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Jill Repeth saw that Colonel Nguyen had dragged Alkina with him into the control room and bound her into a seat with liberal use of duct tape. A couple of turns around her mouth ensured her silence. She was still out cold from the trank. She wondered how long that would hold the woman; it had only kept Jill out for fifteen minutes or so, and it was an eight-hour dose for a normal non-Eden. Thus the tape. “All right, sir, what’s going on? Where is the rest of the team?”
“No one is answering their comms. It looks like we are all that are conscious. Unfortunately we do not have time to find out. The missiles show they are ready for firing, and our launch window opens in four minutes and closes in ten. One of you will have to turn Alkina’s key.” The colonel pointed at the chain around Alkina’s neck.
“Not me, thanks,” answered Bitzer. “You’re going to need me to keep the boat at proper firing depth. When those things all launch they’ll shake us something fierce, and change the specific gravity of the boat, a thousand tons of missiles and counterflooding. Unless you want us rolling over and the latter half of them misfiring, you and Reaper will have to do it.”
Nguyen wasn’t sure if Bitzer was exaggerating or not, but there was no time to argue. No point in forcing him when he was the only one who could drive the boat. “Very well. Jill, you will have to do it. Can I count on you?” His eyes bored into hers.
Her return gaze was steady. “Of course, sir. I’m a Marine. Just tell me what I have to do.”
“Thank you. The codes are already programmed in. All you have to do is turn your key when I do, first left to arm, right to fire. I will count as follows: one, two, three, arm; one, two, three, fire; one, two, three, neutral. Then we select the next missile, and do it again. Eighteen missiles, six in reserve. We have to do it fast and precisely to fire them all in six minutes; then we dive, we run, and we hope we are not killed.”
“One minute, sor,” called Bitzer. “Opening missile hatches.”
Repeth grabbed the key from Alkina’s neck, snapping the chain. The bound woman’s eyes were already half-open, hazy, wandering.
“All right, there’s your station. Here’s mine. Open the cover. Insert the key. Select missile number one. Ready?”
She nodded.
“Remember, it’s toward the left to arm, right to fire, center to neutral reset. Ready to arm: one, two, three, arm.”
They turned their keys together; Trident missile one indicator changed from “ready” to “armed.”
“Thirty seconds.”
Alkina moaned, rolling her eyes.
“Bitzer, trank her again, will you?”
“Can’t sor, not if you want to launch on time.” His hands gripped the helm controls, sweat breaking out on his brow.
“Never mind. Call out at five seconds.”
Jill’s heart hammered in her chest, her palms sweating. She let go of the key for a moment to reach under her tunic, wiping her hands on her undershirt.
“Aye, sor. Five seconds...now.”
“Ready to launch, Gunny?” Nguyen’s voice was preternaturally calm.
Jill put her hand back on the key, nodded.
