Treason, page 14
“Take a deep breath,” she said, “and try to relax. You’re going to do fine. You’ll be the expert in the room, so talk with confidence.”
“They’re gonna think I’m crazy.”
“You’re not crazy. It’s a unique, but solid solution.” Lyman straightened his tie. “One more piece of advice. The director of the Navy’s SSP—Strategic Systems Programs—is Vice Admiral Dusty Rhodes.”
“Dusty Rhodes, like the wrestler?”
“Exactly. Don’t make any jokes. He’s heard it a million times. I’ve never met him, but I hear he’s a crotchety old fella, a former master chief who started over, working his way up the officer ranks.”
“Got it,” Kauffman said. “No jokes or sleeper holds during the meeting.”
“Not funny.”
The door to the Roosevelt Room opened and an aide entered. “The president is ready to see you. Follow me, please.”
The aide led the way to the West Wing basement, opening the door to the Situation Room. Waiting inside with the president were two civilians and two admirals, who were introduced after the new arrivals took their seats.
SecDef Dunnavant began by explaining the reason for the navigation upgrade to their nuclear weapons, which they’d spent ten years implementing. In the end, it had to do with hardened targets, but he provided the background first.
Submarine-launched ballistic missiles, while sitting in their launch tubes, were untargeted. They had no idea where they were nor where they were supposed to go. That information was supplied during missile spin-up, with two pieces of information provided to each missile: where it was on the planet, which was provided by the submarine’s navigation system, and where the warhead aim points were. Unfortunately, submarine positions weren’t always accurate.
Submarines receive satellite position fixes only when surfaced or at periscope depth. While fully submerged, its position is determined by two inertial navigators, which calculate the submarine’s position by analyzing the acceleration and velocity vectors as the submarine moves through the water.
The submarine’s current position, as calculated by the inertial navigators, could be incorrect by several meters or even more, resulting in a corresponding error in the warhead aim points. A Trident missile takes a star fix during flight, but the new navigation upgrade developed by Curtain Labs took advantage of GPS satellites, updating the missile just after it emerged from the water, further improving missile accuracy. This improved accuracy was crucial, Dunnavant explained. It had to do with hardened targets.
When attacking underground bunkers designed to withstand a nuclear blast, warhead accuracy could make the difference between target destruction and survival. As a result of the Curtain Labs navigation upgrade, combined with the new super-fuze technology controlling the timing of warhead detonation, Trident missiles were now capable of destroying all known hardened targets.
Dunnavant then provided a summary of what everyone already knew: the Russians had compromised America’s nuclear deterrence, able to crash B-2 bombers and alter American nuclear missile flight paths. Finally, he arrived at the salient topic of today’s brief—the proposed solutions.
“Clark Curtain Labs, which developed the navigation upgrade for all three legs of our nuclear triad, will produce new navigation upgrades for our B-2 bombers. That should take only a few weeks, but twenty bombers are insufficient to guarantee mutual assured destruction, the cornerstone of nuclear deterrence. We need to restore our land- and sea-based missile systems to service. Waiting to replace the navigation circuits in every missile will take too long.”
Dunnavant turned to the two Curtain Labs employees. “Diane Traweek and Steve Kaufmann from Curtain Labs have a proposal that, if it works, will immediately restore full nuclear deterrence. Go ahead, Miss Traweek.”
“Mr. President, thank you for the opportunity to brief you. As Secretary of Defense Dunnavant said, the solution to the B-2 problem is straightforward and relatively quick. Curtain Labs will manufacture new circuit cards, verifying all microprocessors conform to the certified engineering samples. Addressing the missile inventory is more complicated, as I understand you want a timelier fix than the two to three years it would take to replace the navigation circuits in every missile. Steve Kaufmann, our lead software engineer on this project, has a unique proposal worthy of consideration.”
All eyes turned to Kaufmann, who swallowed hard. He opened his folder and passed out copies of his brief, then began.
“Mr. President, thank you for inviting me to brief you on my idea. If you take a look at the first page of the brief, you’ll see a schematic of the navigation circuit. The microprocessor with the circle around it is the culprit. The chip’s programming leaves the circuit port open after the precision navigation update, which occurs right after the missile clears the water. The Russians then take advantage of this open port, transmitting an updated starting point for the missile, altering its flight path. When trying to address what the Russians have done, the main problem is that this chip self-destructs after it receives the order to send an updated position, which means we can’t countermand it. This problem, however, is also the solution.”
There were confused expressions around the table before Kaufmann explained. “Basically, if we pretend to be the Russians and order the chip to send a navigation update before launch, it will then self-destruct, making it unavailable to the Russians. The missile will then ignore any attempted interference. However, there are a couple of issues to consider.”
Kaufmann turned to the next page of the brief, containing another schematic. “We’ll have to connect a device to each missile prior to launch and activate this chip. The software is simple as is the device. We just need to connect to the missile umbilical and send a signal to the navigation card. The chip will send a position update, which the missile will ignore since it hasn’t spun up yet, and then the chip will self-destruct. At that point, the missile can no longer be meddled with.
“The drawback is that the precision navigation update after launch will be disabled, but that’s not really a big deal as far as I know. You’d be returning the missiles to the accuracy they previously had.”
Dunnavant amplified Kaufmann’s assessment. “Eliminating the precision navigation update will only slightly reduce warhead accuracy. The impact is that our entire nuclear arsenal won’t be hard-target capable. But as Kaufmann mentioned, we’ll be back where we started, with twenty percent of our nuclear arsenal having hardened-target capability. All we’d have to do is revert to the previous war plan—or develop a new one, allocating the proper missiles to hardened targets.”
When he finished, Dunnavant asked, “Does anyone have any questions?”
Vice Admiral Rhodes looked up from Kaufmann’s brief. “You’re telling me that you want us to authorize a process where Billy-Bob the missile-man hooks up a homemade contraption built in a lunchbox to every one of our nuclear missiles prior to launch. Are you nuts?”
Kaufmann glanced at Lyman with an I told you so expression.
Lyman jumped in. “Actually, Admiral, the device we’d be using is less complicated than a cell phone.”
“Well then,” the Admiral replied sarcastically. “Why didn’t you say so at the beginning? Can you do it with an iPhone? There’s an app for that, right?”
Diane Traweek, Clark Curtain Labs CEO, replied, “Admiral, we can put our proposal through whatever testing regimen you desire.”
Dunnavant interjected, addressing Admiral Rhodes. “We can’t spend the decade the military typically takes to develop and field new technology. I propose we have SSP give the design the once-over. If you can convince yourselves it will perform the required function without unintended consequences, we’ll load a new missile with dummy warheads and give it a go.”
“We have one other problem,” Admiral Rhodes replied, “a significant one. The only way we’ll know this solution works is to have the Russians try to alter the missile flight path. That means you’ll have to inform them of the test launch and challenge them to affect it. You’ll be revealing that we’re working on a solution, and if it fails, we’ll have an enormous egg on our face.”
Dunnavant replied, “I don’t think it will be a surprise to the Russians that we’re working on a solution. But I agree that we have a conundrum. We don’t want to test the solution in front of the Russians until we’re certain it will work, but the only way to be certain it works is to test the solution in front of the Russians.”
The president asked Kaufmann, “Are you sure this will work? And that the signal you’ll be sending into the missile won’t have unintended consequences?”
Kaufmann was sure it would work, but the tricky part was knowing for certain that the electrical signal wouldn’t interact with other circuity in unexpected ways. Nuclear missile electronics were complicated and the ramifications if something went wrong could be catastrophic. However, he knew the navigation upgrade better than anyone, including its interfaces, and had thought through the issue extensively.
“I’m positive, Mr. President. This solution will address the problem safely.”
The president asked Admiral Rhodes, “How long before we can have a submarine ready to launch another test missile?”
“About forty-eight hours to prepare a missile with dummy warheads, pull a submarine in for on-load, then have her in position to launch.”
“Validate the design first. Will forty-eight hours be enough time?”
“We’ll have an answer by then, sir.”
The president turned to Dunnavant. “Let’s see if this works.”
45
USS MICHIGAN
USS Michigan owned the Black Sea. From a NATO perspective, that is. She was the only NATO submarine in the area, so colliding with another friendly submarine wasn’t a concern. However, three Russian Kilo submarines were also in the Black Sea, and thus far, intelligence messages had provided no information on their locations. Wilson looked up from the electronic navigation chart as Lieutenant Commander Al Patzke, the submarine’s Executive Officer, entered the Control Room. Patzke stopped in the Radio and Sonar Rooms for updates on communications and the contact picture—there were only a few merchant ships in the area—then approached Wilson, ready to relieve him.
Two days ago, after receiving reports of Russia’s invasions of Ukraine and Lithuania, along with a report that the three Kilo class submarines had sortied to sea, Wilson had augmented the normal watch sections with additional sonar and fire control personnel. Additionally, either Wilson or Patzke would be in Control. Wilson was wrapping up his six-hour evening shift, looking forward to some sleep before returning for another stint in the morning.
After reviewing the submarine’s status with Patzke, Wilson stationed him as the submarine’s command duty officer, authorized to give orders normally reserved for the Commanding Officer. Wilson then departed Control for his daily tour. With most of the crew asleep in their racks, it would be quiet throughout the guided missile submarine, with the watchstanders going through their hourly routines. Wilson had learned that the mid-watch was the best time to tour his submarine, providing the opportunity to talk with his crew.
Having recently been in Sonar and Radio, Wilson toured the Torpedo Room, then stopped in the Missile Control Center where the submarine’s Tomahawk missiles were launched. All were operational. He continued aft, stepping into the Missile Compartment as the submarine tilted upward, proceeding to periscope depth to copy the message broadcast. In the level beneath Wilson, the bulk of the crew slept in nine-man bunkrooms between the missile tubes, while the SEALs and Navy divers slept in berthing installed in the second level during the submarine’s conversion into a guided missile submarine.
Wilson traveled down the port side of second level, stopping beside tube Twelve as the submarine leveled off at periscope depth. He knocked on the side of the tube, then pulled back the brown curtain and entered the berthing unit assigned to the three senior SEAL officers aboard: the SEAL detachment commander, John McNeil, and the two platoon leaders. Commander McNeil and Lieutenant Bob Acor were asleep in their racks, while Jake Harrison stood with a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair damp, applying deodorant. The SEALs were workout fanatics, but Michigan had limited exercise equipment and they had to take turns. It looked like Harrison had just finished a late evening workout.
“Evening, Captain,” Harrison said, tossing his bath kit onto his rack.
Rumor had it that Harrison was considering retiring from the Navy. The prior-enlisted officer had his twenty years in and could move on to a second career at any time. It seemed unlikely to Wilson; Harrison appeared to enjoy being a Navy SEAL.
“I hear you’re thinking about getting out?”
“I’m evaluating it, sir,” Harrison replied, “but haven’t decided. I’m up for lieutenant commander in another year and I’d like to see if I make it. My wife, on the other hand, would prefer I retire sooner rather than later.”
Wilson understood Harrison’s predicament. He’d had the same discussion with his wife many times. The emotional strain from deployments was tough on a family. Plus, although Wilson took his submarine into danger on occasion, the SEALs dealt with life-threatening situations far more frequently.
Michigan tilted downward and Wilson felt a vibration in the deck. The submarine was increasing speed to at least ahead full. He spotted the Messenger of the Watch hurrying down the side of the Missile Compartment, pulling to a halt as he passed Missile Tube Twelve. He entered the SEALs’ bunkroom and handed Wilson the message board. “New orders, sir.”
Wilson read the first message, which explained the increased speed. Michigan had been assigned a new operating area off the western shore of the Black Sea. The next message explained why. He looked at McNeil, still asleep in his rack. Harrison followed Wilson’s eyes and he nudged his boss, waking him up. McNeil swung to a sitting position, rubbing his eyes.
“New orders,” Wilson said as he handed the message board to McNeil. “Rescue mission for Russian President Kalinin and Christine.”
“Our Christine?” McNeil asked as he accepted the board.
Wilson nodded, then reflected on how the SEALs aboard Michigan had taken ownership of Christine O’Connor, having retrieved her off China’s coast, assisted at Ice Station Nautilus, and rescued her not long ago in the Black Sea.
McNeil said, “That woman is a blue bug light for trouble.”
Wilson laughed. “That much is true.”
The SEAL commander finished reading the message and handed the board to Harrison, then poked Lieutenant Acor in the rack below. The platoon leader pulled himself from his bunk and stood in his skivvies, waiting for his turn at the message board while McNeil filled him in.
“Extraction mission; the Russian president and Christine O’Connor, a few miles inland, just north of Sochi. Get with Harrison and come up with a plan.”
McNeil asked Wilson, “When will we be on station?”
Wilson did the calculations in his head. “About this time tomorrow.”
46
KINGS BAY, GEORGIA
Commander Britt Skogstad stood in USS Maryland’s Bridge cockpit, watching as two tugs pushed the ballistic missile submarine slowly toward the explosive handling wharf. It was an evolution he’d done many times to offload Trident missiles for maintenance, replacing them with freshly refurbished ones. This time, however, there would be no offload. Tube Twenty-one was already empty, having launched a missile with inert warheads a few days ago. Unfortunately, the missile had veered off course, breaking the string of 165 consecutive successful Trident missile launches. It wasn’t their fault, Skogstad told his crew, but it still left a bad taste in his mouth, being tied to the first Trident missile failure in thirty years.
They would get another chance, however. After entering the explosive handling building, they’d load a new missile into tube Twenty-one. Skogstad spotted the replacement missile on the wharf, lying on a trailer after being extracted from a heavily guarded stowage bunker. It was an eerie sight at times, passing the secure area in the early morning hours on the way to the piers; concrete sentinel watchtowers rising through the fog, searchlights illuminating the bunkers guarded with multiple rings of barbed wired fences, perimeter motion detectors, and controlled access worthy of a Mission: Impossible movie set.
The two tugs finished their task, gently pushing Maryland against the wharf between the two explosive handling buildings. Lines were attached to the submarine from inside Explosive Handling Wharf Two. Slowly, Maryland was pulled into the covered building.
Marines patrolled the wharf and the immediate vicinity, their weapons ready. Trident missile movements were serious business, with the Marines assigned to Kings Bay locking down the transit route between the stowage bunkers and the explosive handling wharf. Also on the wharf were several passengers waiting to embark: the Group Ten admiral, the Squadron Twenty commodore, and three civilians: a tall software engineer with a backpack, a female NCIS agent, and a senior engineer from Strategic Systems Programs.
The missile on-load didn’t take long. The wharf crew was proficient and there was only one missile to load, and tube Twenty-one soon had a new occupant. Skogstad watched as the missile muzzle hatch swung slowly shut, sealing the missile inside the tube. As the wharf crew prepared to extract Maryland from the explosive handling building, Skogstad ordered the Officer of the Deck to station the Maneuvering Watch.
* * *
Several hours later, after transiting the St. Marys River into the Atlantic Ocean, Maryland surged east through dark green water. The skies were overcast, the clouds blending into a dull gray haze on the horizon. There was only one contact in the vicinity: a surface ship a few miles away, assigned to provide video surveillance of the missile launch, mirroring Maryland’s track.
Steve Kaufmann stood on the Bridge between Maryland’s Commanding Officer and Officer of the Deck. Lieutenant Andrew Wells scanned the horizon with his binoculars, as did the two lookouts standing atop the submarine’s sail inside the Flying Bridge—a fancy name for a few stanchions with a rope tied between them.
