Oblivions Doorstep

Chapter 23

The President's formation of choppers whisked low above the Georgia Coastline. Hartwell looked out the window with a fondness that comes from familiar territory. Molly saw his expression and appreciated it.

"You know I never left my district until elected to Congress for the first time," said Hartwell

"What about college?" asked Molly

"I went to Georgia Southern. I was home every weekend. Margaret was my childhood sweetheart. You know, I think I could have been perfectly content to live out my life in that small town. Every morning breakfast with the other men at the cafe on Main. Home at five thirty. Worked in the local government scene and practiced law. Anything but the problems of the world," he said, smiling gently at Molly.

"You must have had a greater calling. Did you see a burning bush outside in the backyard or something?" said Molly

"No, there was no booming voice of God that called me to Washington. But there was the feeling I could bring some common sense to the office, a sense of duty," said Hartwell.

"Me too I guess," said Molly. Both of them sat back in their seats. Their conversation seemed to be forced, reminiscing on happier times in the middle of something chaotic.

Admiral Hawthorne continued to study his map, then pulled out his compass. He looked out the window and there was a thickness in the air. The stars were emerging from their slumber and beginning to pierce the ochre- red and royal blue sky. An old sailor, he pinpointed the first one to rise from the north star and held his compass steady. He trusted the heavens to guide his way. Some would say that was old-fashioned with satellites and technology. But those scientific advancements had gone dark and did not work anymore. As he made some calculations, there was a measure of confidence and concern at his findings. Worry washed over his features. Not because they were going the wrong way. He had accurately charted their way, but something incalculable. A look of defeat with nothing to substantiate it.

"What is it, Admiral?" asked Hartwell.

"I am concerned about our subs. With radio communications down, there is no way for them to know what the actual situation is."

"And how does that affect us?" said Hartwell. The Admiral found it hard to summon up an explanation. Dread swept over his features.

"Sir, were you not briefed?" asked Molly in a tone of astonishment. The Admiral looked away, half embarrassed. He lacked the knowledge regarding professional protocol. In short, he had forgotten one of the most basic precepts in handling a crisis, and that was informing the president of what he needed to know.

Molly assumed the responsibility and explained it to Hartwell, in a soft daughterly voice.

"Sir, our subs run silently to hide. There used to be a policy of Launch On Warning, but now submarine-launched ballistic missiles decrease that strategic need. Our boats can hide in the ocean without being tracked. If a nuclear attack devastates the United States, we can still make a second strike, even if we cannot launch our land-based missiles. Upon receiving the order for DEFCON three, the subs received instructions to stand by with the Emergency Action Message, which will remain in effect for four hours. We can only guess that we have lost deep water radio communication. They will wait, but when time has elapsed, they will rise to periscope depth and raise the antenna on the submarine sail to try again to make contact. The Antenna works better in open air. If they cannot regain communications with STRATCOM, they will launch their ordinance of ICBMs." said Molly.

"Good God, how many?"

"We have about four thousand warheads on all our subs."

"Jesus, and if our satellites aren't working, neither are anyone else's."