve him of command? The arrival of the COB with his firearm had undoubtedly thrown a wrench into their plan, but they had apparently prepared for the possibility, the Nav hovering dangerously close, his presence beside the COB seemingly unnoticed by the senior enlisted man.

Finally, the XO reached up and retrieved the 21-MC handset, his eyes continuing to shift between the other Academy grads and the COB.

Malone held his breath. Would the XO repeat the strike command, or order something altogether different?

The XO placed the 21-MC to his mouth, pausing as his eyes settled on Commander Brad Malone, the USS
Kentucky
’s commanding officer—for the moment.

Malone’s pulse raced.

The seconds ticked by like hours.

Then the XO spoke forcefully into the handset. “Set condition One-SQ for strategic launch. This is the Executive Officer. The release of nuclear weapons has been directed.”

*   *   *

The crew responded instantly, turning toward their consoles and focusing on the remaining actions that would make the
Kentucky
’s missiles ready for launch.

Malone let out a silent sigh of relief. His imagination had run away from him; the stress of executing the ship’s launch order was beginning to affect his judgment. Returning his attention to the impending launch, he left Control, opened the safe in his stateroom, and returned a minute later with twenty-one keys, each hanging from a green lanyard, which he handed to a missile tech waiting to arm the missile tube gas generators.

A moment later, two junior officers arrived in Control with the CIP key, which they handed over to Malone. He held the key in his hand for a moment before inserting it into the Captain’s Indicator Panel. He turned the key ninety degrees counterclockwise, then flipped up the Permission to Fire toggle switch. The panel activated, the status lights illuminating for Missile Tubes One through Twenty-Four.

One by one, the missiles were brought online, spinning up their inertial navigation systems. Malone monitored the progress of the missile gyro spin-up until the lights for twenty-one missiles illuminated, indicating they had successfully communicated with the submarine’s navigation system. Every missile except the ones in tubes Eight, Ten, and Twelve were awake now and knew their exact position on earth. The next column of lights slowly toggled from black to red as each missile accepted its target package, carrying the impact coordinates for the eight warheads each one carried.

The third column of lights on the Captain’s Indicating Panel turned red as the techs in Missile Compartment Lower Level armed the explosives in the gas generators, which would generate the steam that would impulse the missiles out of the submarine to just above the ocean’s surface. One by one, twenty-one gas generators were armed.

The USS
Kentucky
was ready to launch.

All that remained was Malone’s final order. And once that order was given, it would be out of his hands. The Weapons Officer and his missile techs would take over, preparing and launching each missile. If there was one last opportunity to turn back, this was it. But Malone had made his decision three years ago. He had made a commitment then, and he would follow through now.

Malone turned to the watchstander next to him. “Phone talker to Weapons. You have permission to fire.” The phone talker repeated Malone’s order, then passed it to MCC over the sound-powered phone circuit.

Control grew quiet; the launch sequence had been set into motion.

Malone had done his part.

The Executive Officer had done his.

Would the Weapons Officer and missile techs do theirs?

Malone listened to the first order going out over the MCC communication circuit.

“Prepare ONE.”

The indicating light for Missile Tube One muzzle hatch turned green, indicating the muzzle hatch had been opened and was now locked in place. The starboard missile team relayed its report back to Missile Control Center.

“ONE, ready.”

Silence gripped Control as the crew awaited the ignition of Missile Tube One’s gas generator and the flexing of the keel as the sixty-five-ton missile was impulsed out of the tube. Malone stared at the Captain’s Indicator Panel, waiting for the last light to turn green, which would happen when the Weapons Officer squeezed the Trigger.

Thirty seconds passed, but the light for Missile Tube One stayed red.

Malone glanced around Control. Something was wrong.

A minute passed, and still no launch.

Stepping onto the Conn, Malone removed the 21-MC microphone from its holster. “MCC, Conn. Report launch status.”

There was no response from MCC.

“MCC, Conn. This is the Captain. Report launch status.”

Still no answer.

Malone started to slam the mike back into its clip when MCC responded.

“Captain, this is Lieutenant Wilson.” Tom’s voice was uncertain, shaken. “The Weps…” There was silence for a few seconds. “The Weps won’t unlock the safe.”

“Put the Weps on line!” Malone yelled into the 21-MC microphone.

A few seconds later, Tom replied, “The Weps won’t take the mike.”

Malone slammed the microphone back into its clip and stepped off the Conn, stopping in front of the COB. “Give me your firearm.”

The COB unholstered the pistol and slowly handed it over, butt first.

Malone released the clip into his hand, ensured it was full, then reinserted it. “Come with me, COB.” Malone hadn’t bothered counting the number of rounds in the clip.

He figured he only needed one.

*   *   *

In MCC, Lieutenant Pete Manning stood next to the Launch Control Panel safe containing the Trigger, his face placid. As he braced himself for the impending confrontation with the Captain, his thoughts wandered to his meeting with the XO after lunch, during which he had revealed his reservations. The XO had been understanding and to some extent shared the same feelings, but in the end, Lieutenant Commander Fay was firm about their responsibility to the
Kentucky
and the Navy. They had been given an order and they would follow it, regardless of whether they thought the order should have been issued in the first place.

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, and he had left the XO’s stateroom no closer to deciding what to do. The remaining hours had slipped away, and when the launch order came across the 1-MC, followed by the identical one over the 21-MC, he had been forced to decide. As a result of his decision, the door to MCC flew open and Malone stormed in, the COB close behind.

“What the hell is going on, Weps?” Malone stopped a few feet away—there was a pistol in his hand, held down by his thigh.

Manning held firm his resolve. “I can’t do it, sir.”

“Yes, you can. The rest of us have done our part. Now it’s your turn. Unlock the safe.”

Manning shook his head. “No, sir. I will not be a part of this.”

“I gave you a direct order. Open the safe.”

Manning stood there, silent.

Malone’s eyes narrowed as he raised the pistol, pointing it at the Weps’s face.

“Open the safe!”

Although the Captain had a pistol pointed at his head, Manning knew he was bluffing. There was no way he would kill someone for disobeying an order, even a nuclear strike order.

“I will not open the safe, sir.”

Malone reached up and pulled back the slide valve, chambering a round. “Open the safe.”

The confrontation had escalated higher than Manning had expected. Like a game of Texas hold ’em, the Captain had bluffed by holding a pistol to his head and he had responded by going all-in. But Malone hadn’t folded. However, with a round chambered and the muzzle of the Llama an inch from his forehead, there was one small, but important detail about the weapon in Malone’s hand that was not lost on the Weps.

The safety was still on.

*   *   *

That fact was not lost on Malone either, along with the realization that the stakes in this confrontation were high. Like a snowball rolling downhill, gaining speed and mass as it traveled, the Weps’s refusal to follow his order could turn into an avalanche of insubordination. That was something he could not allow. He could relieve the Weps and replace him with another officer, but if the only immediate repercussion a crew member suffered was being relieved from his watch station, that would do little to deter others. He needed to make an example of the Weps, make the consequences of refusing to obey the Captain’s order so dire that no one would be willing to accept the same punishment.

Malone lifted his thumb, releasing the safety.

“I’m going to give you to the count of three, and if your hand isn’t spinning the tumbler by then, I’m going to permanently relieve you of your duties.”

The Weps stared at Malone as he began counting.

“One.”

Tom and the missile techs stood frozen in their places.

“Two.”

*   *   *

As Pete Manning stood on the wrong end of the Llama, he understood Malone’s obligation to execute the president’s order, as well as the country’s desire for revenge. The nuclear attack on the nation’s capital was a thousand times more devastating than 9/11, and they had to respond. But whereas the retribution after 9/11 was meticulously planned, attempting to eliminate only the terrorists while sparing the innocent in the vicinity, nuclear weapons were indiscriminate in their destruction, unable to distinguish between the guilty and the innocent.

It was murder, pure and simple.

“I can’t do it. I can’t kill millions of people.”

He would not partake in this crime against humanity, and he would accept the consequences of his decision. Unfortunately, until this moment, he thought the only consequences would be professional. Apparently not. But he had made his decision and would stand by it, and no amount of coercion would change his mind. And so, with a pistol to his head, a round chambered and safety off, and the color of Malone’s index finger changing from pink to white as he squeezed the trigger, Lieutenant Pete Manning accepted his fate.

*   *   *

As Malone squeezed the trigger, he wondered how it had come down to this. As the Commanding Officer of a naval vessel, he had significant authority and wide latitude in dealing with discipline problems and insubordination. He could dock a sailor’s pay, bust him in rank one or even two pay grades, and restrict a married man to the ship for weeks, even months. He had exercised his authority many times at captain’s mast, and would not hesitate in the midst of their missile launch to use every means at his disposal to ensure compliance with his order. However, as extensive as his authority was, he could not kill his Weapons Officer.

He dropped his hand to his side.

“Goddamn it, Weps!”

Talking over his shoulder, his eyes still locked on his department head, he issued instructions to the COB. “Confine Lieutenant Manning to his stateroom. Post two armed petty officers outside his door.” Malone turned toward Tom. “Lieutenant Wilson.”

*   *   *

It took a moment for Tom to realize his name had been called. “Yes, sir.”

“You are now the Weapons Officer. Can you carry out the responsibilities of this position?”

Things were moving too fast. A second ago, he was an innocent bystander in the clash of wills between the Weps and the Captain. Now he had been assigned the Weapons Officer’s duties, and Malone wanted to know if he could carry them out.

Could he unlock the safe if given the combination?

Yes.

Could he squeeze the Trigger?

Yes.

Tom answered Malone automatically, before he answered the more important question he needed to ask himself.
Would
he?

“Yes, sir. I can carry out the responsibilities of Weapons Officer.”

“Good,” Malone said. “Get one of the EAM teams and retrieve the Weps’s combination.”

Tom nodded numbly as the COB took the pistol from Malone and escorted Lieutenant Pete Manning, former Weapons Officer of the USS
Kentucky,
BLUE Crew, out of MCC.

Glancing over at the Launch Control Panel, Tom noted the blinking red lights. “Sir, the launch sequence has timed out. We’ll need to start over.”

“Shut tube One missile muzzle hatch,” Malone growled. “Set condition Four-SQ.”

Moments later, the seven-ton muzzle hatch slammed shut as the
Kentucky
reset her strategic weapon system.

66

HMAS
COLLINS

42 MINUTES REMAINING

“Watch Leader, Sonar. Mechanical transients, bearing zero-zero-two, designated Sierra three-five.”

Captain Murray Wilson stood next to Brett Humphreys in the cramped Control Room, as the tired crew of the
Collins
finally caught a sniff of their target. That they were now picking up mechanical transients did not bode well. Wilson exchanged a concerned look with Humphreys.