Chapter 32

At 1420 Zulu time the USS Louisiana let out 50 meters of cable attached to the buoy supporting its VLF radio antenna. The Louisiana and the other three subs had been following this same routine at the same times for the last two days. Raise an antenna every hour on a sliding schedule, listen for a coded message for ten minutes, then retract the antenna if nothing is received. Then repeat, over and over again. This time the routine changed.

At 1426 Zulu time the Communications Officer swiveled around in her chair to look at the USS Louisiana’s Commanding Officer, CO. “Captain, we are receiving a message.” Coded text started to scroll across a computer monitor while simultaneously printing on a paper tape. It was only 150 characters long, a continuous stream of letters, just a little longer than a tweet. It would be the most profound tweet ever transmitted.

When the strip printer stopped, the Captain tore off the coded message, studied it intensely for a few seconds then snatched the microphone from its mount near the main periscope. “Battle stations missile, battle stations missile, this is the Captain speaking. This is not a drill!”

Life on a submarine could be mind-numbingly boring. Hour-by-hour routine is broken up by more of the same. No day or night, no rain no sunshine, no Monday no Friday, just continuous sameness. And then comes the clanging call to battle stations. In an instant, every soul on the sub goes from comatose to near panic. The Captain put the microphone back on its hook, gave the order “Officer of The Deck you have the helm,” and headed toward the Weapons Control Room.

The Executive Officer, XO, the sub’s second in command, and the Weapons Officer, WO, were already waiting for the Captain when he arrived. While it was alarmingly simple for the President to start a worldwide nuclear war, the procedure to launch an ICBM was strictly controlled and wrapped in checks and double checks. As soon as he entered the Weapons Control Room, the Captain initiated a launch process that he and his officers drilled on at least once every 48 hours. It was 1435 Zulu Time.

CO, “Fire Control, spin up missiles one thru twenty-four.”

Fire Control Tech “Sir, spinning up all missiles.”

XO, reading a copy of the printed message “we have a properly formatted message, request permission to authenticate.”

CO, “Weapons Officer, do you authenticate?”

WO, “Sir, the message authenticates.”

CO, “XO, do you authenticate?”

XO, “Sir, the message authenticates.”

CO, “I concur that we have an authentic message. XO, you have permission to retrieve the launch code.”

XO, “aye Sir, breaking out the launch code.”

CO speaking into a Weapons Control Room microphone, “this is the Captain, set conditions to 1SQ, this is not a drill.” Condition 1SQ is the highest level of readiness aboard a submarine.

XO speaking into a second Weapons Control Room microphone, “this is the Executive Officer, set conditions to 1SQ, this is not a drill.” The crew must recognize the voice of each senior officer before proceeding with launch preparations.

WO, “stand by firing order.”

Fire Control Tech, “aye Sir, stand by fire order.”

WO, “the firing order will be twenty-four.”

Fire Control Tech, “aye Sir, the firing order will be twenty-four.”

There are actual “keys” required to launch a sub’s missiles. These keys are maintained in physically separate safes in the Weapons Control Room and are retrieved by two of the sub’s Officers during the final stage of the launch process.

Once removed from the safe the keys are given to the Captain and Executive Officer for insertion into their respective fire control mechanisms. As part of the, “accidental or rogue launch prevention process,” the keys must be inserted and turned simultaneously. Like the launch code safes, the fire control mechanisms are located far enough from one another that it is not possible for a single person to arm both devices.

CO, “XO, the launch order directs that we are to arm and launch tube one at 1455. Hold hover, arm and launch at my command.”

In addition to Tomahawk cruise missiles and an array of torpedoes, Ohio class submarines are armed with Trident D5 submarine-launched ballistic missiles (SLBM). Each Trident D5 could be loaded with a multiple independently targetable reentry vehicle (MIRV) which could be configured with one to ten nuclear warheads. The missile in tube one contained one 350 kiloton W-78 and three one hundred kiloton W-76 weapons. The USS Louisiana’s sister Ohio class submarine, hovering off the eastern coast of North Korea, was armed with a similar weapons configuration. Both subs had the same launch orders. Neither ship was aware of the exact targets they or their sister sub would be attacking. That information was coded inside each missile warhead based on a specific launch order.

XO, “Aye Sir, hold hover, arm and launch at your command.”

CO, “Fire Control, pressurize tube one.”

Fire Control Tech, “Aye Sir, pressurizing tube one.”

1455 Zulu Time.

CO, “XO, arm for launch command.”

XO, “Aye sir, arming for launch command.”

The Captain and the Executive Officer inserted their keys into their respective fire control mechanisms.

On the opposite side of the Peninsula, a single F-22 stealth fighter streaked across the North Korean border south of Hongwon heading for the geographic center of the country between Huichon and Tokchon. Despite its ubiquitousness, the North Korean air defense radar network didn’t show the slightest blip.

Approximately thirty-five miles northwest of Tokchon, after climbing to an altitude of sixty-five thousand feet, the F-22 opened its bomb doors, executed a verticle half-loop and fired an air-launched missile armed with a 300 kiloton W-80 nuclear warhead. As the F-22 increased its speed to Mach 1.9 and veered east to avoid blast effects the missile climbed to one hundred and ten thousand feet and detonated its nuclear payload. This was the first ever combat test of a high altitude electromagnetic pulse, HEMP, weapon. Its effect exceeded all expectations. It was 1454 Zulu Time.

CO, “Weapons Control, fire tube one.”

Fire Control Tech, “Aye Sir, firing tube one.”

It was 1455 Zulu Time.