* * *
—
Since he could do nothing else about his crashed B-1B bomber, Major Jay Petkunas and the rest of his crew were walking toward Diego Garcia’s Air Force headquarters building for a debriefing, though he didn’t think what happened to them would be anyone’s priority until the island was operational again. The place was strangely silent. No sounds of machinery or vehicles buzzed in the background to distract from the pounding surf and squawking seagulls.
They were still a half mile from the headquarters when he suddenly heard something man-made coming their way. An engine. It sounded like a diesel V-8.
Petkunas looked around and saw an old eighties-era pickup truck heading toward them at breakneck speed. When it jerked to a stop next to him, he saw that the bed was packed with airmen.
“Sir, you need to get to shelter now,” the driver said without saluting.
“What?” Petkunas said. Just when he thought the day couldn’t have gotten any stranger. “Wait a minute, how come your truck is the only one that’s working?”
“Something about the electronics. This truck doesn’t have any microchips in it.”
Petkunas shot a look at his copilot, Larsson, who nodded at him. That explained why nothing on his airplane had worked, including the ejection seats.
“What do you mean, we need to get to shelter?” Larsson asked.
“We’re under attack. Sorry, sir, comms are down, and I have to get the message to the Navy commander.”
Before Petkunas could ask for a ride, the truck had taken off again.
“What was he talking about?” Larsson said as he watched the pickup with a confused look. “Who’s attacking us?”
“Your guess,” Petkunas said, “but he did sound serious. And taking out power and communications could be a prelude to an attack. Let’s hoof it.”
All four of them picked up the pace to a run. They’d made it only a few hundred yards when Petkunas saw something flash just a few dozen feet overhead at lightning speed.
“Get down!” Petkunas yelled, and all four of them dropped to the tarmac.
A split second later, a sonic boom crashed into them, shaking the ground.
But there was no explosion. The sound of the small jet engine faded into the breeze as it rocketed away to the east.
Petkunas stood and dusted off his flight suit. As the others got to their feet, Larsson said, “What just happened?”
Petkunas shook his head in amazement. “I have no idea.”
* * *
—
“Chairman,” Hali said, “Sergeant Brandt just told me that the cruise missile continued east as it flew over Diego Garcia. It seems to be gone.”
Everyone in the Oregon’s op center relaxed. The danger was over.
“Did you hear that, Barbara?” Juan said to Colonel Goodman. “You just saved an entire island.”
“Thanks to you,” she said with a relieved smile. “If you weren’t so convincing, I might not have activated Theseus until it was too late.”
“I’d keep it active until we’re sure the cruise missile has run out of fuel. According to our calculations, two more minutes should do it. That’s a remote region, so any dispersal of the Novichok will happen over open ocean. We’ve checked, and there aren’t any known ships in the area.” The Novichok might contaminate the water for a short time until it dissipated, but that was better than the alternative.
“That makes sense,” Goodman said. “I’d like to keep your radioman on the line so he can relay communications between us and Diego Garcia. Then I’ll have to explain to the head of Space Command why I activated a top secret weapons system without his authorization. I’ll either be demoted or get a medal.”
“I’ll make sure it’s the latter,” said Langston Overholt, who was still on-screen.
“Thank you, sir,” Goodman said.