Chapter 45
February 21, 1984
1530 hours
Gainesville, Florida
It went without saying that the day had been the worst of Governor Bob Graham's life. He'd spent the past three hours in the basement as his state became a battlefield resembling that of Central Europe, and there was nothing to do but listen. General Ensslin had his own EC-121s up after Heidelberg, along with the Air Force's E-3s, and so had kept a running tally of known detonations. In many cases, the yields were approximated, as the Warning Stars were too far away to receive good data in that regard. Between the Warning Stars and the Sentries, the map posted on a rolling chalkboard in the basement had a number of concentric circles around known targets that were hit. Assumptions were being made as to what type of detonations had occurred and the size of them. 1 MT was the baseline for each detonation, and groundbursts were considered to be the majority of strikes, given how many targets involved air bases (targeters believed runways would be usable after an airburst, and so air bases were always fused for groundburst).
By 3:30, the all clear had been signaled, and people emerged from hallways, bathrooms, basements, and storage rooms around Gainesville to their normal spaces. Everyone had been warned to seal doorways and windows as a safety measure, and going outdoors was verboten for the time being. The Emergency Broadcast System had yielded to Florida Public Radio, who made its first broadcast at 3:30, updating those who could hear it to stay inside, keep all doors and windows sealed, and, if they were in certain areas, to stay in basements or interior rooms. The hotel housing the state government was not only sealed, but was running a slight overpressure in its HVAC system, ensuring its safety, despite no indications of fallout heading its way. Graham was now in the operations room with Ensslin, the civil defense director, and the AG. The map that Ensslin had been marking was now hung on a wall.
"Gentlemen, this is the situation as best as we can tell. The reports in the south of the state are based on CAP aircraft and an EC-121, all of whom are believed to have landed safely in Sarasota and Fort Myers. We have not been able to communicate with them since they've landed, though. The central part of the state got hammered, and that comes from the EC-121 I had based here, so that report has been received firsthand. Canaveral, Orlando, and Tampa-St. Pete are as dead as can be, and the fallout is going to be so heavy that our only hope of getting there is by water, and our only usable ports are on the east side of the state, which would send them right through that fallout. I'm afraid that until conditions in the air get better, we're not going to be able to talk to anyone south of The Villages. I have a colonel based out of the Guard armory in the southern half, and whenever those CAP aircraft lift off, we can talk to them, but regardless, we need to consider the southern half of the state off the grid for the next week, probably, maybe longer.
Moving along, up here, Jacksonville is gone, and supposedly, the river has busted through floodgates, probably after NAS Jacksonville ate a warhead. It was right on the river, and between the rain and that....it's going to kill a lot of people who might have lived otherwise. I've no idea about the coast on the east side, it appears Augustine and Daytona made it okay, save for potential fallout. Panama City is gone, and Eglin got multiple hits, probably had an ICBM aimed at it because it's so damned big. Not a word from Pensacola. If they got hit, we can write off the Panhandle completely, but I don't want to assume anything there. The last transmission indicated an air battle east and south of the city and the bases, so maybe they lucked out. If so, I hope they're under cover, I imagine a shitload of fallout is headed east from Barksdale, Mobile, and elsewhere. We will keep trying to raise them. Tallahassee was not hit, for whatever reason, we lucked out there, but the fallout headed that way is substantial. We will work to get more information, but right now, we're two states, and there's nothing we can do about the second other than to pray that they are safe. Along that line, we haven't heard from the
Independence carrier group. If they're out there, they are probably buttoned up and trying to avoid fallout. It'd be great if they came around west into the Gulf, but for all I know, they're trying to find a safe place in the Caribbean somewhere. All those islands have cruise ship docks that they could park at, so to say.
Finally, we've had some communication with the Georgia government at Valdosta. They know that Atlanta, Savannah, Athens, and Augusta were hit. Maybe some other places, too, but their comms are worse than ours, since they waited to prepare. They do have patrols from their armory in full NBC gear ready to undertake patrols soon. That will be helpful, of course, and I plan to get our own patrols going as soon as it's safe. We've caught some shortwave broadcasts from overseas, small snatches, and it sounds like an awful lot of bystanders got whacked from what we can make out. Brazil, places in Africa, things of that sort. That's the situation right now."
Those receiving the briefing could be excused from the open-mouthed, fish-out-of-water gulping faces they had. What they saw in their state alone represented an immediate casualty count of over a million people, with likely another two million more dead from radiation and other effects by week's end. Three million corpses in a state with the population of 9.7 million meant a
third of the state was dead, and God knows how many more from what would follow. The civil defense director raised his hand, like a child in school. "General, what about the Mount Dora bunker? Have we heard from them?" "We did, actually. They provided the information about Orlando via burst transmission. Fallout is extremely heavy in the area, so they are staying bunked in tight. We have thirty days for things to subside enough to rescue them, after that, unless they're stretching food stocks, people will start dying off. They packed for a month, and they have everything they need to keep an eye on things, but eventually we'll need to go get them. Whether the fallout readings allow it is a different story."
Graham nodded. It was such a late plan to put into place that he knew it'd be almost sacrificial, but maybe things would work out. "General, when can we start distributing supplies?"
"Governor, I would not recommend such an action until at least a week has passed. Just because the shooting has stopped doesn't mean it's over. Between us and the Soviets, we have somewhere in the neighborhood of 50,000 warheads. God knows not all of them were shot off at once, so we could face additional exchanges. So, yes, at least a week, probably two, before we consider it safe to go outside and get people working and pass out food," concluded the man in charge of Florida's military. "Wait, General, did you say there might be
more exchanges of nukes?" That question came from the Attorney General. "Yes, sir, I did. There is no way of telling what was hit, what survived, how many weapons were used, who they were aimed at in totality. If the Reds decided to throw missiles at Brazil, Angola, and other random-ass places, they might have some remaining in missile subs or some silo we haven't found. We're goddamn lucky to be alive, because they easily could've decided to target every single population center over 50,000 people, but fratricide likely kicks in then, so they avoided it. As is, we're hurting pretty badly."
*****
Fort Myers, FL
1700 hours
"
....the following areas are unsafe: south of Route 44, north of Route 70, Dade County, Broward County, the West Palm Beach metropolitan area, the Jacksonville metropolitan area, the Keys, and west of Route 71. It is 5 pm Eastern time. Fallout levels are high in many areas of the state. Do not go outside unless it is absolutely necessary, and if so, you must limit your time outside to less than five minutes. If you do, wear protective clothing and thoroughly wash yourself and your clothing before re-entering your shelter. We will broadcast on the hour, every hour. Conserve power and turn your radios off when we are not broadcasting. This is Florida Public Radio."
"Christ, sir, we're cut off," Klima said as he turned off the radio. Simmons cocked his head at Klima. "Son, just call me Ron. Rank doesn't matter, not right now. There was one good piece of news, though. Nothing got hit near us. At worst, we might have to deal with fallout, but it sounds like this corner got through. The question is, how long can we hold out?" "Well, us inside of this apartment are set for probably a month, tops. It won't be pretty, we'll probably go nuts within a week, but at least we'll be alive. Wonder if we have power?" Klima turned on a light, and surprisingly, it worked. He turned it right back off. "Well, don't know how long that'll last, but it's a small glimmer of hope, I suppose. I didn't even know there was a power plant in the area until I saw it when we flew in."