Nuclear Winter Series | Book 1 | Nuclear Winter First Strike Read online

  President Helton sighed as he reached the open doors to the Roosevelt Room. “Aren’t they all?” he asked without expecting a response.

  The windowless Roosevelt Room served as a daily meeting location for the White House staff and the president’s briefings. It had been upgraded a decade ago to include a wall of televisions and a large screen for multimedia presentations. President Helton often used this platform to conduct video conferences with foreign leaders.

  As he entered, the members of the national security team and the White House communications director were getting settled into their seats. As the president entered, they all shot back up in unison out of respect.

  “Good morning and thank you for coming in at this early hour,” said the president. He noticed the puzzled looks on their faces. “Well, sorry. I realize it’s been a long night for you all. Thank you for your efforts. Please sit down and tell me where we stand.”

  The Joint Chiefs and the CIA director joined the director of National Intelligence in laying out the facts. Since the attack on their nuclear facility, the rhetoric out of Tehran had escalated daily. The terrorist attack had been undertaken by their proxy, the Houthi Shiite rebels in Yemen, who’d acted on behalf of the Tehran government for many years. They were just one of half a dozen well-funded groups throughout the Middle East who waged war on Western and Israeli interests.

  “All right, before we address the issue of our response, especially in light of the American delegation being there, including my secretary of state, what are we doing to bolster our presence in the Persian Gulf?”

  The chairman of the Joint Chiefs replied, “Sir, the Nimitz Carrier Strike Group had been operating off the coast of Somalia as we pulled troops and assets out of that country and redistributed them into Northern Africa following the Isfahan incident.

  “As you know, the Nimitz was long overdue for a return to port in Bremerton, Washington, after a thirteen-month deployment. However, its skipper has assured us his people are ready to go where their Commander-in-Chief sees fit.”

  “Please thank Admiral Kirk for me.” Rear Admiral David Kirk, a Hershey, Pennsylvania, native, had recently been named the new commander of the massive aircraft carrier and the flotilla of ships that surround it. “What do you have in mind for the Nimitz?”

  “Mr. President, after the attack on the nuclear facility, we began the process of redeploying the Nimitz to the region. They will be entering the Straits of Hormuz within forty-eight hours. However, sir, we might need to rethink deploying the Nimitz into the Persian Gulf.”

  “Why is that?”

  “If the conflict between Iran and Israel escalates further into a hot war, the relatively small and nearly landlocked body of water is an anti-ship missile engagement zone. It’s rife with other potential threats that are difficult for the carrier strike group to counter, like small-boat swarm attacks, naval mines, and the Iranian’s nontraditional submarine operations.”

  Days after President Helton’s inauguration, the Iranian Navy towed a refurbished mock aircraft carrier into the Strait of Hormuz, which links the Persian Gulf to the Gulf of Oman. The movement of the heavily modified barge designed in the likeness of an American flattop aircraft carrier immediately drew the attention of U.S. intelligence.

  Satellite imagery revealed the mock carrier being towed into the center of the strait one day, and the next day, a large crosshair had been painted on its top deck. On day three, several fast boats operated by Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard were filmed swarming the faux carrier, firing surface-to-surface missiles at the bow. The explosion, most likely generated by fuel containers stored in the front of the barge, could be seen throughout the coastal areas of the Persian Gulf and by astronauts aboard the International Space Station.

  It was clearly viewed as a provocation and a message to the first-year president that Tehran was not to be trifled with. After years of being kept in check with sanctions, they were prepared to flex their muscles, apparently.

  The president furrowed his brow. The Nimitz Carrier Strike Group would’ve been seen as an effective deterrent to any military action by the Iranians. “What do you suggest we do in the meantime?”

  “Sir, we have an Ohio-class submarine, the USS Georgia, in the region. We can send her into the Persian Gulf, you know, high profile, to send a message. The Iranians have nothing to counteract a vessel like the Georgia, which is packed with Tomahawk cruise missiles and our special operations forces.”

  “When could it arrive?”

  “By tomorrow afternoon, sir.”

  “Do it, General. Let them know we mean business.”

  Chapter Nine

  Saturday, October 19

  Holiday Inn Abu Dhabi

  Peter Albright stood at the window of his upper-level hotel room in the Holiday Inn Abu Dhabi. He had a bird’s-eye of the activity taking place around the National Exhibition Centre, where the terrorist attack had taken place. Large crowds had gathered around the Embassy of Iran, just across Al Maarid Street at the back of the conference location. Likewise, a contingent of U.S. military vehicles had gathered around the U.S. embassy a mere block away.

  Peter had just hung up with a friend and college classmate at the University of Miami who worked as a member of the Department of Defense communications team inside the Pentagon. The two had dated while in college, but there was nothing serious other than the usual kids-just-left-home-time-to-play relationship. They still got together for the occasional drink or dinner, followed by a noncommittal sleepover. It worked for both of the young DC professionals, who were trying to advance their careers rather than seeking to settle down.

  Jenna Alan loved government. Her father had been a local politician with designs on higher office before a heart attack struck him while Jenna was obtaining her degree in broadcast journalism. In recent months, she’d been assigned press briefing duty and frequently took to the podium when her boss was traveling with the secretary of defense. Unlike Peter, who didn’t have that inside connection with the secretary of state, Jenna was always in the know when it came to the Pentagon’s inner workings.

  She’d told Peter about the redeployment of the Nimitz strike group and the USS Georgia toward the Persian Gulf. The drums of war were beginning to beat louder, Peter had thought to himself as he listened to her detail the Pentagon’s moves, off the record, of course. The two had a very trusting relationship, allowing them to share information without fear of reading about it online later that day.

  Like a good soldier, Peter had filed his press pool report soon after he’d been evacuated from the conference center. Unable to sleep, he’d ordered dinner and half a dozen Heinekens to relieve the stress. He sent out a text message blast to family and friends, letting them know he was safe. Then he sat down to write the best news article for the Washington Times he’d ever produced. He was the only journalist who’d witnessed the attack firsthand and lived to tell about it.

  During his extensive self-edits, he chose to remove the details related to his killing of a terrorist and the use of the grenade to escape. He feared bringing unnecessary heat on his family. By midmorning in the States, his reporting was being cited and shared by every news agency in the country. He’d already received several requests to appear on camera for interviews as soon as he returned home.

  The other big story of the news day was the president’s anticipated response. Peter knew the secretary of state and her team were never in imminent danger. Per the schedule, which was widely disseminated, she and the Israeli delegation had been having a preconference meeting on the top floor of the center. This fact struck Peter as odd, in that the terrorists could’ve easily deployed rocket-propelled grenade launchers to fire upon the upper levels. Either they weren’t prepared, or they were amateurs. That was not for him to speculate, so he didn’t in his reporting.

  The world media began to immediately theorize whether Iran would take their retaliation against Israel to another level—the use of nuclear weapons. Despi
te the nuclear nonproliferation agreement entered into with Iran more than a decade prior, the rogue nation continued to develop enriched uranium. Quickly, with the help of North Korea and Russia, Iran had amassed nearly a hundred nuclear warheads, to put it on par with Israel in the region.

  The nuclear silos dotting the mountains and desert region along the Iraqi border in western Iran were barely a thousand miles from the Israeli targets of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. An Iranian nuclear warhead affixed to a cruise missile could strike Israel about twenty minutes after launch.

  President Helton ran on a platform of stopping the nuclear proliferation in the Middle East. He used especially strong words against North Korea, who was the primary supplier of technology and materials to the Tehran government. The DPRK’s actions had just been a continuation of their open defiance of the international community as it related to the nuclear arms race in South Asia and the Middle East.

  As a result, the Pentagon was strongly urging the president to resume nuclear testing. Jenna had told Peter about a faction within the Department of Defense that wanted to abandon the current zero-yield standard, the prohibition of test explosions that produce a nuclear chain reaction of any kind. Congress had refused to provide the Pentagon funding for the testing, so they sought an end-run of the budgetary process by asking the new president to reallocate discretionary monies within the budget. Thus far, President Helton, who was decidedly anti-nuke, had resisted.

  The other policy issue, as Peter saw it from the perspective of the State Department, was whether the countries like Iran, North Korea, and even Pakistan would see the president’s inaction as a sign of weakness. Publicly, the secretary of state did her level best to talk tough to America’s adversaries, warning them against the use of ballistic missiles in any conflict.

  The continual war of words between America and her adversaries often reminded Peter of something his father, Hank, had told him when he was young. Words are cheap, but at times, they’re all you can afford. Words will just be words until you act on them.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and envisioned what that would look like.

  Chapter Ten

  Saturday, October 19

  Driftwood Key

  Hank Albright operated a hotel and resort. He was not a cruise director responsible for keeping his guests entertained. Ordinarily, those who enjoyed the environs of Driftwood Key found plenty of things to do without keeping their eyes focused on the television while drinking coffee. He understood their insatiable desire to be in-the-know. He had been like that once until he had an awakening one day. He realized there was nothing he, on an individual basis, could do about newsworthy events. Unless they affected him or the inn, it was just clutter in his brain. This sense of independence from the outside world probably kept him off Prozac or from swimming in the bottom of a bottle of rum.

  Because it was Saturday, many of the guests chose to avoid Key West because a cruise ship was in port. The citizens of Key West had passed a referendum limiting the number of passengers who could disembark a cruise ship at any given time to fifteen hundred. Most major cruise lines such as Royal Caribbean, Carnival, and Norwegian didn’t operate ships small enough to pull into Key West. Boutique cruise operators like Oceania and Crystal were regulars.

  He got with Jimmy and immediately organized a backgammon tournament for those who didn’t already have plans. They set up lounge chairs under umbrellas near the thatched-roof tiki bar. Hank offered some prizes in the form of Driftwood Key swag like tee shirts, caps, and novelties. It was all in fun and designed to take their minds off world events.

  Erin Bergman’s sisters had all gathered around the media room and enjoyed coffee with a variety of pastries prepared by Phoebe. Hank periodically peered out the windows toward the stairs leading up to the main house in search of Erin, who’d abruptly left during dessert the night before. He was beginning to wonder if she had been forced to leave without notice.

  Her older sister picked up on Hank’s demeanor and pulled him aside. “Erin has to be available for a conference call this morning. She hasn’t been called back to Washington. You know, in case you were wondering.”

  Hank blushed. He guessed his concern was obvious. “I know things must be stressful in the White House. I’m sure they’d recall her if necessary, right?”

  The sister nodded. “Fortunately, she’d be out of the loop on national security matters.”

  Hank thanked her for the update, and after the news story switched to the punditry portion of the programming, everyone gladly escaped the main house and descended across the pristine Bermuda grass lawn until they reached the white sand beach.

  Hank had called in the steel drum band early that day so the atmosphere could be upbeat and festive. After mimosas were offered and good-luck toasts were shared by all, the backgammon tournament began.

  Backgammon is a two-player game during which the goal is to move your checker-like pieces along a board consisting of twenty-four points, or spaces. With each roll of the dice, pieces are moved until they are in your home board and can then be taken off. Whoever removes their pieces first wins.

  It’s a game that requires strategy but one that doesn’t require one hundred percent focus. It had been a favorite of sailors who were more interested in soaking in the rum than winning the game, although it was also a favorite of gamblers.

  Once everyone was settled in, Hank wandered toward the long dock that stretched into the Gulf. The water was calm that morning, and the fish that fed off the barnacles attached to the piers would be in full view. He squinted his eyes and noticed a woman standing at the end of the dock under the thatched roof. She was wearing a white linen coverup that blew slightly with the breeze, as did the American and Conch Republic flags flanking the pier.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, glanced around, and moseyed onto the dock. A minute later, he’d joined Erin, who was deep in thought.

  “Am I interrupting?” he asked politely.

  Somewhat startled, she looked down at herself shyly and pulled her bathing suit coverup across her body. She smiled at Hank and replied, “No, not at all. Actually, my little brain needed a break from thinking.”

  Hank joined her side and laughed. “Somehow, I doubt your brain is little.”

  “Well, let’s just say it’s too small for all the crap swirling around in there.”

  Hank paused before he continued. He pointed toward a stingray that casually swam by the dock. The cow-nosed, mystical creature was oblivious to its admirers as it searched for its next meal.

  “Don’t you wish you could be that guy?” he asked jokingly.

  “Not a care in the world,” she replied. She let out a deep sigh.

  “Let me know if I’m overstepping, Erin, but is it worse than what the media is letting on?”

  “In some respects, yes. In others, no. The media tends to overdramatize things to keep viewers’ eyes glued to the screen. It’s what they don’t know that is concerning.”

  “Oh?” asked Hank.

  Erin leaned forward and placed her elbows on the deck railing as the stingray swam out of sight. She fiddled with her hands.

  “International politics are complicated. Over the last hundred years, America’s adversaries have changed. The Nazis and Japanese were a clearly defined enemy until they were defeated. Then the Soviet Union tried to take advantage of the power vacuum. They were soon joined by China as the communists began to have a greater influence around the world.

  “Today, you have nations like North Korea, Iran, and Pakistan that have deadly nuclear capabilities. They cannot be trusted and are in all respects unpredictable. One always thought—at least as it relates to the U.S., China and Russia, the so-called nuclear powerhouses—that cooler heads would prevail.”

  Hank interjected, “We’ve always seemed to respect the concept of mutually assured destruction, right?”

  Erin hesitated. “Yes, once upon a time, anyway. Nuclear capabilities have changed over the last thirty y
ears. Quick, precision strikes are now available to all the major powers. We no longer have to launch ballistic missiles from silos in the Northern Rockies. We have ships and submarines that can do it as well. Hell, our intelligence agencies believe both Iran and North Korea have nuclear warheads sailing over our heads, attached to satellites. The Pentagon refers to them as the Axis of Evil.”

  Hank leaned forward and looked toward the incredibly blue skies. “Really?”

  “Really,” she replied before shifting the conversation. “Here’s the thing, Hank. And please understand, this is just my opinion as an American with more knowledge than the political outsiders. Iran and Israel have been staring each other down for longer than you and I have been alive. Despite the provocation, our government has never believed that Israel would be the first to pull the nuclear trigger in the Middle East. Iran, however, is another matter.”

  “Are they that stupid? And how do they justify it? Israel has completely denied any involvement in that killing spree a couple of weeks ago.”

  Erin chuckled. “Nobody believes that, especially the Iranians. The Israeli government has demanded that Iran stop its nuclear weapons program before they actually had them. Now, the speed of their proliferation is mind-boggling. I don’t blame the Israelis for taking action.”

  “Well, it seems all they did was kick the hornet’s nest. You know, when you stir up a hornet’s nest, you’re gonna get stung.”

  Erin took a deep breath and exhaled. “The question is how big of a stinger will they use?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Saturday, October 19